A bird on the head is worth two in the bush

I’m almost reluctant to try to write this post. I just don’t think I can do it justice with the written word; I don’t know if I’m capable of making you see and feel what I want you to. I am just not sure I can relay the HILARITY of the following situation. In fact, I’d be way more comfortable if you’d all just come over and let me fix you a drink and tell you the story in person while gesturing wildly and speaking in an outside voice and then… well, and then probably knocking all your drinks off the coffee table. But I’m going to try, because I think you should know what can happen when you kill three baby birds in the span of 12 hours.

You get a second chance.

THE BIRD COMMUNITY FORGIVES.

Last Friday, Hambone and I were on our regularly scheduled walk around the lake when I heard a kind of weird sounding bird in the woods. I don’t usually pay attention to anything bird-related (please see previous post, i.e. birds unknowingly trampled underfoot) but this was a very distinct squawking sound that compelled me to stop where I was, and because I’m an idiot, call out “hello!” to it. Yes, that’s right, I SPOKE to it. In broad daylight. Without checking around to see if anyone was watching.

Anyways, the thing comes flying out of the woods right at my face and lands on a tree branch at eye level. Now I’m no bird expert, but I immediately recognized it as a cockatiel. Actually, what I immediately recognized it as was the same kind of bird Dave’s parents had, but the important part is that I knew it didn’t belong in the woods. Its native habitat is a cage in somebody’s house. So my two brain cells rubbed together furiously and deducted that this bird must be somebody’s PET! Of course!

So I stuck out a stick—a branch of peace, if you will—you know, to see if it was friendly. And you can imagine my surprise when it hopped off the tree and made itself right at home. ON THE TOP OF MY HEAD.

At this point, I’m about a mile from home. Without any idea what I should do. BECAUSE THERE IS A BIRD ON MY HEAD. A bird that is trying to preen my forehead and take off my shiny shiny earrings with his BEAK. A bird that will NOT LEAVE ME no matter how many times I try to brush him off my head with my hand. I had no other option but to just start walking towards home, carrying a dog leash, a water bottle and my earrings (the bird had taken the backs off of them and presumably eaten them) and generally just looking like a complete freak. After ten minutes of excruciatingly slow going (I didn’t want the damn thing to fall off my head and get stepped on, flashback!) and throwing my water bottle in the woods to free up an extra hand, I ended up stopping a jogger and borrowing his cell phone. As I dialed, the bird took momentary interest in the jogger’s enormous gold chain and abandoned his perch to try to yank it off his neck.

Dave picked up on the first ring, despite the Caller ID showing a completely unrecognizable number. The conversation that followed was bizarrely void of any kind of surprise or disbelief. We have not even been married two years and DAVE IS ALREADY SO USED TO THIS.

Me: “Hey! Um...so! What kind of bird did your parents have?”
Dave: [pause] “A cockatiel.”
Me: “Right! A cockatiel! I knew that. OK! Um, well, there’s one on my head. Can you come pick me up at Starbucks?”
Dave: [exasperated sigh] “I’ll be right there.”

I thanked the jogger profusely for helping me out. He seemed kind of amazed by the whole situation and commented that someone would surely be looking for a bird as beautiful as the one now nestled back on top of my head. He was sure that the bird was worth at least $1000 and that someone would be DESPERATELY missing him! After all, he seemed irreplaceable! How tragic!

By then, I almost felt a bond with the little guy. Although I was completely uninterested in keeping him (and therefore completing the very cartoonish dog-cat-bird food chain in our house), I did feel a twinge of responsibility for keeping him out of traffic and dog’s mouths for the next 300 yards or so. Dave pulled up to Starbucks just as I was awkwardly walking around the corner, and together we managed to get the bird into the car and over to Dave’s parents' house, where a cage and some food and water were waiting, and where I could look in a mirror and find out if he had left any “gifts” in my hair.

He’s currently boarding at my in-law’s house, where my mother-in-law is teaching him to say “bling bling,” which is understandably appropriate, given his weakness for jewelry. But a week later, despite superfluous neighborhood signage, no one has claimed him. The good news is that he has a slew of prospective homes, a full belly and the company of people who enjoy being around him for reasons other than his unconventional rescue.

And so, Bird Community, thank you. Thank you for that second chance to redeem myself. I can't believe you trusted me again, especially after seeing all the guts and all, but I appreciate the opportunity. And I'm proud I did you right this time.

Comments

[Maureen]

So I'm reading your archives, and our similarities are becoming extremely eerie. So far we both have the same due date, scoliosis, and experience with birds falling on our heads.
http://gradlabadventures.blogspot.com/2004/10/birds-on-brain_20.html
What are the odds?