I absolutely hate detest abhor birds. They are the most fo(w)l creatures on the planet. And it's strange because I have a love affair with penguins. But I don't consider penguins as birds since they lack the ability of flight. I do hate one specific penguin that attacked me in New Zealand but that is a different story.
My displeasure with avian creatures began long ago when, as a young lad, I was brutally and maliciously attacked by a rabid goose in the park while feeding innocent ducks.
At the time, I thought nothing of this goose and his unmitigated rage toward such a precocious and awesome young me ( I mean, just look at that picture. I do look awesome).
Time went by, and still I try...
--Sorry, channeled my inner Billie Joe for a minute there.
I grew up a bit and really began to dislike birds because they were constantly shitting any- and everywhere near, on, or around me. Most notably next to my head during a family vacation to Florida. I had chosen to sleep out on the balcony of our condo on the beach one night as it was temperate and glorious. Next day, BAM! I woke up with seagull shit peppered all around my head and neck. I took that as a sign of seagull rage at my pillow being the down of one of his close cousins.
Those incidents aside, it was in college that my hatred and distrust truly blossomed.
I went to school in a small-ish college town in West Central Texas, far enough away from home but close enough that I never had to do laundry in a dorm if I didn't want to waste my weekend. The most populous birds around here are the most annoying as well -- grackles, sparrows, and some type of really annoying and blind morning screecher. Well, one fine morning, I was awakened by a screech followed by a loud thud on my bedroom window. The aforementioned blind morning screecher had decided to pay me a visit.
Rather than unsuccessfully attempt falling back to sleep, a decision I bitterly regret to this day, I got up to make breakfast. Tedium and mundane daily routine things finished, I left the protection of my dorm and headed out to pick up a friend who needed a ride to class. Upon setting foot outside, I was overcome by a flock of grackles with Flock of Seagulls hair.
My instinct was to run away flailing like a scared child but damn it, I was a man and didn't want to look a fool in front of the gaggle of hot chicks that were walking my way. So I took my chances with the grackles and made it to my car with haste.
The night before, I had had no choice but to park under a tree. Trees are well-known for their connctions with the flying mafia, so approaching my car I was overly cautious. Closer and closer I inched, scanning the limbs for my foe. Not to be outdone, my caution was well met in form with an opening salvo from above. A couple of unseen sniper pigeons took aim at me and unleashed a flying flurry of fowl excrement.
With a quickness unmatched by anything, save a lemur, I deftly avoided the sneak attack. Also in my favor was the fact that pigeons make terrible snipers and they instead assailed my car. A small moral victory for the birds. In case you are keeping count, that's
Safely inside my motorized automobile, I let my guard relax ever so slightly, knowing full well that no bird could penetrate my impentetrable fortress of rolling awesomeness. That's not to say they didn't try...While driving to my friends house, I approached a well known, affluent neighborhood complete with trees-a-plenty lining the street. Wearing my courage underneath and all around me, I sallied forth determined to make my quest. Driving down the tree lined rue, I could feel the beady eyes of a thousand unseen miscreants gazing, gawking, and glaring down on me as they plotted best how next to break my spirit.
And then it happened. Word seemed to spread throughout the Taliban of Talons that it was I in the vehicle, the natural enemy to all birds everywhere, the George Bush of the avian community. A shudder from my right -- a tree lifted as the weight of fifty birds took wing against me and swooped across my path causing me to brake forcefully out of surprise. A flutter on my left -- and a highly skilled flight of ten more birds buzzed my roof and rained down feces. I soon learned all the choreography was but a ruse for the true attack. No sooner had I thought the worst was over, another lone bird pulled a kamikaze barrel roll above me and plummeted toward my moving car. A loud THWACK! and my winshield was fractured in twain by this divebombing hellion.
I arrived safely to my friend's and thought my day could only get better. And I was wrong again.
Upon retrieving my friend and going back to the campus, I had need of going to class myself. Rather than drive back to the dorm and walk the short distance to class, I parked on the street and humped it across campus to the fine arts building...in the rain..and the snow..and the 110 degree heat.
As I drew nearer the door, another perceived barrier of solace, I noticed tell-tale signs of growing unrest. Trees were swaying unnaturally in the non-existent breeze, and the chirps and tweets soon turned to banshee cries and angered screeching. I pressed on, determined not to let the birds play intimidation games wtih me. In retrospect, I should have gone home.
I climed the stairs and was headed for the door when the final blow was struck. A lone bird, high above had spied me and sprang into action for the good of all bird-dom. Spiraling downward at break-neck speeds, this insane suicide bomber hurtled toward the earth making necessary adjustments mid-flight to stay on target. Just as my hand reached out to grasp the door handle, I was overcome with a stabbing, searing pain the back of my head.
The bird had struck true. The beak of the suicide bomber had planted itself in my cranium, breaking through and causing a non-fatal wound from which my life force trickled down my neck. I winced and checked my wound, looking around the immediate area for what had struck me. There on the ground was my attacker -- a dead sparrow brought down by his own hatred of me and all humanity.
I'd say I won in the end, but the battle rages on still. Alfred Hitchcock is out to kill me and will someday win. The final tally for that day was
Maybe someday I will get on that scoreboard....maybe.
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