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Sunday, September 25, 2011

Saving the World One Pigeon at a Time

You may recall from a recent post that I hate birds. "Feed the Birds." It's an actual fact.

So you may be surprised that I spared the life of a pigeon the other day. It's an actual fact. Let me lay out the context for you.


I was driving in my car, listening to the radio as always. It was a fine September day, and I simply couldn't keep my eyes off of Lake Superior. It was a greenish-blue color that always reminds me that it's fall time. I didn't want to get in a car accident either, though. Thus, I kept my eyes on the road while aimlessly shifting my eyes back to the deep, cold, and beautiful waters.
An exit ramp approached up ahead. I took it, flicking my blinker signal and slowly drifting to the right. Up and up I went, easing myself and the car to a stop sign. Looking to hang a left, I signalled as such.
Pigeons always remind me of a huge city, particularly New York City in Home Alone 2. You know, the bird lady and all. There's just something about them. Considering my previous track record with birds, I'm reluctant to say they're a beautiful creature, blue hues, brief accents of red. But I have to acknowledge this wonderful creation of God's. It's striking. Taking away their synonimosity with garbage and rubbish, I think I quite like them. They're no eagle (which is scarier than most winged creatures), but they can sure trump a seagull or some annoying thing like that.
And so taking this left turn, I saw a flock of these birds congregating on a median. I imagine that if my friends and I were birds, we would be in a similar situation. Stuck on a median as cars fly by, narrowly missing our bony bodies. But then there would be me, bravely trying to hop, like all birds do, across the road. Realizing at the last second that taking risks should only be done in Farkle. And this is the bird I saw.
My previous life of bird opression-ee flashed across my brain. "Hit it!" my subconscious told me. "It's just a bird! You hate those." I didn't speed up, though. I couldn't do it.
It turns out that I'm just not that kind of person. Or I just don't want to be. Blood makes me squeamish to begin with, and I know that that wretched Farkle-playing pigeon would haunt me in my dreams. I screeched on the brakes, and the pigeon aimlessly hopped back to its all-too-lovely friends on the median, trapped.
I proceeded on my weary way.

There's a great possibility that I'm overanalyzing this brief encounter with a bird, but I feel that this is a step in the right direction. I just hope that Claude (that's what I named the bird I saved) will pass on the message to the greater bird kingdom.

"Cheep, cheep, cheep!"
"Chirp, chirp, chirp?!"
"Chirpity cheep! Cheep cheepity chirp."

Translation:
"And then he put on the brakes!"
"Did that really happen?!"
"Sure did! Ask Shirley about it."

Okay, so maybe that's a bit drastic, but I feel I'm making some gainway with this whole bird phobia. Now to address the chipmunk problem...

'Til next time!

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