I’ve never been too fond of birds. Yes, like so many other things in life that I dislike or just down right hate, this distaste for birds is a direct result of a childhood experience. I was playing in my dad’s yard, on the side of the house where I probably shouldn’t have been, and sitting right there in front of me on the neighbor’s chain-link fence was a baby robin. It still had its little spots like a baby dear. It was crying and looked lonely. I wanted to hold it. I guess I thought it would just jump right onto my shoulder and whistle me a tune like in those Disney cartoons. I was wrong. When I approached it, it began screaming bloody murder. I decided that spending some quality time with this bird probably wasn’t such a great idea after all. Then out of nowhere its mother came diving from the tree above. It was a trap. This mother robin was using her child as bait, like an excuse to just drill a human’s skull. I turned and ran. I ran as fast as I had ever run before. I remember this because while running I thought to myself, “Wow. I’ve never run this fast before.” My instincts kicked in, and I headed directly for the front door of the house. Right before opening the door, I turned around to see how close the bird was to me. I don’t know why I did this, because I could distinctively hear the robin screaming as though she were somehow perched on both of my ear lobes. When I realized that she was in fact at about an arm’s length from my noggin, I quickly opened the front door and slammed it shut in her face. I remember thinking “What was that damn bird’s problem? I just wanted to make sure her kid was alright.” I guess birds are just so stupid and mean that they enjoy picking fights and stuff. Well, that was enough evidence for me. Birds were on my list.
I thought I would never get to enjoy any quality time with a bird for the rest of my life. It just wasn’t meant to be. Birds are an angry lot. They’re mad at the man, and for good reason. We chop down trees. I don’t personally chop down trees, but I’ve heard that it’s a pretty common occurrence. And to be perfectly honest, I’ve thought about chopping down a few trees. I’ve never acted on those emotions though. I think that fact should be considered by these birds before they just toss me into the category of your average, everyday human and peck out my eyes without any conversation.
Things all changed one summer day at the lake. While some friends and I were sitting on the tailgate of a truck at our campsite, an extremely obese crow began talking in the tree branch above us. He was apparently talking to another bird in a nearby tree. It seemed like a fairly interesting conversation between the two. It was obvious that they were friends and that they were very much accustomed to humans camping below them. I think the majority of the conversation had to do with a human’s relationship to his or her environment, the human acceptance of changing environmental variables, and how he/she invents certain new conditions in response to said changes, et cetera. My friend Larry decided it would be courteous of us to join in the conversation and be delegates for our species. I didn’t speak crow, but Larry knew enough to get by. It didn’t take long before I picked up on the language (it’s quite simple actually).
Here’s a direct partial transcript, not translated, of the discussion:
Obese Crow: “Caaaaw.”
Distant Crow: “Caw.”
Obese Crow: “Caaw. Caaw.”
Distant Crow: “Caaaaw.”
Larry: “Caw.”
Obese Crow: …
Larry: “Caw.”
Obese Crow: “Caaw?”
Me: “Did he just ask you a question?”
Larry: “Caaaw.”
Obese Crow: “Caaaw.”
Distant Crow: “Caaw.”
Larry: “Caw. Caw.”
Obese Crow: “Caw Caw.”
Me: “Caw?”
Distant Crow: “Caw.”
Me: “Ha ha!”
Larry: “Wow! He sure told you!”
This discussion went on for maybe another half an hour. I can’t remember exactly. It was a healthy discourse for certain. We all agreed to be more accepting of each other’s kind…well, at least tolerable of each other’s kind. I can honestly say that I have done nothing since then to harm, annoy, or just get in the way of any birds. I can’t say the same for all birds though. They regularly poop on me, but I think that pooping on a human directly might actually be a sign of friendship. Pooping on a human’s car means something different. The lesson here is that we should all be more open-minded when it comes to birds. You can hate the old ones all you want, just don’t mess with their kids.
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Thanks for the story topics everyone.
