Part Six Birds By Leigh Novak
I have always had a unique relationship with birds. As far back as I can remember, I have been entranced by, entertained by, fascinated by, and attacked by birds. For every time I arrive at my shit-splattered car, or am accosted by seagulls at the beach, and under my breath mutter how much I hate birds, there is another occasion in which I am mesmerized by the sight of a bird out my window or during a woodsy hike.
Naturally, there is a hierarchy for the tolerability of birds. I don’t think there are many of us fighting causes in defense of those damn Canadian Geese, for example, who seemingly have more rights in America than you or I. When working at an old job, I ate lunch outside the office towers on most nice days. Surrounding a section of the building was a dirty man-made pond that was home to its own active community of the forsaken species.
Every hike out to our favorite lunch bench was a sure-footed exercise in avoiding mounds of goose crap. Worse yet was dodging the irate territorial creatures themselves, who hissed and charged at you with all the hate in the world swirling around in their beady black eyes. The trick, we quickly learned, was to walk briskly and without eye contact. Insolent beasts, they are. And if you hit one with a car, you get a ticket! Where are the squirrel activists on this one? Why do we protect this obnoxious clan of feathered rodents, and not milder, often cuter common roadkill candidates?
I’ll never forget the satisfied look upon my detective friend’s face during his retelling of how thousands of feathers exploded in every direction when one of those geese fatefully met his truck’s grill on the way to the station one day. I don’t think he wrote himself a ticket.
Then there are the ever-belligerent seagulls. I truly feel bad for seagulls because although they are dirty and annoying, it is humans who have ruined the seagull’s rap. I cannot even convey the level of contempt I hold for all those fat-ass American families who sit on their beach blankets and for amusement (because reading or being civil are not an option for many Americans) throw food at the gathering hordes (not flocks) of seagulls, who jump on a tossed Cheetos Puff as though they are tempting starvation and need it to live another day.
I can see how this mild form of animal abuse can garner a laugh from some simple-minded folks, but this practice is just plain evil to the seagulls. Not only are humans feeding them processed crap that no living organism should eat, but they are shattering the species’ reputation by distinguishing them as pesky beggars. This is why seagulls get fed Alka-Seltzer tablets on a regular basis.
But the reason I brought up birds in the first place is because I have been quite intimate with birds of all varieties since moving to Washington. Chicago’s landscape provided less than desirable opportunities to appreciate birds. But somewhere between the natural environment and the slower pace of life here, I often find myself wishing I had a thorough encyclopedia of birds. I’ve known adults to have such things. And I suppose it is just a certain coming of age that many of us will go through. I have reached that age now, where a bird encyclopedia is topping my birthday wish list. Boring adulthood, here I come!
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Posted on April 29, 2008
