I haven’t always hated birds. In fact I used to have a budgie named Boy that I was given when I was christened as a baby. He lived until I was 9 and I loved that bird more than I loved my little sister at the time.
Sadly, the day my Mum put my dog down due to a hideous condition which made him scratch until he bled (which also led him to trying to scratch his back on the nearby Bruce Highway), my budgie Boy decided to head to the pearly gates with him.
Looking back to that morning now I am sure my Mum was having a WTF moment even though they didn’t really exist back then. She may have muttered that she thought she had killed a china man or 5000 whilst I sobbed for not just the loss of one pet but BOTH OF THEM.
Anyhoooo…after that we tried to have other birds as pets but none of them were close like Boy and I.
Fast forward about 13 years and I was on the trott around the world. You know like most young Aussie’s do.. go to a different country and try to live without the parentals watching over. This worked really really well for me. Well that was until I met the freakishly enormous pigeons that lived in Venice. I had just gotten off a gondola and whilst I was feeling a tad under the weather from the previous evenings Italian lessons from a hot barman, I wasn’t prepared for what was about to happen next.
Firstly, the Gondola man tried to tell me that Aussie women pay good money for their services after dark and I was like WHAT THA? And secondly…a huge flock of pigeons decided to come down and land on my fucking head. Well not quite my head but you know .. flapping wings around my head. Thoughts of my hair and eyes being pecked out while this Gondola man was trying to book me in for a night to float my boat or his boat or whatever.
It was sensory freaking overload I can tell you. Anyway .. the sound of those flapping wings and the fear of being eaten alive by those hungry over grown suckers has never really left me.
So I hate birds.
And for a second today I didn’t. I felt really sorry for the little finch that my cat Mad Angus was trying to catch. So I grabbed the bird in my hands and promised I would save him and keep him safe.
And I did.
I took him inside and went about finding him a shoe box to settle himself down in before I let him go in a safe place away from the jaws of a crazed black cat.
The bird had other ideas. He saw my kindness and raised me a whole lot of shit. He flew out of my hand and landed on a cupboard way way way up high.
Now that pissed me off. I now had a bird flapping around above my head. IN MY HOUSE.
1.5 hours later and I had issued a state of emergency on all of my social media accounts. I even videoed the bit my daughter, who has the flu, tried ever so hard to coax the little bugger out of my house. (no I cannot show you.. it will destroy any thought you might have that I am not a drama queen) It was to no avail.
The bird wanted to sit by me at my desk. He wanted to sit on a picture near my dearly departed Dad actually. And that just scared the fuckers out of me. He even looked at me with one eye which seemed a little evil but looking back maybe just weird.
Eventually the bird was removed from my house. Just seconds before I was to call the Minister for Defence to request all his people to get the hell out my way and remove the bird.
Later a friend told me I should have kept the bird because I had saved it and it was such a kind thing to do considering my fear of birds. And that I had been really kind to them too in the last few days during a really really horrible and sad life event that is evolving, even though the entire subject scares the fuckers out of me also.
And it was about then that I felt bad that I wanted the bird so badly out of my life, when really that isn’t the way I run things at all.
I am a hoarder of all living things. Once under my wing .. that’s it.
Shit did I just suggest I have a wing?
So yeah .. birds.