A few weekends ago, I was awoken by the sound of chirping coming from outside of my bedroom. At first I thought it was time to get up and get working on my chores for the day while my wicked step sisters and step mother cracked the metaphorical whip. Then I realized I wasn’t Cinderella and I most definitely was not living in the Wide World of Disney. After all, there were no dancing and singing mice.
I pretty much went back to sleep because I figured my smart phone had decided to upgrade itself or just randomly change its own settings to a tweet sound for notifications. It made sense at the time, or rather, as much sense as any explanation I could come up with at 6 in the morning on a Saturday. Oh how I wish it were that simple…
I was startled from my peaceful slumber about 2 hours later when my wife came barging into the bed room screaming, “THERE IS A BIRD IN THE HOUSE!!! GET UP!!! THERE IS A BIRD IN THE HOUSE!!!” It was pretty much like than one time on Full House when Stephanie rammed Danny’s car through the kitchen and all Michelle could do was say, “There’s a car in the kitchen!” except not at all. They had a laugh track. We did not.
Of course, the natural reaction when someone tells you that there is a bird in your house is to…
- Tell them they’re effing crazy
- Act in complete denial
- Finally break down and ask what type of bird is supposedly in the house
After going through all three phases, the wife tells me that the bird is blue. She couldn’t tell me how large, or what kind of bird exactly had become a master cat burglar… oh the irony… but she could tell me the color. Glad to know that in times of stress I can rely on her to continue to see in a full spectrum of color. I guess that’s a plus.
Naturally I hear the word blue and automatically think blue jay, meaning that we could either get our eyes pecked out in slow and painful fashion OR I could just throw one of her Yankee hats at it and hope it rolled over and died. Yes, I’ve gotten half of my life lessons from Major League Baseball. For those of you wondering, the other half came from MacGyver.
You think I’m kidding. Just you wait and see.
Anyways, I go out to the living room and in the kitchen I see the viscious beast in all of it’s glory. It was horrifying. It was absolutely dreadful. It was… well see for yourselves.
It was a tiny ass blue bird. Oh, the humanity! Oh, the horror… the horror!
In all honesty, it didn’t take long to get the little guy out of the house. All we had to do was open up the front and back doors, have me chase it with a broom while my wife cowered in fear behind a door and underneath one of my hoodies. After about five minutes of this nonsense the little guy figured out what we wanted him to do and flew out the front door never to be seen again.
That’s until yesterday…
We had pretty much deducted that the bird got in through the fireplace. It was the only logical way and when we heard him chirping via the flue a few days later it was all but confirmed. Unfortunately, our landlord was unable to get over and fix the cap on the chimney so we were basically daring this bird to make a second appearance. Well, it finally happened yesterday.
Five minutes before we were ready to leave the house for work we heard the chirping. It was loud and quite honestly, it sounded like the stupid thing was about to come into the house any second. Short for time, we came up with the simplest plan possible given the resources at hand. Here’s the end result.
For those of you with the confused looks on your faces, yes… that is a bath towel stuck to the fire-place with packaging tape.
Don’t you dare judge us. MacGyver would be proud as hell.
We left for work thinking we were victorious. Our landlord said he would be over the next day to finally fix the problem. All we really had to do was keep the towel up for a day, and not let any potential visitors make their way into our humble abode. Easy, right?
Nope. We failed… miserably.
As it turns out, there are two birds working in cahoots. The bird we heard yesterday morning was the original bird. We know this because when we got home from work… 10 hours later… we were greeted by a blood bath. Only the blood was bird poop. To say we were confused would be an understatement. Curtains, table clothe, PlayStation Directv box, light fixtures. It was awful. We hadn’t seen the bird earlier that morning, but we couldn’t recall seeing all this poop either. It also has a field day with the potted plants on the window sill. We eventually conceded to the idea that the bird had flown in during the night, wreaked havoc, and then flew back out.
After being home for close to two hours, cooking dinner, and cleaning up we finally were able to put it all together. While standing in the kitchen we heard a noise. I thought it was mine or the wife’s shoe squeaking on the floor. Only neither of us had moved. Confused, I looked up. What do you think I saw chilling on the cabinets over the stove?
Yup… it was the bird. And not just any bird. This jerk was fat and probably twice the size of the original one. For what happened next, I’ll allow my wife’s Facebook status to tell the story.
The bird won. He was in the house the whole time, popped up when least expected, I shrieked and ran, it chased me then landed on my cup and started drinking my water. Its gone now, no thanks to me.
That’s exactly what happened. She shrieked. She ran. The bird, which apparently still had shit left in it to be scared out of contrary to all the evidence we found in the house, chased her. And then it drank her water. Thankfully, I was able to chase it back into the kitchen, smother it with a towel, and then release it back to the wild… where it was promptly almost murdered by one of the 15 stray cats that patrols the neighborhood.
So ya, that’s what we’re dealing with at the moment. The moral of the whole story is pretty simple though… Birds are assholes.