The Birds

Our backyard is full of birds.  They were here when we arrived in November, left their nests for a few months, and recently returned with the warm weather.  These aren't just birds: these are the mutated descendants of extras from The Birds.  Not even.  Their ancestors got booted from production for being too scary.  They're shiny black, with super long beaks built for pulling human brains out of ears, about the size of a really fat house cat.  Where other birds sing, these monsters screech so loud you can hear them inside with all the windows closed, sitting under four blankets with earplugs in.  To my knowledge, they have not developed a method of melting human brains with their song, though they're close.  They travel in gangs of at least ten, so they descend on a poor defenseless 70-pound dog like a black curtain of death.

Then they eat her dog food.  Because these birds eat dog food.


We almost completely forgot about these creatures while they were gone.  The only reminders were the few disproportionately tiny nests in the trees and the Zombie Apocalypse Airsoft pistol that we bought in November and still sits by the window in our bathroom.  We were desperate: the dog was always hungry and our dog food budget was going to feed a flock of abominations.

To my knowledge, the only thing that scares them is the opening of a patio door or a window.  That's when they fly off.  The dog can jump at them, I can yell at them, but if that door opens, they're gone in an instant.

They're having even more fun with post-surgical Madigan in her Cone of Shame.  She's too proud to let me hold the dog food bowl up to her mouth, so she has struggled to eat the last few days.  After a brief winter travelling with family near the circus train from Dumbo, the birds alighted onto our patio, delighted with the opportunity to present Madigan with their obnoxious rendition of "I Be Done Seen."  When she turned to one bird, five of the others would jump onto the bowl to snag some food.  When she turned back on them, second shift came in to harass her at her flanks.  Our poor dog jumped, tripped, hit her Cone of Shame on the grill, turned in circles, and then finally left those stupid birds to her food.

This little adventure attracted the kids, because the dog was acting silly and sharing her food with the birds.  At first, I thought that the flock would leave when Audrey started slamming her hand into the glass - nope, I had to go over and open the door two inches.  Then they came right back, so I put Sebastian on door duty.  Then both the kids got bored and requested Diego.  I kept the door open long enough to ensure the birds stayed away and Madigan got to eat what she needed.

A little while later, our fat cat Piano was crouched by the door, watching, her tail twitching to each side. One of the evil black beasts hopped across the ground outside, a big red block of dog food in its mouth.  Piano looked at me.  She could take him.  He was her size, but she would totally do it if I just let her outside for once.  I considered it for a moment, but then three of his birdy friends swooped in to perch on the edge of the bowl, like vultures.  In place of the dog bowl, I imagined Piano in the middle of the huddle and shook my head.  The cat blinked at me, sighed, and turned back.  There is no solution.

A few hours later, the kids were back at the door, staring out onto our yard.  The feathered menace had returned, but it seems I had it all wrong.  Sebastian was translating:
 "See, Audrey, the birds came back to apologize to Madigan!  They say 'We're sorry Madigan' and Madigan says 'that's okay, you can have some of my food' and the birds say 'okay' because they are Madigan's best friends and they think her food is delicious and they can share with her!  Isn't it nice when friends share?"

That's coming from the kid who doesn't buy the dog food, but now Audrey's on his side.  I'm alone in this fight.

I think I need to go sight that airsoft gun.