Oregon Junco

Oregon Junco

Occasionally you come face to face with your worst fears, and the person on the other end of the line is speaking slowly, not making much sense, and the thought enters your head that perhaps this is a dream, and perhaps if you just wait it out it'll get better, even if incrementally so.

Occasionally I find that I am the crazy bird man I claim not to be. I ignore the evidence, the crowded feeders and houses, the mad dashes for my camera, the time I taught Tristan to cup his hands and coo like a mourning dove.

For five nights, I've slept at only 35% efficiency, the result of an endless string of nightmares, each differently themed, but all connected by one odd incident. At the end of each, a bird dies.

Last week, our neighbor, a woman in her 50s, asked me for financial aid advice for a friend. I told her everything I could think of, before she thanked me and asked me if I understood why she had yelled at my mother-in-law, which not only did I not understand, but being drunk, very quickly caused her to regret ever doing so, and she tried to explain about my dogs, and I asked her if she ever wondered why in 4 years I have never complained about her cats, in spite of the avian carnage they wreaked upon my backyard habitat, NO BIRD SANCTUARY THIS. She promised to clip their nails, and went on and on about how she loved birds AND USED TO WORK WITH THEM, to which I thought, USED TO?, WELL WHO'S DOING THE WORK NOW, SISTER? WHO'S BURYING THE MANY PRODUCTS OF YOUR INTENSE LABORS AS OF LATE?

The next morning, I noticed in the 5 AM light, a macabre pendant, hanging from the windmill I erected outside the kitchen window so that I could enjoy my coffee with nuthatches and Steller's Jays and spotted towhees and black-headed grosbeaks. It was the body of an Oregon Junco, trapped between the slats.

It'll get better.

Last night, the victim was my father's conure, left in my stead as they traveled far and wide. I saved it from being trapped underneath the door cage, but the stress was too much, and when I set it upon its perch, it fell backwards into its water trough, normally only a few inches, but now, suddenly so deep as to cover its entire body, and when I reached in to pull it from the water, I found that I had set the cage too high, and I had to jump to pull it down. I removed the bird from the water, and blew air into its nostrils, but to no effect and ineffective timing.

I sat down with the bird in my lap and made the decision to wait it out.