A Bird in the Hand...

Our back door is adorned with a wicker, cone-shaped basket. It contains some dried flowers and other foliage. It is unobtrusive and not unpleasant to the eye. Your typical exterior door ornamentation.

Of our entire collection of doors, we use this one most often. This particular door opens onto our carport. When we arrive home, this is our preferred mode of entry.

A few months ago upon returning home from work, I noticed something in the basket I had not previously seen. There amid the dried grass and blossoms sat a small bird’s nest. I tried to look into the nest to see if it contained any birds or eggs. It was too high, and I could not see into it.

As I examined the nest, I thought it looked old. As if it were constructed months ago and had sat unnoticed since. I listened for the small chirp of baby birds. I heard nothing. Finally I found a step stool. I climbed to the top step and peered into the nest. It was empty. No eggs. No birds (grown or otherwise). Only entwined twigs and a few loose feathers.

At that moment I decided it was an old nest. We’d used this same decoration on our door at our previous house. Maybe a bird built the nest then. Maybe Misty bought the adornment at an antique store complete with the overlooked bird’s nest. Obviously the nest had been there for quite some time unobserved by us.

This is not surprising for me, anyway. I am known around our house for the adeptness of my inattentiveness. Weeks have passed before I noticed new curtains, an additional picture frame, or even a painted wall. Often the revelation hit me only after a strong hint from Misty.

“You’re not going to mention the new chair?”

“What new chair?”

“The one you’re sitting in.”

My ignorance of the nest was no surprise. My surprise was that no one else had noticed it either. Though it did blend in with the ornamentation of the basket.

Several weeks later, the kids and I were on our way out of the house for some errands. As we exited the house I noticed a bird fly through our carport. Odd. A couple of weeks after that I, again, saw a bird fly through the carport as we returned home. I became suspicious.

A few days later my suspicions were strengthened. I was on my way to work. As I left the house, I closed the door behind me. Immediately I heard the unmistakable sound of flapping wings. Simultaneously I felt a rush of air pass over my head from behind me. A bird was obviously using the nest. Apparently the opening of the door did not disturb him, but the violent thud with which it shut drove him from his home.

After that day I tried to be mindful of the nest. I watched it as I pulled into the carport. I rattled the door before exiting the house. I made as much noise as possible when I returned home from a walk.

From time to time I would forget. I felt the beat of wings on my hair more than once when returning home at night. Usually when we forgot to leave the carport light on. Through my several close encounters, though, I never saw the bird.

Until last night.

I tagged along on a bowling trip my son took with the youth from church. We live a block from the church, so, obviously, we walk. He and I returned home around 8 pm to find the carport light off. My first thought was of the bird’s nest.

As we approached the carport I tried to be a noisy as possible. I walked into the carport talking loudly, “I hope that bird is not in his nest. If so I hope he leaves.” Nothing. No flapping. Not even a flutter.

I approached the door slowly. I pushed my key into the slot and grasped the knob with my other hand. As I turned the key I crouched slightly and watched the nest. After the racket we made on our approach I seriously doubted that he was there, but I couldn’t be sure. I knew that if he were still in the nest he was sleeping. The door is a little swollen, so I thought the jarring action of twisting the knob might rouse him.

Still crouched, I turned the key to unlock the door. Though I could only see its bottom, I watched the nest for any sign of movement. I slowly twisted the knob. The door popped as the latch slid past the strike plate. The door jerked and shook slightly. I recoiled expecting the flutter of a startled, sleepy bird. Nothing.

I stood straight and walked into the house. My daughter was on the computer in the den. I said hello to her as my son followed me into the house. Soon both dogs and both cats came into the den to greet us, also. After the boy entered, I turned to close the door. That’s when all hell broke loose.

The first thing I heard was my daughter and son scream simultaneously, “THE BIRD!” Then I heard the familiar flapping and felt the familiar rush of wind as the bird flew over my head. Into our house.

My mind was racing. What should I do? Do we try to catch it? Do we try to shoo it out? What does Lowe’s do with all of those birds flapping around their ceilings?

As my mind raced, my body went into natural reflex mode. That is to say, I screamed like a girl.

I quickly suppressed that impulse and sprang into action. I turned on the outside light. The lights were off in the den, and I hoped he would see the light out side of the door and realize where freedom lay. I started moving toward the bird, still with no idea how to handle the situation.

This all took about one second. In that time the bird fluttered against the ceiling as he crossed the room. As he did this, our four animals sprinted in a fury, trying to keep up with him. Cats mewed. Dogs barked. Children screamed. Cats sprang. Dad’s screamed. Feathers flew. Dogs lurched.

When the bird reached the far side of the room, he tried to light on the chalk tray of the kids’ chalkboard. As soon as he touched the tray, a leaping cat met him there. Isabella, our female calico, sprang from the floor in an attempt to catch her newfound prey. She swatted and grasped at the bird, but she missed.

The bird returned to the relative safety of fluttering near the ceiling. The dogs and cats continued to follow him. The bird crossed the room again toward the fireplace. Maybe he thought he saw an escape. Maybe he was too panicked to notice the wall. Maybe he was flying as fast as possible to get away from the imminent threat of two dogs and two cats. Whatever the reason, he gained a little too much momentum and slammed into the wall. He crashed onto the hearth. Wiley, our male orange tabby, immediately scooped him up with his mouth and began to growl at the other animals.

I ran to the cat and pushed him out the still open carport door. Then, with visions of waking up to a bird carcass on the foot of my bed I locked the dog door.

We spent the next hour or so dealing with the trauma inflicted upon our 8 year-old. She stood by and witnessed Wild Kingdom ten feet in front of her. She didn’t care for it. First I had to assure her that the bird was not a mommy bird and did not leave behind any babies or eggs. Then we dealt with the fact that our beloved cat was now, in her eyes, a cold-blooded murderer. I assured her that cats like to play with their prey before they eat it. The bird likely flew away as soon as Wiley opened his mouth.

Luckily it was family movie night (which sometimes means TV shows on DVD.) Apparently season 1 of The Brady Bunch is a great cure for gloominess brought on by witnessing animals mauling other animals.

Wiley came back in the house later in the night. He showed up on the front porch less the bird. No blood. No feathers clinging to his chin. Maybe the bird really did get away. I just hope he’s not displaying it proudly on my bed as I type this. I’m not sure The Brady Bunch could cure that trauma.