Dirty Birds

I’m really not fond of birds – not at all. Birds as pets – no. Birds sitting outside on my porch – no way. Birds leaving me little charcoal and white presents on my picnic table – absolutely not! I don’t know – I have this thing, birds are dirty. Of course, everyone knows this – right? But at what age did I come upon this knowledge and what do we really know about dirty birds?

Well, humans can get diseases from dead birds, live birds, and bird poop. Certain bird diseases can be caught by humans by ingesting or more commonly inhaling the feces of infected birds. Nice, right? Diseases that birds, and their droppings, can carry can become airborne and transferred to us humans just by being around their crap! Uggg. So my philosophy is – stay away from birds! They carry diseases, they have lice and mites, and they can make you terribly sick.

I remember when the boys were little if they picked up a bird feather, I would flip out! Drop the feather – wash your hands – get the hand sanitizer – whatever. Uggg. But I disliked birds long before the boys came along. When I was a kid, we had birds, Bo and Luke Duke, in the house. I liked them from what I remember. So when did I come to hate birds? I’m really not sure.

Well, let’s see. Once, when I was little, I was at Gram’s house sitting and watching out her big picture window. Gram fed the birds outside during winter; she took really good care of them. She had a cute red bench, and on her red bench, she had the prettiest big, white bird feeder that she always kept full of the best bird food. I especially loved the bright red birds and blue jays. She had so many birds, red, blue, black, whatever and they never lacked an ample supply of bird food, with sunflower seeds, or torn up pieces of delicious bread.

So, I’m sitting there one day watching out the picture window as the birds were enjoying their gourmet food when a bird came flying full force straight into the window and immediately fell to the ground. I was so upset. “Gram, look at the bird, it’s dead.” I assumed, scrunching my face up against the window to see the bird that was directly beneath me.
“No, it’s not dead. It’s just stunned. It will be okay.” Gram said.
“Well, we should bring it inside.” I replied.

Now, I was, oh, I don’t know about 7, I’m guessing, maybe I was a little bit older, I don’t know. Why in the world would my grandmother even entertain the thought of going out and bringing in a wild bird? I have no idea. But, she told me to go out and get it. She gave me a paper towel and out I went into the cold to retrieve the stunned bird. I stood over that little bird and looked at it; then I looked up and Gram who was watching me out the window. I was afraid to pick it up. I looked at the bird then back to Gram, back and forth, and I just couldn’t bring myself to pick it up. Soon, Gram was coming outside, and I handed her the paper towel that she gave me. She picked up the little stunned bird and off we went back inside where it was nice and toasty.

Guess what happened, that dirty little bird came to. There was brief adoration from us, as she held it in her hands, and then off it flew through the house. I screamed as it flew back the hallway to her bedroom. On its way back out to the living room, I screamed again and ran and hid behind the chair under the little living room window. Gram was chasing after the bird and telling me that I needed to help her, but there was no way that I was coming out from behind the safety of that tan, flowered chair. I honestly can’t remember how she did get it, I think it flew behind a wall painting, but how she got it from there, I have no idea. Because, well, I was behind the chair screaming.

After it was all over with, and we were retelling the story, she said that I wouldn’t help her catch it and what did I tell her to bring it inside for in the first place. I said, what in the world was she listening to me for anyway, after all, I’m just a kid, she’s the adult.

I started by saying that I’m not fond of birds. But it’s more than that; it’s an actual hatred of those disease flying pests. Perhaps the bird flying through the house was the beginning of my deep seated abhorrence of birds. I don’t know; but, I certainly wasn’t worried about it being dirty that day. Nonetheless, wherever my bird hatred came from, birds are just about last on my list of God’s wonderful creatures that I want to care for.

So, much unlike my grandmother, there’s no bird feeder at my house. No bird house for them to take up residence in. No worrying that they have enough food. No going out in the winter to sweep the snow away from around the red bench and feeder to make their access easier. No nothing. Sorry dirty little birds. You’ll have to go somewhere else. 

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