A few days ago, I was walking around and a chicken across the street was looking at me in a nefarious fashion. He was with some other chickens; I suspect they were a gang. I think I saw one of them wearing a bandana.
What were they doing there, anyway? I guess it’s to be expected. It was SOUTH of center street. Sometimes I see un-mown lawns when I’m on that side of town. I, on the other hand, live in a classier joint on the north side with my bed propped on cinderblocks, several box-springs hanging out in front of my door, and two 7-11s within a four block radius, both of which I frequent often.
Chicken’s bodies are so gross. Their bodies are shaped like a cursivey ‘l’ and then there are all those feathers, and the sharp, wrinkly talons…and then there’s the clucking. They make these noises out of the back of their throats that says, “I don’t care about you, you’re the dumbest thing ever, and given the chance I’m going to suffocate you to death with my ample feathers!” They’re such jerks. Or sometimes they just stare at you with their beady little eyes, opening and closing their beaks in silence and wandering aimlessly around the pen or the lawn or the field, lifting up their legs much higher than necessary, leaving a mini dirt cloud in their wake. Oh chickens. You fiends! You are my second least favorite bird!
Anyway, I had a stare-down with this chicken across the street. To be honest, I’m still pretty unsure about what he was doing there, 400 south or no 400 south. But regardless, there he and his hoodlum posse were. After about a minute, the chicken started advancing towards me and I had to make a run for it. I think he even might’ve had a gun. Or maybe like…some nun-chucks. I don’t know. I don’t know. I’m just saying the situation was tense. So I made a run for it. No one can blame me.
My first least favorite bird is the pigeon. They are the grossest birds in the animal kingdom. And listen, it’s not like I wish ill on them. I don’t want all pigeons to suddenly drop dead and fall from the sky. To be fair, that’s partly because the only thing more terrifying to me than a pigeon is a dead pigeon. My next worst fear is of stepping on a dead bird. So if all the pigeons got the bird flu and their little corpses were littering the city, I would not only be sad and weepy, but also terrified out of my mind and probably curled up in a well-lit kitchen with all the doors locked, a blanket over my head and a broom in hand.
Once there was a herd of pigeons outside of a 7-11 I was attempting to patronize. Pigeons aren’t motorcycling thugs like chickens. They are usually more of a calculating evil, and elitists to boot. It’s something about the noises they make and the grey hue of their feathers. It’s upsetting and revolting.
So the story is, I was trying to walk in the door to get a soda and two or five doughnuts, but this herd of pigeons was blocking my way. I stomped around waving my arms and alternated making high and low pitched noises to try to signal that I wanted to walk past, but to no avail! Clearly they did not want to play nice, but since I was dead scared of them, I retreated a few steps and stood as still as possible, waiting to make my move.
Suddenly there was a gap. I swiftly grabbed the opportunity by the…by the, uh, proverbial…handle? Hmmm.
I point is, I jumped over those pigeons, covering my eyes and screaming the whole way! I ran through the automatic doors, hoping they would close fast enough to prevent the pigeons from following, but just in case I grabbed bags of chips to use as ammo in case of an attack. Luckily the pigeons did not follow me, and by the time I had purchased a soda and wanted to leave, the herd had dissipated. Really, though, it was a close call. It’s all politics and mind-games with those guys.
I should also mention that my sister who is older than me but does not own a swish-swish cardigan was with me at the time, but had very little tolerance for me, because apparently she is some sort of super-human who doesn’t want to vomit when she thinks about pigeons. I don’t know what that’s all about.
There’s this scene in Home Alone…2, I think it is, that inspires a physical reaction in me somewhat akin to being on fire and trying to throw up a watermelon at the same time. First of all, there’s that bird lady who’s always like, “feed the birds…tuppence a bag…” and then she sings about it. But actually when I looked up how to spell ‘tuppence’ I realized that is Mary Poppins and that they don’t sing in Home Alone 2.
So the details are hazier than I thought. However, there is still a bird lady in Home Alone 2 and she’s like “feed my pigeons!” Like they belong to her. But I guess she does sit around and feed them all day, so she probably has some claim on them. Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with feeding birds, but she lets them sit all over her which is gross enough in and of itself. But that’s not the worst part. No. The worst part is in the end, when the robber men who hate Macaulay Culkin (who, I just found out after googling how to spell his name, was dating Mila Kunis for eight years? What? I had no idea) are chasing after him, and they probably slip a lot, and get a bunch of injuries that quite honestly should be fatal. Anyway, they are in a park and the bird lady pops out and throws tons of birdseed on them, and the pigeons attack! And THAT is what has provided fodder for my nightmares ever since. Being covered by pigeons eating stuff off my flesh is the most horrifying thing I can imagine. I would probably pass out from fear and disgust. I hope I would pass out.
It’s revolting. I do have a list of favorite birds, though. And by “favorite” I mean “least upsetting and fine from a distance” and by “list” I mean two. Quails are my favorite. They can fly, but they don’t usually. They run around, bobbing their little things on their heads. Baby quail sometimes follow in a row, and they are potentially the cutest things in the entire world. Ducks are pretty awesome too. I mean, I don’t want to go cuddle with them (unless the duck in question is in fact a duckling…then that’s a whole different story) but I watch respectfully from a safe distance and admire. Plus ducks never try to get up in my face, and I appreciate that. We can coexist.
I’m not a hater. I’m just a girl who knows the truth about birds and once ran over a dead rodent with her bicycle and then threw up in a ditch. That’s all. Peace, love, and rainbows.