I’m not a big “luck” or “omen” person, so I’ll need some help from those of you out there who are. Is there any significant meaning behind not one, not two, but being a witness to the death of three birds within the past three weeks?
Two weeks ago, while I was enjoying a lovely morning under the gazebo, writing my little heart out, my adorable yet slightly naughty shih poo, Kasey, plucked a robin from the air and started playing with it. The robin did not find this as much fun as Kasey, as he died in the process. These things ALWAYS happen when I’m home by myself. Last summer, I had to dispose of another product of Kasey’s avian tomfoolery, as well as a live crawfish thrown over the fence by our crazy neighbors, so I was not in the mood to take another creature to the trash bin. I did what any lady would do.
I left the bird there. I went out to the driveway and sat with my coffee and a notebook and waited (hoped!) for one of my manly neighbors to come out of their house and save the day. Alas! No one did. So the bird waited for my own manly man to come home and take care of it.
Last week, while on my way to a writing camp (more on camp in a subsequent post!), a bird who clearly had no regard for life, flew into the upper right hand corner of my windshield. My reaction was a yelp and a call to Dave. I had joined Kasey in the bird-murdering ranks.
And then there’s today.
Since the sprinklers were on in our backyard, I camped out at the kitchen table with my laptop. I was working on attempting to rewrite the first chapter of my novel in 1st person POV (not going so well) when I heard a loud thump. I’ve heard that telltale sound before while in my classroom (In a room with 7 windows, a few bird mishaps are bound to happen.). In my 2nd story classroom however, I don’t have to worry about the aftermath of a bird flying into a window. This morning, after hearing the thump, I turned with dread toward the back deck. In front of me was a lovely little gold finch, flapping his wings as he flopped around on the deck. I found myself saying, “Oh no, oh no…” as I watched his wings settle and his little beak open and shut, open and shut. I could almost hear his tiny pleas, “Help me! Help me!” But I couldn’t help him (Truth be told, I contemplated calling the Humane Society for a moment). I pulled the shades closed so that Kasey wouldn’t notice him and peeked out a minute later to see him completely still.
Three dead birds in three weeks.
What does this mean???
While I wait to hear your thoughts, I think I’ll head out to the driveway. There’s got to be someone in the neighborhood just waiting to save the day…