A Tale of Three Birds

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,” proclaim the opening lines of Charles Dickens most famous work of fiction. The 1859 novel, “A Tale of Two Cities,” is a tragic tale that concludes with a guillotining and the prophetic final thoughts of the victim.

Last Saturday we played out the final curtain call to our own little sad story that I have now entitled, “A Tale of Three Birds.” It began as a somewhat humorous, yet annoying situation, the best of times. Unfortunately, like Dickens novel it has ended in tragedy, a somewhat disturbingly saga I won’t soon forget. The worst of times.

On Saturday, June 18, 2009, three lifeless, feathered bodies were discovered on our front porch by our 11-year-old grandson, Cayden. I learned of the demise while my son, Cord, was helping me solve my computer back-up problem. Cayden came strolling in the room and asked if we had any ant spray. I assumed he'd seen an ant or two on the kitchen floor and remarked, “No we just use peppermint essential oil,” as a quick explanation of why we don't own a simple can of ant spray. In reality, having been introduced recently to the wonderful new world of doTerra essential oils, I know that peppermint in the point of entry is supposed to get rid of ants. However, although we've intended to try it if needed, we have never actually used it. Cayden just sat there silently and suddenly it occurred to me that there was probably a good reason why he'd asked. So I questioned, “Why? Do we have ants?”

It was then he told us about the three dead birds on our front porch, where apparently the ants were now gathering for a feast. Since my husband was not home, my son rushed outside to check out the grizzly scene and dispose of the poor unfortunate souls. As Cord came back into the house he expressed concern as to why his son was more distressed over the ants than the dead birds. I thought perhaps Cayden figured he couldn't do anything for the birds, but he could do something about the ants. Then again, knowing his loving attitude towards me, perhaps Cayden just wanted to spare me the sad news.

Now I must divert to the beginning of summer where this sad tale began. Two birds decided to begin a family by building their nest in the top pillar of our front porch covering. We were blissfully unaware, as my husband and teenage daughter, Kenzi, who is our last remaining child at home, enter in and out of the garage door where their cars are parked. We became aware of the nest after the eggs were already laid, as the new parents went into protection mode, swarming over the heads of those trying to enter our sanctuary.

Much to my dismay, our front porch was a mess with bird droppings and nesting material. There was also a reoccurring message playing in my head about how bird nests and bird feeders attract ticks! Our girls, coming and going, complained about the birds overhead and I mentally pictured the birds pecking their heads much as the birds did in the horrific old 1963 Alfred Hitchcock movie, “The Birds.” I was suddenly aghast, going into mother bear mode, protecting her cubs. Much to my own shock and amazement I heard myself telling my husband he needed to shoot the birds or at least knock down their nest with a broom and bash their little heads in! My husband's kind eyes widened at my shocking words, as we both realized my father's practical animal killing ways had rubbed off me more than I'd previously realized. My girls were somewhat horrified at my words as well, scared of the attacking birds, yet still sympathetic to their parental needs. My youngest grandson, Isaac, who is three, apparently a silent observer to this conversation, told his dad later in the day that he needed to get his gun and shoot grandma's birds! My hero! Unfortunately I've probably scarred him for life! Ah! Another good one to complain to Oprah about when he’s grown!

Continuing with my little tale of woe, I was finally convinced of the practical, more charitable need of allowing the eggs to be hatched before the nest was cleared away. I resigned myself to the little germ ridden mess greeting our visitors. Did I mention I once read an article about bird feeders and birds attracting ticks? Deer apparently attract them too. So while I might have formerly had a soft spot in my heart for these beautiful scenes of nature, it has vanished with my visions of their potential germ carrying diseases. I do love and enjoy nature where it was intended to be . . . in trees, meadows, forests, mountains, or on YouTube where they belong . . . not invading my personal space!

Alas, our “Tale of Three Birds” had a very unpredictable ending. While the eggs finally hatched and three little baby bird heads appeared over the top of the nest, they were doomed, eventually falling to their death on the cold hard cement below! I find I have new completely unexplained anger now for the bird parents, a mixture of sympathy and I told you so. Stupid birds! They should know better than to build their nests over cement. It’s true that we only have one small tree in our yard, but the neighbors have trees a plenty! Next year we WILL knock down any potential nests before they begin, saving unknown lives and emotional suffering! Just like in the final sentence of A Tale of Two Cities, “It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done!”