There's a certain smell around this time of year, when the ground is supposed to be covered in snow but isn't and the birds come out looking for food but there's none. Except at my house. There's an apple tree out front that blooms every autumn. Being the apple-lover that I am you might be surprised to know that I have yet to taste any of the fruit from that tree. Why? Perhaps the same reason that the birds, too, enjoy the fruit: worms. And so the apples hang there as the first snow falls and the birds eat what they can before they fly south for the winter or burrow in their nests or do whatever else their particular species prefers, and then when the Wasatch Front psyches them out with little hints of Spring--that's when I call upon a quote from Lord of the Rings : "It's times like that, my boy, when you have to be extra careful."
If you've ever known me in the Spring, Summer, and/or Fall, you might already know that while I don’t have a phobia of birds, I do have reason to be cautious around.
Episode 1: When I was young, probably seven or eight years old, a friend of mine secretly hid my sandwich at the base of a small tree at the park. Of course I couldn't just leave it there, and I was probably hungry, so I wandered over to the tree and stooped to pick it up--just in time to learn what the phrase "near miss" really meant. A bird protecting her babies higher up in the tree dive-bombed me once, twice, three times as I squealed all the way back to the pavilion. I never did get to eat the rest of that sandwich, but the awful screeching of that bird is always brought back to mind when the word "Zena" is ever used in a regular conversation.
Episode 2: Two summers ago, I set out to break my feet back into flip flops for the season and headed around the shorter side of the block. To go that way, I had to pass the patches of trees along the road. Life experience will of course tell you that birds naturally live in trees. But these were so tall and I was such a small target I thought I would be safe. I was wrong. Not only was I chased by a small black bird, but it followed me by jumping from tree to tree, squawking its displeasure at my presence. What made it worse? The joke was on me. That was actually the long way around the block.
Episode 4 (since I can't really think of an Episode 3, but I'm sure there's one out there somewhere…): Last Fall I discovered there was a nest in the V of the apple tree outside my door. I never noticed it before, since the only time I spent any length of time at the door was to leave early in the morning or when I came home at night. I'm no expert, but I think those were the times it went out to gather food for the babies, though I never saw any little birds in the nest either. Then one day I left home closer to noon. As I locked the bolt and clutched my purse for the walk to the driveway, I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. When I left the house I was walking. By the time I made it to the tree I had sprinted down the sidewalk, thrown open the car door, jumped inside and sat there watching this disgruntled bird squawk and jump up and down on a branch, expressing its deepest displeasure at my presence. Before driving away I heard myself say, "But…but I live here!"
The point: I do not now, nor will I ever, desire to own or be responsible for a bird. My real description for this time of year? Duck and cover, my friend. Duck and cover.
Boxster on the other hand has somehow made them his friends. Well, sort of. They allow each other to cohabitate in the general vicinity of our backyard. That may be the only explanation I ever get of how Boxster escaped from the yard yesterday. It's conceivable that he got the gate open. I know he's capable of running at speeds similar to that of the wind (or so it seems when he's running away from you). But in no way can I possibly imagine him closing the gate behind him (he's not that polite). Somehow the gate was wedged closed after he escaped, leaving him stranded out in the cold and cruel world ALL DAY LONG. I don't know where he went. I don't know what he did. I don't know whom he associated with or how far he wandered. But when I came home he was covered in dirt, exhausted, thirsty, and had the saddest little puppy dog face in the world as if to say miserably, "Mom…..???"
He walks a little funny now, like he has sticks stuck in his legs, or a broomstick shoved along his spine. He doesn't whimper when we touch him, and he doesn't lick anywhere unusual as if to indicate pain. He just wobbles along uncomfortably when you call his name from across the room. He kind of reminds me of a puppet. If he hasn't turned back into a real boy by the end of the week I'll take him to the vet.
Regardless of what happened, I'm almost positive the birds had something to do with it…
The baby kicks and stretches in there a LOT more lately. I can tell he is getting stronger every week. I only have 7 more weeks left to enjoy my first pregnancy--an experience I will never get back! Sometimes I get a kick in the ribs, or a foot or a knee (it’s hard to tell the two apart) shoved behind my belly button. Danny says my belly button looks like a Japanese eyeball, but I prefer to think of it as a satisfaction of curiosity. How many people with an "inny", as they say, ever get to see what the back of their belly button really looks like? Newsflash: it's not that interesting. But feeling the baby move--especially when it catches me by surprise--makes me smile so big I feel like I glow.
And so without further ado… (roll credits)
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