An employee of a small town "liberry" chronicles his quest to remain sane while dealing with patrons who could star in a short-lived David Lynch television series.

Friday, May 07, 2004

I haven't even left the house and someone's already given me the bird!

Got up today, grabbed some breakfast and coffee and sat down on the couch to see if anything decent was on any of the music channels (there was, but just barely).

Out of the corner of my eye I see something flit. I turn to look but don't see anything. Then, before I could even look away, there it flitted again. What the? Then my eyes locked onto it and I saw that sitting on the top shelf of our brown book shelves was a little brown bird. Great! Another bird in the house. What is it with Friday mornings and birds in my house? It's my own fault for leaving the back door wide open again, screen and all.

Rather than leave my cereal and sausage to go in search of a pillowcase with which to capture my new friend, I just looked at it and said, "Hey, bird, get out of the house!"

The bird tweeted and flew back out the door. Problem solved, no?

No.

Less than a minute later, I see more peripheral flitting. The bird is back, only this time he's on the back of the chair. The first time he came in may have been an accident, but he apparently wanted a second look around.

"Hey, bird!"

Tweet, fly, fly, fly... out the door again.

I decided this was not behavior to be encouraged and got up to close the screen. He hadn't flown far, though. He was outside on the deck railing, looking at the door like he was thinkin' about flyin' through it again. One look at me in the doorway, though, and he tweeted and flew away entirely.

It was another five minutes before I discovered the present he'd left for me on the floor by the back door.

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