A Foul Run Afoul

The warm, summer breezes have ushered in new additions to the grounds of my abode – blooming flowers, lush grass, sprouting weeds, and a new companion. He joins me during the daytime hours on the screened-in porch, which serves as a gentle portal to the sun’s harsh rays beating down across the backyard. An escape from the heat while still communing with nature, the space is a welcoming enclosure for man and beast alike.

My first encounter with the unexpected visitor was complete with a proper greeting to my new-found friend.

“What the hell?! There’s a bird in here,” I said.

His presence brought forth a gentle reminder of Mother Nature’s transition of seasons, but I decided the winged guest would be more comfortable in familiar surroundings, so with the wave of my broom, I kindly escorted him out the door and wished him well in all his endeavors.

“Get outta here, bird!”

After a wink and a smile, I untied the wires holding up the doggy door that the previous home owners had fashioned in place, as that was clearly how my feathered neighbor had been coming and going.

Not quite a week had passed, however, when I noticed him again residing in the porch. The industrious creature was not swayed by the sealed doggy door. A careful review of the screens around the perimeter revealed a few gaps where the netting was not attached to the structure’s wooden posts.

I delighted in the prospect of the challenge before me.

“Damn it!” I yelled to no one in particular.

After hurrying to my toolbox, I crudely reattached each gap in the screens with my trusty staple gun. I didn’t want my airborne friend to feel unwelcome, I was simply looking out for him. I knew that in his own environment, he could thrive; soaring among the clouds and the tree limbs that danced across them.

Upon completing my task, I once again whooshed him out the door and hoped that he would continue to visit me whenever I ventured outside the porch and into the yard.

“Now beat it, you flying, disease-carrying rat.”

Mere hours later I gazed into the porch, admiring the work I had not planned on performing, but would nonetheless appreciate while sitting bird-free in my sanctuary.

Only it wasn’t bird-free.

His return left me feeling slightly deflated, but I wanted him to know I admired his persistence and determination.

“F*#k you, bird! Do you hear me? F*#k you!!”

It appeared he had now entered through one or multiple holes that either previously existed, or that he had created by continually pecking at the screen. I was forced to resort to the even cruder solution of applying duct tape to said holes. It was a move that ignored aesthetics and focused solely on eliminating the bird’s return. It was also a move that, an hour later, proved ineffective.

Admittedly I was a tad frustrated. I let out a quiet sigh, humbled by my failure to adequately secure the enclosure.

“That’s it, I’m buying a bb gun,” I told him. “I’m going to wipe the Earth clean of your species. Then I’m going to wipe out all species of birds. Maybe bats too. After that I’ll destroy every last flying insect I come across. Nothing with wings will exist on this planet ever again!”

I could sense that the bird now feared me. The way he looked me in the eye and relieved himself on my patio chair told me that he took my threat seriously. At this point, my wife provided me with a window into his refusal to retreat. Or should I say, ‘her’ refusal.

“I thought I heard some chirping in the rafters, so I took a peak up there,” Brigitte said. “There’s a nest and some babies.”

Suddenly the bird’s ambition was clear. And I ceased referring to it as ‘him’. She was a momma and she was taking care of her young. I felt my irritation soften.

“I think we’ll have to let her in, and we can’t move the nest or she’ll abandon the babies,” Brigitte noted.

With a family of my own, I sympathized with the bird and agreed we must let the mother nurse her young until they were ready to soar alongside her. However, thoughts of what may come weighed heavy on my mind.

“I’m just afraid that while we wait for the babies to leave, another one will get in here, build a nest, lay more eggs and before we know it, there will be bird shit everywhere,” I said.

Pondering this, my wife agreed that the situation presented quite a conundrum.

“Yeah,” she said.

So far, however, no other visitors have stopped by. And the momma and her babies have not been seen for a couple days. It seems they’ve taken to the outside world, and I’m actually starting to miss them and their melodic songs. Sure, I bought some rubber snakes to put in the rafters, but still.

Good luck, birds.

Where's My Mutant Bank Teller?

If you’ve turned on your TV for five minutes in the last two weeks, you’ve probably seen previews for a movie called Splice. The premise looks easy enough to understand – scientists, or at least two people who stole a couple of white coats, toy around in a lab until they create a being that’s half human, half Fox News correspondent. Then the Ann Coulter baby tries to devour its creators and wreak havoc for registered Democrats AND Republicans. No one is safe.

I’m not going to watch this movie and I advise that you don’t either. For one thing, it’s not an original premise. Humans creating things that come to life and turn on them has been seen since at least as far back as Frankenstein. And without knowing how it ends, I imagine most of the movie is pretty predictable. What do the main characters think will happen by tinkering with the DNA of someone from Fox, anyway?

I’d like to see a movie where people take some genomes here, some genomes there, and create a pig/bird/hippo human baby, then raise it and send it off to public school. They could show it playing soccer or t-ball with his peers, learning to ride a bike, participating poorly in spelling bees… or maybe it would do well in spelling bees. Who knows? Surprise us. Don’t have it become class president, though, or take the cutest girl to the senior prom. That’s a little too Teen Wolf or Encino Man. The movie needs to have some foothold in reality, and I imagine a kid with a beak and a curly tail would face just a little criticism from middle schoolers.

It may sound dull, but the movie should be devoid of any extremes. Despite the ridicule he’s sure to receive, I don’t want any scenes where the hippo kid loses control and takes a gun to school, or cries for 3/4s of the movie and then overcomes his adversity to get nominated to the Supreme Court (we’ve seen that already with Justice Scalia). Nothing that teaches valuable lessons or spins a heart-warming tale. Just show his family going to Applebee’s or visiting him at his telemarketing job. Life can’t be all about slithering on the ground and eating everyone you come across. At some point you have to renew your car insurance, no matter how many monkey paws you have.

And it absolutely should not become a super hero or super villain. We’ve definitely seen that before. Every theatrical mutant creature either wants to save the world or destroy it. Something about mixing the genes of people with the genes of animals creates a crazy amount of ambition. Give me a break! If there’s a half-man, half-horse running around, he’s not stopping bank robbers, he’s most likely driving the Greyhound I just passed.

But I get it. That’s not entertaining. Well, here’s betting that Splice isn’t either.