And what’s worse, they’ve figured out that windows are basically a hoax. Or: Doris and the Domesticated Tit.

There was another encounter with a bird the other day. I don’t know anymore, about me and the birds. I think I’m being nice, putting food out way before that is even necessary. nice, and egocentric, cos I like having things moving around at the other side of the window. Makes it easier for me to sit down at my desk and do things. Scratch the niceness, those birds are being tolerated on my balcony purely for my entertainment and peace of mind.

My master-plan backfired somewhat. I took to the store and returned triumphantly with a decent German food-chain, or ‘Futterkette’. Peanuts and bits of tree and all that kind of stuff birds go num-nuts over. Methinks a philanthropist I shall play, but then  only with birds. A packet consisting of eight equal parts chow, ready to be turned into big piles of feather, ready for the winter. Last year all types of feathered friends found their way to the balcony, so this year would be just as fun, I thought. I thought.

There was ruffling of feathers, if I may say so, a mere minutes after I put the thing up. We are used to put clothes outside to air but we can’t, now that our balcony has turned into birdshit-ground zero. The moment you peek your head outside the door you’ll get dive-bombed. And what’s worse, they’ve figured out that windows are basically a hoax.

On a faithful morning, let’s say it was Wednesday, I was woken up by a  rustling of sorts. There was something moving about in my pencil vase that was not supposed to be moving about there. As I shot up the ceiling, it became apparent a bird had made its way to beyond the window (I’m one of those crazy snow people who insists on having the window open even if hell is about to freeze over). This happened before a summer ago, when the window was slightly more inviting for what’s outside to hop in. Wednesday, it was not. Yet somehow a bird made it through.

Birdie insisted to stay in, as we have such a lovely place. A pencil vase is a brilliant place to plan spawn into come spring. And please plant more poop onto my window sill! Perhaps this means good luck in Finland, I have no idea. Either way, I had just rudely been awakened -not a morning person, it takes about a barrel of coffee to make me civil, and then breakfast (brekkie! most important meal of the day folks), face painting, finding furniture with toes and knees, putting pants on, off, skirts, tights, ripping a hole into the tights so the tights need -MUST- be swapped for tights without holes, swap skirt, fall down, get up.

Getting on with it, I had just been rudely awakened. Staggering about, thinking what to do with the bird, perhaps keeping it in and making it docile (Doris and the Domesticated Tit), having it braid my hair just like in those Disney movies… but sooner rather than later it became apparent the bird would have to take back into nature. The other side of the window. Now, with a mind having the viscosity of lukewarm cauliflower at this hour, how would one possibly go about this?

Trying to persuade the bird to go back through the crack in the window, that’s right! Birds are smart and not at all skittish, they could easily follow my train of thought. Wrong, wrong, a thousand times wrong. Bird freaked out by me approaching the curtains, as a bird should. Bird went in between the two windows (we’re in Finland where all the windows come in two), insisting this was the way out. It was not. Bird took a dump.

I went outside trying to give the bird some space, and to chase the rest of the tribe of the railing (one bird in the building is quite enough, mind you). Came back in and made a second attempt in persuading bird to go whence he came. Yonder, beyond the glass. Of course, bird doesn’t like big yellow dish-gloves (thought that’s be wise) coming at him so after bird took another dump, bird took to the living room. There was now a living bird flopping, flipping and flapping about in our living room. I stayed behind in the bedroom horrified, hoping and praying it’d at least find a place to roost. It sort of hung above the curtain rail at some point. I managed to sneak out, open the door, and stay out on the balcony until birdie finally bolted out with a determination I have never seen in a bird.

And so concludes the quest of Doris and the Domesticated Tit (I really like that title). i am too afraid to keep the window open now so at night it’s like I’m slowly being toasted, like a marshmallow.

Image result for bob's burgers marshmallow

 

 

 

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