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Hitchcock was right, the birds are out to get us! By J. G. Fabiano
It was that time of year again. The sun was getting warmer and what little snow we had was no more than a memory. I pulled both of my cars out of the garage so that I could find and clean my garden tools that had been hibernating for the past eight months. To my surprise everything that was mechanical worked and those that were left were remarkably unbroken. I picked up my shovel, hoe, and rake, and off to the garden I went. The garden looked as though it was asleep. Nothing was growing, not even a weed. Last fall I covered it with a thick coat of leaves and grass-clippings hoping the long winter months would saturate it with natural fertilizers. For the first time in months I stepped on its moist surface ready to turn its soil in order to begin the process of growth. Then, from the corner of my eye I saw something move. A second later I was under attack. Lunging toward me was a black and white bird with both wings extended. It had a long neck with a black stripe in the middle, its beak was long and looked very sharp and its eyes were an unnatural and evil orange. It probably looked bigger than it actually was because its feathers were puffed out but the most effective part of its attack was its sound. Its shriek was well above the pain threshold and as my ears throbbed I wondered if its talons were equally as piercing. I was so stunned I didn't move. The bird continued to lunge at me, shrieking and flapping its wings and I was so mesmerized I failed to notice a second bird of the same species swoop down from the willow tree to buzz my head. It then landed on the ground right in front of me to begin an advance on foot. At this point I dropped all my garden tools but the shovel, which I brandished like a club to defend myself. Then the bird on the ground began dragging one of its wings so it looked hurt and I immediately felt guilty at having thought for a moment that I might bash its brains out if it came any closer. All the time the birds kept up their shrill audio attack, the first bird flapping its wings and lunging in at me then backing off and coming in at me again, the second bird coming right up to my feet under the pretence of injury to peck at my garden boots. I decided that rather than risk injury to myself, or the birds, the wisest course of action was to retreat so I turned carefully away and stepped on the rake which flew up and smacked me full length from crotch to nose. For a second I thought the shrieks of the birds had turned to cackles of laughter! I backed away from what I decided were clearly two rabid creatures and as soon as I was off the garden the birds flew happily back into the willow trees. However the first bird was watching me now and it was a decidedly weird experience to feel as if I was being stalked, in my own backyard. I walked back out into the garden to retrieve my tools. The bird immediately swooped down at me again, flapping and shrieking, and this time I stepped on the shovel so that the handle swung up and whacked me in the forehead with a force that sent me staggering backwards. I retreated again, nursing the beginnings of what I knew was a beautiful shiner, and pondered my next move. The attack bird then lighted on a rock in the midst of a pile of loam and strutted around a bit, no doubt feeling proud of itself, and I surmised that the pair of them had a nest in there. I decided my next step should be to gather intelligence on my opponent. I went inside, got out our bird book and looked up what kind of birds these were. It turned out these winged fiends were members of the plover family, of a genus commonly known as the Killdeer. The birds shrieking calls did sound like "kill-deeah" and I had no doubt between the pair of them they could kill, skin and cut up a mature deer and maybe even a fully-grown man! Reading further I learned that the Killdeer are adept at distracting intruders from their nests or young. An adult would run with outstretched wings or fly directly towards intruders and, apparently, there have been instances of them attacking livestock and pecking the odd cow or two on the muzzle when they didn't get the message. I wondered if I should report the ache in my groin and the welt on my forehead from the garden tools the birds had so cunningly used against me. I also found out what I already knew; that these birds work together very effectively as a team when they are protecting their nest. If flying around and calling loudly does not drive the intruder away the other bird performs a distraction display, commonly called a broken wing act. I realized I had just undergone a National Geographic experience on the nesting habits of the Killdeer. I decided I would wait a day or two to retrieve my garden tools. The very next day it snowed a late spring snowstorm. I went out to see how the plovers were doing and I saw the mommy plover's head sticking out of a mound of snow where the nest was, while the daddy plover went off in search of food. The mommy plover's head swiveled around like a tank turret, its beady orange eyes scouring the landscape for signs of threat, missing nothing. It saw me and stopped, staring directly at me, daring me to try something. I decided the garden tools could stay there a day or two longer!
The End
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