Oz Whiston writing as Oz Drummond (birdhousefrog) wrote,
Oz Whiston writing as Oz Drummond

What I Meant to Say...

A dead bird discovered on the living room rug reminded me of what I had really intended to post. I was going to post it yesterday. It's been rattling in my brain. But as I was working on the Mouse King and tax returns, I didn't. Sometimes I should just blog when the thought comes.

Yes, the dead bird is rather sad and disgusting. At least it's still in one piece. If the dog finds it, it won't be. Note to self: dispose of bird (deceased).

Emma Bull has been posting about her experiences under a new lj. And in that, she posted about the typical Renaissance Fair custom of yelling "Make Way for..." when someone is coming through. I know many people who attend said fairs. I just haven't gotten around to it yet. The Maryland one has only been there for 25 years now.

Anyhoo. Mrs. Gaines (now known as Mrs. DeLashmutt-Gaines in honor of E's first grade teacher) is a small 7lb death machine. Far more so than the boys. She climbs and jumps well (runs along the roof frequently). She doesn't limit herself to mice. She's an equal opportunity birder as well, much to our dismay. I've seen her leap and take one out of the air. She also goes nest-diving, climbing trees and shrubs with ease and disdain. For two seasons now she has had something of a following. Birds that dog her steps outdoors and chitter at her.

We lived in a townhouse almost ten years ago where a pair of mockingbirds dogged Sneakers (now deceased and on the shelf with the rest of the dead cats). Sneakers was not a birder, though he was an opportunist. These mockingbirds would dive at him and make nasty sounds around his head. It drove him insane. He would come into the townhouse on one side and ask to go out again on the other. Within 5 minutes they would find him and start all over. He was unfairly persecuted and I always felt sorry for him.

Not so, Mrs. D-G. She deserves everything birds do to her. For the first year or so, the birds were in shock and did nothing. Last year, they harassed her a bit. This year, it's a Renaissance Fair. Anywhere that cat goes, this catbird follows her and calls. It sits just above her in a tree, on the roof antenna and lets everything know her location.

"Make Way! Make Way! Make Way for the Queen of Destruction!"

And she comes up the path, swaggering, never acknowledging the cacophony that accompanies her, supremely indifferent to it, as royalty should be. She is indeed the Queen of Destruction.

Frog Out
Tags: farm

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