Luck, Laughter and Love

Since ancient times, birds have been perceived in a wide variety of ways.
Their ability to fly has caused them to be seen as symbols of power and freedom.  Myths and legends cast birds as the connection between Planet Earth and another world.  They are also frequently associated with the journey of the soul to heaven.  However, birds also have negative connotations- ones of war, death and misfortune.  On the other hand, different species represent strength, love and wisdom.  But legends aren’t just about the birds themselves.  Age-old beliefs dictate that the faeces of birds are beneficial to the “lucky ones” they land on.

The ominous PLOP is preceded by a rushing moment when I can hear nothing but the animal- the swoop of its wings, its talons as they brush my shoulder, and then its satirical cackle as it departs; mission fulfilled.  Expecting the worst, I glance down.  There, confronting me with disgusting reality, is a small patch of bird droppings; off white mixed with brown, congealing quicker than scientifically possible.  The scream builds at my throat, stemming somewhere from the immediate nausea I feel at my stomach.  Within minutes, a posse converges upon me, forming a circle I cannot possibly hope to extricate myself from.  I don’t know which is worst- the insane ones who order me to preserve the god-awful droppings for good luck, the revolting ones who demand that they be given some, or the heartless ones whose bodies convolute with paroxysms of silent laughter, who roll on the concrete until tears stream down their faces and they can’t see any more.  

Ornithophobia: the irrational fear of birds.  It may seem hilarious to those who are not plagued by it, but ornithophobics, when faced with their worst fear (birds), will react in outrageous ways, often in an unconscious manner.  The condition ranges from a strong dislike of birds to an extreme, overwhelming fear, and from tiny sparrows to colossal eagles.  One patient may go weak at the knees at the sight of a parrot, but stay calm in the face of an albatross. Heart palpitations and intense sweating are just a few of the symptoms which ornithophobics could have to deal with.  Because of the common presence of birds in the outdoors, ornithophobia at its height could result in an inability to leave the house, or participate in everyday activities.  Like several other phobias, ornithophobia has been known to manifest itself in a person after an unpleasant incident involving the subject of fear.  

The park was my only refuge.  It is embarrassing to admit, but it was the one place I was able to escape the clutches of my husband, who was more likely to launch himself headfirst into a stone well than stop talking about his new job. There was a strange sense of bliss in knowing that nothing could disturb me here, except maybe ducks fighting over dinner.  I was just settling down with my Agatha Christie compilation when the voices floated into my range of hearing, proving me wrong.
“Put that bread down RIGHT NOW!”
“No!” came the distant wail in answer.  
“Once they’re chasing after you with those big, orange beaks of theirs-”
“You don’t understand!”                                                                                                                                                                “Well, don’t come running to me when-“
I hid my furtive smile as a young girl- ten at the oldest- danced into view.  Cheeks flaming, swatting her long, wavy hair away with her knobbly arms.  The mother, resigned to her fate, glaring in the background.  She clutched a slice of bread in one clenched fist as she marched towards the river bank.  The gaggle of geese hurried over eagerly, tripping over each other’s feet to get there.  Ripping shreds off purposefully, she dealt them, cards of wheat, as best she could.  They disappeared so quickly I was unsure of their initial existence.  Then, moments later, the crowd headed toward her, a swarm of devils, appetite incensed.  It was a huge tribute to her bravery that she did not run immediately.  There was a squawking like I had never heard before, followed by low, guttural sounds that I would never have believed of geese.  She flung the rest of the bread at them, hoping to save herself, and then inched away, the first tendrils of fear creeping into her eyes.  She was nowhere near fast enough.  Bread consumed, they cried in rage and began to pursue her retreating figure, a sea of white with orange feet and beaks breaking the surface occasionally.  I turned my attention to the girl, who was sprinting as if her life depended upon it.  Which, in her view, it probably did.

 She was taking the motorway to her mother.  
Any biologist, or even a parent, for that matter, will tell you that most children, whether they are animals or humans, are primarily attached to their mothers in the early stages of life.  Especially in the cases of animals which do not mate for life, many grow up not knowing their fathers, who will, in all probability, be busy siring another set of children.  While there are several birds which mate for life, there is evidence which shows that there also many which do not, in which case it is likely that the mother will single-handedly raise the child.  Recent research has shown that canary mothers send messages to their unborn children (by changing conditions within the egg) to communicate to them what life will be like outside in the world.  Geese are famous for protecting their offspring, and those who threaten (or cause the mother to think they are threatening) its brood, could be treated brutally.  However, some birds prefer to adopt the motto “tough love”.  Hens are the best example, giving the chick everything it needs to know for the first few years of its life.  Then, it’s goodbye.  The chick can do little except sulk, and then get on with its life.  

“Pigeons.  They freak me out!  Did you even see…”
“Oh, do shut up.”  It is a much, much milder version of putting it.
We chew our slices in silence; one layer of heavenly caramel disappearing into another.  Some unconscious part of me is aware that tiny crumbs are falling to the ground, right beside a circle of ducklings at our feet.  Moments later, I am hyper aware of a minute pressure under my foot.  I glance down to see a small, yellow ball of fluff under my foot, squeaking almost inaudibly.  “AHHHHH!” Please, please, let this not be happening.  The small ball quivers, shockingly vulnerable.  Have ducklings always been that small?  Are they meant to be yellow?  Suddenly I can actually see stars; for the first time in my life, I am certain I am living somebody else’s. It croaks weakly, and pity melts in parts of me I didn’t know existed.  Feathers lie in a one metre radius of the bird, which stirs in what I presume to be agony.  Its pale skin, starkly in contrast with the khaki grass, befuddles my mind until everything looks extra bright, like I’ve turned on the thermal effect on a camera.  Haven’t I always been the one who starts crying at dead birds on the street?  Who yells at her parents to stop the car mid-road for sparrows making a bid for freedom?  I feel panic grip my heart; a vice so tight I cannot breathe.  The creature rasps faintly, and I pray for it to be quick so that I can begin my breakdown.  Think….think whatever last birdy thoughts you have.  Only to see it twitch, right itself, and in a moment I consider my most beautiful on Earth, scramble clumsily to its feet and run to take refuge by its siblings, who are now eyeing me with distaste so strong I cannot describe it.  Have I always felt so light?  I sigh- an anchor unspooling, a dancer breaking free.  Immense relief floods in like icy water on a boiling afternoon.  “Let’s go.”
“Did you see that?!  You brutal person!  It could’ve died!  You could’ve impaired it for life!  You mean, callous…”
“Oh, do shut up.”