No cookies for the starlings

I sat down to write my blog posting yesterday. Suddenly, I heard such a clatter that I jumped from my chair to see what was the matter. I also looked at the date, quickly noting to myself that Santa doesn't usually come down the chimney on May 11. Something was coming down the chimney, and it didn't sound like it was packing a bag of gifts to bestow on the Love family.

This is the second time something of the avian variety has taken a slight detour down our chimney. So, the sound of desperate scratching against the metal caused a familiar irritation to my ears. Now, that sound isn't nearly as bad as the obnoxious kid scratching his fingers down the blackboard, but it's unwelcome enough to incite immediate and effective action.

Having had one bird come for a visit to our Blaze King several years ago, I now knew the drill. Don't stand in front of the stove door when you open it, Marianne. Having been assaulted by a pigeon once in my life, I've learned not to stand in one spot for more than a millisecond any time I go to the hay mow. And having had that previous bird down the chimney, I know how fast and how directly a stoved bird flies when it wants out.

In the previous case, I just escaped the feathered missile as it flew out the door. The first time, I hadn't gotten all my "ducks in line" so to speak. Hadn't opened a window and hadn't put my dog away. She, at the time, was wearing one of those Elizabethan collars cuz she wouldn't quit licking her spaying stitches. So, when the bird buzzed past me, my black Lab Ebbie took up the chase.

Imagine the sight of a black lab with a lamp-shade around its neck chasing a scared-almost stiff sparrow around the living room furniture. I don't remember all the details in that pursuit to get the damn bird out of my house, but I did write about them in my second book Postcards from Potato Land. It's in the chapter called "Black Lab Tests."

That saga provided me enough bird chasing experience to get those ducks in line yesterday. I moved Bill's rocking chair, which sits in a direct line from the stove. Then, I opened the window straight across the living room from the stove. Next, I carefully opened each latch on the door and stepped off to the right while pulling it open.

Nothing happened. I gingerly stepped closer to see why the stupid bird didn't fly out. It must've had the same problem that some Santas do and got stuck in the chimney. "Great," I thought, "Now, I've get to listen to bird scratching all day." I shut the stove door, deciding that my only choice was to think about it.

The scratching persisted. Fuzzy Wuzzy, the long-haired cat, who sits on the porch railing next to the living room window, decided to come on in. Since she's an outside cat, I sent her back out the window and slammed it shut. I then walked outside to look at the chimney top in hopes the openings would tempt that bird to fly upward and outward. It didn't look too promising.

Besides, I think that once the elevator goes down a chimney for a bird, the poor creature is so frantic, it just can't think to do anything but scratch. There's no pushing the up button in a crazed bird's outlook. When I came back inside, Festus, the cat, came with me. It took him about ten seconds to realize that the house had another inhabitant.

He stood right next to the stove, sniffing and contemplating. I figured I'd better give this bird release one more shot. So, I opened the window again before once again releasing the stove latches and carefully opening the door from a safe angle. This time a millisecond may have passed before the ugly starling shot out of the stove like a bullet. This must've been a blind or stupid starling. It had a choice of flying out the open window or hitting the double thickness window head on. It chose the latter.

Love and Logic says to live with your choices. This bird lived, but I don't think its brain will ever again function on full throttle. It bounced off that window and took a left turn toward the Love seat where Festus had launched himself after its great escape. The bird dive-bombed a rather shocked Festus and landed on the carpet next to the counter. While Festus sat contemplating, the bird remained rigid in that spot, like a statue. I tried to shoo it away. It would not move---just stared straight ahead.

So, I went to the kitchen, got a big brown Yoke's Shop 'n Save bag and the broom. After scooping the creature into the bag, I released it out the window. The bird fluttered its wings rather feebly and landed on the ground next to the house. I didn't care where it landed. It was gone from the stove and gone from the living room. If Fuzzy Wuzzy wanted some breakfast, that was okay with me. A minute or so later, I went back out, and it had apparently come back to life and flown away.

With my new, improved experience at releasing birds from my stove, I'm sending out a message to all starlings, sparrows, and chickadees: the only time the Loves ever put cookies and milk near the chimney is on Christmas Eve. You're gonna have to compete with Santa for the chimney space, and if you make it to the cookie plate, there's likely to be a hungry cat or dog waiting for your arrival.

This whole experience has got me to thinking: I wonder how many times those dumb birds have come down the chimney when there's been a fire going. Roasted starling. Yum. Yum!