I
have a lot of respect for birds (except for the ones that nest in our attic
vents and break the venting mesh). And I have a special place in my heart for
the monk parakeets of Connecticut. Though their beginnings are a bit sketchy—some
say they’re from a PT Barnum show, and others say they’re from an overturned exotic
pet truck. In either case, these green and white parakeets got free in CT.
Everyone assumed that a New England winter would kill them off. It didn’t. The
parakeets build their nests around the transformers on high power lines—lots of
warmth. The problem is their nests can cause fires and power outages. So the
power companies are fighting the birds. (I’m rooting for the birds.)
But
I don’t respect Canada geese. They plop their big feathered rears right in the
middle of the road. I’ve been known to honk and yell. They just stare me down
with their black-ringed eyes. Daring me to hit them. Which I haven’t, though
the thought has occurred to me.
The
other day I was driving home from WalMart when a flock of them were coming in
for a landing at a fake pond. Now this pond is very small and the flock was
big. And they were coming in too fast, their angle was all wrong, and they were
wingtip to wingtip. And I waited for the fiasco. At the last second, the big
flock all baffled their wings at the exact same second and settled their
derrieres perfectly on the pond, whose surface was now solid Canada goose. And,
of course, they gave me their standard I’m-so-superior-to-you Canada goose
stares. I smiled. Touché.
