Clutch of STFU.

Admittedly
I never found
The time to read
Hitchcock’s ‘BIRDS’
and now
I’m wondering
Was the story-line
About being driven
Bat-shit crazy?
Or bird-shit crazy
More accurately
Because that’s the kind
That pertains to me
And the state of mind
That I find lately
The chirping
The clucking
The fucking audacity
I’ve had enough
Of the finch clutch
Known as the Society.

clutch of stfu2

The Bird Hollerer (Continued).

Okay…so it is important (and only fair) that I start this post out by saying that I have never been very fond of those feathery, winged creatures that beep and cheap in the trees all day long. My dislike of birds was born when I was about fourteen years old and an obnoxious mockingbird decided to use the awning in my backyard as its podium every night – all night long – for the rest of the time that I lived there (until I turned 17 and moved out).
The next experience that tainted my idea of birds was the “Great Horned Owl’s” return to the city trees – something that I had apparently missed the memo about prior to his re-appearance; and, he chose to nest and perch in the ancient pine next to my window. He was a hooter and did his hooting nightly for almost an entire year. More notably in this ‘negative bird experience’ however, were the tons and tons of reporters, wildlife preservationists, activists, and all kinds of other random people who felt it necessary to constantly visit the Great Horned Owl after his return – there was literally a small crowd that remained permanently assembled with cameras flashing and excited children – at all times until he departed (on his own, I had NOTHING to do with him relocating, I swear…).
I have already written in the past about how I serendipitously became a “finch breeder” in more recent years (see previous bird post here); and, I will say that despite my longtime dislike of the little, useless shits, I have been forced to accept a natural connection that is undoubtedly there between me and birds. Since I have been raising various breeds of finches, I have found that I am:
1. Naturally calmed by dealing with them;
2. Able to understand their needs and preferences;
3. Able to differentiate them with ease;
4. Able to gain the trust of even the most shy and afraid.
Regardless of the relationship I share with my own clutches of domesticated finches though, I was still completely shocked the other evening while I was outside smoking – when a tiny, but bold zebra finch walked right up to me and hopped onto my foot. I was stupefied by his audacity – as small as he is. To make a long story short – I was adopted by another bird at random two days ago, and the little fucker has stolen my heart already. He has the personality of a Tiger…and I have been doing all I can think of to figure out if somebody is missing him like I’d be if he disappeared.
If you are nearby, are missing an adorable zebra finch, and, reading this:
He’s safe and sound – email me.

The Bird Hollerer.

When I moved in (about five years ago), there were three society finches left here by a former tenant; two boys and a girl – that I immediately fell in love with and began taking care of, eventually adopting as my own. As a die-hard Star Wars fan, I named the boys Han and Luke, and began to teach them the Imperial March as a moniker. A few months after I arrived, the original female passed away, leaving the boys alone in the cage for a few more months before I realized that they NEEDED a female. I went to the Petsmart and gambled on a female Crowned Society with a wristband; they guessed she was about a year old at the most. Her name was obviously Leah, and I loved her – she had total attitude and “crazy hair” like me.

Apparently, Han and Luke noticed her attitude also, because neither one liked her at all – and so life went on in the “Society” very uneventfully for quite a while. I bought Amendalla on a whim one day because we bonded at the flea market. She was so pretty, and she had these adorable little white dots above her eyes that made her reminiscent of a doe somehow. She was very shy but very sweet and trusting once she knew you. The boys both loved her also, and the Society was hoppin’ as soon as I added Amendalla. One day a few weeks later, my roommate noticed a baby at the bottom of the cage and gave her a lift back into the “hut”. Chewy was obviously Amendalla’s offspring, as she sports the doe dots above her eyes and is colored 50/50 the boys and Amendalla. Next, came the baby Leah that I named Crown because her “hair” looks like a crown; she is a total bitch just like her mother.

Leah escaped one day and we never saw her again; I still look for her in the backyard often. The last additions to the Society arrived two summers ago, out of the blue: a set of ginger blonde twins named Fet and Bobo, both female, and were schooled by Leah’s bitchy daughter The Crown, so they are all three loud mouthed brats. Amendalla passed away the day after Marcus died, right before Christmas. Last week, I lost Han and Luke within the timespan of seven hours. Now – I have the twins, the Crown and Chewy left alive – all females and 3 out of 4 are just straight up bitches and cluck and scream nonstop now that their fathers (or mother) are no longer there to keep them in check. These are not birds that you can set free to the skies, unfortunately – or trust me, they be singing Lynard Skynard by now. They are a genetically modified breed that does not exist in nature at all, as they are typically only used as foster parents to exotic breed finch hatchlings. They have been bred to have one purpose in life – parenting.
Here’s my dilemma, the remaining girls are miserable, no doubt. Useless and aimless and in obvious distress;
Do I find them a boy or two (in which case, this cycle will continue because of the age difference)?
Or do I let them die off in shock, loneliness and distress?