First, contrary to the wisdom of old-timey cigarette postcards, this is not “how to hold pets”:
The correct method is to hold everything like a baby, except birds, which you should run away from.
Birds are smart and mean and, like most things, there are several reasons to be afraid of them.
Mistakes. A cautionary triptych. [via wikimediacommons]
The other morning on my way to work, I ran away from a pigeon that added taking-a-crap to its take-off. Out of reflex, I grabbed the woman walking ahead who was also in the line of gross fire, and brought her with me. Her pace had slowed while checking her phone and I was about to pass when I saw the feathered demon lift off and let loose straight for us.
“I’m sorry! Lookout!” I yelped, pulling her off course. I braced for some form of beatdown; non-consensual handling is startling at best, terrifying at worst. My own instinct when grabbed is to swing first, but leaving her under a falling arc of crap is not the kind of asshole I am. Seeming more confused than upset, she looked around and asked, “What? What happened?”
“There was a bird. It flew by pooping at us!” I stammered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. It was so fast and that’s so nasty. Swear I don’t normally grab strangers.”
She looked at me and then in the direction I motioned mimicking the jerk’s flight path, then back along the trail of liquid bird shit on the sidewalk. To my relief, she laughed and said it was ok. And then she thanked me, which felt so much better than the elbow that wouldn’t have been inappropriate. I’d rather get punched than have to walk back to my house for another shower and burn my favorite cardigan to cleanse my life. How could I let that be someone else’s morning?
Anyway, maybe pigeons in 1903 were charming but there’s been 114 years of humans screwing up our mutual habitat since. They are not to be fucked with these days. We’ve all seen a pigeon fight a rat for the filth-covered remains of a ham sandwich (and win) at least once. (My research method: standing outside of a Starbucks.) I caution against holding them in any fashion. I don’t trust a canary either, mostly because I don’t think they want you to hold them. Moreover, I do not understand voluntary interactions with birds in general, at all. (Nor do I wish to solve this personal mystery.)
I’m acquainted with folks who keep parrots in their homes — the sort with beaks that can remove a human finger. That is not a life I could lead. My cats are the rudest, and could be a cause a death if they wished, but they are also lazy, and that is not an investment in effort they would make. Two solid facts: (1) They are not capable of removing one of my fingers with their mouths, and (2) their feet are very cute. These are the important differences between them and parrots. That said, one of the parrots I know can trick its dog-housemate into thinking it’s time for “walkies” and the only thing I’ve ever heard a cat say out-loud is “Raul!” But also I hate pranks, so fuck off parrot. Only monsters are mean to dogs.
Look, it’s not that I hate birds. I am afraid of their beaks’ bite force, creepy feet, and in-flight shitting skills, and to a lesser extent, Bird Fancier’s Lung. Afraid in the sort of way where I stay the hell away from birds but talk shit about how scary they are on the internet. I’m also a bit wary of anyone who would refer to themselves as a Bird Fancier. I get that birds are sharing the common areas of our planet with us, and so there will be birds outside, in the air above … waiting. But in your house? Where you live? Where your eyes, that ideally remain in their sockets, bunk with you? Why must you live so dangerously?
I don’t eff with birds and you probably shouldn’t either was originally published in fatalizm on Medium.