When I got the bird in my house, it came in through the door, not the window, so screens are no guarantee of living forever. I had opened the door to let the dogs out, and she must have been underneath the stairs, so they flushed her out and she went in the door behind me while I was facing the other way.
Interesting… this is my 662nd post. Coincidence?
Especially if she doesn’t post again because she’s dead.
And sure enough, someone did, somewhere…
It’s bad luck to be superstitious.
Perhaps you could confuse fate by scheduling a trip to Buffalo soon?
Shuffle off this mortal coil,
Shuffle off to Buffalo;
Pretty similar, no?
I vividly remember the month that my family died one by one. It was a hummingbird that kept getting into the house and the funeral bills were getting insane. I finally had enough sense to keep a tennis racket and sugar water with me at all times. Splat. Problem solved.
What I wanna know is, what if the cat brings a bird into the house, the bird escapes the cat and flies around the room, with cat in hot pursuit, and then bird flies OUT of the house? What does that mean? Other than the cat should be kept indoors?
R.I.P Fluffy, Mighty Huntress.
Cats are not affected by flying birds inside the house. That is one reason they are so successful as a species aside from being psychopathic nut-jobs. A bird has to land on a human to cause death although there are some documented cases of birds flying near a person yet not actually landing on them and the person still dies suddenly and tragically . The people in question have died days or weeks later and the autopsy revealed nothing except for traces of a single feather. Experts recommend that a tennis racket or even a 12 gauge is suitable defense against all birds. There is truth the old saying that a bird in the hand is worth a ton of funeral bills.
Surly Chick, we hardly knew ye…
Just wait for the day that Avian Flu decides to go postal on humans. That ‘old wives tale’ will look a little more accurate.
Someone now just needs to write a Ring Around the Rosie-esque poem for birds in the window.
Actually, there’s a way to ward off the spell, and that’s to get Colibri to identify the species of bird from the description in the OP. If he gets it right, that means you’ll live to the age of 115 and have 400 great-great-grandchildren.
At least, that’s how the superstition goes in my family.
In the office briskly working, filers file and clerks are clerking
Only Ted in Sales is shirking, playing desk-top Solitaire,
At her desk a Surly Chick shifts her mouse and with a click
Banishes unwanted e-mail from the comfort of her chair
Impatient at the wasted time she offers up a laic prayer:
“I really have no time to spare.”
Meanwhile in the blue spring sky a brown-and-yellow bird soars high
Thinking it a joy to fly in the coolness of the air
While down below a Surly Chick toils in a nest of brick
Take them both and don’t they just make such a funny pair?
Surly Chick and soaring bird, the latter without care –
Nothing but song, and time to spare.
None knows when the fates decreed to fill an unacknowledged need
Redirecting a bird downward, downward through the springtime air
Straighter than an archer’s arrow to a window ledge so narrow
There was barely purchase for a fly, much less a songbird there
As the sash was slightly open, in he went with this to share:
Just his song, and time to spare.
No clerk felt inclined to tackle the wren or finch or maybe grackle
Trespassing into the office, stately place of business where
Matters of the greatest weight sober folk deliberate
Serious and staid and grave these people manage their affairs
Surly Chick presides and thus frivolity they all forswear
They have no songs, nor time to spare.
The sparrow, chickadee or thrush took advantage of the hush
To loose a note, bright, clear and lush and all the clerks turned 'round to stare
The room had something brand-new in it: the filing stopped a quarter-minute
Even Ted, the slug, looked up from his game of Solitaire
The Songbird finished, paused, and alighted then upon the chair
Once again his song to share
Next the bird politely greeted Surly Chick who, as he tweeted,
Cracked a window and entreated him to leave her office chair
“Now,” thought she, "the office buzz’ll be something I’ll have to muzzle.
“It’s a puzzle – I must cure them of exposure to fresh air.”
So she told 'em “It’s an omen – someone here will die!” to scare,
For she had no time to spare.
She relaxed as her co-workers, all the filers and the clerkers
even Ted relapsed back into a productive, dull despair.
But though she’d lied about the song, Chick was only partly wrong
The songbird had a message of which we should be aware
We all shall die, so how we live requires of us greater care
I heard the little bird declare,
Find your song, and time to share.
Out-fucking-standing!
wild applause
There’s been a hoot-owl by my window now,
For six nights in a row.
I’ve heartily and sincerely lauded
And righteously praised
To what the others have applauded,
By King of Soup amazed.
Let’s give him another crown
Of poet’s laurel leaves instead–
Hey, what’s all that white stuff
Splotched on the royal’s head?
Only if you put a hat on a bed recently and child has combed your hair.
Dintcha know that?
Holy shit King of Soup. That was friggen awesome.
Sorry I haven’t posted but I’ve been busy honing the blade of my sword (the metal of which has been folded 200 times) in the event that that Zebra is correct and I become immortal. I must say I’m not looking forward to having to speak in a really bad faux Scottish accent. Although I am busily drawing up a list of beheadings that need doing…
:eek: Gaaaaaa! More bad news! I have all my baseball caps hanging off my bed post and my nephew used to love brushing my hair - not recently though so maybe that has expired. Again, I’d like to know the statute of limitations on these sort of things.
Kythereia has kindly informed us that death is only imminent if the bird was a robin. While I’m sure it wasn’t, I am - given name: Robin. I’m doomed.
And I would like to thank The King of Soup for his fantastic poem. No one has ever written a poem about me before. Perhaps he can recite it at my funeral…
**The King of Soup **–You are my new hero. That was wonderful.
Find your song and time to share.