This was my entry to @mariannewest and @latino.romano’s 5 Minute Freewrite: Wednesday Prompt: bird poop. You can see the details here.
I have never had a good relationship with birds. I have been chased by a beautiful macaw my mother petted for years; I have been chased by all other kinds of birds including turkeys, hens, and even buzzards. No matter how big the town where I live is, birds will always find a way to poop on my clothes whenever I do the laundry.
No matter how many pieces of clothes I have hanging on a line, the birds will always aim at the whitest, most important, or newest of the lot.
Birds have actually pooped on me quite a few times, but after having being pooped by an iguana, bird poop is nothing to worry about.
I wish I could tell what variety of birds poop on my clothes, though. We get at least three kinds of birds flying around all day long. Telling a bird by its poop is quiet an art and a gift, I guess.
You Can Tell the Bird by its Poop
That is one of my mother’s favorite sayings. It encapsulates folk wisdom, social intelligence, and an incredibly demanding challenge: reading people.
My mother has always been good at it, with a couple of exception. She only needs one brief meeting with a person to draw their whole personality chart. People’s poop come in many ways, according to her. From the way they look to the way they talk or move. The eyes usually provided her with the most important evidence of goodness or evilness.
More than once I argued with her about her predictions about people I was hanging out with. In all instances I had to take my objections back. Time always proved her right. I try to play her game with my children now. It’s more randomness and basic psychology than anything else, though. I’ve never gotten that sort of illumination or epiphany my mother boasted about.
I do know that whatever bird has been pooping on my clothes can mean no good. I don’t care what animal lover may say in their defense. Those actions cannot be accidental. I had never … well, now that I think about it, I did kill a bird once with a slingshot, but I was 8 and stupid; I actually cried after I saw what I did and I never kept birds in captivity or… Well, I do eat chicken, so what the hell; I guess I’m screwed and these birds are just enjoying their revenge.
Gracias por la visita.
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