Tabatha Deans

Bringing Integrity to the Written Word

Having recovered from the shock of my unexpected guests, I did some serious recon to determine what I could do to keep it from happening again. Leaving the window closed was not an option, since it was the only circulation/fresh air that cooled the apartment. That window has been open nearly the entire year I’ve lived here, and since the building is 100 years old, its hard to figure out how to attach a screen. So I closed the window all but a couple of inches, then pulled the wooden blind down over it while I left to spend the day on the angry 16 bus to Walmart. Besides, what are the chances it would happen a second time?
Turns out the chances are very good. When I returned several hours later, I immediately noticed that my computer mouse was turned over, and I could swear there were drops of coffee next to my half-full cup I left on my desk. I scanned the room slowly and saw feathers on the carpet. Then I threw a tantrum.
“G*&^%, f*#%, bleepedy bleep, bleep. I can’t believe it! They did it again!”
At the peak of my rant my sight landed on the offending window, and my bed in front of it, and I fell silent. A pigeon sat in the middle of my bed, a look of fear and confusion in her beady little eyes, cooing softly and staring at me. Next to her was a freshly laid egg. I know it was freshly laid because I had only left a few hours before, and there was not an egg on my bed when I left.
I had no idea what to do. I stopped yelling at her, but she kept staring at me, with a look that said “What do I do?” “What the hell happened?” I think she was a young, maybe first-time mother, because she was as shocked as I was to find ourselves in this situation. I think she found comfort in watching me, believing I was myself a mother bird, since I flitted about the apartment, gesturing wildly with my hands, talking to her and myself, trying to figure out what to do. She finally tired of my indecision, and calmly squeezed herself back out the window, through the blinds, leaving me alone with the egg.
I remembered all the talk about a human touch on an egg makes the mother abandon it, but really, what was I supposed to do? I picked it up, it was still warm, wrapped it in toilet paper and grabbed an empty PopTart box. I cut the end off, put the egg and tissue inside, and taped it to my windowsill, all under the watchful eye of the parents, who were perched on the building next door. I closed the window and sat inside watching. After a few minutes they landed on my window sill and stared at me. Finally I couldn’t take their beady-eyed stares any longer, so I closed the blind and left them to figure out their own egg problem…

June 7, 2012 - Posted by | Uncategorized

1 Comment »

  1. Hahahaha! You are seriously cracking me up with these urban adventures of yours. Love it!

    Comment by Gary Parker | June 7, 2012 | Reply

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