Just Another Bird Story
Keep 'em coming, by the way. Good stuff. Not quite over the edge yet though. But not far from it.
Busy week. We took a trip to the zoo on Wednesday (any time it takes more than forty five minutes to get to a destination, I consider it a trip). I approached the outing with a mix of excitement and dread – two boyos under the age of five, bubonic plague-infested squirrels, and me.
I'm trying to get out more with my sons. They are bored at home, they're older now and sometimes actually listen to me, and in the fall, all of us are going back to school, which means this is our last summer vacation.
So the zoo. It was fun. The weather was a perfect accomplice; cloud cover, cool breezes, and the threat of rain about the time I was ready to pack it up and go home. The decent weather made the animals more active too, so it was less like looking at big fur rugs and more like Wild Freaking Kingdom.
Case in point. We walked up to the Grizzly bear environment; your typical structure of man-made rocks, a couple of bare trees, and a dry moat between the bears and us monkeys watching them.
The biggest bear raised his head and sniffed. He ambled over to the edge of the moat and watched the three of us, nose in the air. His buddy came over, nose wrinkling, eyes on the prize.
Which, apparently, was us.
We watched the two grizzlies try to negotiate the steep sides of the chasm in an attempt to cross. The smaller one roared. The other stood up on his hind legs, all the while staring at us, nose a-quiver.
The boyos were thrilled.
I smiled, said, “Oooohh, guys, look at the bears!” And inside my head a cave woman was jumping up and down and screaming OH JESUSFUCKINGGOD IF WE WERE IN THE WILD WE'D BE LUNCH!!!!
After that we looked at the penguins. Nice, friendly funny little penguins.
And speaking of birds. I have a bird story for you from the zoo.
I love Canadian geese. When they fly overhead I always stop to watch them. “Somewhere geese are flying.” A line written by a man I despise, but nonetheless I use it as a mantra to reassure myself that there is ephemeral beauty surpassing anything we can comprehend.
We sat down to lunch at the zoo, watched the brave sparrows dart around the tables for crumbs. A Canadian goose waddled through them and over to our table. He hunkered down right up against my leg, like a cat. I waited for him to start purring.
Then a disease-ridden little tree rat scampered up, and I warned the boyos not to touch it. The goose got up, waddled under the table and bit the squirrel on the tip of its flea-infested tail, sending the little bugger running. The the goose fluffed his feathers and returned to his place against my leg.
Good goose. But where was he when we were looking at the bears?
Labels: bird stories, I hate writing ancedotes about my life because I sound like a mealy-mouthed school girl, It's too hot to write creative tags and it's only May, Mona, Mona's word of the week is 'Trip'