It can safely be said that the majority of birds are not the smartest of creatures.
This is not to say that all birds are stupid. Not at all. Parrots seem to be quite quick on the uptake. But the term "bird brained" didn't just sprout out of nowhere. Today, I'm discussing the more "special" members of the winged communities.
I won't mention any specific species for fear of incurring the wrath of the PETA trolls. (Whoops, sorry PETA. That last statement could have been construed as insulting to trolls.)
Getting back to the point at hand.. Birds like to chirp in the morning. It's part of the sunrise ritual for many people, waking up to the sound of bird calls and songs that leave many cheerful and ready to face the day. I'm not one of those cheerful sorts. Nor am I a morning person, by any stretch of the imagination. The only time I'm up at sunrise is when I have not yet gone to bed for the evening.
During these fine times, I use chirping birds for an entirely different reason: they let me know it's time to get my behind in bed. It's a good system, if a little odd. By now, I should hope you know that "a little odd" is a conservative way of describing my behavior.
Lately, however, there seems to be a new addition to the clan of birds outside my window at night. One of those "special" birds. I've given him a proper American name of S. F. Bird. The initials, of course, stand for Santa Fe.
Mr. S. F. Bird likes to randomly start chirping. That wouldn't be bad, in and of itself, should such behavior occur during Normal Bird Chirping Hours. No, S. F. Bird thinks it's time to chirp sometime in the vicinity of 1:15 a.m. I'm still awake at that time. That's not the problem. The problem comes from the fact that it gives me a rather alarming shock into thinking that it is four hours later than it actually is. I suppose I could liken it to Leno coming on at 7:30 for normal people. It just doesn't happen.
For starters, the sun isn't up. At one in the morning, it's black as pitch outside. There isn't even a significant street lamp that could possibly startle the bird awake and make him think that it's time for the chirp-fest to commence. No, I assure you, it is quite dark outside. That typically happens at one a.m. In fact, it's quite reliable in that regard. Tonight's forecast: dark. Followed by scattered patches of light. Chance of bright tomorrow morning: 100%. This isn't exactly something new.
I'm no scientist, but I feel it's a pretty safe wager that this has been the pattern ever since Mr. S. F. Bird was hatched from his egg. He doesn't seem the worldly sort of bird that has visited the polar regions. Even if he had, at some point in his brief existence, traveled to the land of ginormous ice cubes, I'm sure the last six months here in the States would have set him back on track. So to this I would like to ask: what, exactly, Mr. S. F. Bird, are you chirping about or at? And from the (rather angry) sounds coming from your neighboring feathery friends, they're none too happy about your practice of the overture from Swan Lake during the middle of the night, either.
Although I suppose it could be argued that there is merely an insufficient number of swans in the local area to generate proper appreciation for the piece.
This is not to say that all birds are stupid. Not at all. Parrots seem to be quite quick on the uptake. But the term "bird brained" didn't just sprout out of nowhere. Today, I'm discussing the more "special" members of the winged communities.
I won't mention any specific species for fear of incurring the wrath of the PETA trolls. (Whoops, sorry PETA. That last statement could have been construed as insulting to trolls.)
Getting back to the point at hand.. Birds like to chirp in the morning. It's part of the sunrise ritual for many people, waking up to the sound of bird calls and songs that leave many cheerful and ready to face the day. I'm not one of those cheerful sorts. Nor am I a morning person, by any stretch of the imagination. The only time I'm up at sunrise is when I have not yet gone to bed for the evening.
During these fine times, I use chirping birds for an entirely different reason: they let me know it's time to get my behind in bed. It's a good system, if a little odd. By now, I should hope you know that "a little odd" is a conservative way of describing my behavior.
Lately, however, there seems to be a new addition to the clan of birds outside my window at night. One of those "special" birds. I've given him a proper American name of S. F. Bird. The initials, of course, stand for Santa Fe.
Mr. S. F. Bird likes to randomly start chirping. That wouldn't be bad, in and of itself, should such behavior occur during Normal Bird Chirping Hours. No, S. F. Bird thinks it's time to chirp sometime in the vicinity of 1:15 a.m. I'm still awake at that time. That's not the problem. The problem comes from the fact that it gives me a rather alarming shock into thinking that it is four hours later than it actually is. I suppose I could liken it to Leno coming on at 7:30 for normal people. It just doesn't happen.
For starters, the sun isn't up. At one in the morning, it's black as pitch outside. There isn't even a significant street lamp that could possibly startle the bird awake and make him think that it's time for the chirp-fest to commence. No, I assure you, it is quite dark outside. That typically happens at one a.m. In fact, it's quite reliable in that regard. Tonight's forecast: dark. Followed by scattered patches of light. Chance of bright tomorrow morning: 100%. This isn't exactly something new.
I'm no scientist, but I feel it's a pretty safe wager that this has been the pattern ever since Mr. S. F. Bird was hatched from his egg. He doesn't seem the worldly sort of bird that has visited the polar regions. Even if he had, at some point in his brief existence, traveled to the land of ginormous ice cubes, I'm sure the last six months here in the States would have set him back on track. So to this I would like to ask: what, exactly, Mr. S. F. Bird, are you chirping about or at? And from the (rather angry) sounds coming from your neighboring feathery friends, they're none too happy about your practice of the overture from Swan Lake during the middle of the night, either.
Although I suppose it could be argued that there is merely an insufficient number of swans in the local area to generate proper appreciation for the piece.
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