For the Birds

I went out of town last week, eager to be out of the city, get some fresh air in the great outdoors, and do some leaf peeping.  When I left my apartment early on a Saturday morning, I cracked both my living room and bedroom window open a sliver.  This tends to be my habit three seasons out of the year.  There is nothing worse than a stuffy apartment and I love coming home to a place that's had a bit of fresh air circulating in it while I've been away.  

Now.  Before we get any further into this story I need you to know a few details: these windows were cracked open only the tiniest bit - an inch if I'm being generous.  They also had screens on them.  And also, as a reminder, I live in Manhattan. Concrete Jungle > Wilderness.

Given all of these factors you can imagine my surprise when I returned home on Sunday night, dropped my bags just inside my door, began busying myself with scrubbing my hands (pandemic precautions) and ordering some takeout for dinner (Indian) only to turn toward my living room and do a double take because..wait, what was that thing on the floor, did I drop a pair of socks or something? Oh no, I see, it's A DEAD BIRD.

Yup. A dead bird. Inside of my apartment. 

If that's not on brand for life in New York in the year of our Lord 2020, I don't know what is.

My initial shock and disbelief - this was a decent sized bird, y'all - bigger than your average sparrow, slightly smaller than a pigeon - naturally turned to disgust as I swept the poor thing into a dustpan and tossed him/her in the trash, all while saying "eww, eww, eww" aloud over and over.

I mean, gross.

The bird clean up itself only took five minutes. Out to the trash the little bird went, bleach was dumped on the floor where I'd found him, rest in peace.  But you know the worst thing about a bird trapped in a house?  They keep flying around before they die.  And when a bird flies around you know what it does? Yup.

Thus began my Sunday night project of scrubbing and searching around the apartment for literal bird shit. My little feathered friend clearly spent most of their time flying on or around my gray sofa since that's where most of its droppings were found. And just when I would think I was done, that I'd found every spot it had flown, I'd turn around and spot yet another white spot on the hardwood floor.  What a homecoming!

Ever the eternal optimist I will admit that this whole situation could have been much, much worse.  For starters, the bird didn't smell.  What if this had happened when I'd been away during the height of summer? I don't even want to imagine it. Two, there were no signs of bird destruction anywhere else in my apartment.  Our little flying friend apparently never found my bedroom, the one closet I have in this place, or my bathroom. Praise be.  Third, thank God if it was going to get into my place and it was going to fly all over and then die, at least it was kind enough to die in a place that was front and center and directly in my line of sight.  What if it had died in some corner of this apartment and days later I still hadn't found it? *Shudder, shudder.* Fourth, bird poop is surprisingly easy to clean up. Lastly - and this is the most important note here - what if instead of a bird it had been a mouse.  Or (much, much) worse, a rat.  I mean. WHAT IF.  Honestly I feel like I would have immediately walked out of the apartment, never to return again. Adios! The place is all yours dead rat!

When the initial shock and awe wore off (again, DEAD. BIRD.) and I was getting ready for bed, I started to feel bad for the little thing.  I am sure he or she didn't enter an apartment with the intent of causing destruction, much less dying.  What a horrible way to go, flying around in desperate search of food or water, all the while staring out at the bay window that your little bird brain comprehends somehow got you into this place but now can't get you out.  It sort of breaks my heart.

As I mentioned, I'd been away for a good week so my page-a-day desk calendar was behind. The last thing I went to do before climbing into bed - finally! my whole apartment smelling of bleach! - was to flip the pages on said calendar until I got myself caught up to the appropriate date.  It's a Sierra Club page-a-day so every image focuses on some aspect of nature and wildlife.  Do you know the image that I'd left staring out at the world the day I left? A bird. How's that for some spooky foreshadowing

Do you know what image I've got now? Zebras.

Definitely shutting the windows the next time I go out of town.