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Do you like birds?

xotoxi

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demotivators-5150.jpg
 

uscitizen

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This bird is cool to the max.


[ame=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cJOZp2ZftCw]YouTube - Snowball (TM) - Another One Bites The Dust[/ame]
 

editec

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Birds are cool.

Except for penguins, of course.

Freakin slackers are too lazy to fly.
 
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xotoxi

xotoxi

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Birds are cool.

Except for penguins, of course.

Freakin slackers are too lazy to fly.

But the males stand outside for the entire winter in ANTARCTICA warming an egg under their belly.

That takes some balls.
 

masquerade

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Yes. I do like birds.

I especially love when they return at this time of year. To me it's the sounds of the warm summer months in early spring. Aaahhhhhhhhh.

I enjoy watching a variety of birds fly around my yard, and land to eat on the feeder hanging outside my kitchen window. My cat likes it too. Sometimes I'll torture him a little as he sits there meowing at the door. He wants out! He wants one of those birds. heh ... heh And I won't open the door for him.

I do have to add here, that it's not a pretty sight when he carries a poor little birdie to my back door in his mouth ... drops it ... plays with it a little and then procedes to eat it. Ewwwwwww!
 
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Yes. I do like birds.

I especially love when they return at this time of year. To me it's the sounds of the warm summer months in early spring. Aaahhhhhhhhh.

I enjoy watching a variety of birds fly around my yard, and land to eat on the feeder hanging outside my kitchen window. My cat likes it too. Sometimes I'll torture him a little as he sits there meowing at the door. He wants out! He wants one of those birds. heh ... heh And I won't open the door for him.

I do have to add here, that it's not a pretty sight when he carries a poor little birdie to my back door in his mouth ... drops it ... plays with it a little and then procedes to eat it. Ewwwwwww!

problem with birdsong is, if you actually translated it, it would be "this is my bush, so bugger off asshole!" Birdsong ends by mid spring when all the territory fights are pretty much over.
 

Ringel05

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Love birds.

2428_MEDIUM.jpg


Chicks, I adore....

29288-bigthumbnail.jpg
 
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uscitizen

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Birds sing all thru the year here in KY. A lot less in winter though.
 

Nosmo King

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I have to tell my heartbreaking story again. This hurts me more than it hurts you, dear readers.

When I was a pup and still in Cub Scouts, my pack took a tour of a food processing plant just outside Cleveland, Ohio. They were making chicken pot pies that particular day.

All of us Cub Scouts sat through the orientation film and enjoyed the snacks the good people at the plant had provided. We were led into the plant where my life began to change forever.

I saw hundreds of dead chickens hanging by their feet. They were suspended on a conveyor as they bled into a grate in the floor. Employees dressed in leather aprons took straight razors to the chicken's pin feathers dressing and cleaning them as they swung past.

One of the employees turned and smiled at us Cub Scouts, although I thought he was looking directly into my soul. His face was spattered with blood and he smiled a smile that let me know in no uncertain terms he cared little for dental hygiene. He nodded and waved his razor at me as I winced in fear.

It wasn't two weeks later that my Mom took me to the movies. Summer 1963 and we went to the American Theater downtown to see what Mom must have thought was a nature film. Of course it was Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds.

Even years later when I saw Suzanne Pleshette on The Bob Newhart Show, I had nightmares! "I saw you dead, Suzanne! I saw you dead!"

If that wasn't enough, my crazy Uncle Dale tempted me with a custom neckerchief slide for my Scouting raiment. Uncle Dale kept parakeets, but not in a cage. He let them flit about his house unencumbered by perches and cuttle bones.

I was found beneath his dining room table with the table cloth pulled down around me to shield me from the vermin flying around his house.

I have ever since seen birds as flying vermin. Not to be trusted or admired.

I haven't eaten a piece of poultry since. Not one Thanksgiving turkey. Not one piece of Kentucky Fried Chicken. Not one drop of chicken noodle soup.

I write this a twisted and broken man.

Thanks, Mom!
 

masquerade

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Yes. I do like birds.

I especially love when they return at this time of year. To me it's the sounds of the warm summer months in early spring. Aaahhhhhhhhh.

I enjoy watching a variety of birds fly around my yard, and land to eat on the feeder hanging outside my kitchen window. My cat likes it too. Sometimes I'll torture him a little as he sits there meowing at the door. He wants out! He wants one of those birds. heh ... heh And I won't open the door for him.

I do have to add here, that it's not a pretty sight when he carries a poor little birdie to my back door in his mouth ... drops it ... plays with it a little and then procedes to eat it. Ewwwwwww!

problem with birdsong is, if you actually translated it, it would be "this is my bush, so bugger off asshole!" Birdsong ends by mid spring when all the territory fights are pretty much over.

LOL
I guess I'm lucky enough to live in an area where they sing all season long.
Now ... mid to late spring is when the frogs and toads start croakin'. Another one of those seasonal sounds that makes me happy.
 
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Nosmo King

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Sorry young Nosmo King.
Your story was indeed heartbreaking.
And it's all too sadly true.

They opened the National Aviary here in Pittsburgh. Occasionally, an out-of-town visitor will ask to go and see it. I know they have a nice parking lot, but I'll never cast my shadow on they threshold.
 

Ringel05

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I have to tell my heartbreaking story again. This hurts me more than it hurts you, dear readers.

When I was a pup and still in Cub Scouts, my pack took a tour of a food processing plant just outside Cleveland, Ohio. They were making chicken pot pies that particular day.

All of us Cub Scouts sat through the orientation film and enjoyed the snacks the good people at the plant had provided. We were led into the plant where my life began to change forever.

I saw hundreds of dead chickens hanging by their feet. They were suspended on a conveyor as they bled into a grate in the floor. Employees dressed in leather aprons took straight razors to the chicken's pin feathers dressing and cleaning them as they swung past.

One of the employees turned and smiled at us Cub Scouts, although I thought he was looking directly into my soul. His face was spattered with blood and he smiled a smile that let me know in no uncertain terms he cared little for dental hygiene. He nodded and waved his razor at me as I winced in fear.

It wasn't two weeks later that my Mom took me to the movies. Summer 1963 and we went to the American Theater downtown to see what Mom must have thought was a nature film. Of course it was Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds.

Even years later when I saw Suzanne Pleshette on The Bob Newhart Show, I had nightmares! "I saw you dead, Suzanne! I saw you dead!"

If that wasn't enough, my crazy Uncle Dale tempted me with a custom neckerchief slide for my Scouting raiment. Uncle Dale kept parakeets, but not in a cage. He let them flit about his house unencumbered by perches and cuttle bones.

I was found beneath his dining room table with the table cloth pulled down around me to shield me from the vermin flying around his house.

I have ever since seen birds as flying vermin. Not to be trusted or admired.

I haven't eaten a piece of poultry since. Not one Thanksgiving turkey. Not one piece of Kentucky Fried Chicken. Not one drop of chicken noodle soup.

I write this a twisted and broken man.

Thanks, Mom!
Thanks, Mom!

Blaming others won't help you get over it.
 

Nosmo King

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I have to tell my heartbreaking story again. This hurts me more than it hurts you, dear readers.

When I was a pup and still in Cub Scouts, my pack took a tour of a food processing plant just outside Cleveland, Ohio. They were making chicken pot pies that particular day.

All of us Cub Scouts sat through the orientation film and enjoyed the snacks the good people at the plant had provided. We were led into the plant where my life began to change forever.

I saw hundreds of dead chickens hanging by their feet. They were suspended on a conveyor as they bled into a grate in the floor. Employees dressed in leather aprons took straight razors to the chicken's pin feathers dressing and cleaning them as they swung past.

One of the employees turned and smiled at us Cub Scouts, although I thought he was looking directly into my soul. His face was spattered with blood and he smiled a smile that let me know in no uncertain terms he cared little for dental hygiene. He nodded and waved his razor at me as I winced in fear.

It wasn't two weeks later that my Mom took me to the movies. Summer 1963 and we went to the American Theater downtown to see what Mom must have thought was a nature film. Of course it was Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds.

Even years later when I saw Suzanne Pleshette on The Bob Newhart Show, I had nightmares! "I saw you dead, Suzanne! I saw you dead!"

If that wasn't enough, my crazy Uncle Dale tempted me with a custom neckerchief slide for my Scouting raiment. Uncle Dale kept parakeets, but not in a cage. He let them flit about his house unencumbered by perches and cuttle bones.

I was found beneath his dining room table with the table cloth pulled down around me to shield me from the vermin flying around his house.

I have ever since seen birds as flying vermin. Not to be trusted or admired.

I haven't eaten a piece of poultry since. Not one Thanksgiving turkey. Not one piece of Kentucky Fried Chicken. Not one drop of chicken noodle soup.

I write this a twisted and broken man.

Thanks, Mom!
Thanks, Mom!

Blaming others won't help you get over it.
I'm well into my fifties. I have no intention of getting over anything.

But I blame the birds themselves. Mom was just an enabler.
 

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