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ostriches?
Birds are cool.
Except for penguins, of course.
Freakin slackers are too lazy to fly.
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!
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.
And it's all too sadly true.Sorry young Nosmo King.
Your story was indeed heartbreaking.
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!
I'm well into my fifties. I have no intention of getting over anything.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.