Alfred Hitchcock's "The Bird"

For those of you who don't know, Alfred Hitchcock was a famous director of suspense thrillers over a career spanning a half century. One of his most famous films (at least to me, since it's one of the only ones I've seen) was the 1963 film "The Birds". In the movie, birds of all species suddenly mass and attack humans for no good reason. And only in one spot on the Pacific Coast. Don't ask me why I was allowed to see it, since I am very sensitive to horror or suspense, to the point where I don't even watch commercials for scary movies, but I was, and now look with narrowed gaze at any large gathering of birds.

Don't get me wrong, I like birds in general, but there's the odd one that can strike terror in my heart. We now have such a one.

The bird that Laura so innocently welcomed into our home only 2 1/2 weeks ago(note to self: many scary movies begin this way...next time be afraid, be very afraid) has become a Japanese-city consuming behemoth, at least in terms of appetite size and emotional neediness.

She can fly and catch her own bugs, if only when her security humans are nearby, and we have done the proper thing and released her back into the wild. Several times per day, in fact. Soon we hear the inevitable cry, "Peep! Peep! Peep!" She waits in the tree outside the door and flies down onto the head of whomever happens to set foot outside. If we try to leave, she flies onto the van. If we go for a walk, she walks down the driveway after us. No matter where we are, we can hear her constant peeping.

To further complicate matters, there is one mammal on the property that finds all of this absolutely entrancing. Poppy, our orange tabby, slightly alien in appearance, but a vicious hunter underneath, would like nothing better than to be the one at the door when the bird decides to land on someone.

When I take the bird hunting flies in the house, I'll often look down and see a little orange moon-face watching with lip-smacking interest. Always discreet, and upon discovery, with an air of studied disinterest as if she was passing through and happened to sit under the bird by merest accident. But I am not fooled.

Maybe it's only the fantasy of a desperate mind, but I *think* the bird is getting a little wilder and independent these past few days. I hope so! I don't want to bird-sit for 8 months this winter if she decides that flying south for the winter is too much of a bother for a bird of such discerning tastes.

Get me outta this stinkin' fresh air!