It is beginning to feel a little Alfred Hitchcocky at my house. Several weeks ago, I found a bird had built a nest in the hole in the side of the house where the dryer vents. No wonder the clothes weren’t getting dry.
I made Spouse dig the nest out, because I didn’t have the heart to wreck a nest, especially if it had eggs in it. He didn’t want to do it either, but since I deemed it man work, he had no choice.
Then early in the week I walked into the kitchen one morning to find the cat terribly interested in something by the sliding glass doors. Just as I stopped to ask her what she was doing (Yes, I talk to cats.), what I thought was a bat came flying at my head, swooped over me and landed in the corner on top of the cabinets where a bulkhead would be if I had one.
Upon closer inspection, I was somewhat relieved to learn it wasn’t a bat, but a bird; a boat tail grackle, to be exact. After I shrieked at the thing flying at my head, then discussed with myself what on earth was dive-bombing me, I decided to take action. I put both cats in the bathroom and opened the sliding door all the way. Then I calmly asked the bird to please leave.
Surprisingly, that method didn’t work. At a loss as to what my next action in bird eradication should be, I went and got Spouse out of bed. Getting a bird out of the house seems like man work. I asked him what to do, and he told me to throw a towel over it. I handed him a towel. When he reached toward the bird, it took off like a shot and managed to find the open door.
See Wednesday's Times Sentinel for the full story.