You Just Think You Like Angry Birds

A delightful evidence of spring in Vermont is the first sighting of the lovely Redwing Blackbird.  Isn't it beautiful?

Well, don't be fooled.  These horrible birds are angry.  And territorial.  And domineering.  And, well, here's a little story about why they scare the living daylights outta me.

A few months after I had Levi, the weather warmed and I finally got back into running.  I hit the country trail that paralleled the two-lane highway and slowly increased my pace, starting to work up a sweat.  The weather was perfection in the upper 70s, and the landscape had really greened up.  I was enjoying the solitude and the beauty and the time alone with Yahweh who, for His own amusement I am certain, did NOT warn me of what was about to happen.


A sudden swoosh blew forcefully just at the back of my head like a swift gust of air.  I turned around to see nothing.  Facing forward again to continue my run, though, I figured it out.  Up ahead of me, dive-bombing like an arrow directly for my face, with the resolve of a Kamikaze pilot and no indication of letting up, was a Redwing Blackbird.  I darted to the side and held my hands up over my ducked head.  He swooshed just above my head, zoomed back up for some altitude, turned back towards me, and started his angry attack again.  

Of all things, nature is something I appreciate and respect greatly, and here was this bird that I was happy to bless and appreciate and leave alone coming after me like a shark after blood.  As a new mom myself, I just knew there must be a nest of babies close by and that I had spooked the mother.  So what did I do?  I began sprinting, top-speed away from the angry bird, shouting, yes SHOUTING, that I was not interested in her babies and that I was a safe place. 

"I'M A SAFE PLACE!" Feet pounding the gravel.  "I LOVE YOU, MOMMY BIRD!"  Pound, pound, gasp, gasp.  "I WISH YOU NO HARM AND BLESS YOUR BABIES ALL TO LIVE LONG, SUCCESSFUL LIVES!"

Angry dive-bomb for my head.

The bird took a few more shots then went back to the top of a tree back where the assault had started behind me.  I was glad she understood English and trusted me, then I slowed down my pace and just laughed. 



Watch your back, dude! 
I'm not the only victim:
http://faceintheblue.wordpress.com/
2009/11/27/redwing/


That's when I heard her from behind me:  "ACK!  ACK!  ACK!  ACK!  ACK!"

"Whatever, crazy bird!  I get it, OK?"  I thought.

Then I heard from a tree ahead of me an eerily similar echo:  "ACK!  ACK!  ACK!  ACK!  ACK!" just before another Redwing Blackbird from the tree ahead of me sling-shot himself straight from his branch and straight for my head.  These birds were organized!  I was half a mile from my car out in the middle of nowhere and under attack.  I found a stick on the ground and waved it up in the air, sprinting, flailing, shouting.  After I passed that bird's tree, and he felt he'd done enough intimidating with swoop after swoop after swoop, me gyrating and dodging and tripping over myself, he went back to his perch that was now behind me. 

"You've got to be joking," I thought, heart racing, white knuckles still clutched around the stick, eyes darting around in paranoia.  I stopped to catch my breath when I heard it again.

Angry Bird Number Two behind me began to release the staccato "ACK!  ACK!  ACK!  ACK!  ACK!" 

I looked back unable to comprehend why my sunny day run was turning into an Alfred Hitchcock film then warily looked ahead to the next cluster of trees.  My worst fears were realized.

A third Redwing Blackbird (I cannot make this stuff up) from the trees ahead of me replied:  "ACK!  ACK!  ACK!  ACK!  ACK!" just before engaging in the bullet flight right for me.   

I was being targeted, and I knew not why, but I'd never been a personal witness to nature acting up in this way.  He swooped down, then back up, then circled just above me, clacking, "ACK!  ACK!  ACK!"  Angry Bird Number Three was in it for the kill, I could tell.  I didn't know if I should run forward...but no, I was going to have to go back to my car at some point.  So I made a decision.

I turned around to face these demonic birds like a real woman.  I found two small branches about 18 inches long and an inch and a half thick.  I took one in each fist.  Then I took off running at top speed, waving the sticks overhead as crazily as I could to fend off the attacks.  The birds descended and swooped and "ACKed" at me, each taking their turn as I entered their zone.  I sprinted and spluttered and gasped for air and waved the sticks in the air as though my life depended on it.  I believe to this day that it did.  They would have pecked me to death.

I finally reached what I considered to be the outer boundary of Angry Bird Number One's territory, and lo, he took one last swoop then landed on a telephone wire just behind me and "ACKed" me into a world of shame.  He was laughing.  He was mocking.  When I knew they'd won and were now content to have humiliated and defeated me and continue on with their day, I stopped to reacquaint myself with oxygen.  Numerous vehicles had gone by during the whole charade, and it must've been a jolly good laugh for all those clever drivers who were safe in their cars and didn't stop to offer assistance. 

But clearly I was some crazy woman on the loose from their vantage point, so why would they? 

I never ran on that trail again.  To my everlasting shame.  But I did learn a valuable lesson.   All those Disney movies in which the characters are animals with complex lives that get interrupted by human activity are not fiction. 

On that day, I traveled to a place where birds ruled and humans were not welcome, and I can say from actual experience that this Angry Bird business is no game.  Except to them.  To them, it's The Hunger Games.  If you ever find yourself entering their arena, all I can say to help you is, "May the odds be ever in your favor."  And run for your life.