Plucky Letters to US soldiers in Iraq

Thursday, June 30, 2005

Dear Army Guys,

Alas, Li’l Stupid Bird is gone, just as I was beginning to get attached to the little fella. Both he and Stupid Mama Bird were there this morning, but when I went to check on them early this afternoon the basket was empty.

As I stood there, gazing into my empty nest, I had a mental vision of Stupid Mama Bird tenderly coaxing Li’l Stupid Bird to stretch his fledgling wings and fly with her off into the sunset. (Okay, they must have decamped sometime in the late morning, which pretty much puts the kibosh on my sunset vision, but that’s not the point.) I scanned the rooftops hoping to catch sight of them perched cozily together enjoying the breeze. As I turned to go back into the house I happened to look down and there was Li’l Bird, hunched in the dirt next to the front porch. Stupid Mama was nowhere in sight.

I kept an eye on Li’l for about an hour, thinking Stupid Mama would surely return and offer her youngster aid, comfort, or at least a flying lesson. Li’l just squatted there the whole time looking scared and miserable. Stupid Mama never came back, that bitch.

I suspect she plotted the whole thing. She got tired of hanging around in a flower basket so she unceremoniously kicked Li’l out of the nest and took off without so much as a fare-thee-well. She’s probably headed for Vegas.

Now that I think about it, she always did seem kind of sleezy, the way she pranced around shaking those fancy-schmancy tail feathers. I think I saw her wink at a robin one day, that artless slut. I got the impression the robin was saying something like, “As if, lady, as if.” What’s more, all evidence indicates Stupid Mama Bird laid those two eggs out of wedlock.

When she first moved into my hanging flower basket I checked on the internet to get an idea how long I might expect a mourning dove to hang around. It said that mourning doves mate for life and that, once the eggs hatch, the father returns to help out. Well, no father bird ever crossed the threshold of that hanging flower basket. I never even saw one flying around the general vicinity. Never once did I see any sign of marriage, or even illicit cohabitation for that matter. I’m not one to gossip about the birds in the neighborhood but, just between you and me, it looks like Stupid Mama Bird is a nothing but a cheap tart. I should have reported her to Chicks and Bird Family Services.

In any case, the bird-brained bitch bird never came back and poor abandoned Little Stupid Bird was left in the bushes to fend for his tiny self. I began to worry about the possibility of a stray cat getting wind of his misfortune.

Stray cats have a sixth sense about these things. Perhaps a stray cat was already homing in on Li’l’s plaintive cheeps, stalking its way across the lawns and under the fences of our neighborhood with evil intent. I looked around and didn’t see any stray cats, which only goes to prove how stealthy they can be. Something had to be done. I decided it was my duty as a hanging flower basket owner to teach that baby bird to fly.

I must have a natural talent for this sort of thing because it really didn’t take very long. I started by shooing him around the front yard in little practice circles. He was cooperative and hopped around flapping his wings, but seemed unaware of his innate ability to leave the ground. I adjusted my method to a sort of running back and forth regimen, the goal being to introduce him to the concept of acceleration. Soon enough, he was achieving brief airborne intervals, between which he tended to tumble head over talons in the grass.

I chased him across the lawn about a dozen times and, although his speed and coordination were improving, he just didn’t seem to be getting the hang of it. I considered strapping him to the hood of my car somehow, thinking maybe I could drive him around the block as a sort of flight simulator. Li’l and I sat in the bushes to talk it over and I happened to idly pull a weed not far from his resting spot. It startled him and, just like that, he took off into the air, soaring to brand new heights. Well, not exactly “soaring,” given that he nearly crashed into the neighbor’s house, but it was a thrilling moment nonetheless.

I’m thinking of starting my own flight school for abandoned birds. All I need is a set of those orange flags the municipal airport employees use to direct takeoffs and landings, and a little harness for my hood-ornament flight simulator invention.


Much Love,

--An Army Mom

Incredible but true PS: A little while ago my friend Ann and I were sitting on the deck when Ann said, “Oh my god, there’s an ugly little bird on the rail right behind your head!” I gasped and turned around, scaring the poor thing into the evergreen tree. It was Li’l Stupid Bird, of course, come to offer his thanks and farewell. I can hear him cheeping out there even now. I’ve got to get a lawn statue of St. Francis of Assisi. (We have a lot in common, you know.)