Mockingbird Blues

This article was originally published on ARHtistic License in May, 2020.

I’ve now experienced everything.

Last week I was bullied by a bird.

I was minding my own business, walking Ralph, when a bird started trash-talking me. I tried whistling at her, but that just made her hopping mad. I continued on my way—and she dive-bombed me!

From the marking on her wings, I guessed she must be a mockingbird. (Thank you, Hunger Games movies, for giving me that bird-identification frame of reference.) I know birds can get aggressively protective of their nests when they have little ones, but there are lots of trees in my neighborhood, and I have no idea which one she calls home.

There she is, in my neighbor’s tree, bad-mouthing me.

On the way back from our walk, we navigated the entire cul-de-sac. Bad idea. Mrs. Bird snuck behind me and whomped me on the back. (All right, she weighs two ounces, but I felt that!)

Every day for an entire week, that birdie terrorized me. I tried talking tough to her (“Don’t you dare bother me!”), I shook my keys at her, I wore a floppy hat. Nothing stopped her from swooping at me from behind.

There were two mornings when my plans included doing yardwork. I couldn’t—I was too afraid.

Yeah, she looks innocent, but she’s terrifying.

I haven’t seen her this week. Maybe her eggs hatched and she’s busy feeding her babies? Maybe her babies died because she spent so much time chasing me that the babies starved? I don’t know what changed. It’s a mystery of life.