Every spring for the past ten years, we’ve had a bird problem. It’s an improvement over the squirrel problem we used to have, but still frustrating for a few weeks. Actually, the bird problem probably stems from the squirrel problem.
We used to get squirrels in between the roof and the upstairs ceilings. They had made a way in between the rafters and they made nests there. They didn’t come into the house, but the running, scratching, and sometimes fighting was distracting and could make sleep impossible. It took some time but, eventually, we trapped them, one by one, and released them at the city park. Although we still have squirrels in the neighborhood, they don’t seem to know about the access point in our eaves. However, we never managed to find where they were coming in.
Unfortunately, the Starlings did find the entrance. They started nesting somewhere inside the roof. They aren’t nearly as noisy as the squirrels were, but they don’t seem to be nearly as smart either. Every spring, either while exploring or trying to find their way back outside, they somehow get inside the house itself. I’m not sure if it’s the same bird or not. Although their average lifespan is only 2.5 years, records show they can live up to 15 years. So, it could be the same bird, but, considering that the Starling is supposed to be one of the most intelligent birds, I’d think it’s more likely a case of it being different birds from the same bloodline.
Each year, as soon as it begins to get warm, we’ll suddenly have a bird in the house. It will fly around frantically, throwing itself against the windows, while we open doors and try to encourage it toward the outdoors. It doesn’t happen multiple times per day and not even every day, but it does seem to take a couple of weeks for them to learn how to avoid whatever route brings them inside. We’ve kind of gotten used to it. We were more concerned about the birds injuring themselves than anything else.
Then, last year, my granddaughter who lives with us, happened to be home one day when the bird visited. She freaked out. I don’t really know why. She isn’t afraid of birds. But, her two toddlers (one and two years old at that time) must have picked up her agitation. Today, the two of them (now two and three) were playing quietly. Damion was drawing at the dining room table and Elaina was playing in the livingroom. I went to the bathroom.
Suddenly, Elaina started screaming. This is a habit when her brother refuses to share with her or otherwise frustrates her, so I naturally yelled, “Damion, what’s wrong with your sister?” Not actually accusing him, but the insinuation was there. His usual reaction would be “I didn’t do nothin’ to her.” Instead, he began to scream as well. I said, “What’s wrong?” as I frantically stopped what I was doing and put my clothing into order.
Their screams just got louder and more frantic. Now, instead of angry, they sounded terrified. I was seeing gouts of blood or shooting flames as I ran through the house toward them. Damion finally found his words, “A bird! There’s a bird.” Just as the Starling flew past my head into the livingroom. The poor bird was as frightened as they were and “madhouse” took on a whole new meaning. I opened the front door, propped the storm door open and tried to shoo the bird toward it as Elaina clung to my leg. He went into the kitchen instead. Now Damion is on my heels screaming, “Mommy doesn’t like birds.”
I got the two children into the livingroom and calmed down. Now that I seemed to be actively protecting them, Damion was more interested in the process of solving the problem than scared. Elaina’s screams had become whimpers, she was still upset, but she was following her brother and me as I opened the back door and tried to shoo the bird in that direction. By now, it was so frantic, I feared it would die of shock.
“Mamaw, what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to put it back outside.”
“How are you going to do that?” As the bird has gotten itself trapped behind the refrigerator and I am moving the microwave cart out of the way to get access. I pick up one of the kids foam swords to poke below the bird and urge it upward toward the open.
“He’s trapped himself behind the refrigerator. First, I’ve got to get him out of there. But he won’t hurt you. Just go into the livingroom. You are scaring him more than he’s scaring you.” As the bird gets free of the space between the refrigerator and the cabinet and heads back toward the dining room, hurling itself against the window again, both kids run into the other room. I quickly shut the front doors so that I don’t have to worry about the children escaping instead of the bird.
The poor animal is huddled against the window frame, clinging to the lace curtain. With the toddlers safely out of the way, I walk over and reach carefully toward it. It is so exhausted and traumatized, it lets me pick it up without even a struggle. Once it is safely contained, I thought to reassure the kids by showing them that I was putting the scary bird back outside where they could, once again, exclaim from a safe distance, “Look it’s a bird,” and laugh with joy.
I went into the room and said, “See, it’s ok. I caught it and I’m putting it outside.” Damion came close and looked, he was over it by now, but Elaina stayed put in my recliner and looked at me as though to say, “Are you crazy? Get rid of it.” So, I went to the still-open back door, stepped onto the deck and set my burden down on the patio table. It promptly flew away, seemingly no worse for the experience. I went back in the house and reassured Elaina that the bird was gone. We got shoes and jackets on and went out to run errands. By the time we got back home, the trauma seemed to have passed for her as well.
I can only hope that this year, the bird learns faster than usual.
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