It’s a long one. This is therapeutic, people. And from what I understand, therapists don’t really have any interest in helping me work on my type of “issues” because apparently having birds living in your bathroom vent isn’t important unless one of them is your MOTHER or something. Or unless your mother is married to one of the birds in the vent, and now that bird is your horrible stepdad. And they are having like this weird human to avian relationship that my brain thankfully can’t figure out how to picture. Or unless your mother put them in the vent specifically to gaslight you while working with your husband and kids to make sure everyone looked at you with the pity face and performed an attention-grabbing “finger around the ear” motion whenever you talked about it. Apparently, I’m just not therapy-material. So, I’m lying on the couch, and you are sitting in the chair taking notes. Good luck to you.

Know what birds do when the weather starts to finally (FINALLY – WINTER SUCKED Y’ALL!) get nice and beautiful? They start to get all into the baby production business. Well, first they start to get into the construction business. Which I dare say some of them genuinely suck at, for real. But most of them are damn fine constructioneers. Oh, that’s auctioneers. Constructioneers is not a word. But, maybe it should be? I’m adding it to my dictionary. Avian constructioneer geniuses. Like, seriously. What are they doing in the off season, anyway? Oh right. I guess that’s when they are concentrating on the music business. But I propose they quit both. I mean come on, everybody knows the music business is a grind. Shouldn’t they get in the construction business with both feet, er claws/talons. You know, after those yammerers have left the nest, and they look at each other all, “HOLY HELL, why do we do this to ourselves year after year, Bill???? They hatch, and they are so hideously ugly that they are adorable. But that lasts only briefly. Then, I just hate them with every fiber of my being, and count the hours until I can throw them out of the nest. Gently encourage them to leave the nest.” They really should just embrace construction, instead of the laying of the eggs; the sitting on the damn eggs; the listening to the creepy, irritating, never-ending, and for-the-love-of-all-that-is-sane-and-good-I-need-some-sleep-please-stop-scritching-and-scratching-for-one-bloody-second sound of the hatching; the ENDLESS fetching of food for the bottomless pits (“They are so tiny HOW CAN THEY STILL BE SCREECHING AND YELLING AT US FOR FOOD, BILL!!”); and then finally the violent shoving (oh, sorry dear, did I push you before you were ready?) of the birds out of the nest. Then, finally it’s time for the empty nest syndrome again which is an absolute joy. Have you seen how packed that nest gets there at the end? The tempers have got to be flaring 24/7 at the end with the beak in so-and-so’s back who has been unintentionally munching on his brother’s claw since the beginning of time because of the space situation. And his brother’s claw is so seriously rank, it’s a full-time job keeping the worms down so he can grow and high-tail it outta this shit show. Also, how did his brother’s claw get so damn rank? He just hatched. What in the holy hell was he doing in that egg. It’s not like there’s any room in there to do a thing but stare at your own ass and pray that either the end comes soon, or you are cooked enough to peck out of that damn shell. Wait, did I say cook? I definitely did NOT mean cook. Ahem, I was just saying it gets crowded in there at the end. Good grief. It’s not your typical roommate situation. The things these birds know about each others’ anatomy isn’t right, is what I’m saying. (Actually, some bird out there should definitely become a psychiatrist. Oh, the fat stacks in that bird’s future….)

OK, I’m reaching the point of the post here at a word count of 1026. Nice and succinct, right? Therapeutic, people. You’re supposed to be here for me. Hey, here are pictures.


Bird Nest in a Tree – Birds Pass IQ and Constructioneer Tests


Bird Nest in Vent - Birds Fail IQ Test and Almost Certainly Constructioneer Test As Well

Bird Nest in Vent – Birds Fail IQ Test and Almost Certainly Constructioneer Test As Well

Isn’t that second picture a real charmer? That’s where the avian mental giants built their nest. Brilliant, right? Yes, I can see where you’re maybe thinking, “Hey, at least it’s nice and protected from predators and such.” Listen. That vent has a cover on it. A cover that opens from time to time. These genius birds would obviously have no way to predict when that cover would open which means they would have to spend ridiculous amounts of time outside that vent waiting for it to open in order to get inside and set up their new digs. Are you starting to see why I have fashioned them little bird capes with the words “I’m with stupid.” on them? Good. We agree. Now, imagine these fools flying around out there waiting for the cover to open with their stash of nest items….waiting…..waiting…..waiting. We drive home day after day and find various detritus on the driveway under the vent. You’d think the birds might get a clue maybe? You’d be wrong. I’m guessing their makeshift and pathetic “nest” consists of feathers, beak and claw/talon shavings, and poop. Bird songs of “We did it!” wake me up in the morning. I am NOT a morning person, and also, geez, are they stupid. Morning after morning, I have contemplated ripping open that vent and climbing in to get them. Except I’m too big. They are lucky. Really lucky. Every few days, an odor so foul it cannot be described in any language that I have mastered will emit from that space, and the house will empty with humans fleeing with silent screams of horror. The screams would be audible but who wants to open their mouths and risk that rancidness entering their body? Who I ask you? And then, hours, or maybe a day later, the smell will disappear. I can only attribute this to a cleaning crew that this bird couple has hired to come in on the regular to clean up their most heinous mess. Which is that nest made of their biological matter. Hey dumbasses, that’s where the stink is coming from. And their process begins anew. And my seething continues its slow burn.

To that cleaning crew I must say, your work does not go unappreciated. If I could tip you extravagantly, I certainly would do so.

Feed my skull resident...

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