To Quell A Mockingbird

So I did a little research.  And it turns out that I could actually kill that annoying mockingbird that has been hanging out in the tree outside my bedroom window.  According to the Migratory Bird Treaty Act of 1918, the mockingbird is not a migratory bird and, therefore, not protected by law. 

You’re shocked?  So was my son when he overheard my husband and I planning an aggressive retaliation for the weeks of sleepless nights caused by the persistent abrasive repetitions of one annoying mockingbird.

With bloodshot eyes, hunched over our coffee cups one Saturday morning, my husband offered to look for his old bb gun in the attic.

“I may as well pull out my old bow and arrow,” I scoffed.  “You can’t hit a bird in a tree in the dark with a bb gun.  You’re liable to blow out the neighbor’s windows with a misfire.”

“I can’t believe you two are talking about killing a defenseless mockingbird,” my son chimed in.  “You know he’s only singing at night to attract a mate. I find it soothing; it puts me to sleep.”

I, too, once found the mockingbird a soothing sound in the middle of the night.  When my children were young and they would awaken me in the wee hours of the night with a stomach virus or a fever, I found the mockingbird’s songs a comfort.  The variations and repetitions of different birdcalls kept me alert all night while monitoring a child’s high fevers.  I found comfort in thinking that some other form of life was awake at that godforsaken hour of the night.

But now I am at that age when there are so few pleasures left in life, and a good night’s sleep is ranked high on that short list.  It is my due.  I’ve earned it.  And I’ll be damned if some annoying bird is going to squawk all night long outside my bedroom window.  I don’t care if he can’t find a mate.  Why can’t he go onto someone else’s rooftop on the other side of town?  My friend plants bushes in her garden to attract birds.  Maybe I could find a way to send him off to her neighborhood. 

In the meantime, I try everything to discourage his nocturnal noise.  I clap my hands and hiss out the window, imitating a cat.  He sings louder. The next night, I fling popcorn kernels out the window toward the tree and that stops him for a moment.  But just as my head touches the pillow he starts up again.

Another night, I’m walking back to bed from a visit to the bathroom and I see my husband crawling back into the bedroom through the window. He had been out on the roof, blindly swatting the air with his belt. This is what insanity looks like after many sleepless nights.

Night after torturous night the chirping, cawing, cackling, crowing, screeching, shrieking noise continues until, one night, I snap!

I put on my clogs and a bathrobe and stomp out into the blackened night. I start to unwind the water hose, slow and methodical at first, forming a strategy in my mind, but once I know what I’m going to do, I lose patience fast and pull the entire hose off the rack.  Big mistake.  The hose is all tangled now, but I pull it and drag it across the lawn anyway, stumbling over a wheelbarrow and a pile of pulled weeds and dirt.  In mocking laughter, the bird caws like a crow.

I’m huffing and puffing now, trying to reroute the hose around the dirt pile and the hose gets twisted into several knots.  I’m so angry, my teeth are clenched and I’m breathing steam through my nostrils.  And, still, the mockingbird sings.

I finally get close enough that I can see, if the water pressure is strong enough – I’ll have to go back and straighten out some kinks in the line – I just might blast him out of the tree.  I still can’t see exactly where he is, but from the sound of his squawking, I have a good idea.

I stumble back to straighten out the kinks, while the mockingbird breaks into a run of loud trills.  I turn the faucet on, rush back into position, using the playhouse roof to steady my shaking hand, pull back the lever and fire a strong steady blast of water into the tree.

Except for the sound of my own heavy breathing and the residual drips of water falling off the leaves, there is finally silence.

My nightgown is soaked from the dripping hose, there is mud all over my crocks and I can feel the burn from a scrape on my leg when I fell over the wheelbarrow, but I don’t care.  The adrenaline is pumping and I haven’t been this excited since I was a kid playing hide-and-seek on a dark summer’s night.  So this is what they mean by the thrill of the hunt!

I breathe deeply, slow and steady, and wait.  I’m not changing this wet nightgown and crawling back to bed just to hear the mockingbird start up again.  I don’t care if I have to sleep in the playhouse all night with this water hose clenched in my hand.

 I wait about 10 minutes, long enough for my eyes to get used to the dark.  I am a nocturnal creature now, listening for any movement in the trees, along the grass.  I hope to God there are no raccoons or possum hovering nearby.  Just to be sure, I squeeze the nozzle and spray a circle around me.  One more long spray into the tree, just to let him know I’m still here, and then I slowly retreat back to the house.

For the first time in weeks, I sleep in peace.

The next day, my husband rigs up a brilliant contraption so I won’t have to trudge around the lawn in the dark.  He pulls the hose up the side of the house and across the roof, anchoring it with a rope around a roof vent.

I have a new nighttime ritual. After I shower and floss, I check the position of the hose outside my bedroom window and then I retire to bed.

With a sparkle and a glint in my eyes, I glance lovingly across at my husband, and whisper, “I’ll take the mockingbird watch tonight.” And then I turn out the light and wait.

Who says there aren’t any thrills left at our age? 

If you would like to learn how to attract birds to your garden (please! take my mockingbird) see  "Attracting Birds To My Garden" posted May 17, 2012 at:  www.barbarathehealthynut.blogspot.com