You may recall that, a number of years ago, I had a run-in with an owl at the duplex I rent in Far East Dallas. If you don’t, this will more or less get you up to speed. (I don’t smoke anymore, just so you know.) My home and the adjacent area is an intersection or rest stop or other part of the avian highway leading to and from White Rock Lake. All sorts of birds are always hanging about. Fluttering about? Flitting about? Whatever. You get it. I don’t know how that explains the peacock I saw late one night, but maybe nothing really does. Cardinals, bluejays, hawks, owls, and plenty of other birds I can’t identify. I’m used to it.
But not long after the confrontation with the owl, I was buzzed by another bird in front of our building. And in the years since, it’s happened again and again. There have been times, too many, where I look like a lunatic swatting or screaming at or running away or ducking to avoid what, from a distance, looks nonexistent.
A couple of months ago, this happened:
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lol ok pic.twitter.com/osbXfe8Fsg
— maybe: zac crainđź’€ (@zaccrain) May 14, 2019
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And then yesterday, I was taking a walk and I came across a tiny little guy, huddled against the brick wall of a parking garage. I wanted to help but I also didn’t want to get swooped. It felt like a setup. I’m no one’s chump. Not anymore. Not for at least a few months now.
OK, I guess we’re all caught up now. Be careful out there.
