My husband and I live in a neighborhood with wide lots. We might as well live in the country as our house backs up to a greenbelt. From my deck I can only see trees and more trees.
I love to sit out in the morning, gaze at the countryside, and listen to the birds. Birds? Yes, we have plenty of them. And we even encourage them with our birdfeeder in the backyard.
Wrens, cardinals, bluebirds, doves. They are only a few that make their way to the feeder. The big boys like crows and grackles don’t come into the yard. They only fly high above the ground near the trees at the edge of our property—which is fine with me.
No person or delivery trucks come around early in the morning, except maybe on Mondays when the garbage men show up. So, the other morning when I heard a loud whomp on my window in the other room, I couldn’t figure out what it was. In the old days, I would’ve figured the paperboy missed the porch. But then, if you’re under thirty, you have no idea what I’m talking about.
I got out of bed and peeked out the bedroom windows. Nothing unusual. Then I checked the front of the house. Nothing there.
Finally, I stepped out on the deck. To my left, a large crow flew away from below the dining room window. This was at least seven or eight minutes after I heard the sound. I put two and two together and figured out the mystery.
The large bird wasn’t watching where he was going and had flown into my window. He became unconscious but revived when he heard me open the back door. That scared him enough to fly away. That’s got to be the right explanation, don’t you think? I found evidence of black feathers plastered on the dining room screen.