Mostly whimsy and drivel of no consequence. And CHEESE.
Nearly a year ago I asserted that today’s teenagers were not “fair dinkum.” I would like to correct that sweeping generalization. Let me say that about fifty percent of teenagers today ARE fair dinkum and the other half – well, let’s just say they aren’t going to win any humanitarian, philanthropist, “good Samaritan” awards any time soon. REPROBATES!!! Perhaps that’s a little strong (then again, perhaps NOT – DEGENERATES).
Let me attempt to explain how I came to this amended conclusion. Ironically, it was prompted by two separate incidents from the very same day. Let’s see – good first, then bad? Or bad, then good? Hmmm. The bad is probably more amusing…
As I mentioned the other day, William’s wee (SO tiny) little dog Zeke had gone missing. Everyone was very concerned, particularly because he was not wearing his collar, and if someone took him in they wouldn’t necessarily think to search for a microchip. Moreover, if you weren’t looking closely you could step right on him (oooooh!), not to mention the threat of cars and trucks and SUV’s of death AND cougars (we DO have cougars here – don’t laugh – and Zeke would be a perfect, bite-sized hors d’oeuvre for a big cat like that). Therefore, many flyers were distributed and posted and so forth. As luck would have it, a teenager (guess YOURSELF whether this individual is a wretched troublemaker or not) found itsy-bitsy Zeke (he really is a diminutive, miniscule, teeny lil’ pooch – I’m myopic and if I weren’t wearing my glasses he’d probably be almost invisible) after he’d wandered clear down past Geneva Road. He’d been out all night; he was freezing and terrified, as well as filthy and wet. This teenager bathed him, tried to get him to eat, and attempted to comfort the little nipper. Fortuitously, this individual attends the same school as Sarah and William, so they saw one of the posters and called Shirleen immediately. ALL LAUDS AND HONOURS TO THIS TEENAGER AND ALL ACCOMPLICES THEREOF.
As for the OTHER half, I SPIT ON YOU! I BLOW MY NOSE IN YOUR GENERAL DIRECTION (Well, I am at the moment beset by allergies, so I must blow my nose in SOMEONE’S direction – why not in the general – nay, PRECISE – direction of good-for-nothing rascals)!!! Here’s the bottom line: I was trying to rescue a bird from the wood stove chimney, and I almost had a BIG FAT ACCIDENT – not my usual little smidgen of a mishap, but a SERIOUS CONCRETE CALAMITY.
See, the bird was in the chimney. I’d wondered why my Kitten Children were paying unusually close attention to the wood stove (Fiona stands up on the stove behind the chimney when it rains as though it were the most scintillating phenomenon in the world, but it was NOT raining), and then I heard wings beating. I opened the flue and removed some of the lining bricks from the inside of the stove thinking that if I could get the bird INSIDE the stove that I could get it into a box and then outside. But the bird didn’t listen to my knocking and beckoning and such. I realized that I’d have to get on the roof to get a better view from above of what was happening. Besides, that chimney is completely overgrown with grapevines, which probably caused the befuddled entry of the wayward bird down the chimney in the first place. I collected my tools: leather work gloves, medical gloves, a container of suet, a flashlight, a ladder and a pitchfork. I put on my sunglasses and a germ-barrier mask (oh, the things to which you have access because of cancer patients…) – you know – because of the avian flu (NOT “flue,” like where the bird was stuck or “flew,” no doubt what the bird wished it had done) and I was ready to go. I quickly recognized that I needed some extra height to get to the roof using the ladder I’d found, so I set up on the front porch. This may sound ill-advised, imprudent, a tad reckless, and – oh – to call a spade a spade – REALLY, REALLY STUPID. But I thought I could get away with it. I donned the gloves (medical gloves on the inside, naturally), and first put my other supplies on the roof. Then I attempted to climb up myself. This involved some tricky maneuvering past the rain gutter, as I had to perch the ladder dangerously close to the porch edge in order to avoid the overhang. Just when I though I’d figured it out – I had one hand ON the roof, the other grasping one of the big bolts that runs through the rain gutter (very secure, thankfully), the ladder started to teeter – and I don’t mean wobble just a bit – I mean it was lurching – and not TOWARDS the house, but OFF THE PORCH. I managed to glance down and saw that one of the legs of the ladder had somehow become wedged up on the bottom of the porch railing, and I was basically trying to re-balance it (or CATCH it, even) with one foot (the other I’d taken off to boost myself up). I was, in essence, hanging from the roof. I, at this point, intoned a little mantra of a quickly repeated curse word (appropriate for the occasion, I might argue). It was something along the lines of, “Oh, blankity blankity blankity blankity blankity blankity blankity blankity blankity blankity blankity blankity.” I also said, “Help me, Help me,” but I admit I was too embarrassed to, in fact, scream for assistance, so it was more of a timorous little, “Hey – help me? Help me – I could fall and injure myself MIGHTELY, but I wouldn’t want to trouble anyone too much with MY insignificant problems.”
Enter the reprobates (to, I think, faint strains of Send in the Clowns). The bus for one of the junior high schools picks ups and drops off right next door. Just as I was perilously dangling and wobbling and swearing and whatnot, the school bus showed up and the students began to de-bus (you “de-plane” – therefore one should “de-bus,” yes?). They casually walked away from the vehicle in little groups, this way and that, hither and thither, having deep conversations along the lines of (please imagine the droll accent I would use to recount their banter if we were face to face):
I can’t BELIEVE she said that! And then he goes, “I broke up with YOU.” I about PEED MY PANTS. AND did you see that she copied my new outfit – she always copies me – it is so LAME. And she looks like such a POSER! But he is such a HOTTY!
So help me, not ONE of the little cliques even gave me a sideways glance! Shirleen said later, “But they are raised to stay away from crazy people who frighten them.” She thought the swearing might have scared them, too. But I must answer to both counts: THEY GO TO JUNIOR HIGH. As though they don’t hear CUSSING in JUNIOR HIGH. And as though JUNIOR HIGH is not the most FRIGHTENING PLACE IN THE WORLD. Are they really going to be daunted by an unsteadily suspended “Lady” – they would all call me Ma’am – that’s if they had manners – but I just KNOW they would call me “Ma’am” because I’m “old.” I am, as it happens, evidently unworthy of their slightest attention. I honestly think the ladder could have toppled off the porch, I could have fallen TO the porch and then “KERBANG, KERBANG, KERBANG” down the cement stairs (more math – as I’m a scientist – “kerplunk” + “bang” = “KERBANG” – which is a necessary term for HARD smash ups) and not a single little neophyte would have batted an eyelash.
I did, somehow, manage to steady the ladder with my foot and pull it off the porch railing. Then I proceeded to climb up onto the roof (after all that I was GOING TO DO IT NO MATTER WHAT). I assaulted the vines with the pitchfork and my bare (okay, gloved) hands. I had to throw one nest off the roof (it was right next to the chimney – it had to be done). Then, I took off the work gloves, opened the suet, and hurled it off the roof as a peace offering to the poor creatures whose beloved homes I had to destroy (you were wondering why I needed medical gloves – were you not? Suet is greasy, GREASY, so I used and then discarded those gloves to open the package). Work gloves back on, I yanked and whacked and pulled and pushed until the chimney was free of vines. I did leave a HUGE overhang of branches that I just pushed off the roof edge with the pitchfork (we later chopped the top off) because I didn’t want to disturb the nests down inside any more than necessary. When the chimney was clear, I took the flashlight – which, ironically, worked PERFECTLY on the ground and suddenly was exceptionally DIM and tried to see where my bird friend was caught. I thought perhaps I caught a glimpse of it on a small ledge that’s must above the stove chimney, but I couldn’t be sure. So then I started talking down the chimney – you know, the things you say to rescue wildlife – “Little birdie – GO DOWN! Little birdie – GO DOWN IN THE STOVE SO WE CAN RESCUE YOU!!!” The disembodied voice wafting from the stove apparently scared the hell out of Shirleen, who’d come over after picking up Zeke from his rescue champions. She came to see WHAT ON EARTH was happening on the roof. This was, indeed, providential, as I called down the chimney for her assistance (in holding the ladder) when I was finished de-vining.
So, as I’ve CLEARLY proven, some teenagers are fair dinkum, and some are VILE, DESPICABLE REPROBATES. Hmmm. Perhaps this is a good metaphor for ALL humanity; half fair dinkum (lauds and honours to YOU – and you know who you are), and the other half consists of base and debauched, slimy gobs of putrescent pond scum on legs. Now I am a scientist AND a philosopher.
In the end, don’t you think we’ve all learned something? I’ve learned, with a deep and abiding conviction, THAT DAMN BIRD IS STILL IN THE CHIMNEY. All my beseeching, imploring and Morse code tapping (ha – didn’t really do that – people these days don’t know the simplest Morse Code, our avian friends shouldn’t be expected to do any better) was for naught. I currently am devising a plan wherein I climb onto the roof again (with ASSISTANCE, I promise), give the bird one more verbal request to kindly move down into the stove (if it’s not dead already – how poignant!), and if it does not or cannot move, I thought I could knock it off the ledge with one of William’s Airzookas (the “fun gun”).
Need I say I am OPEN TO SUGGESTIONS?
Amber Anderson
March 1st, 2006 at 7:48 am
Coat a string in peanut buttter. Coat the peanut butter in bird seed. Tie string to desired exit location (outside of chimney). Bird will munch his way out of chimney.
This is an unproven theory, but since birds flock to our pre-school made feeder daily, I figure it is worth a try.
Do acquire assistance for the climb, please.
As far as the teens go, let’s applaud them for not forming a cheering (jeering) section from below. Or a crab apple throwing section. Imagine the bruises.
jenny
March 1st, 2006 at 8:31 am
Hmmmm….we have a really, really dumb bird. But even with all of that life-experience behind me, I must admit that I can’t think of anything different to try except maybe calling animal control. If you emphasize the fact that you’d rather not have a rotting bird corpse stuck in your flue, they may either have some suggestions or [and this is a long shot] actually come over and help. I don’t know how high stuck birds rank on their “panic list.”
Pam
March 1st, 2006 at 9:03 am
Okay. The bird is obviously stuck and not just obstinate. So here’s what I’d try, so that you don’t wind up with an avian “Cask of Amantillado.”
You know those long, black, bendy tubes that people attach to drain spouts so that rainwater is directed away from their houses? Buy one of those from The Home Depot (unless it’s expensive, then nevermind…it was nice knowing your, bird), then either shove it up your stove or down your chimney, depending on the amount of mess or danger your willing to be exposed to. Next, hope like crazy that the tube pushes the bird either in or out.
Also, it might be a good idea, if you
Shirleen
March 1st, 2006 at 9:11 am
Wee, tiny, diminutive, little Zeke is recovering from his big adventure and is starting to act like his old Napoleonic self. He voraciously finished all the vita-bones yesterday morning and had to pout tragically today when I hadn
Kate
March 1st, 2006 at 2:21 pm
Amber, you are absolutely right about the bruises. As it is, I ALWAYS have twenty or so bruises of various sizes on my body somewhere (though my almost-falling-off-the-roof bruises are LARGE and UNIQUE, indeed). AND, more often than not, the origin of said bruises is completely baffling. It was once asserted:
True enough. But onward from bruise pondering (the next new Olympic sport in the Summer Games), these are excellent suggestions. This plants the seed of an idea (bird seed – ha) that is actually an amalgamation of contributed ideas so far.
First, I call Animal Control or “Wildlife Rescue” on the phone. I tell them my plan and say, “If you don’t come rescue the bird I shall IMPLEMENT THIS STRATEGY.” If they don’t care, I then take a long, black, bendy tube, coat it with peanut butter, coat the peanut butter with birdseed (Amber – isn’t there usually a pinecone involved as well????). If the bird is not enticed by the proffered treat, I will then use the tube to knock the bird off of the ledge (ooh – it might get stuck in the peanut butter – I’ll think about that facet for a bit) and TA DA! Too bad it’s probably dead…
chuck
March 2nd, 2006 at 9:19 am
The most efficient and effortless way to eliminate the bird would be to start a roaring fire in the stove, oxidizing it to gasses and ash, which will float by themselves out of the chimney. No need to climb or entice! Wait, was the goal to save the bird too?
terry
November 4th, 2006 at 7:59 pm
Dot dash dot. oh no, that’s not Morse!
terry
November 4th, 2006 at 7:59 pm
Dot dash dot.
Dale
March 18th, 2009 at 9:20 am
Chuck does know animals after all. You should listen.
robyn
March 23rd, 2010 at 7:12 pm
Well after reading that tale, at first I thought I’d been reading a screen play of a made for TV movie, alas it was only a two act play; Chuck stole my thunder. Yes, my response was somewhere in the area of light a damn fire and get it over with. Say a prayer and hope the little sucker learns, with singed wings still attached, one does not choose a darkened cave in which to build a home!
50/50 population score? I’d say it’s more like 60/40 and we say around here “they have two arms, two legs, a head and walk upright, but they’re not real” or as our friend says “the don’t even know the world is turning”. Math and Science!
I love your assessment of the junior high school student’s day. Yep. It is filled with coarse language and scary things. Scary things like “OMG! My dad just said he doesn’t have the $$ for me to go out Fridayand Saturday night!” “I am doomed to a life in a monastery.” “I hate my parents” and other such deep philosophical discussions of the 14 year old mind.
And bruises? I suppose I must have been at a convention of brilliant minds recently.
You crack me up!