I just chased a bird out of my house. Like, JUST did it. There was a bird. In my house.
I opened the patio door to check on the Monkeys (who were drawing faces on rocks and setting them up "to take pictures of the rock family"......???) and a bird flew right over my head and into the dining room. My confused brain could not make sense of it at first. And then the Monkeys started yelling "A bee flew into the house! A bee flew into the house!"
Holy eff. That was a huge bee. I don't think I have enough Windex to drown such a big bee, I am thinking. Windex is my weapon of choice to kill all unwanted living creatures that wander their way into my home. Its pretty good on spiders, but I am pretty sure I will have to rethink my weapon if say, a rabid dog or a thief finds their way in.
Thief: I am here to steal your worthless belongings.
Me: You shan't take my 8 year old TV!! Watch yourself! I am armed and will make you delightfully streak-free!
Thief: Your cleaning products have no effect on me. Now hand over your semi-working printer and your Julia Roberts DVD collection.
I determine that it is a bird (thank god not the most genetically mutated bee on the planet) that has buzzed my head and landed on the ceiling fan. I must remove him from the house. I do not need another pet. And the bird poo. Oh dear god. If it becomes cement on my car's windshield I can only imagine what it will do to my couch. So my brain immediately thinks of my secondary weapon of choice for unwanted living creatures- a shoe. I have many to choose from- and I take a moment to ponder the options. One of the kids' flip flops? Hmm... good because it is pretty disposable if something terrible happens and bird entrails accidentally appear, but they are small and will require a proximity to the bird I am not prepared for. My high-heeled black boot? Nah. I really like those shoes. My pink and white Easy-Tone exercise-y shoes? Perfect! I grab one (is it weird that I took a moment to consider left or right?) and head back to the dining room to do battle. He is sitting on the fan sizing me up. I think he knows he can take me.
My brilliant move? I use the toe of the shoe to spin the fan. Bad. Idea. He takes off in a chirping fury and flies frantically around the living room. My next brilliant move is to stand on the couch and wave the shoe around above my head with the hope of....knocking him out of the air maybe? (Then what?!) Perhaps to be DIRECTLY in the line of fire of his pecky little beak? My thinking is not clear. All I know is that I need to remove this feathered poop machine from my house.
Apparently, the work-out shoe frightens the thing (I know, buddy, they frighten me too). Or maybe the sight of a crazy woman doing some sort of spaz dance on the furniture scared him straight, because he headed straight for the open patio door. You could almost see his little bird brain thinking She aint got no rhythm. I refuse to be taken down by an Arthur Murray reject.
He heads for the door with me in hot pursuit. Kids are yelling directions (unhelpful ones like "Kill it!" and "Get me a feather!" and "Go get a birdcage!"). He makes two attempts to make it through the wide open door (really?) and finally flies free straight to the back fence where he sits and glares at my house.
Damn. He is totally gonna come back in the night and do a fly-by pooping of my windows.