This morning I delivered a milking stand and 400 pounds of goat feed to a friend (who doesn’t have a truck and I do). Upon returning home, I noticed the side door into the bonus room (formerly a 3 car garage and now an apartment-type thing with a couple of residents) was standing wide open. I grumbled something rude and closed it, fearful that the dog who lives down there had gotten out and was now galivanting all over the county, never to be seen again. She was in the other part of the house, so that was a relief.
Then, a couple of hours later. I noticed something stunk. The aroma seemed to emanate from the lower regions of the house, where the dogs crates are kept. “Hum.” thought I, “it hasn’t been THAT long since their bedding was washed but ok, I’ll wash it.” Usually when something smells bad it’s their fault, in one way or another. A sniff of the bedding gave me lackluster assurance that the blankets were the source of the problem. So they were loaded up with baking soda and bleach in the washer. However, I still smelled it. “Probably just lingering after effects” I decided.
Later on, #1 came over, and went down to the big room down there, and came back up holding his nose and howling, tears coming out of his eyes as he was unable to contain his glee.
MOM, THERE’S A BIRD DOWN THERE
Ok, I thought…but I don’t see how it’s worth all that.
NO…MOM…IT’S HUGE…I THINK IT’S A TURKEY
What? I supposed wild turkeys are not unheard of but I can’t imagine why one would be in our game room, especially as they are not prone to socialize with people. Then I thought “does it have rabies? Is that why it’s acting weird? Do turkeys even GET rabies? Do I need to call animal control?” All of these thoughts, of course, happened in a few seconds. So I went down to investigate and there was this BIG BIRD
Just derping around in the game room. Pecking at an opened pack of ramen noodles and giving me the hairy eyeball. He ambles over to the other side of the room and hops onto a chair. “That is not a turkey,” I thought. “That is a buzzard.”
I am naming him Steve, because he resembles Steve Buscemi.
There is a buzzard in my house. Which explains the aroma. I’m telling you those things smell AWFUL. Like last week’s garbage left sitting in the sun. And it’s the garbage bag with the moldy food you cleaned out of the fridge. Leftover chili, questionable chicken casserole, that kind of food. That’s festered in the sun (and not weak cold Winter sun, but the July sun, with humidity.) That’s what that bird (and consequently, the game room in which people currently live, with all their textiles. Which absorb aromas like nobody’s business.) All the blankets smelled like Buzzard and the little rug.
Eventually we quit laughing and gagging long enough to find a blanket with which we could capture the poor (well, he didn’t SEEM too upset, hopping around all casual-like. I guess you can be like that when there aren’t any predators that bother you) thing by cornering him and tossing the blanket over him. However, he didn’t like that, because when I picked him up (ever so gently), he did that thing that buzzards do when they’re scared. Did you know they have a terrible and effective defense mechanism? Well, they do. I know this because it happened to me a long time ago when i accidentally hit a buzzard (not very hard, he rolled over the hood and hopped up). When buzzards are scared, or deeply unhappy, or whatever, they throw up.
Man. We only THOUGHT he smelled bad. That was a whole new level of bad. That was a logarithmic expansion of aromatic feistiness. The week-old bag of festering leftover chili-garbage just erupted on the floor of my bonus room, and rolled around in possum poop, burning our nose hairs and watering our eyes and causing distress amongst those with tender sensibilities (who shall remain unnamed) and merriment amongst those of us with heartier constitutions (namely, me).
Thing is, the poor creature was probably hungry. After gathering him up, I took him outside and tossed him into the front yard, where he ambled some more. #1 tried to chase him out of the yard, waving his arms and shouting SHOO, and the bird tried, but apparently has a broken (or somehow injured) wing. I have been pondering emptying the freezer of some old freezer-burned chicken legs, and kind of putting them in the ditch across the way so Steve won’t starve. Buzzards, while unattractive and smelly, are necessary parts of the ecological chain. If it weren’t for buzzards and flies, the roadsides would be littered with rotting corpses of animals. And he was kind of cute. Smelly, but cute. If I could keep him fed long enough for his wing to heal, I’ll feel better about the situation. I don’t begrudge him the ramen noodles (which he lost, poor thing), nor the blanket-washing. He was just looking for a meal.
So, how’s your day been?