PHOTOGRAPHY IS FOR THE BIRDS

I could smack Alfred Hitchcock for empowering feathered missiles. Last week I was almost gobbled by a turkey and I took a direct hit from a Mockingbird. I’m use to being mocked, but by a bird?

I was sitting on the couch watching the Paris Hilton show when I noticed a flock of turkeys in the back yard. I grabbed my camera and snuck around the side of the house. Seven hens, a couple of gobblers, and a whole passel of pouts’ were feeding on grasshoppers. I snapped a shot just as they spotted me. The turkeys scattered as I advanced the film.
Thirty minutes later, a hen and a jake cautiously made their way back into the yard. The hen spotted me and began to putt. The jake turned to flee. Hoping to ease his fear, I gobbled. Now, either I’m a champion turkey caller, or that jake was as dumb as a conch. He ruffled himself up and gobbled back before charging me. I’m not afraid of a bird but I suddenly remembered I’d left a pot of pasta simmering on the stove, so I went back in the house. Nothing worse than overcooked spaghetti.

A couple of days later I found a mockingbird’s nest tucked in a privet shrub. In order to get a good shot, I stood on a cinderblock, held back some branches with one hand, and snapped a picture. One of the fledglings gapped its beak thinking momma was going to feed her. But momma was busy. Just as I snapped the picture she dive-bombed my head, knocking me off the cinderblock. She circled to make another pass. I would have stood my ground, after all, a mockingbird is much smaller than a turkey, but I could hear the phone ringing so I ran inside. Turned out to be a telemarketer soliciting donations to the Wild Bird Fund.