My Own Little Ukraine.
They faced their oppressors with tremendous bravery and chirps.
“A leader who doesn’t hesitate before he sends his nation into battle is not a fit leader.” Gold Meir
Yesterday morning, I bore witness to an ugly and unwarranted invasion. I wasn’t watching the news, commenting as I usually do on the insanity of war or what amounts to war (usually with a bowl of cereal in hand).
No, I was taking out the garbage, which isn’t war, so obviously this particular invasion had nothing to do with my garbage.
It was an invasion nonetheless, and I watched with no cable, seeing as I was right there.
I knew from the beginning the invading forces were well organized. The majority waited in the trees while a young scout flew in to assess the potential resistance.
What I had done was keep the entrances small, so potential invaders — usually bigger ones — would get their heads stuck.
He took his job seriously, advancing on two houses, both containing families I knew quite well. I also knew they hadn’t locked their doors (I didn’t give them any).
What I had done was keep the entrances small, so potential invaders — usually bigger ones — would get their heads stuck.
Which is pretty much what happened.
The scout, in this instance, was more concerned with carrying out his orders than getting his head stuck, so his head did get stuck, causing a great flapping of wings, and no end of inflammatory chirps from inside.
I say “inflammatory” because the inhabitants are notorious for inflammatory chirps, and not terribly fond of invaders, especially ones who don’t know enough not to get their heads stuck.
If the resistance forces, meaning the families, hadn’t pushed his head out, and come out themselves, the war may have ended there.
It didn’t, though. These two adversaries had been in protracted battles for years. The threat of invasion was always there.
But, like most invasions, you prefer to think it won’t happen, which is why most start with a lot of people standing in line at ATMs and gas stations.
In this case, neither the inhabitants nor the aggressors used ATMs or gas stations, being birds.
Yes, folks, I’m talking about the black-devilled starlings invading the birdhouses Wendy and I built under the eaves of the carport. There, a happy community of chickadees had nested, raising their families in relative comfort and protection.
It happened with such speed, I forgot all about the garbage and did my usual rooting for the underdog (or underbird).
That is until the starlings decided to start a war, never expecting the chickadees to rise up the way they did. It happened with such speed, I forgot all about the garbage and did my usual rooting for the underdog (or underbird).
Threats were hurled under the guise of inflammatory chirps, saying (I think, anyway) the equivalent of “Putin is a dickhead.”
The lead starling up in the nearby tree probably wasn’t called Putin, but judging from the caws, he was certainly Putin-esque.
In any event, Putin (I’ll call him that for now) kept egging the scout on, telling him to stick his head in the hole again. This only made the inhabitants peck away at him with more determination. He finally made for the trees.
No doubt he lost his rank as scout, being ineffectual as he was, and a scaredy cat (which is an awful thing to be called when your worst enemy is a cat).
Now, having witnessed all this in real time, I found myself relating this to the present situation in Ukraine (since my cereal bowl was waiting in front of the television and the news was on).
Here you had the invaders and the defenders, one side wanting two bird houses they couldn’t use, and the other figuring the bird houses were theirs because — being chickadees — they’d raised more families in those bird houses than you could shake a stick at.
Putin wanted those birdhouses. In fact, he wanted them so much, he sent in more starlings, figuring their size — and noise — was enough to scare those chickadees into severe panic.
They’d established territorial prerogative, in other words, something the starlings didn’t expect or respect.
Putin wanted those birdhouses. In fact, he wanted them so much, he sent in more starlings, figuring their size — and noise — was enough to scare those chickadees into severe panic.
What he didn’t expect was resistance, something starlings can’t stand, especially coming from dinky little birds who usually stick to inflammatory chirps (which may or may not be “Putin is a dickhead.”)
What’s worse, the chickadees fought the next wave of starlings with even more determination. They even took positions on the eavestrough, lining up and attacking the starlings in swirling groups.
All the while Putin was in a great flap, figuring each new wave of attack would break the chickadee’s flanks. Either that or at least he’d stop the inflammatory chirps which may or may not have said “Putin is a dickhead.”
Eventually, the starlings started flying off, leaving Putin alone in the tree. He kept cawing, no doubt calling them traitors and cowards.
The chickadees, meanwhile, returned to their birdhouses, feeling pretty proud of themselves. Chickadees show this by making inflammatory remarks to each other.
That left Putin no choice but to fly away in a huff.
The noise brought more birds, crows, sparrows, even a hawk, all sending out derisive caws and chirps. That left Putin no choice but to fly away in a huff. Starlings do this by flapping their wings like crazy (they actually do this all the time whether they’re in a huff or not).
Things calmed down after that, and I returned to the living room where Wendy was making her own inflammatory comments at the television.
“Putin is a dickhead,” she yelled, and I told her she was in good company. I described the battle outside, and how Putin flew off in a huff, and Zelinsky and Klitschko did a fine job (I named the chickadees Zelinsky and Klitschko).
“We’re watching historic events unfold here,” she yelled, “and you’re describing a bunch of birds?”
There are bigger wars being fought. I just wish the people of Ukraine could’ve seen those chickadees.
Well, I wouldn’t say a “bunch of birds.” They were heroes in my mind. I get her point, though. There are bigger wars being fought. I just wish the people of Ukraine could’ve seen those chickadees. It was inspiring. Or at least I thought it was until Wendy told me to shut up and put my cereal bowl in the kitchen.
I’ll report more later when she’s not around.
Robert Cormack is a blogger and author of “You Can Lead A Horse to Water (But You Can’t Make It Scuba Dive).” You can join him every day by subscribing to robertcormack@medium.com/subscription.
