osprey_archer (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
osprey_archer) wrote2009-11-13 07:41 am
osprey_archer) wrote2009-11-13 07:41 am
Entry tags:
The Birds
The University of York campus is infested with ducks.
Now, I am fond of ducks. Ever since I was a tiny child I’ve liked to feed ducks, and added to that now is the peculiar pleasure of knowing that duck’s feet slap against the pavement with a sound like flip-flops when they’re out wandering.
However, there is trouble in paradise. Along with ducks, the University of York campus is infested with coots.
Coots are black-feathered birds with round bellies that taper up to tiny heads and sharp red beaks, and three-toed gray feet with parasail webbing. They’re also evil. If you don’t feed a coot fast enough, it will peck you. Even geese don’t attempt to peck the hand that feeds them.
Unfortunately, when the coots first pecked me I responded by hurling my last piece of bread at them and scuttling. Now they’re out for blood.
Yesterday, I finished up the last of a loaf of bread. I took the heels out – peering around fitfully for coots – then tiptoed up to the weeping willow tree, hid myself among the foliage, and fed the ducks drifting there under. Mallards mostly; a few ruddy shelducks.
These were tiny bread heels. One of them was really just a bread shred.
But – but – when I emerged from the foliage, breadless, a score of coots were waiting for me. In attack formation. Attack-squawking. (All coot noises are attack squawks. If they aren’t chasing after duck-feeders they’re attempting to peck each other to death.)
I had no bread to distract them with, so I eased myself back a step.
The coots drifted forward.
I clenched my hand around my purse strap and wondered if I had the guts to smack an erring coot with it, as I minced back farther.
The coots moved forward. Some of them flapped their wings. More squawking.
I wondered if the coots would attack en masse anyone who hit one of their number. It would be like a scene from The Birds. Everyone would snicker into their handkerchiefs at my funeral because this was such a Darwin Awards way to die.
One of the coots broke formation and made an end run at my ankle.
I shrieked and tossed the empty bread bag at the coot. It turned sharply, just in case this was FOOD – and I ran.
And they followed.
I thought of their wings and the possibility of bleeding to death from coot bites to the back of the neck, and ululated quietly as I scuttled up the sidewalk.
Their three-toed feet smacked like flipflops as they followed.
I reached the building door.
The combination wouldn’t work.
I turned to face my attackers! –
—and the rest of the tale can’t be aired on broadcast television. Gruesome, man. Just gruesome.
(The coots gave up at the sidewalk. I think they were just too lazy to keep following me. So many other students they could peck, after all.)
Now, I am fond of ducks. Ever since I was a tiny child I’ve liked to feed ducks, and added to that now is the peculiar pleasure of knowing that duck’s feet slap against the pavement with a sound like flip-flops when they’re out wandering.
However, there is trouble in paradise. Along with ducks, the University of York campus is infested with coots.
Coots are black-feathered birds with round bellies that taper up to tiny heads and sharp red beaks, and three-toed gray feet with parasail webbing. They’re also evil. If you don’t feed a coot fast enough, it will peck you. Even geese don’t attempt to peck the hand that feeds them.
Unfortunately, when the coots first pecked me I responded by hurling my last piece of bread at them and scuttling. Now they’re out for blood.
Yesterday, I finished up the last of a loaf of bread. I took the heels out – peering around fitfully for coots – then tiptoed up to the weeping willow tree, hid myself among the foliage, and fed the ducks drifting there under. Mallards mostly; a few ruddy shelducks.
These were tiny bread heels. One of them was really just a bread shred.
But – but – when I emerged from the foliage, breadless, a score of coots were waiting for me. In attack formation. Attack-squawking. (All coot noises are attack squawks. If they aren’t chasing after duck-feeders they’re attempting to peck each other to death.)
I had no bread to distract them with, so I eased myself back a step.
The coots drifted forward.
I clenched my hand around my purse strap and wondered if I had the guts to smack an erring coot with it, as I minced back farther.
The coots moved forward. Some of them flapped their wings. More squawking.
I wondered if the coots would attack en masse anyone who hit one of their number. It would be like a scene from The Birds. Everyone would snicker into their handkerchiefs at my funeral because this was such a Darwin Awards way to die.
One of the coots broke formation and made an end run at my ankle.
I shrieked and tossed the empty bread bag at the coot. It turned sharply, just in case this was FOOD – and I ran.
And they followed.
I thought of their wings and the possibility of bleeding to death from coot bites to the back of the neck, and ululated quietly as I scuttled up the sidewalk.
Their three-toed feet smacked like flipflops as they followed.
I reached the building door.
The combination wouldn’t work.
I turned to face my attackers! –
—and the rest of the tale can’t be aired on broadcast television. Gruesome, man. Just gruesome.
(The coots gave up at the sidewalk. I think they were just too lazy to keep following me. So many other students they could peck, after all.)