When I was in bed Tuesday night I heard weird noises coming from the basement. I hate that! This kind of stuff usually happens when BP is away on business. I bolted upright, and strained to hear wtf it was. I put on my glasses. Putting on my glasses always makes me hear better. Like turning down the radio in your car when you’re lost and trying to find a street address. Anyway, it stopped. Then started again. I took a flashlight and check in on LP. He was sawing logs. Then I took the flashlight and shined it out on the back porch. Nesta was sawing logs too. Damn, I was hoping she had knocked something over. But no, it was all quiet. So I went back to bed. And it started in again. I went out into the living room and called BP. It was about 1am.
BP: (groggy voice) What’s wrong?
Me: I heard a noise.
BP: What noise?
Me: A noise. In the basement!
BP: A human noise? You think there’s someone down there?
Me: No, not a person. What kind of stupid person breaks into someone’s house and makes enough racket to wake the dead? It was a noise. Like a wild animal down there?
BP: It’s probably a bird. Remember? About once a year one of the stupid birds---which you feed, by the way--gets into the house.
Me: I hope it’s just a bird and not a raccoon. You know, Vanda52 has raccoons in his attic.
BP: Who?
Me: Nevermind. You’ll be home Thursday right?
BP: Yes Puddin.
Me: Then it’ll be here waiting for you.
BP: Yeeesssss Puddin.
Me: I’m sleeping in the living room. I can’t hear it there. Bye.
BP: Love ya.
So I did. I slept in the living room. So yesterday after work I walked all around the house. I saw it. On the basement window ledge was a little mourning dove. That basement window hasn’t been opened in a hundred years and I wasn’t going to break it. I had LP hit the window with a broom, while I held open the basement door, hoping it would fly out on its own. It didn’t. It looked perfectly fine sitting there. And there it will sit until this afternoon when BP gets it out.
5 comments:
yeah, you got to be careful when dealing with those Indiana Psycho Mourning Doves...
BP is a sweetheart.
BTW, thanks for finally writing something interesting. You've been slacking lately.
Sometimes I get a bird in a greenhouse and its a pain in the ass to get it out , i don't know how they get in , i suppose a little crack somewhere but there are overhead fans running with big metal blades and while trying to chase it out if it flies into one thats the end of the bird and its very sad . The worse is if it's not dead but mortally wounded and I have to kill it . UGH . generally I'll drop a cement block on it . Nasty doings , allan
Hee . . . much more calm reaction than when I had that bird in the house. But, in my defense, Scout was trying to rip it apart and the thing was CRAZED.
Why isn't Nesta sleeping in the bed with you????
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