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Death on the Suburban Safari

2004-06-15_xx_7:28 a.m.


At first, I thought I was still having another of my fucked up dreams that plague me as of late. My normal morning routine involves me sitting on the front porch in my skivvies and sucking down the first sweet bursts of nicotine while I blink incoherently at the rising sun. This morning, through sleep-deprived eyes I gaze across the way at my neighbors rooftop and see a spread of dancing insects.

Rubbing the sand from my drooping peepers, I do a side to side shake to knock out the cobwebs and try again. The same result greets me; some sort of winged insects are bobbing up and down in a rythmic fashion that I can only assume is some sort of ritual to praise the rising sun. After giving myself a hard pinch, my senses gain a little more equalibrium and I realized that: A) No, you are totally not dreaming, B) insects aren't remotely smart enough to have rituals and C) at least I'm not hallucinating. With failing to determine exaclty what I was seeing and with a backwards glance and the mass of polka-dancing airborne vermin my brain surrenedered and I hit the shower. Not much revelance to my actual story, but soemthing odd worth noting, none-the-less.

YESTERDAY

When I finally settled down from an afternoon of domecistcated errand running, can of PBR in hand, I found another damn baby bird on our front lawn. In addition to sufferring through the normal chittering of mating surburban avians, there has been a rash of baby birds randomly appearing in front of the house. This is the fourth of the little buggers in a two week time span and I was once again repulsed at finding another corpse littering the yard. Not one to touch anything dead and rotting with bare hands, I was preparing to flick the thing further into the grass covered jungle when the little fucker turned around and eyeballed me.

Shit, it wasn't dead.

Tangent time.

Besides having issues with most of the suburban wildlife in my city, I have beef with the domesticated animals as well. Specifically in my neighborhood, the felines I have a special disdain for. One of the neighbors has a bevy of 'yard cats' (i.e. outdoor) that roam our properties. None of them have had their reproductive organs removed, so the males spray everything (including the tires on my car), one or more of the females is constantly in heat (a wonderful sound outside my window at 2AM) and there is always some sort of fight or orgy involving two or more of these beasts at any given time. I've done my best to put a postive spin on these animals, reminding myself that they do things like erradicate baby birdies and general mouse like vermin, both of which I can never bring myself to kill, unless grave circumstances press me into reaper service for such animals. Insects are one thing and I lustfully squish and squash out bug life anytime I find it, but bones and blood crunching under foot make me squemish hence my reliance on the yard cat extermination crew that roams our neghboorhood to take care of such occurnces of suburban wildlife gone bad.

As of late, the kitties have been slacking. Several weeks ago I was forced to chase a small mouse (in the dark mind you) around before finally dispatching the disease carrying fiend with a well placed blow of my tennis shoe. Two weeks back, was a double sighting of dead birds NOT carried off and last week, I had to chase another birdy into the neighbors yard. And yesterday a live one. While the thing was techinically alive, it just sat near our flower bed breathing heavily with half-closed eyes in what I can only assume was some sort of heat exhausted haze. Spotting several of the four-legged extermination crew prowling about, I retreated inside so the massacre could take place unhindered. After sundown, I finally emerged to partake once again in my cancer stick ritual. After flicking on the light, scanning the yard and finding afore mentioned baby bird nowhere in sight, I uttered a sigh of contentment and continued with my heavy footed gait; left foot, right foot, left foot...

"SSSCCCCRRRREEEEEECCCCCCHHHHHHH!!!!", came the terrified response when my left foot slammed down upon the damn bird whose survival instinct dictated the front porch would be a good place to hideout. The initial shock of not only the noise but of stepping on something that made such a noise, forced me to quickly recoil in surprised terror and I DROPPED my freakin beer. I've never been a very empathetic person, laughing when Darwin thins out the species in whatever way he seems fit. Animal or people, I tend not to give two shits, occassional "tragedies" will move me, but life is a constant battle between life and death and when mother nature is involved, I'm not one to interfere, even for cute baby versions of the species. So after I crippled the poor little flapping fiend and as it stared up at me with hurt-filled eyes that demanded, "why, WHY did you just step on me? Life is hard enough without oafs like you interfering and now I am in pain and sufferring. I hope you are happy you fuck", my eyes went from spilt beer to bird and back again. Shrugging my shoulders with indifference and building rage at the loss of beer, I did what any accidnetal Grim Reaper would do under similar circumstances; I booted the now dying bird into the night and cracked another beer. My apathy very rarely has limits, don't you know.

Adapt (or at least stay out from underneath my feet) or die; even the mother of nature and the old man Darwin himself will tell you this idea. Life is harsh and death is harder when you live in a suburban jungle.

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