Dear annoying bird
I have a simple question for you: How the fuck have you not been shot yet?
Why in the everloving mother of hell is it a necessity for you, at half-past-four in the goddamn morning, for you to make that unbridled racket?
I am not a heavy sleeper. Lots of things wake me up from what appears to be a very deep sleep – my phone going off when it’s low on charge nearly gives me a heart attack (although it is a particularly loud and sharp beep). I can only sleep easy if there’s very little background noise – maybe some wind, or perhap the whirr of an electric fan can help to add some kind of soothing ambience that allows me to get my much-needed beauty sleep. Imagine, then, my chagrin when you turn up in the wee hours of the morning, just outside my window and vociferate your ear-plundering cries on an unyielding, constant basis.
I know you’re doing it just to ensure I don’t get any sleep past that point. I’ve carefully analysed your circumstances and I can honestly say that you have no other excuse.
First off, why four-thirty in the morning? Virtually no other birds are even awake at that time. Who could you possibly be talking to? Is it your job to wake every other bird in the neighbourhood up? I can’t speak for the avian community but I imagine their internal clocks work far better than my own. I require a noise to wake me up in the morning, whether it’s an ordinary alarm, a blistering progressive thrash metal song blasted through the tinny speaker on my iPod/radio clock, or a goddamn chainsaw. Importantly, I need it at a specific time – the hours of 12:00am to 8:00am I should not even be conscious throughout. Birds, I imagine, do not need that kind of strictly-scheduled stimulation to wake themselves up from an otherwise unshiftable stupor because they don’t stay up until two o’clock in the morning playing Doom.
Secondly, you stick to just one noise. Why? What could possibly be so important that you need to iterate it in birdspeak several hundred times a night? “This is my tree”? Well it’s not your tree, to start off with – it’s our neighbours’. You are proclaiming something that’s not your own as your own – and in the human world that is frowned upon and could possibly be followed up by legal proceedings against you. Speaking of which, you’re clearly violating some kind of noise limitation law, which I’m reliably informed is taken quite seriously here in Oz (a shame, then, that it seems to only deal with human neighbours).
Thirdly, the moment you make that first call, you set off everyone else in your wretched neighbourhood of avian daylight terrorists doing exactly the same thing. Your first squawk is followed by a pause of about five seconds before one of your kin, perched in a tree about a hundred or so metres away, returns it almost verbatim. You then reiterate the same irritating noise-polluting cry and the process repeats unstoppably. There’s no reason for it. If what I believed about your call translating to something along the lines of “this is my tree” is correct, then all I’m basically hearing between the two or three of your equally annoying brethren is exactly the same goddamn thing every single time.
It is utterly unnecessary – even if we assume that you’re attempting to say “this is my tree”, and, furthermore, even if that phrase immediately grants you complete and total ownership of the tree. You stay in exactly the same tree and call from exactly the same spot on a nightly basis. It’s pretty obvious that your “friends” (this is a very loosely-used term) do the same. You’ve established loudly and clearly that this is your tree, and they’ve done the same. What more needs to be said? You’re staying in your tree, and they’re staying in their trees. I’m pretty sure your method of defense has worked swimmingly. You are in absolutely zero danger of having that precious tree taken away from you.
Fourthly (and this is perhaps the most aggravating aspect of your behaviour), you are completely absent from said tree for the rest of the day, or at least appear to be from the sounds of things (or lack of sounds, more like). For somebird who is unyieldingly committed to the possession of a single tree you sure don’t seem to do a lot of living in it. For God’s sake, you can have it. No one’s going to question it as your own. Not other birds. Especially not other humans. The human world couldn’t give half a shit what you’re up to (and it turns out it’s not much anyway). Just stay perched on the same branch forever, please, because that would at least show some sort of commitment to the tree. Or shut up about it. Please shut up. SHUT UP.
Finally, I know I’m not alone in how annoyed I am by your very existence. The other night, all the while you were blathering on about how you own a big tree in your trademark “keep-James-awake-at-all-expense” fashion, there was a clamour of other birds all around you – crows, magpies, parrots, larks, bee-eaters – it seemed every bird in Western Australia turned up at exactly the same time and place to tell you to shut the fuck up. I think I might have even heard some other bird attacking you in its outrage at how you seemed utterly oblivious to the amount of purely unnecessary noise you were making. How much is it going to take before you leave us in peace.
[Blog readers: imagine if you will, a perfectly serene and quiet neighbourhood. People keep to themselves and make virtually no noise whatsoever during the daylight hours. It’s a peaceful, idyllic estate. However, one particular home-owner feels it a necessity to open up his window at the crack of dawn every day, and bellow through a megaphone “I OWN THIS HOUSE” every ten seconds for hours on end. And he does not relent when told to shut his stupid, ugly mouth.
This is what I’m going through, except instead of a noisy neighbour who can be chastised by the authorities, it’s a freakin’ bird that no one can do anything about. And it’s hell.]
So, Mr. F. A. Bird, please respond in writing (don’t bother with a voicemail) with your answer to my question. It boggles the mind how, in a neighbourhood so full and compact, that you can stay perched at the height of a tree right in the centre of it and not get something fatal (like a javelin or a bus) thrown at you for your abysmal behaviour.