I woke up to the sound of a rooster shrieking like a tortured child. It was 4:37 am and I was in Tampa. The year before when I lived in San Diego was all a dream. Ugh.
The rooster wasn’t the only bird in the backyard. There was also a Crow. A Crow that was only loyal to the Bird Lady. I thought we could get along one time when I was out on the back porch, talking to a friend on the phone. We were talking about the dream I had, the one where I escaped Florida the first time. He told me it was real, that it happened. I was suspicious. And so was the Crow.
It hopped up to me, friendly enough, but when I greeted him, the Crow attacked my bare feet, drawing blood. Rough start, but maybe we could still co-exist.
**narrator** They could not co-exist.
I was banned from the backyard for four months by the Crow. It trained me to stay inside by trying to gouge my face off every time I went out there. Fair enough.
I don’t believe in signs, but it was hard to ignore an entire state revolting against you through birds. The rooster never let up. The Crow was an asshole. But the exotic birds kept in cages by the Bird Lady were delicate too. She had an understanding with all birds, wild or not. I once saw her catch a mockingbird in mid-air and it didn’t fly away once it had the chance.
. . .
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