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A Paramour of the Outdoors, I Am Not

Life with a black thumb

by Karen Webb | 672 views | 1 comment | Rate this now!

Apparently the little rodent climbed up onto the feeder to get some nourishment and discovered that I had splurged on the organic birdseed. I suppose that he must have realized that it isn’t every day that you get organic birdseed which won’t fill you with chemicals that could stunt your growth, and it was obvious that he must have become a little overzealous. That had to have been the reason he jammed his little arm up into the self-closing window to grab more of this mouth-watering organic gastronomic delight. I suppose in his excitement he forgot that when you have a fist full of seeds, you can’t pull your arm out of a self-closing window. It simply won’t fit. So there he hung, scrambling to keep his balance on the lower lip of the bird feeder, attempting to free himself but instead just causing it to swing like a pendulum.

My maternal instinct kicked in, and I bolted onto the deck determined to help the bushy-tailed glutton. I stepped in to help the little critter by lifting up the bird feeder to take the pressure off of his arm, thinking that he’d get some relief, figure out he needed to drop the seeds, and then extract his arm.

He took one look at me, recognized that I obviously had black thumbs and the magic touch of the Grim Reaper, and freaked out. This wasn’t your average “I’m a little upset” freak out; this was a big, hyperventilating, panicked freak out. The fear in his eyes was real, and he did the only thing he could think of to free himself. It took four or five bites, but he managed to gnaw his right arm off in front of my eyes and bolt across my deck (leaving a nasty trail of Rocky the flying squirrel blood behind him) and then up into a nearby tree.

After standing on the deck for a very long moment staring at the grey fur and bloody severed arm still jammed inside the self-closing window, I walked to the end of the deck, carried the bird feeder to the trash can (spilling twice-as-expensive organic birdseed all along the way) and tossed it. I slowly walked back into the house, back to the living room, and drew the curtains to the deck closed.

This year I’ve accepted that a paramour of the outdoors I am not. I’ll help support the land trusts. I’ll write a check to help feed the belted Oreo cookie cows. I’ll enjoy the great outdoors, sure, but from a distance -- and with my eyes and not my touch.

About the Author

Karen Webb is a freelance writer, screenwriter, and marketing consultant who lives in the Boston area with her husband and two children.

1 comment so far...

Oh my god! Really, there was nothing you could do for the poor furry creature, but holy cow, how traumatic! Yes, that would put me off to birdfeeders, too.

Flag as inappropriate Posted by Daisy on 26th January 2008