Hang an intro. Here's my thesis: The Best Part of Work is being around birds.

Part of my summer job includes taking care of roughly forty chickens. In other words, there are thirty-seven Harry Houdinis at work (thirty-nine if you count the cows that keep busting out of their fences, but that's another story). Chains are as straw to them. High walls are as spacious arches. They could find their way out of Daedalus' labyrinth blindfolded and hobbled with leg irons. It's incredible. I attempt to keep them in an aging chicken coop with three layers of chicken wire, rotten netting and numerous baler twine patches. Somehow, one or two chickens always manage to get out. And of course, they instantly lose their heads and can't find their way back in. If they don't make it back before night time, they become hors d'oeuvres for the coyotes. It is a constant struggle for survival. They try to get themselves killed, and I try to save them.

I'm not terribly fond of chickens, but they are funny to watch. I resolved to write this post when I was collecting eggs today. Here is the situation: I am moving from left to right. I collect eggs from vacant nesting box 1. I move on to nesting box 2 just as Chicken A hops on to the ledge of the same nesting box. We have an awkward moment, and Chicken A, no doubt embarassed to be caught shirking her egg-sitting responsibilities, shuffles sideways to move in front of nesting box 3. I collect the eggs from nesting box 2. Chicken A has now figured out that something is wrong. She is not in front of the right nesting box, and she can't go back to brooding on her eggs. But when she sees me finishing up, she hastily dives into nesting box 3. Chicken A then discovers that nesting box 3 is already occupied by Chicken B. Chicken B makes a strangled noise - in pain, I think. Chicken A is now perched on top of her, anxiously checking to see if maybe it is Chicken B who has made the mistake and got in her nesting box accidentally and sat on her eggs. Chicken B's head is squashed down into her feathers. There are more strangled noises. Chicken A emerges when she realizes that no, it is definitely the wrong box, and I collect the eggs from under Chicken B. Chicken B is highly disgusted by the whole thing.

As I see it now, the above paragraph is a big chunk of text with too many As, Bs, Chickens and 1, 2, 3s in it, but it can't be helped. I was leading up to the sparrows, you see. They hang around the chicken coop because of the feed, but they spend most of their time chasing sweethearts or else in hot debate. Blows are frequently exchanged. But I don't want to spend much time on them, because there are swallows around too, you know. They fly like F-16s and poop like horses. When you think about how many insects they would have to eat to produce the messes they make on barn floors everywhere, it's kind of sickening...

Ah, and there are ungainly herons and nesting eagles and even pileated woodpeckers - and I could probably write volumes about the mallards that waddle around with their babies stumbling along behind them. Red-winged blackbirds and Canada geese come visiting too. And some birds I've never seen before (spotted towhees, I think, but it's hard to say.)

Conclusion: Birds are awesome.

If you wrote a book in which a bird was a character, what kind of bird would it be, and why?