Somewhere in the trees and bushes of my back yard is a bird nest.
Actually, there’s probably many of them – but this one I know about.
In it are two baby doves with an occasional visit by momma bringing bugs for dinner.
I know this because the wife is obsessed with checking this thing several times a day.
She’s a fine woman.
The birds will grow up, learn to fly and then spend the remainder of their lives trying to sneak into the house and poop over the kitchen.
There is one very fat dove that’s been doing this for years.
Or maybe it’s more than one.
They all look the same to me.
You’ve seen one dove you’ve seen them all.
They all poop a lot.
These aren’t your white doves you see on Christmas cards and rich people weddings.
They are grey.
And pretty ugly as birds go.
The word has gotten out that we sometimes forget to pick up the dog bowl from the kitchen floor.
Food is served.
Come and get it.
And they do.
The damn things waddle through the open sliding door from the back yard, navigate the family room, sashay into the kitchen and check the meal de jour.
Just like they own the place.
If we close the door the dog can’t go outside so he poops in the family room.
If we leave the door open the bird comes in and poops in the kitchen.
Life is a series of choices.
Before you make this suggestion, understand the dog’s too dumb to use a doggy-door.
That option is off the table.
And if I yell at the bird the stupid thing flies into the window over the sink, knocks itself silly and lands behind some fake plants in this bay window.
We can’t reach it without climbing up on the sink.
So we try to lift it out with a Swiffer handle and aim it in the right direction where it flies to the nearest tree to plot its return.
Meanwhile the wife keeps going out many times a day to check on the nest and the next generation of kitchen poopers.
Her heart fills with motherly love.
Until they start marching into the house.
See why I’m grumpy?