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By Coulter Fussell
I’m sorry to report this week that I’ve become the targeted victim of a recurring crime. The ordeal started a few days ago when I was at home on Wood St and realized I had left my drawing sketchbook in my art studio on Main Street. In a misguided effort to be environmental, I decided to walk the block and a half from my house to the studio and retrieve the sketchbook. I’ll admit that my car currently having a broken trunk that flies wide open every time I drive over a pebble played a role in the walking decision. So, I guess in all honesty, I was walking to avoid embarrassment.
That one hundred percent backfired when I was attacked — in broad daylight — by a deranged mockingbird. Right there in front of Dr. Pullen’s office. This bird was, and still is, a complete psychopath.
It started swooping down at me like a kamikaze and didn’t let up for about 50 yards! He was swooping from trees and bushes and would then suddenly appear on a powerline and swoop from there! He swooped from Dr. Pullen’s dentistry sign! He crossed the street and swooped from the dumper with “$50” spray painted on it! Somehow, one bird managed to elicit the presence of an entire flock of birds with the general collective consciousness of a swarm of bees. He was an omnipresent threat.
There was nothing less than murderous hate in this bird’s eyes. I know this because it made complete and total eye contact with me the entire duration of the attacks. It turned its head at wild angles specifically to stare into my eyeballs, over and over again. Have you ever looked into the eyes of a mockingbird? Like, really seen into its soul? Well, don’t. It’s not good in there.
I remember the whole attack as being very loud due to the bird’s maniacal screaming, my maniacal screaming and the wing-flapping sound so close to my ears, as my head was the intended target. The bird finally let up once I got past Railroad Avenue.
I got my sketchbook. I also saw what my 13-year-old boy-child had drawn all over the outside of the sketchbook and I dreaded the walk home.
Of course, I was attacked again. This time, though, the sun was at my back and I could see the bird’s shadow on the pavement in front of me before he swooped! I imagine I appeared psychic in my ability to predict his maneuvers. I also had the sketchbook (covered in drawings that deserve to hang in a men’s bathroom stall) that I swung wildly over my head to block his violent onslaught. So that alone — the weird notebook — was probably disturbing to the bird on a mental level.
I wouldn’t say I “won” Round 2 but I’ll say I didn’t exactly lose, either.
I got attacked again the next day on a morning walk with my husband and felt vindicated as he had denied the existence of mockingbirds having “talons” the day before during my recollection. Fortunately, the bird didn’t attack me this morning when I walked as I imagine it was out collecting worms and dead bodies.
Suffice it to say, I believe The Owl Theory now. Y’all be safe out there, Water Valley!
