The Dove That Changed My Life

April 29, 2007

When I think of close encounters with nature, I think of the time I was assaulted with my parents by an alligator. I think of time I was dragged around the backyard by a neighbor’s dog (for which I have some character-building scars on my hand). I think of the time I had a huge boa constrictor placed around my neck at Silver Springs - a controlled situation, yes… but still scary to a child.

And now I’ve got one more encounter to add to the list: the day a crazed, under-medicated dove tried to kill me on my own balcony. Yes… a dove.

So I’m sitting on the balcony, minding my own business. I do this a lot. I like to watch the cars, people, helicopters, and other parts of the world around me go by. It’s not uncommon to see animals thrown into the mix, too. Our apartment complex is a dual-complex shared by both humans and rabbits.

Seriously… there are rabbits all over the place.

Birds, in general, aren’t that rare either. I happened to look up in time to see one flying toward me from across the street. It was coming from the parking lot of the bar over there and, after all of this went down, I became convinced that the bird had, in fact, just left the bar. And it had more than a few too many tequila sunrises while it was there.

Even in mid-flight it looked a little odd. Sporadic movements… incoherent squawking that made no sense… and a little wildness in the look behind it’s eyes. I spent a year working in a psychiatric hospital. So I know mentally disturbed when I see it… and this bird was definitely mentally disturbed. I was watching - and laughing - until I noticed that it wasn’t stopping.

It was coming right at me.

I threw my hands up in front of my face to protect my eyes from what I knew was destined to turn into a scene from The Birds. I could still hear the crazed ranting of the bird for a while. But after some time spent cowering in the chair, I came to the realization that my eyes had not been pecked out… and the dove had gone quiet.

So I opened them slowly… and looked around… scanning to see if was safe. And that’s when I noticed the crazy bird. It was sitting on the railing of my balcony - not two feet away - looking right at me.

I knew it was better not to make eye contact. They say that about dogs and other wild animals. So I figured it was probably true for doves, as well. But even as I sat there terrified, trying to avoid direct eye contact, I felt a draw to the dove. I couldn’t not look at it. My desire to connect with this bird quickly outweighed my strong survival instinct… and I made eye contact.

It just stared back at me. Cooing. Peaceful. Dove-like. Gone was the mess of feathers and crazed rambling that had marketed the bird’s entrance. And for a moment all of my fears were gone. I reached out for the dove… not exactly sure what I expected to happen. For a few seconds I thought it was going to let me touch it.

And then I remembered something from the hospital: it often gets better before it gets worse.

Like that, the Charles Manson of doves was back and squawking and flapping and biting and tearing at my flesh with its razor-sharp talons. It was in this second that I truly feared for my life. I imagined being carried off by this crazy bird… dropped into a giant nest on top of the hospital down the road… or in an abandoned grain silo outside of town. Whether I was to be made into a slave for the bird and it’s family or simply devoured by hungry dove babies had yet to be determined.

So I started to scream. As the baby doves in my head began to eat me alive, I began to scream in real life. And I guess my screaming was crazy, too. In fact, my screaming was scary enough to make the scary dove reconsider me as a slave / meal… and it left. Just as haphazardly as it has appeared… it left.

But this isn’t over. That dove has it out for me. He’s more than a little pissed that things didn’t work out the way he had planned. Sometimes I’ll wake up with an overwhelming feeling of being watched… and I’ll see him sitting on the ledge of my bedroom window… watching me sleep. And sometimes, on quiet nights, I can still hear it circling above… watching… and waiting… to catch me off guard.

I’ll never look at birds the same way again.

This story is based on true events. Some bird names have been changed to protect their identities.

Posted in Humor, Personal

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