The great indoors no better than outdoors

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If I could talk to the animals what I’d say is “Look, I don’t CARE if you never speak another word to me, but I’d appreciate it if you’d talk to EACH OTHER.”

For the past three days, a small brown bird has been trying valiantly to come into my house. He wiles away the hours rap-tap-tapping at my windows, flying hither and yon as if we WOULD let him in if only we’d NOTICE him.

Well, I’ve noticed him, all right. I’ve also seen enough Hitchcock flicks to know that the whole “birds” thing doesn’t end well. No good can come of this bird in the house. None at all.

Talk

You would think the birds and bats would communicate. Why, pray tell, don’t they TALK to each other? Surely by now bat urban legends rebound with tales of the horror of “Old Lady Seabolt’s house.”

“Bats go in but they NEVER COME OUT!”

It annoys me to no end that wildlife continues to NOT GET THE MEMO: “I like you just fine — a respectable distance from the house.”

Instead, this bird, like many bats before him, seems bent on getting in. It seems that every single year, some invisible “Open House” sign visible only to the animal kingdom goes up in front of my house.

The lady beetles, bats, birds and bugs come from miles around to work on gaining entry. As our house is essentially one giant crack loosely held together with porch posts and shutters, they don’t normally find it terribly challenging to gain admittance.

Assist

I do my best to assist the animal kingdom. Knowing that birds are prone to flying into clean windows because they can’t see them, I did my part by keeping my windows so filthy that no self-respecting bird could fail to see it. Heck, the bird that is currently flinging himself into my window is leaving smudges.

The funny thing? This is an old house — it’s dusty, drafty and prone to attracting wildlife (this we well know). As a result, coming IN to my house isn’t going to be a far cry from just STAYING OUTSIDE IN THE FIRST PLACE.

Seriously, it’s a whole lot of effort of wildlife breaking and entering just to end up exactly where you started. You get in little bird and then what? You’re still cold, damp, confused and stalked as dinner by a cat. This you can get outside AND you won’t risk decapitation by a ceiling fan.

Country

There is a common misconception among people that those of us who live in the “country” just love animals. That we think nothing of just cavorting with God’s other living creatures all the live long day. As if.

This isn’t a Walt Disney cartoon and I am not Fairy Princess. The only animals I want in my house are the housebroken variety that shed on the carpets. If you aren’t willing to, at the very least, tip over the trash can from time to time, I’m not sure you can live with me.

Birds, bats and other things need not apply. I feel about wildlife they way any sane person does. Love it just fine from a safe distance — say The Animal Channel. Not so much in my dining room.

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Warm, witty and just a wee bit warped, Kymberly Foster Seabolt is a native of Kent, Ohio, who survived childhood exposure to disco and grew up to marry and move to the country. Her column weaves her special brand of humor with poignant, entertaining, and honest portrayals of parenting, marriage, and real life. She currently lives in northeastern Ohio with her husband, two children, two dogs, two cats, and numerous dust bunnies who wish to remain nameless.

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