Arnold N. Breman
Birds Of A Feather
Woe is me. It’s not easy being a ‘Coragyps Attratus,” otherwise known as an American Black Vulture. How would you feel if you were voted the ugliest bird in the species for ten years in a row and the government labeled you as a breed of least concern? It’s not my fault that I have raggedy black feathers, am overweight, toothless and short to the ground which keeps me dirty all the time. They call me a scavenger because I specialize in eating bodies of the dead, how is that for public relations? Our droppings, you should excuse the expression, kill trees and vegetation. We are just not good for anything.
I wish I was a Sand Hill Crane, now that’s a stunning bird: tall, elegant, with shiny gray feathers and a bright red forehead. Those creatures don’t have a care in the world they just meander lazily all over the place. Cars stop for people to take pictures as they mosey across the road. When drivers see me rushing to try to salvage after some road kill for lunch they just accelerate to try to run me down.
I wouldn’t want to be a woodpecker. That’s one nervous bird, a regular ‘Rosie the Riveter.’ They need a serious dose of valium. Egrets are lovely feathered creatures: elongated, snowy white feathers and they get to romp around in the water all day. I could get into that lifestyle.
Flamingoes, with their bright pink color and long necks are breathtakingly beautiful, but they are destined to be housed in concentration camps or zoos. Geese are kind of nice looking, lofty and plump with white feathers and orange beaks but they are loud nasty critters. I wouldn’t mind being a cardinal now that’s a vibrant little bird with festive bright read feathers and a sweet melodic chirp, they have it made. I’m glad that I’m not a turkey; Thanksgiving is a pretty bleak threat. Chickens can be pretty neat but they have such a short life span. Chickens do have a choice of their disposal in the hereafter: fried, roasted, broiled or sautéed. Storks are a pleasant relative; they are statuesque with a protracted beak. They do contribute to the common good, they deliver babies.
Being a Crow is not for me, can you imagine being married to that constant shrieking. Myna birds are pretty and all that but they talk dirty too much. I could get into being a Lark with their lovely brown, gray, yellow and black feathers and high pitched warbling sounds. Then there is the flying animal with the funny name; Chic – a –Dee, they soar around singing the melodious song Chic –a-Dee, Chic –a – Dee, all day long.
Oh if only I could be different. Who is going to marry an ugly black bird that resembles an aged, stooped over, agitated, toothless Mediterranean widow.
