WHERE did that bird come from?

For several weeks now we have been dealing with a rather cringe-worthy problem.

Somehow birds are getting into our chimney and finding themselves stuck in our fireplace.  Well, perhaps stuck is not actually the term I should use.

For weeks every spring we can hear the starlings, a rather nasty bird, rubbing their beaks over the cover that keeps birds and squirrels from crawling down our chimney.  I will go out on the deck and yell at them as the rat-a-tat-a-tat-tat of their constant rubbing is a great deal annoying.  Left Brain will bang on the front of the fireplace, making more noise than the birds to scare them off.  Both methods are effective, WHEN WE ARE HOME.  It is when we are out that it becomes an issue.

About 3 weeks ago, I tell Left Brain that I believe one of the little blighters has found his way down the chimney and was stuck.  We made a plan.  We'd open the flue when we got home and let him fly into a sheet we'd masterfully held (I would hold it with a death grip) over the open chimney, flip the flue and catch that sucker.

Starlings are ugly, dirty birds with very bad habits.  My father loathed them.  They will drive out "good" birds, even killing their young in the nest.  They have lice, mites and ticks.

At lunch, I get a call from Jamie, the dog walker.  She says she came in to find both dogs facing the fireplace, the cat between them, all staring intently heads cocked and ready for action.

I told her not to worry about it, as the flue was shut.  Was being the operative word.

Bupkes the Impaler

I come in from work that night to find Custer all lathered up and panting.  I have no idea why.  He's hyper excited and all over me to come look at something.  I kept thinking he had no water until he edged me to our bedroom.  There on the bed sat Bupkes, our little Manx cat killing machine.  He's the grim reaper of vermin in our area.
Bupkes has a gleam in his eye and his little stubby tail is moving in the hypnotic rhythm, lulling the bird, which was on the ceiling fan, into a trance, in hopes the bird would either fall off or fly off and provide a moment or two of killing fun for him!
I shut the door and leave the cat to it!

I call Left Brain, tell him what he was facing when he came home and went to make dinner.  

It used to be a nice mirror!

Left Brain gets in from work, goes in with our grandkids pollywog net, corners that filthy bird in our master bath and takes it outside.  It flies off without a "thank you for my life and for sparing me death by Bupkes" and we think how did it get in?

We then note that the flue had been bumped open...thank you Custer, who had chased that bird, and likely cat too, until he was ready to pass out, had run into the long dressing mirror and shattered it.  We knew it had to have been him as our other dog, Sherman had little to no interest in the shenanigans.  Yep...Custer had had to have bumped that flue open.

The next week we hear another bird in the fireplace.  NO WAY.  The scratching of its claws and cries of "I want out"  are pretty hard to ignore, but...we had a flea market to go to.  We put our fireplace screen up to keep the dog from opening the flue again and go...with the plan to remove the bird, with our previously hatched plan of a sheet and an open flue, when we get home.  Again, this WAS the plan.

We get home from the flea market to find the fire screen (wrought iron...wonder who moved that?) down on the floor, the mesh screen torn from the front of the fireplace where it was attached and what looked like insulation sticking out of the vent holes in the side of the fireplace unit to draw air to make the fireplace burn more effectively.  

Left Brain is bringing in the goodies from the car and I am thinking...really?  The insulation?   Was it insulation?  NO.  It was part of that stupid starling (yes again) slobbery and wet...and very very dead.  The cat had pulled out what he could.  I touched it which incited much "gross, gross, gross" from me and had Left Brain running in.  Poor man had to don gloves and pull that bird apart to get it out of the fireplace, which now looks like it was hit by a hurricane.  It was.  Custer and his cohort in evil, Bupkes had made sure it was as destroyed as the bird they had tormented.  It was an intruder into their abode...it deserved to die!

Two days ago...we hear a bird.  This time we are not waiting to get it out.  Two times stupid are we, but three times was not going to happen.  We have a plan.  The sheet is up, the net at the ready, the doors in the rooms closed, the doors outside wide open.  Left brain opens the flue. . . NOTHING.  Nothing came out.  It was a case of could hear it but not get to it.  A repeated try garnered the same result.

The fireplace guy is due out this week, so we thought, we'll stack heavy boxes in front of the fireplace, so the screen can't be knocked down...and that'll do it.  That bird will be there when the guy gets here...all is gorgeous in our world.

We watch a little mind-numbing television last night...not worried.  The flue is shut, it is blocked, the fireplace is blocked, the screen firmly in place.  Yep, let the fireplace guy deal with this.  We'll just keep our Dr. Destructo dog and murdering cat where they can do no harm.

Or...that was the plan.

Last night, I go into our room.  I get ready for bed, then climb into bed.  Left Brain was letting the dogs out and shows up a few minutes later and says...

WHERE DID THAT BIRD COME FROM?

Despite all our tries at keeping the murdering marauders from getting at that bird, it seems somehow they had.  Not just that...they had hidden it all day and brought it out as a family gift late at night.  SURPRISE!  It lay in the middle of the bedroom floor, wet, bedraggled and very, very dead.

I guess sometimes it just doesn't matter what you do...the best laid plans of mice and men....!

Friday and the fireplace guy cannot come soon enough!

Chronic/Progressive Illness and how Others Treat You

I'm going to have to go back and look, but I don't think I over-talk over-much about my ailments.

I know I do occasionally and my hope is when I go back and look I don't see that I've swamped this blog with thoughts on illness.  My hope is to share some of my insight and thoughts and eventually my grandchildren will come to find them and know what I thought deep down inside.

I think that when one looks "O.K." on the outside, people that don't know them assume they are fine. I can understand that.  These people do not know you, so they presume by the packaging, that you are fine.  This often becomes an issue in the case of handicapped parking spots.

People see someone exit a vehicle in a handicapped spot and if they are not limping, using a cane or weaving all over it seems the negative thought of..."Hmmmph, what a lazy son of a pup that person is...nothing is wrong with them," takes hold when the reality is that their disease causes fatigue you can't understand until you've hit that wall so hard you know you have to go to bed NOW or pass out. You never know...it could be internal trauma of some sort, really a myriad of things.

It is a case of ... the packaging looks fine but the goods are damaged.

I've received packages from UPS that had glass items as their content.  The package on the outside looked like it was unscathed, but the contents were a mash up of broken glass and sharp edges.

That people that know and profess to love you see you as slightly flawed, but how bad can it be (?) makes me sad.  You still look normal to them and because your illness has been going on for years, and you still look the same outside, they negate what you deal with.  This is sometimes hurtful and sometimes sadly amusing.

I think too, that I'd have to say there is a form of aggravation that one feels toward these people.  Do we want them weeping and gnashing their teeth over our condition, no.  But when you have a bad day and it is blown off as if you have had the flu and will get over it, it does cause aggravation in me.  I know it does my fellow chronic/progressive/no-cure disease sufferers.  How do I know this?  I know this because on many of my support groups it is OFTEN a topic of conversation.  Most feel it is as if these people who aver that they love you get so used to you being unwell that when you progress they just see it as a flair or something you'll eventually get over.

What do we want or expect from those that live with us, or are near and dear to us?

1.  We want them to allow us to feel bad and say so.  I don't care if I've said it 10 times before.  If you think of all the times I feel horrible, but never say, when I DO say, that is a signal to the people that love me, that it is quite a bad day.

2.  We don't want you to answer our problems and ills for us.  We want a little empathy, or a simple "that sucks."  That's all.

3.  We want you to know that we aren't going to miraculously wake up, as if the day after a 24 hour virus and be ok.  It "ain't" gonna happen.

It is as simple as that.

So I'd like to point out something to anyone who may, down the pike read this.

Much like the glass that was demolished in that very sturdy, "O.K." looking shipping container, we who suffer from disease that is chronic/progressive and has no cure (and some of us deal with several of these at the same time) are the same.  Sturdy and "O.K." looking on the outside but filled with hurtful things, damaged things within.

So to my darling Left Brain...thank you for understanding me best.  Thank you for understanding that I work VERY hard to appear like I feel normal when I feel anything but.  Thank you for reminding me when you think I am overdoing it, and most of all...thank you for never negating the ugly parts.  Just saying "I know, and sweetheart I'm sorry," is more often than not...just the ticket.