A Puddle, a Pigeon, and a Predicament

There is something therapeutic about laughing so hard you can't breath, are about to pee, or are crying.

As I was lying in bed last night, I was trying to remember the last time I laughed hysterically. I remember sitting in a work meeting (seven years ago...all of my co-workers and bosses were there...) and for some reason I caught the giggles. I couldn't stop myself. In the back of my mind, the tiny voice of reason was telling me if I didn't stop I would probably get fired. That only made me laugh harder. Fortunately, it was one of those times when the hysterical laughing was contagious and the whole group (for no reason) ended up laughing (for no reason), except my boss's boss, who indulgently smiled and waited for the rest of us to regain self-control, no doubt thinking we were a bunch of crazy Americans.

My mind wiggled back to quite a few years earlier when I lived in New Mexico. In our backyard there was a pond (arguably a puddle). One afternoon, a pigeon fell in and couldn't get out. I somehow got the privilege of fishing the stupid thing out.

I went outside and it was flopping around in the water. I bent down to grab it and lifted the now docile bird from the pond. It stared at me with beady little eyes.

Now, I don't know if this was normal or not, but the bird reeked. I mean, it smelled dusty and rotten. I held it as far away from me as possible. I didn't know what to do with it. Mom told me to put it on the wall next to the pond, with the hope that it would fly away. Made sense...

I put the wet, moldy bird on the wall.

It fell onto its side and just laid there.

I was mortified.

Not only was I covered with moldy bird germs, it was now dead, and I felt semi-responsible.

I turned to Mom.

"What do I do?!"

She thought about it for half a second and said,

"Push it into the neighbor's yard!"

First of all, I had no intention of touching that nasty thing again. Second of all, at that moment, I was sure the neighbor's were looking out their windows at us and would know we had murdered the pigeon and dumped the body in their yard.

But what was I to do?

I took a shovel that happened to be there, swallowed the rising squeak of amused hysteria and approached the dead foul, I mean, fowl.

As I neared, the bird suddenly resurrected and, of its own accord, fell into the neighbor's yard. I didn't know pigeons played dead. Maybe it thought it was an opossum.

If that had been the end of it, I would have gone about my day feeling pretty good about NOT killing the bird. Unfortunately, on the other side of that wall was a dog.
I peered over the wall...

As soon as the bird landed, the dog pounced. I watched in morbid fascination as the dog's mouth snapped shut on the bird. He shook the bajeezes out of it, dropped it on the ground (probably from the taste) and stared at it expectantly. The bird's feathers were everywhere, its wing was bend in a funny position, and it, again, just laid there. The dog was disappointed. He wandered off, feathers protruding from his mouth.

I kept watching. I knew something was up.

The bird jumped onto its feet.

What the...?!

And then it flew away.

By this time, I was laughing so hard I was crying. So was Mom.

After I collected myself, I went inside and poured about a cup of Dawn dish detergent on my hands and scrubbed for 10 minutes. It was that bad.

That story still gives me the giggles. I have no great love for pigeons...especially after being pooed on by one (another story for another day...).
I think I need some de-stressing hysterical laughter. Or chocolate. Maybe both. Someone make me laugh!