Over the past month or two, a couple of intrepid little birdies have been flitting about outside my office window, gathering nesting materials, chirping away, peering in the window at me and generally being quite birdlike.
Anyway, there I was early this evening, toiling away in my wee batcave, when above me I heard a strange noise. A kind of scratching, in fact.
I looked up, and there, peeping out of the edge of the light in my ceiling, was a bird. He looked confused. I’m sure I looked equally confused.
Then, the wee critter was in my office, flying around and generally showing poor navigation skills when it came to aiming himself at my now-open window.
He escaped my office and proceeded to launch himself around the main newsroom but (as far as I’m aware) he left no little deposits. Eventually, Jared (one of our reporters and, it would seem, something of a bird-wrangler) herded the feathery interloper down one end of the office, towards some open windows, and our little visitor flew off into the sunset.
Okay, so it was just the one bird, and no one was pecked to death, so yes, maybe my headline is a tad over-the-top. But I like Alfred Hitchcock.
(As an aside: Last year, when the baby birds hatched somewhere on the roof of our building it was obvious that the two wee birdies who had been seen flying past my window with assorted bits of rubbish/dried vegetation/nest-building guff were not alone. Oh no, the noise from the hungry babies would suggest there were hundreds of the little buggers).
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