I don't know what's going on. Maybe he's fighting with his siblings. Maybe he's losing at a video game. Maybe he smashed his foot on the edge of the bed frame (which I've done several times, eliciting bad words from my sweet little mouth). All I hear is the FUCK word, over and over again.
When I take a moment to listen a little more closely, I hear, "Get the fuck away from me, bird. Damnit! Shit!" And, finally, "THERE'S A FUCKING BIRD IN MY ROOM!!!!!!"
The yelling goes on with occasional pleas for his father. Perhaps his father is a bird whisperer or something. Mostly, though, it's the same thing over and over again: "Get the fuck away from me, bird. Damnit! Shit! THERE'S A FUCKING BIRD IN MY ROOM!!!!!!"
I notice his window, once open without benefit of a screen, is now closed, I'm not entirely certain how he thinks the bird will leave if the egress is blocked. His younger brother enters the room, excited about the bird, and riles the poor thing up even more, causing the room owner to shriek even harder. I can hear him from my perch in the driveway below the window yelling, "Dad! DAAAAAAAAAD!!!!!"
His father, a native of Italy, is no stranger to free-roaming birds. From what I can still hear outside the house, Dad enters the room, sees the frantic bird, and immediately starts cooing. "Poor scared birdie," he clucks, "peep peep peep peep peep..."
I am told later that accompanying the father's bird noises are also little chicken steps across the room, mimicking some strange Big Bird-like creature. Who am I to judge? Apparently this approach works, and the bird, now calm and still, allows Dad to scoop it into his hands, and he carries the little feathered treasure outside, releasing it back into the wild from whence it came.
Holy shit, the father really IS a bird whisperer!
Later, after my sweeping and picking up is done, I sit outside reading for a short while. I glance up to the third floor window of the front house and notice the boy's window is still closed. Probably a good call, all things considered.
