We have a weapon in our backyard that’s almost better than a tazer gun. Only ‘almost’ because I can’t point it and shoot it at someone. Rather, this weapon is an accidental infliction on those who are being annoying. Or not. It’s actually really hit or miss, literally.
About two months ago, in our made-for-bird-life backyard, webripped out the black pole fencing and ‘delightful’ (if you’re in your 50s and still living in the 1980s) apricot-coloured cement from around our pool and had a deck with glass fencing replace it.
It looks beautiful, is so much more functional for the kids to use and feels like a tropical resort. Except noone will bring me a club sandwich with my beer no matter how many times I snap my fingers. The service here sucks!
Our backyard tazer
Unfortunately though, we have unwittingly installed a backyard Force-Field of Death that Darth Vader would be proud of. You see, glass is see-through. So small things like children and birds see through it. While they run or fly at it. And then they bounce off said Force-Field of Death.
Some recover quickly like a little Noisy Minor we watched once, but his time was numbered if he didn’t get the hell up quick smart: Sussie was bearing down on him making all sorts of “I’ll look after you little fella’” (Translation: “I’m going to love you to the brink of death and then I’m going to love you some more and then you’ll wish you were dead because I won’t ever ever ever let you go but just love you more and more and more, little fella’”). So he shook his head and took off in the opposite direction ASAP.
The Boetman has only run into it twice, each time coming away with another lump to add to his lump collecting head, but he seems to have a healthy knowledge that the Force-Field of Death hurts and now avoids it.
Today however, whilst finishing up another Michelle Bridges torture session before lunch, a distinctive thump heralded a new contender in the Glass Fence Games. This time a Friar Bird ended arse up, feathers askew whilst its friend high-tailed it into the cane palms.
The Friar Bird, shaking it off after an encounter with the Force-Field of Death.
By the time I photographed the little bugger, he was up, still very much dazed and with a little blood on his beak. He flew away when I came a step closer, probably straight to his little Bird Bar to drink to his brush with the Force-Field of Death.
We haven’t had an actual bird death yet. And I want to make sure it doesn’t happen, but as cleaning the glass pool fence of bird shit every day is now also on my list of Things I’d Rather Not Do But That Is One Long Streak Of Bird Shit Right There, that I’m not actively seeking any real solution. Bloody birds.
I’m not completely heartless though, so any suggestions in how to turn our Force-Field of Death into just a Glass Pool Fence would be greatly appreciated.