Sunday night, after a hectic weekend of yard work, landscaping, gardening and welding, my husband Eric and I sat down to relax a bit. He jumped on the computer to talk to his Internet fishing buddies, and I picked up my Kindel to reread an old favorite book.
Then we were quite startled by the noise right outside our window.
Basically, think of the passage of the “Night Before Christmas,” when the couple was getting ready for a long winter nap, only it was Sunday and not December. There suddenly arose such a clatter, we were startled from our own little worlds to see what was the matter. There was screaming, yelling, fighting and all manner of ruckus. Banging on the windows and everything.
No, it wasn’t the beginning of the zombie apocalypse, we weren’t being invaded by killer tomatoes or marauding meth dealers. It was birds. There was a serious bird fight going on, and they were using the eaves of our house as their arena, tossing each other against the ropes and bouncing off the cedar siding. A birdie free-for-all.
Now, before I go any further in the story, I have to tell you about a running joke between me and my almost-son-in-law Luke. He likes words, so we generally get into a discussion about what words would be fun to work into crime stories. I actually got shenanigans into a headline once just for him. I have this whole list of silly criminal-type words in my head from our weird conversations.
So, sitting on the couch and listening to the bird version of the Sharks and the Jets during the big rumble, I told Eric, “Wow, quite the ruckus.”
“They’re all a bunch of hooligans,” Eric replied without cracking a smile.
We went through comments about shenanigans, high-jinx, tomfoolery and capers, talking in all seriousness about the situation. Then he got me. I cracked like a nut and started laughing when he announced, “That’s just an awful lot of hoopla!”
I sure like him.