Honestly I don't know what it is with me and animals lately. Last week I had a dog die on me and then this week (yesterday to be specific), I had a run-in with a bird. A big bird. Not a tiny parakeet-sized bird, but a bird the size of a pteradactyl...a bus-sized pteradactyl. Me, exaggerate? Noooooooo. Okay, so maybe it wasn't bus big, but it wernt' yo momma's chickadee!
So I stayed home from classes yesterday in hopes of kicking cold #2 of the semester and when I went downstairs in the morning there was a bunch of ash on the floor around our wood stove. Now, we never use the stove because the landlady hasn't cleaned the chimney in awhile, but the doors also aren't latched properly, so I though maybe a big gust of air had come down and got some ash in the house. I cleaned it up and went back upstairs. Two hours later, when I come down again, I notice there is more ash. I clean it up and begin to wonder what's going on when I hear it. It was a sound to make your blood curl...or...maybe it was just the sound of wings tring to get out of the fireplace. Um, yea. That was probably more like it.
Anyway, the long and short of the story involved my landlady telling me to just let it die and then get the bird out (um, NO! Like I want to know a dead bird is on the other side of the wood stove surround? Not thinking likely), her being of no help because she was out of town, my dog Sage starting to freak out because she could hear the noises, and me and my roommate trying to shoosh a large bird out of out living room, all the while with me screaming like a girl (not my proudest moment) and both of us dodging a freaked out and panicked bird.
Happy to say the bird got out, but I think after all was said and done I was more traumatized than the bird. I just kept having visions of a certain Hitchcock movie. *shivers*