pelican_proof

This is a long story. It happen several years ago. Names have been changed to "protect" the innocent.

 

“The Pelican Proof”

 

 

 

I did not know, on that cold March day, that I would become the source of new experiences for the neighbors. These things cannot be planned.

 

It all started as I was coming home from the hardware store. I was unaware that the hand of God had been guiding my selection of the largest, industrial sized mop bucket that Home Depot offered for sale that day. Nevertheless, I usually am unaware that the Almighty has a task for me, until the task lands in my lap.

 

That mop bucket was bouncing around in the back of the Pick-up truck when I wheeled around the corner to my home only to find a Pelican slowly waddling down the middle of the street in front of my house. The bird was obviously disoriented and very weak. I dismounted the Pick-up Truck and said, “hey buddy, are you o.k.?”

 

Even in its deteriorated and half-frozen state, it attempted to shrug me off and to run away from me. The poor bird was staggering like a little drunk and when it spread its wings to try to fly, it teetered and tottered like the hopelessly drunken fools on the “Cops Television Show” trying to convince the “Ossifer” it was only “twree dwinks”. Despite its weakened state the bird kept just ahead of me. I needed help.

 

Being the resourceful woman that I am, I surveyed the driveways on the street to see which unsuspecting husbands, significant others, and children of other women were home. I found two of them. One is an architect and the other a computer programmer.

 

When requested to help me capture the bird they both looked at me dumbfounded and said, "excuse me, I don’t believe that I have ever been asked to do such a thing!”

 

God Bless Men. I mean it sincerely. When presented with an unusual and somewhat strange request most of them are totally up for the adventure.

 

We coordinated and went in for the capture. We were in for an adventure. The bird opened its enormous beak and spread its wings to threaten us .It hissed and popped its beak and looked, for all the world, exactly like a pterodactyl in a horror movie. We moved closer and the bird gave up its threats, and turned to run. We fanned out to limit the Pelican’s escape options. There we were three middle-aged people, and a Pelican who appeared to be drunk, staggering this way and that down the street. We cornered the bird in the architect's yard. I reached in and grabbed the beak and each of my recruited heroes gently grabbed a flapping wing. The herding heroes folded the pelican’s wings against its body and lifted the protesting bird into my arms.

 

I brought the Pelican into my home and locked it in the bathroom for safekeeping while I thought about our mutual predicament. I slumped against the door and said, “Well, smarty pants, what are you going to do now?” Pelicans have no voice, so they cannot squawk, but they do pop their beaks to threaten, and a very loud snake-like hiss escapes their throats. Anyone who thinks that birds are not related to dinosaurs needs to listen to a Pelican’s hissing. On the other side of the bathroom door, there was a lot of hissing and popping going on and it was loud!

 

I needed still more help, so I called my daughter, Sara. “Sweetheart”, I intoned, “you have to come and help your mother, now!” Since Sara grew up with this kind of thing happening all the time, she was not particularly shocked, and came to her mother's aid. When she heard the raging, hissing and popping going on in the bathroom, she looked at me and said, “Mom, what have you got in there, really?” Imagine that, the role reversal had finally happened. I was not asking her about what was so interesting in the bathroom she was asking me!

 

“A Pelican … see,” I cracked the door; a cacophony of hissing, popping, and fluttering erupted in the bathroom. All we could see was flapping wing tips and a flashing beak. Sara reeled backwards, “Good God, that is one enormous bird are you sure you can handle it?”

 

“God never gives us more than we can handle.” This was a prayer not a statement of faith. I was thinking that God might have been a wee too confident in my abilities.

 

Sara and I scrounged some fish from an unsuspecting local fish market entrepreneur. The poor man had no choice but to surrender his inventory, below cost, to two charming and determined women. He conceded that he did not wish to be responsible for a dead Pelican, and turned over the fish I wanted. I felt like a blackmailing bank robber, but I was on a mission!

 

We came home and began to negotiate a truce using the fish as a bribe. I herded the Pelican into the kitchen. Pelicans can have a seven-foot wingspan and the bird needed more room to stretch, and I needed an escape margin.

 

I dangled a fish and the bird turned its royal head sideways to take my measure with its blue eyes. The long beak and pouch rested on its snowy chest, and for a brief moment, I thought all the fussing was finished. The bird hissed, lunged and grabbed my arm up past my elbow. I flinched, but I did not move. Pelican beaks are serrated backwards to keep hold of fish. I was more stuck than brave. If I had pulled back, I would have left half my flesh. I did however have sense enough to release the bait. The Bird realized I had done something good. It let go of my arm and kept the fish. The Bird permitted me to feed it this way until I ran out of fish. When I came up empty handed the hissing and popping started all over.

 

I had to go and get more fish. I locked the pelican in the bathroom and went to get the fish. This time I paid retail.

 

Now this is where the mop bucket meets the story...a pelican is a very large bird, and they have very large poop. Between the time that I left the house to get more fish, and the time I returned, the Pelican decorated my bathroom with... you guessed it...lots of pelican poop!

 

I transferred the bird back to the kitchen and cleaned up the bathroom with my new mop bucket and lots of disinfectant.

 

The feeding struggle re-commenced in the kitchen. By degrees, the bird calmed down as its stomach was filled. We had reached a compromise. I would not be bitten as long as I had a fish in my hand and minded my manners.

 

Both the Bird and I were worn out from the struggle, but I had one more thing to do. I called Trapper Drake, my husband, at his office and broke the news over the phone... "We have a Pelican in the Kitchen"... I have only experienced a pause that long coming from Jack Benny in a TV show when he was asked to pick up a check at a restaurant.

 

"And how did 'we' manage to do that?" he uttered in controlled tones over the phone. I explained what happened. “Oh, and be careful, not to step in the poop when you get home, bye-bye, love you sweetie.”

 

I do not know what went through his mind, but he was reconciled to the problem by the time he got home.

 

Hours later, Trapper Drake walked into the house, kissed me hello and sailed into the kitchen as if everything was normal. He walked right past the Pelican and over to the counter to get a bite to eat. I held my breath and squinched my eyes expecting the Pelican to fly into a hissy-poppy fit. Nothing happened. I peeked.

 

That damn bird had waddled right up to Trapper and was gazing at him like a long lost lover. My jaw hit the floor. The bird was practically leaning on his leg, and Trapper was cooing sweet nothings at it. “What’s the matter, friend? Have you been having a bad day? Was the weather a little too cold for you? Well, we can fix you right up.”

 

My sense of Altruism was shattered. Here I was, bruised and scratched up past my elbows. I had been wounded in the line of duty, treated like a stable hand, hissed at all day long; and in walks Trapper to take all the glory and thunder.

 

I bedded the Pelican down in the bathtub, and tucked my bruised feelings under the covers of my bed. I muttered something to Trapper about ungrateful feather-brained bi-pedal creatures and sulked off to sleep.

 

The next morning the love affair continued shamelessly in my face. I brought the Pelican into the kitchen and un-wrapped some more fish. I was hissed at again, but I did manage to avoid having my arm injured. The Pelican then looked me in the eye, and pooped in the middle of the kitchen floor; then waddled over to where Trapper was reading the newspaper, and settled in beside him in a very possessive manner.

 

I do not think that I have ever been treated that way in my life! How does one let a Pelican know that “she” is out of line? Oh, Yes, I was sure it was a “she”.

 

We decided to try to verify if I was correct. We found out that a female Pelican will have a beak twelve inches long and a male will have one fourteen inches long. Trapper had to measure her beak, because she would not let me near her with anything but food. He put the ruler beside her head and, yes, we had a Girl Pelican who came to be known as Pelly.

 

“See”, I sniffed at Trapper, “I told you she was a hussy”.

 

Pleased with himself, old Trapper just grinned at me and cooed at the bird calling her a “pretty little Pelly”.

 

Well, there it was, Trapper had an exotic new friend, and I was doing the mop-bucket ballet. The pity of it all was that I had no one to blame but myself.

 

My daughter, Sara, came over the next morning and surveyed the situation.

 

“Mom, this is one of the most outrageous love affairs I have ever seen. You have to get that bird back with her own kind. If she imprints on him any further she’ll be building a nest and getting broody.”

 

“Tell me about it! I’ve been looking at it for two days now.”

 

Sara and I called a wild life rehabber who already had a small flock of recovering Pelicans. She could not get to us for another two days. I pleaded, “The Bird has fallen in love with my husband and is making goo-goo eyes at him at this very moment. Help me!”

 

“Nope, can’t do it”, she said, “Besides, I know that you have done wild life rehabbing in the past, and that Pelican is perfectly safe in your care. I have people out there who are in a total panic and they do not know what to do with a sick animal. You are way down the triage list.”

 

I was going to have to swallow my pride and reach an understanding with Pelly in order to get through the next two days. I would have to stay away from Trapper and provide all the food, and clean up every bit of poop; and she would get all the petting and praise. Did I fail to mention that I am sometimes a poor negotiator?

 

Accordingly, Pelly and I reached a truce. As long as there was no overt display of affection between Trapper and me, I could feed Pelly a fish without being bitten. Moreover, I could do my other duties sans hissy-pop supervision.

 

The day of separation arrived. The rehabber called and said she would be here in one hour.

 

I offered Pelly the last fish and she gently took it from my hand. My heart dissolved. My inter-species rival had accepted me as her equal, and I was going to loose her within the next few moments. I felt saddened, as if I was going to loose something that I did not want to release. Sara came back and the three of us sat in the kitchen with Pelly. For the last time we took pictures of Pelly and Trapper engaged in their morning routine like old familiar friends of decades. All of us relaxed into the exquisite lightness of being fellow creatures of this planet. During those last few and precious minutes of communion, the value of life, of just being alive, and able to share time and space, sparkled and glowed like an inexpressibly beautiful crown jewel.

 

I am blessed and fortunate for the care that God takes when he gives me an assignment.

 

Done