To Kill or Not To Kill a Mockingbird

By Crista Tappan - May 17, 2012

I am on the brink of insanity. No, it's not the massive amounts of papers and research I've been struggling with for my graduate degree. No, it's not the lack of money in my bank account. And no, it's not even dealing with life's common blunders.

I am losing my mind because of a pint-sized Mockingbird that has invaded my world and refuses to go away.

It all started two weeks ago when I found myself unable to fall asleep at night. It sounded like a car alarm, in varying pitches and tunes going off right behind my bedroom. The first five minutes it was intriguing for it's lack of giving up. It reminded me of a time when I was on a trip in Hawaii, and every morning I was woken up by the horrific monkey calls of a Franklin bird. When I asked the hotel staff about this curious sounding bird call, one of the staffers affectionately called them "The Single Ladies". Perplexed, he went into more detail. "You know," he said, shimmying his arms a bit. "Like the Beyonce' song. They are calling out to their mates. 'All the single ladies, all the single ladies!'. 

Unlike in Hawaii, where the birds were more like Roosters who started crowing with the sunrise, these little shitheads only sing at night. I kid you not. This little hell-raiser sings from (drum roll please...) 11:59PM until around 5 AM. The first night I noticed this pattern I wanted to rouse all my neighbors to create a diabolical plan to assassinate these birds. There is NO WAY, I thought to myself. No way these birds can be doing this on purpose. 

The second night of a ear-plug induced insanity (I could still hear the birds faint cries) I finally hit a breaking point. I strapped on my head lamp, around 3 AM, and climbed the tree behind my bedroom. It was a futile attempt, mostly getting myself covered in tree sap and GOD KNOWS what other bugs/creepy crawlies.

Currently, there are an assortment of objects littering the ground under the tree, remnants of my failed attempts at scaring off this bird.

I wanted to KILL. Then upon some research, I discovered, of course, these birds are protected. A phone call to animal removal will most surely result in either being laughed at over the phone or after they hang up on me. I told my Grandfather about the bird, and his suggestion was simple: Sleep in a different place.

My rage is at a boiling point. Move rooms just because of a bird? What if it stayed....forever?

Because I can't ignore something that refuses to go unnoticed (it has now taken to singing at night and day, JOY!) I did what any other normal person would "How To Kill A Mockingbird".

....this brought up an entirely different set of results. For obvious reasons.

But, I found this lovely blog written by a guy with a similar problem:

His solution? Power-hosing the little bastard into oblivion.

Let me tell you, I have now started looking at my gardening tools in an entirely different light.

My game plan: target practice. 5 PM. My backyard. No killing, just some gentle encouragement for the dear Mockingbird to take his song elsewhere.

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