The Mockingbird War

The Mockingbird War

         The annals have recorded countless conflicts which have affected the course of history. Conflicts between nations, races, and societies have plummeted mankind into war and strife since the earliest moments of recorded time. History books have chronicled the particulars of these conflicts. The art of war has been studied for the purpose of perfecting the practice of waging war.

         However, search as you may, you will never find the chronicled details of the conflict known as the Mockingbird War. Its battlefield was small in comparison to greater conflicts. The field of this conflict was a suburban backyard. The participants consisted of man and bird--specifically my neighbor and a mockingbird.

         Scholars of war will agree that the tide of any conflict is dependent on available resources and the application of those resources by the combatants. You would surmise that the superior intellect of the Homo-sapiens would eclipse any possible resource the lowly bird may posses. Man has the talent and ability to work in groups; to reason and formulate strategies; to go where no man has ever gone before. [Oops, wrong story.] How can a simple little bird expect to prevail against such odds?

         However, adversaries have been underestimated before. A termite can bring down a house. A single drop of water can short out a metropolitan power plant. A small infant can reduce an intelligent adult to a blubbering moron. Likewise, the size and resources of the mockingbird must not be taken lightly.

         Jerry and Ginger were excited about the prospect of turning their new house into a home. Improvement plans that involved house and yard were embraced with shared enthusiasm. In the first year that they lived in the new house, they accomplished much of what they planned to do. The house had surely turned into the home that they had sought to create.

         The conflict began suddenly at 4:30 AM one morning. The tree outside their new bedroom window offered a perfect perch for the mockingbird. This had been his turf before the interloping humans had nested at this spot. The bird had every right to perch on the branch and sing his song of praises. Birds do not tell time; nor are they controlled by the clock, like the work-bound humans are. Therefore the mockingbird chose on that early morning to perform for the world his entire repertoire of songs.

         He started with, “Treat-treat-tur-whil, treat-treat-tur-whil, treat-treat-tur-wil.”

         He waited for the response from the neighboring mockingbird on the other block and then countered with, “Turp-wil-o-twil, turp-wil-o-twil, turp-wil-o-twil.”

         Then with added emphasis he skillfully negotiated the difficult, “Turpit-trupit-treet, turpit-turpit-treet, turpit-turpit-treet.” His form was perfect and his clarity was exemplary.

         Unfortunately the versatility of the mockingbird was totally lost on the unappreciative humans. Jerry’s eyes popped open. “What is that?” his groggy mind unsuccessfully attempted to process the limited information.

         “Turp-wil-o-twil, turp-wil-o-twil, turp-wil-o-twil.”

         Then there was silence, except for the snore/snort emitted by Ginger when Jerry rose on his elbow to listen closely. The silence still prevailed. Jerry lowed back into the snuggling comfort of his pillow and allowed the sleep to close his eye-lids.

         “Treat-treat-tur-whil, treat-treat-tur-whil, treat-treat-tur-wil.”

         Jerry’s eyes flew open. “What in the world is that?” the grog left his mind and he focused all his attention on the unwelcome invasion of his senses.

         Turpit-trupit-treet, turpit-turpit-treet, turpit-turpit-treet.”

         Ginger’s arm catapulted in a calculated arc and caught Jerry across the chest. “Jerry, turn over! You’re makin’ racket!”

          “Ginger! Do I look like a bird? Listen to this!” Jerry incredulously responded and waited for the mockingbird to resume its tirade.

          “Listen to what?” Silence—again there was silence. Ginger now propped up on one elbow. “I don’t hear anything.” She raised her eyebrow at Jerry with the unspoken emphasis that said,”You’ve totally lost your mind.”

         Jerry could not see her, but he knew the eyebrow was raised. “Ginger, do you actually think that I’m making this up? Listen!”

         Then the accommodating mockingbird sang for Ginger, “Turpit-trupit-treet, turpit-turpit-treet, turpit-turpit-treet.”

         “What is that?”

          “Well, Ginger, it sounds like a bird.” Jerry was not pleased and was a little perturbed that he was asked to state the obvious.

          “Turp-wil-o-twil, turp-wil-o-twil, turp-wil-o-twil.”

          “Jerry, make it stop. I can’t sleep with it making all that noise.”

          “Ginger, just what do you expect me to do?” This was not something that he had ever experienced before. Besides it was 4:30 AM in the morning; it was cold outside; and it had been raining. His mind was already calculating, “Just what am I going to do?”

          “Turpit-trupit-treet, turpit-turpit-treet, turpit-turpit-treet.”

          “OK, that’s enough!” he exclaimed as he threw the covers off of himself and partially off of Ginger. “The bird’s gotta go!”

         He hit the floor in fluid motion and successfully negotiated his way through the house to the back door in the dark. He fumbled with the lock on the door and then charged out onto the darkened patio.

         The mockingbird made note of his advance and countered with a challenge, “Turp-wil-o-twil, turp-wil-o-twil, turp-wil-o-twil.”

         Jerry made note of the bird’s location and initiated a frontal attack as he advanced on the tree. Now, there is no logical explanation as to why Ginger moved the sitting bench over to the entrance of the patio between the tree and the back door. Jerry had learned that logic was not a fact that mattered. It was Ginger and she just did it. However, it would have helped his battle strategy if she had informed him of the logistical move.

          “Arguh!” was all Jerry could exclaim as he tumbled over the bench barely preventing himself from totally collapsing in the yard under the tree.

         In the darkened bedroom Ginger heard, “Arguh!”

          “That doesn’t sound like a bird,” she thought. Then she heard another exclamation from Jerry. “Nope, that’s definitely not a bird—but it’s also not a good sound.”

         Jerry recovered his balance and continued his advance. The mockingbird took evasive action and moved to the end of the branch safely out of reaching distance of his adversary.

         Jerry continued his advance in the dark; in his bare feet; in the cold wet grass. He approached his strategic spot beneath the tree and felt a cold sensation emit between his toes. “Gee, what is that?” he thought.

         Then he remembered their cocker spaniel, Sasha, and where her favorite potty spot was. “Please Lord, give me a break.” However, he was not confident that the Lord had heard this prayer.

         He had taken casualties in this battle. In desperation he committed his entire reserve and attacked the mockingbird. His battle plan was a simple one. He grabbed the tree limb and shook the living-daylights out of it. “See how you like this, Tweety. This is about a 20 on the Richter Scale for earthquakes”

          “Turpit-trupit-treet, turpit-turpit-treet, turpit-turpit-treet.”

         Leaves fell from the tree. However, Jerry had forgotten that it had been raining earlier. The severely shaken limb created a cascade of belated raindrops which pelted down upon Jerry’s head, thoroughly soaking him. Jerry smiled. He stood there with his shin aching from the attack of the bench; his toes violated by the dog-poop; and soaked to the bone in the cold morning. What was there to smile about? Jerry watched the mockingbird leave his tree and retreat to his neighbor’s tree.

          “There, take that Tweety,” Jerry mumbled as he stood on the battleground wounded but victorious.

         From a distance the mocking bird sang, “Turpit-trupit-treet, turpit-turpit-treet, turpit-turpit-treet.”

         Which meant, “One battle does not win the war, Poop-foot.”

         And then he heard, “Turp-wil-o-twil, turp-wil-o-twil, turp-wil-o-twil.”

         That was to say, “I shall return, for tomorrow is another night—and then yet another night after that.”

         “Treat-treat-tur-whil, treat-treat-tur-whil, treat-treat-tur-wil.”