Sunday, September 14, 2008

Yet another further further fable for our time

The constant bird

There once was a constant bird who was known near and far for his unwavering commitment to the dull routines of life. His other bird friends would fly and frolic and frivol about in the forests, engaged in morning games or afternoon work or seasonable activities. They would urge him to be up with the early bird, to hark like the lark, to soar about the sky like an eagle, to fall in love with a dove, and even to ostentatiously strut about like the cock-of-the-walk (the cock-of-the-walk in fact held regular strutting lessons for the other birds willing to pay a small fee). In winter, migratory birds would urge him to fly south; in spring, the spring chickens would encourage him to come out and enjoy the spring; and in summer, other migratory birds would urge him to fly north. But no: this constant bird just wanted to stay inside and watch TV.

If truth were told, this bird did not have a very exciting life. He had tried internet dating for a while, but couldn't get on with the other birds. They all wanted to fly high or sing sweetly or catch insects in the tree or swim about on the pond or hold wingtip-to-wingtip and gaze endlessly into one another's eyes while making peculiar honking noises. They weren't really interested in sitting at home and watching TV, and consequently, the constant bird wasn't really interested in them. He was as unmoved by the pleas of his mother to find a nice girl and make a nest and raise a family of eggs as he was by ominous documentaries he sometimes saw on the nature channel about survival of the fittest.

One day, men came to the forest and bulldozed the land, and chopped down the trees, and drained the pond that the ducks swam in. All the larks and chats and ducks and twits and penguins and geese and pigeons had to move out and go on to welfare. The constant bird, however, was staying in his house as he usually did and watching another episode of Star Trek: Enterprise. He therefore did not hear about this great natural disaster until days afterwards. He caught a report on the news channel.

MORAL: The early bird catches the worm. The late bird catches the next episode of Oprah.


nailpolishblues said...

I admire your self restraint in not using 'chick' in this sentence 'He was as unmoved by the pleas of his mother to find a nice girl...'

Alexis, Baron von Harlot said...

Happy Bird-day!

Maria said...

happy birthday greetings from meself! Constant happiness your way!

forlorn said...

Happy birthday, Tim.

Buying you a beer in spirit.

TimT said...

Thanks folks. I plan to celebrate my birthday in the usual way, by banging out a succession of transcripts into my computer here for 7 and a half hours and then catch a train home. Which is to say, I'll be at work.

Cake, however, may be involved.

TimT said...

I admire your self restraint in not using 'chick' in this sentence 'He was as unmoved by the pleas of his mother to find a nice girl...'

Hmmm, good point Nails. Come to think of it I didn't write 'he just didn't feel clucky', either, though I totally would if I'd thought of it.

TimT said...

Alternative moral for this story: The early bird catches the worm, and, if the geo-climatic, and biological conditions are right, a killer case of avian flu.

nailpolishblues said...

This is a true story (I know this because it happened to me): girl walks down the street, bird flies into the side of her head (wings freakin' hurt), bird flies on, girl gets very, very confused and contemplates going home and hiding under the covers.

I didn't get avian flu. There was a part of me that was disappointed.

Email: timhtrain - at -

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