Thursday, May 1, 2008

Not Montivani

There are two windows in the south wall of my bedroom. Outside, there are some vigorous, glossy-leaved laurel trees that border the building and are tall enough to almost reach the bottom of the windows. Hidden deep within the branches of the laurels is what must surely be a suburban sparrow conclave populated by sadistic insomniac blabbermouths. I suspect this to be true because every morning, somewhere between five-ish and six-ish, they start chirping. Incessantly. Loudly. Ruthlessly. Relentlessly. And they WAKE ME UP!

You know how a smoke alarm sounds when the battery is running low? That one-note beep that is just the right tone to emulate a staccato version of fingernails scraping across the blackboard of your nerves? I won't say the sparrow sounds exactly like that but it sure is close.

Now sparrows have a larger vocabulary than just that intensely annoying barbed wire chirp. Which is why it drives me absolutely banana-crackers to hear their wakeup call. It's like the infamous Chinese Water Torture, one cruel drop at a time, forever. If you don't believe me, go here and give a listen to the short sound track of a sparrow cheeping it's little lungs out. Play it over and over. With the volume UP.

They're doing this on purpose. I know that because, when I stagger into the kitchen and sit at the dining table with a mug of healing sacred brew, I can listen to the multi-bird chorus that rises from the cluster of trees outside that window and it's a whole different ball game, Coffee Mates. The sounds that surround me on that side of the building form a gorgeous symphony that soothes the soul and lifts the heart. The sparrows are over there, too, along with finches and swallows and flickers and jays and I don't know what all, but they blend in with the other avian voices in a thoroughly pleasing manner.

I don't mind getting a wakeup call. Really. What I mind is getting a wakeup call that is presented in such an abrasive tone that I want to roll out of bed and start slapping people. It's a good thing there are screens on those windows, that's what I think. Because, if I took those screens off, I could lean out the window with a big pot of ice-cold water and RAIN on those rascals like they've never been rained on before. Oh yeah!

Wonder if I could put speakers in the windows and teach the sparrows to sing Montivani?


Bonnie said...

Well firefox said I had to install plug in's to have a listen over at that site. So if I really want to I'll have to open IE. :-)

How would you like to have Chandler? He'll meow in his little squeak at 4 a.m. every morning for you. I don't think his hyperthyroid medicine is working.

Jo said...

Dee, welcome to the world of sparrow irritation. Bill and I know it well and we have taken steps to stop the little twitters from waking us up in the morning. They used to love to sit in the bushes right in front of our window so Bill put bird netting on them so they couldn't sit on the branches anymore. That was great.

Then they sat on the three inch brick wall right at our window. After being wakened one too many times just like you described, Bill nailed many nails (and I mean many) to a couple of boards and then put the board on the ledge of the brick wall with all the nails sticking upwards. Like the old bed of nails trick. The sparrows can't sit on a point like that so we have effectively shooed away the little buggers and sleep peacefully once more.

Either that or move your bedroom to your dining room...

Bonnie said...

1 p.m. and your notify said you wrote again. ?? lol

Bex said...

We've had a woodpecker all over the neighborhood, pecking his brains out all night long, and then all day long again!