Season's Tweetings

Season’s Tweetings

           With a name like “Mary’, a normal Christmas was out of the question. Office parties, secret Santas and twinkle lights are nice, but those are normal. Boring. Mary did not want boring.

           This year will be different, she thought. New love means new possibilities, and  Mary’s new boyfriend, Paul, was a true romantic. When Mary told Paul that she’d always wanted storybook Christmas, she knew he’d exceed her expectations.

           And so, with nearly two weeks to go before Christmas, a large, noisy package arrived at Mary’s house. Mary opened her front door to find a box with holes cut into the top and sides, and something inside was squawking. Mary peered through the holes, but saw only fabric.

Mary lugged the box inside and opened it to find a blanket partially draped over cage, and inside the cage appeared to be a pigeon staring Mary down. The bird was gray with brown flecks on its ruffled wings, and was clearly not any happier to see Mary than Mary was to see it. At the bottom of the cage, atop a pile of crumpled newspaper and a coating of bird droppings was a note: “Merry Christmas, Part 1, love, Paul.”

As Mary was moments into her staring contest with the disgruntled pigeon, her phone rang. “Paul…yes, I just got it. It was so…sweet. A partridge? I thought it was a pigeon! No, I did not see the pear…hold on...” And sure enough, and the bottom of the cage was a pear. “I'm sorry", said Paul, "I could not find a pear tree, and so I had them throw in a pear.”

Mary did not have the heart to tell Paul that she knew nothing about bird care, or the care of any living thing. Mary was sure that her spider plant had been trying to make a break for it when she found it fallen off the table she’d set it on. But, she thought, I will show Paul I can make this work.

Food. Birds need food. “Well," she said to the partridge she was still sure was a pigeon, "pigeons like hot dogs, I think I have some in the fridge. Oh no, you, I am not opening that cage. You look like you’d peck my eyes out.” So Mary retrieved a hot dog, broke it into bite sized pieces and pushed them through the cage’s wires.

Mary picked up the cage, set it on the table previously occupied by the spider plant, and replaced the fabric cover over the cage, thinking that Paulie – what better name for a pigeon gifted by a Paul – would want to eat in private.

The next day, the doorbell rang. Mary opened it to find a courier with an even larger box with holes cut into the sides. Mary took the box inside and opened it to find another cage with two more pigeons. Their wings were slightly more colorful than Paulie’s, almost gold-laced, but make no mistake, they were pigeons. That arrogant look, the head thrust forward, the overall gray. Just what I wanted, thought Mary, more pigeons.

This time, the note was taped to the outside of the cage. "Two turtle doves, for my love dove! Merry Christmas, love Paul.”

Mary carried Paulie 2 and Paulie 3 upstairs, why give a new name to something that won’t answer, and treated them to the same hot dog meal.

“You probably want water”, she said. “Well I’m still not opening that cage.” So, Mary found two Ziploc bags, slid them partway through the doors of the Paulies’ cages, and, using a straw, siphoned water into each bag before lowering the bags to the cage floor and clipping them to the side of the cage. Ha, thought Mary, that will show that spider plant! MacGyver could not have built a better bird feeder.

But it took just one curious peck from Paulie to tear the bag loose and send water spilling out of the cage and on to the floor. And with it came uneaten pieces of hot dog.

Well, she thought, I guess I am going to have to open the cages, and find different food while I’m at it.

Mary looked at Paulie, and then Paulie and Paulie. “You like bird seed, right? Well, we don’t have any of that, and the pet store is closed. How does granola sound?”

Mary retrieved some thick gardening gloves to protect her from the anticipated attack, opened Paulie 1’s cage a crack, and drooped a piece of a granola bar inside. Paulie stayed on his perch. Braver now, but still not taking off her gardening gloves, Mary opened the cage wider and placed a dish of water inside. She repeated the ritual for Paulies 2 and 3. They look awfully chummy, Mary thought, maybe it’s Paulie and Paulette.

The next morning, Mary came downstairs to find the three birds chirping away, the granola bars uneaten, and the water dishes tipped over. Mary was just about to scold them for the mess when the doorbell rang again.

Mary had a hunch what she would find, and lo and behold, another box and an even larger cage, but this time instead of a pair of cooing pigeons, Mary found three fat chickens. The note this time read “three French hens for my amour.” Oh for Pete’s sake, she thought, did the man get a bulk discount at Billy Bob’s Bird Bazaar? And hens? Will they lay eggs? Does he expect me to start a hatchery?

She picked up the phone to tell Paul what she really thought of her gifts, but paused. He means well, and this has to be it, right? She replaced the phone and turned her attention to the three hens.

Mary knew what chickens ate. She’d visited a farm as a child and remembered the coops. “Corn…chickens like corn. It’s out of season. What would MacGyver do?” So, Mary went to the kitchen, opened a can of creamed corn, put it in a dish and placed it at the bottom of la cage au faux. 

The next day, a box arrived that was taller than Mary herself. The courier had to help her bring it inside. Mary dreaded opening the box. It was worse than she imagined. Inside she found an enormous cage containing an irate crow, a screaming seagull (that had made quite the mess of the cage), a blue jay, and an owl.

Mary had to tell Paul enough. But, she hated confrontation and fear she’d back down if she heard his voice. So Mary composed a text:

Paul, thank you for the gifts. You really shouldn’t have. I mean you REALLY shouldn’t have. Ten birds? Ten screaming, molting, pecking, pooping, birds? Five golden rings would have been lovely. Five onion rings would have been fine. But birds? I am donating the birds to a local zoo, because no living thing deserves this, not them, not me. Merry Christmas, but I am converting to Judaism. They only do 8 days of gifts, and most of those days are chocolate coins.