We are lucky enough to have had yet another visitor in our kitchen. El Portero will be happy to know that this time we did not need his help. Again with the sound effects and the falling-to-doom, etc.
We've got to get some sort of blockade going on the opening!!!
In order to be caught up on the drama in the kitchen, you should read part I and part II!
To recap: I have been asked twice (TWICE!) to put my precious hand (ha!) into the fan to grab (!) the bird and pull him out to release him.
All I thought was: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Luckily for me, el pájaro is muy inteligente (as far as birds go), and he had 'escaped to the ceiling' both times.
On with the story:
I suggest to el Portero that we angle the duct work so that the bird can see the light from our completely open window so that he will come out of the hole in the ductwork instead of going all the way down into the fan. He bends and crumples and am quite certain that the 'duct' will never be the same, but he manages to bend it so that the bird pretty much has to land near the opening into the kitchen.
So we wait.
And of course we hear this:
*cht*
...
*cht cht cht*
........
*cht cht cht cht cht*
...........................
Followed immediately by:
*cht cht cht cht cht*
...........................
Oh yes, by this point in time, el pájaro has been warned by his fellow FC comrades that Operation Free Bird was taking place. He would listen for us and when he believed we were gone, he would walk to the edge of the vertical duct where he would stop for about two seconds before running back to his hide-out to await further instructions.
After scouting the situation about three times only to find and hear nothing from us, he was apparently given the go-ahead from the F-I-C (fowls-in-charge) to attempt his escape.
This time we hear:
*cht*
...
*cht cht cht*
........
*cht cht cht cht cht*
...........................
*crash!flop!thud!*
I slowly peer around the side of the hood to see a beak...an eye...a head...a body...THE WHOLE BIRD!!!!!
In a flash of grey, that bird flew in a wide arc through my kitchen and out the kitchen window. El Portero immediately shut the window, and we celebrated. Okay, so the celebration was many "muchas gracias" outwardly with big smiles, but on the inside I was totally doing a happy-dance. I didn't want to scare the man into never helping me again.
Finally the bird is free and I thank el Portero like a broken record until he leaves to go back to the gate. I go in to tell Señor CC that all is well and the bird is gone. He is slightly oblivious to the whole ordeal because, as mentioned, he is working. He is happy that the bird is gone, if for no other reason than the fact that we can now allow the dog to go in there again with the guarantee that we will not be subjected to adamant 'there.is.somthing.in.there.and.i.want.to.get.it.NOW' barking.
ChewyChomp, on the other hand, has been anxiously awaiting my return from the kitchen-of-doom and immediately rushes in there to stare and shake in excitement at the hood to the stove. I told him the bird was gone, but he must.be.sure.
In fact, the first thing he did for the next week and a half was to go in the kitchen and stare down the stove in this 'I dare you' kind of way...you get him, Cooper, get that bird.
And now? NOW? No more birds making any sounds in the duct-work in, around, or near the kitchen. Occasionally we hear them from the fireplace, but that is directly open to the air above, so no problems there.
However.
Yes, there IS one of those.
Do you recall how I ended the first part of my story? If not, go read the ending; I'll wait.
I failed to tell you, in the first part, about how after I took the six (SIX!) screws out of that tiny piece of plastic so that the poor bird could poke his big old head through (so that consequently I COULD SEE IT! and Señor CC Could Not See It! so he scared the hoo-haa out of el pájaro by tapping on the plastic, which caused great amounts of flapping-and-climbing-like-life-is-about-to-end noises from the bird) I also took about 6 screws out of the cylindrical casement around the fan. The round part was split right down the middle, and I was hoping that if I took the screws out, then one of us could pull the pieces apart far enough that the bird would either push through or fall through and therefore escape (yes, I now realize this was silly because as long as we were there, that bird was NOT coming near us, but I was in-the-moment, people!).
Regardless, I took them out and could only open it a tiny bit, me with the wimpy arms and all. I enlisted the help of Señor CC and his arms-so-strong to pull the thing apart, and well...he did...but...
I have never seen anyone jump across a room that far, that fast IN!MY!LIFE!
You see, as he opened it up, he exclaimed that "HE IS RIGHT THERE!" and at the same time jumped back(read: flew across the room in a blur). I would have too, because at the time we had heard the bird go UP, UP, UP into the ceiling! A surprise, indeed.
We convinced ourselves that it couldn't be OUR bird, and Señor CC began prying it apart again...so that I could see...and oh, yes, there was (still is) something there...
and oh, yes, it has (had?) feathers...
and OH! YES!! IT IS A DEAD! DEAD! DEAD! BIRD!!!!!!!!!!!
EEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!
It is SO dead, that it does not smell at all. In fact, we are now quite certain that some other bird experienced what our bird went through, except without the people there to open the escape hatch. So, EW!
Now we get to deal with that one. Mmm, Mmm.
It makes me wonder...what was our bird thinking? Every time he fell down in there, he most likely stepped on his dead relative. Talk about freaky! Our kitchen must have seemed like some sort of end-of-the-bird-world realm where bad birds are subjected to psychological fowl-fare. After hearing his story I bet the F-I-C's gave him some sort of heroic POW award for his ordeal.
I can only hope that they aren't planning a rescue mission; they will be sorely disappointed.
Just in case you haven't read it yet, you can find part one here.
Where was I?
Oh, yes: Operation Involve The Portero (poor guy)
Prior to walking out to the gate and conveying my message to the portero - A.K.A The.Only.Man.Who.Can.Help.Us.I.Really.Hope.He.Can - I took some time to make a list of Spanish words I might possibly need, and in the process I happened to look up a few words in my Spanish dictionary that I did not know. Oh boy, do I KNOW THEM NOW. If nothing else, I can mark this one as an Educational Experience, yes indeed! For fun, or not, depending on your interest or lack thereof, here is that list as found this morning in my trusty handy-dandy notebook of all things Spanish/in Spain*.
As you can easily see, I am not all that sophisticated with the conversing in español. It was an emergency, people! I figured I could rely on my mad skills in charades!
*I have no idea why it could possibly be called 'trusty' as I am the one who writes in it and just in case we all forgot or something, I am not in any way Spanish. Not.One.Bit. I just live here, people; that's my claim to fame.
Off to el Portero's building(A.K.A. The Office of TOMWCHUIRHHC) I go, trusty handy-dandy notebook of all things Spanish/in Spain in hand. I arrive, and score-one-for-the-home-team; he is there! I mention el pájaro and mi cocina and he is totally understanding already (YAY!) and locks up his office to head to my place.
He then tells me that he had the same situation in another apartment just yesterday.
Whaaaa?!?!?
Oh, yes - it is a conspiracy of a very fowl nature. Apparently they are infesting the kitchens of our urbanización in an attempt to reclaim their migratory lands for their long trek made twice a year. We have so much to look forward to; I shall wait in anticipation of my next visitor. No stress here, no INDEED.
On our way to my apartment, which is about a five minute walk from the front gate, I feel the need to tell the man all about my situation. Yes I do (I did mention that I was a little lacking in the genius area, people! Keep UP!), even though he has already shown that he fully comprehends the nature of my problem. I describe it in full detail. When I say 'describe' and 'full detail' I of course mean that I use a combination of crazy-lady hand signals and sound-effects with the occasional Spanish word thrown in (whoop for the Spanish word!) to, you know, describe what he already knows.
Another facet of the Fowl Conspiracy (FC): to cause unsuspecting humans to act like blathering idiots in times of (supposed) dire need.
Just in case you are wondering, here is a list of some of the things that I "spoke" (and I use that term in its loosest definition) to el Portero:
Oh, to be able to read the mind of el Portero. Or, better yet, to be able to hear and comprehend his words when he relays this mighty-fine story to the other porteros - what a LAUGH we could all have!!
We arrive at my apartment, thank goodness! I can stop acting like a loony bird - el Portero meets the chompy-chomp 'I'm Gonna Get that Bird' Cooperchew, and we shut everyone out of the kitchen but ourselves.
He is acting very confident and is telling me that this will be no problem, so I am feeling pretty relieved. Once again with the collective "HA!", as we all know how these kinds of stories go. It really IS just like the movies. If you start to feel safe and relieved and so on, then SOMETHING bad is bound to happen, and SOON!
El Portero takes a small plastic piece off of the vertical surround to the ductwork leading from the fan to the ceiling. He then slowly pushes up the so-called ductwork, which is very crinkly and sharp looking, and then he attempts to stick his hand down through the duct into the fan...
Where he immediately realizes that his hand/wrist/arm is way too big to do such a thing.
What to do? What to do?
Oh, I'll tell you what to do! He informs me that I should stick my hand/wrist/arm down in there because mine is much smaller than his!
Of course!!!
I commence FREAKING OUT in my head while attempting to give an outward appearance of 'I agree, that totally makes sense, let's get on that!'
OH.
MY.
GOODNESS!!!
I get up on the countertop, put my hand very close to the opening, and just in case I misunderstood (ha!) I ask the man (who I am now not believing is much more sane than I): "Que me quiere hacer?", which should mean "What do you want me to do?"
Now he gets a turn with the charades, and yes, dear readers, he most certainly does want me to stick my hand IN THE FAN and attempt to GRAB THE BIRD AND PULL IT OUT!
Just in case you are wondering, here is what my mind was doing:
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I ssssssslllllloooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwllllllyyyyyyyyy put my hand down into the fan (all balled up in a tight little fist so that I CANNOT touch the bird) and get no reaction...so I open up my fingers and wiggle them a bit and touch....
NOTHING!!!
That smart bird had long ago done his flapping-and-climbing-like-life-is-about-to-end noises into the ceiling, and el Portero and I had simply not heard it!
I love this bird!
We decide to wait for the bird to make his way, cautiously, I might add, back down into the fan. He does, after about 10 minutes of el Portero and I staring at nothing in particular, but certainly not.each.other, and again, the man wants me to stick my hand in there! IN. THERE. to TOUCH. THE. WILD. BIRD.
Once again, with the freaking out of my mind (see above), I climb up there and begin to ssssssslllllloooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwllllllyyyyyyyyy put my hand down into the fan (in the same manner as before), and lo-and-behold, that bird has escaped again!
I need a t-shirt that says I ♥ bird.
So now the questions are:
I can think of more questions, but those will have to do for now!
Part III is coming, dear readers...just you wait!
If you did not get here via Brian, please go check out his zone.
I suggest reading the 222 things about him (if you have the time) as he is an interesting fellow. I realize that many of us are busy folk with jobs and other activities, so I took the time to compile a very concise 2-part list (can it even be a list if it only has two entries?) that pretty much sums up his excellence:
There you have it, people. One more thing that makes him great:
Wee one BU!
Need I say more? Today is his birthday, so wish him well.
...when I can't believe I live here. It began early this morning. I walked The Extra 17 Pounds (dog) at 6:30. It was brisk out, but refreshing. The sky was completely dark and clear. I could see every star in the sky. I love living where street lamps are just that and not the huge overly brilliant lights frequently used to provide a beacon so scintillant that people from miles away can point and say "See that yellow glow? That's insert name of town/city/university here." Now, at 11:06, the clear skies continue. I can still see the svelte moon up high in the sky. The detail on the surrounding mountains is outstanding. If I went up in the hills a bit, I would be able to see Africa across the sea. It is rare to have a day so completely sans clouds or haze; I wish I could better describe the beauty. I live beside a river. Today the sunlight shines off of the waves; it appears as if it is made of jewels. The wind coaxes the tiny crests along enhancing the continuous parade of lucid liquid configurations. To say it is mesmerizing is an understatement; I could watch it all day. Today is one of those days when I wish that I could capture it to remember always. It is so amazingly beautiful. I refrain from pictures because a picture (or a thousand) can't quite do nature justice. My words fall short as well. I can only rely on my memory. I won't live here forever; I have a very limited amount of time to appreciate and experience this place. I want to be like a sponge and soak it all up; I don't ever want to get full and have to release anything. Yet, there is no way for me to experience it all; having that goal will only lead to my disappointment. Instead I have to take things as they come and hold on to what I can. Today I will watch the show nature provides. I will sit on my terrace and be relaxed by my river view. I will take breaks to look and listen and I will allow it all to make an imprint in my mind, my memories. Here I am, holding on.
