Friday morning, as I waddled down the steps to start some clothes in the dryer before getting ready for work, I noticed that there was some additional carnage with which to deal.
Right in front of the porch was this nasty turkey vulture with its back to me, going to town on an initially unidentified carcass of some previously living creature (I didn’t have my contacts in). Big ass bird too. I knocked three time on the middle partition of the bay window in the formal living to shoo the damn thing away. Either this thing was completely deaf or this vulture was carrying a massive set of brass ones, because he didn’t even flinch or stop tearing at the meat. So now I was pissed – who needs this stuff in the morning. I am only wearing a tank-top and running shorts, but I walked out to the garage (from the kitchen entrance) and triggered the garage door opener, thinking that the motion would surely solicit some response from the big bird.
I walked to the garage opening and peered out and the thing was still feasting. I start walking toward it and the vulture finally cocks his head and gives me this look of “What? You want some of this too old man?” (That line works on multiple levels.)
If I was back in Fairview at this point, I would have simply leaned down, picked up the nearest rock, and tried to scare the bastard off with a high hard one. No rocks nearby, but there was a broom nearby in the garage. So I grabbed that and ran at the vulture, yelling “Get off my effin property!”. (I would have said “lawn”, but I don’t like to stretch the truth – there is green stuff growing, but it sure in the hell isn’t grass).
Now that I am of age to officially carry an AARP card, it occurs to me that my response just came so….naturally. As if it was hardwired into the DNA of all middle-aged property-owning males. Of course, the usual target of a blast like that would be rambunctious neighborhood kids. But there are no youngsters in my subdivision, so ugly turkey vultures will have to do. I’d also like to point out that Coach Bob Knight was so spot-on about the versatility of the f-bomb. A perfect modifier if ever one was invented. (Don’t click that link if you are bothered by Adult Language or if you find Coach Knight, albeit a basketball genius, to also be an insufferable asshole.)
Finally intimidated, the big bird scrambled. In addition to being hard of hearing, it was apparently somewhat aerodynamically challenged as well. It seemed that it took two or three seconds to establish lift. Pretty intimidating site actually – thing had the wingspan of Phil Jackson or Kevin McHale. Once airborne, the vulture then took an arrogant flight pattern, first flying “down yard” past the propane tank and then circling back over me and the carcass. TVWA – Turkey Vultures With Attitude.
The victim was a baby fawn, no doubt born within the last month or so. Probably got separated from its doe when it all went down Thursday evening. Fawns are tasty food for predators. There has been an explosion of black and turkey vultures in North Carolina over the last 15 years. They serve a valuable role – without them, deer carcasses would attract other unsavory characters like rats and wild dogs. I would just prefer they do their work in more remote venues. I captured a fuzzy picture of the episode from the bay window right before heading to the garage, but it is pretty graphic and will decline on publishing here – though it is available on my Flickr photostream here.
Not the best way to start a day. However, the mood lightened a bit when I got home Friday evening to discover some additional remnants courtesy of those fine winged and feathered vertebrates. Seems that sometime during the day, the birds had decided to give me one for the road and crap all over my basketball backboard. Nice drive-by there fellows (or I guess fly-by). I amused myself by pondering whether that bad-ass deaf turkey vulture from earlier that morning was involved in any aspect of the operation (planning or execution).
Stay tuned. You screw with my basketball goal and it will go down.
