Pour one out for the birds in your life.
It's possible that birds are having an even worse week than humans. This is shocking, I know, but I stand by this assertion and I reject all rumors that I have been accepting heavy bribes from the bird lobby.
Birds are going through it this week. Birds are having a rougher time than the FBI, which has been doing a terrible job secretly colluding to elect Hillary Clinton. Forget this Russia thing, can we can a full investigation into this conspiracy against birds?
(Actual footage of the Trump administration avoiding all the lies, fallacies, and slander put in their way.)
This week began with an egregious and disrespectful slander against one person's emotional support peacock that I am still not over. According to the aptly named blog Live and Let Fly, United Airlines recently refused to allow Dexter, an emotional support peacock to board a flight.
Hello?! Message to United Airlines. This peacock is a glamorous winged alien creature and it is doing you a favor by gracing you with its presence. Peacocks are the drag queens of the animal kingdom. Would you kick Alyssa Edwards off of a plane? I don't think you would but honestly I guess it depends on the lip-sync.
(Giving your Black Swan Realness for your frayed bird nerves.)
First of all, I would much rather share a row with an emotional support peacock than pretty much any person. Would that emotional support peacock read my emails over my shoulder and then ask me a million questions about what I do and what a Shade Detective means and how much that kind of work pays and who I voted for? No, it would not. Peacocks have their own lives. Peacocks have excellent peripheral vision that they use exclusively for side-eye. Peacocks don't have time to be looking at other people's laptops on planes. Peacocks are trying to watch The Mountain Between Us in peace, thank you very much.
Second of all, some personal news: "Emotional Support Peacock" is now how I identify myself professionally. Please respect my shine.
As if that cruel injustice wasn't bad enough, fate decided to fowl up the end of the week as well. Out of New Zealand comes the crushing news that Nigel the Gannet, who unsuccessfully tried to mate with a cement gannet statue, has died next to that statue like an avian Eponine in an all-bird Les Mis.
Honestly, it's just the saddest thing ever. Scientists tried to lure gannets back to Mana Island by placing 20 fake gannets there. Only one showed up. It's like that thing when somebody comments "Come to Brazil" on your Instagram and then you come to Brazil and no one is there to meet you.
Nigel was catfished! Birdfished? Catbirded? Birdbirded? What's happening?
Poor Nigel fell for one of the cement birds; the cement bird was like "Sorry, no scrubs." Nigel continued to pursue the cement bird despite the fact the cement bird showed no interest in him. Or signs of life at all. He kept at it until he died. There's a metaphor in there.
This story is a hard egg to crack. Can you imagine if someone opened up a new club in your neighborhood and sent you a personalized flyer and then you walked in and everyone was a mannequin?! What kind of Black Mirror horror story is that!
And then what do you do? Do you leave? Do you try to play it off like maybe everyone is just really into mindfulness and you are too and this is totally chill and you have no problem sitting there in silence? How long do you do this? An hour? Two? Twenty years?
Just bad news all around. There's no justice for Nigel or Dexter, alas, but as they say in bird church "Tweet tweet tweet tweeeeet." Which translates into "Joy comes in the morning." This week may have been bad for birds but come Sunday, at least one team of birds is going to go
ALL
THE
WAY.
E-A-G-L-E-S!
Follow R. Eric Thomas on Twitter.
