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April 19, 2011 / philosophermouseofthehedge

Humans’ Bird Brained Obsession

Obsession with the featherheads.  Humans hunt them.  They cage them.  They munch them.  They wear them.  They pet them, and adore them.  And can’t stop peppering their speech with them.  Such an odd compulsion to belittle, yet glorify with them.  If birds have such little brains, why do humans – the top of the line species – constantly reference them?

Hey, Rockin’ Robin.  It’s just ducky!  Let’s talk turkey.

Phrases and sayings as common as sparrows.

Revealing.  But revealing what?

A story yet told.

Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched.

Get your head out of the sand, and stop running around like a chicken with its head cut off.

Just remember: birds of a feather, flock together.

The chickens have come home to roost.  Disturbing the old pecking order and just going wild.  Taking flight and roosting in trees at night.  And at the crack of dawn, crowing loudly to notify all…like it or not.  Chickens are taking over in New Orleans.

Cuckoo, cuckoo! (Warning!  Interpretation could be silly, or just nuts)

Crazy as a loon.  Looney Bin. Looney farm. Hey, Looney Tunes!

(Ruffle their feathers and feathers will fly.)

He’s a birdbrain, silly goose.

Just parrots information and wants Birds Nest soup

Pigeon-toed, beak-like nose, and his beard like soft down.

Look at him strutting around – proud as a peacock.  Just so much fluff.

I bet his mother watches him like a hawk….she keeps up with her chicks!

She’s a tough old bird:  eagle-eyed, but no crow’s-feet.

Obviously, still a prize!

“A snowy dove trooping with crows” (as in Romeo and Juliet)

As graceful as a swan. (Not quite ballet’s Black Swan or Firebird, though)

And talented, sings like a bird:  sweet and delicate.  (Who knows why the nightingale sings.)

Or is she simply a canary in a cage, a harbinger.  (A wise old owl or actually a Dodo?  Canary’s managed to get caught and caged – destined to live in a mine to signal when air is too poor for life.)

What’s with all the bird talk?

Such wide variations over so many cultures and generations.

Is it envy?

A wish for the freedom to fly like these fragile, hollow-boned creatures inhabiting the sky?

Just a flighty time of year?

Winds stirring imaginations.  Flocks begin migrations.

Ideas, too, taking flight. Light as a feather.  Wind blowing wherever.

Unsubstantiated.  Inconsequential?

Hopefully returning like a homing pigeon.

Thoughts refreshed, renewed, and resurrected like a phoenix.

Purposefully scratching and pecking yours,

Phil, the Philosopoher Mouse of the Hedge.

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