It's a dangerous world we live in, especially for birds.
It's dangerous for rosy red robins that slam themselves during flight into my large living room windows, thinking the sky's reflection is the sky itself.  Then they flutter and flap on the ground like a balloon after you blow it up and let it go.

It's dangerous for big black crows that sit on the highway and peck at road kill until the very last second.  They see my car coming.  They hear my car coming.  But the greedy buzzard doesn't lift off in time and therefore leaves part of himself on my chrome grill.  My peripheral vision sees the crow bounce into the ditch where he becomes road kill himself for someone higher on the food chain.

It's dangerous for leghorn roosters that are raised on my parents' farm for thighs, drumsticks, breasts and chicken wings.  First my dad grabs the feet, lays the head on the chopping block, pulls it to stretch its neck, and then WHAM!  Down comes the axe.  Blood spurts here.  Blood spurts there.  It's a family affair.  My little brothers and sisters and then my own children have all gotten into the act over the years.  You can't believe what else we do to chickens after we cut off their heads!

It's dangerous for pheasants raised on the Hunt Farm where they're fancied and fed from fluffy stage to adolescence, then wined and dined into elegant adults.  Shortly after that they're released into the tame but wild blue yonder of the Hunt Farm where man is poised for the hunt.  The pheasant flits from open ground to underground cover until his squawk is heard and his plumage noticed.  The shot rings out.  The hunter gets his money's worth in both the hunt and the game.

It's dangerous for wild turkeys living in Lanesboro, Minnesota, that dare to come within 100 feet of Allan's shotgun.  My turkey hunter sits in camouflage clothing in the brush of the forest, against the base of a tree, and imitates a female turkey until a male turkey comes to rendezvous.  Then the shot rings out.  The ambush works.  The 25-pound plumed fellow dies in unrequited love.

It's also dangerous for a wild turkey to play on the streets of Chaska where it waddles and toddles on the brink of major traffic disruption if not catastrophe.  So a young patrolman sees the perfect opportunity to remedy the situation when the turkey boldly, and stupidly, struts to the middle of the street in front of him.  WHAM!  Another chrome grill tastes road kill.  Then the officer gets out of the patrol car and wrings the rest of the living daylights out of the bird.  It's a kind thing to do.

Yes, it's a dangerous world for birds, not because mankind is cruel and wicked and sets out to inflict torture and pain, but because birds are birds.  It was planned that way.

It's a dangerous world for birds because, all in all, their brains are rather small, they lack the ability to reason, they have many predators including man, most cannot adapt to winter climates, their feathers can be used for stuffing pillows, they can themselves be stuffed, and most of them taste very good after spending about an hour in a frying pan.

If a child walked into a neighborhood street every day and caused an occasional fender bender because cars swerved to avoid him, would we smile at the child's antics and allow that behavior to continue?  Probably not.  Not unless we were birdbrains. 

But if a wild turkey does just that,  wanders into the street where it doesn't belong, people will smile and set out food to feed it, and adopt it as a neighborhood pet.  The pet makes headline news while alive, and it makes headline news when it's killed. 

Now people want to string up the patrolman instead of the Chaska turkey.  I find this to be a topsy-turvy world where priorities and brains are all mixed up.  I think all children should visit a farm at chicken-cleaning time.  They wouldn't be so horrified at the death of a dumb turkey. 
Maybe society in general should move back to the farm because so many city folk have it all out of whack.  I think it takes a farm village to raise a child.

May the bluebird of paradise stay out of the streets and away from my car.  God love him, but may he do his business in the woods where he belongs.      -- Sue