If I’d never seen Alfred Hitchcock’s movie “The Birds,” I wouldn’t have fallen on my back a couple of Fridays ago.
Some of you may remember the movie – thousands of birds swooped all over a village, down chimneys into houses, terrorizing, among others, Tippi Hedren, who screamed prettily yet maintained her perfect hairdo throughout the movie.
I hated the movie – Tippi wasn’t the only one terrorized – but I thought I’d pretty well recovered from it these 50-plus years later.
Not so much.
When I went into our garage that Friday, there was a bird flying around in it. The reason a bird occasionally gets in is that I keep the side garage door open for Ivy since that’s where she reclines in her wing chair or on her feather mattress. Ivy, for those of you who just joined us, is my German Shepherd rescue dog and, yes, she has a wing chair of her own and a feather mattress. She only uses them when she’s not lounging on our couches in the house.
In the past, when a wayward bird flies into the garage, I simply open the overhead door and it flies out. Not this time. Instead of exiting as I told it to do, it turned around and swooped towards me. All of a sudden I was Tippi Hedren, screaming (not prettily) in fright. I leaped sideways, tripped and fell on my back. Hard.
I hurt, but I was very brave. Well, sort of brave. Okay, I wasn’t brave at all. I yelped every time I turned wrong all weekend. Getting in and out of the car was agony.
Finally, Sunday morning I decided I had probably fractured something vital since it was hurting more rather than less. So I took myself out to the ER, had a bunch of x-rays taken and, 247 silent Hail Marys later, was told I just had a couple of deep contusions and probably wouldn’t die from them.
I have now recovered completely, thank you for asking.
However, I will never forgive Alfred Hitchcock, Tippi Hedren and whoever else had a part in that awful movie.
I hope they have birds swooping in their garages forevermore.