Sandhill
Cranes are big, tall birds. Some of them are big enough to look me in the
eye—almost. They have a wingspan of almost seven feet across. Having them hang
out in one’s yard is close to being in an episode of “Animals are Better than
People” on the National Geographic channel. (Note: There’s no such show on the
National Geographic channel, so don’t look for it.)
In
the spring Sandhill Cranes have a funky sex dance they do that resembles
teenagers dancing at a high school homecoming. It’s delightful.
Sandhill
Cranes are way cool. Except when they aren’t.
We
had a family of cranes start dancing around our front yard; we were so thrilled
we started throwing money into a ball cap for them. No, not really, actually we
started throwing bits of bread into the grass. The Sandhill Cranes loved it.
We
loved the Sandhill Cranes. Except when we didn’t.
Over
time, feeding the cranes became something of a family tradition. The cranes
grew used to finding bread littered across the ground, seemingly from Heaven.
We grew used to providing manna to the cranes like creatures of heavenly love
and mercy.
We
laughed when the cranes met us at the car, trumpeting for bread. We chortled
when they began to wait for us at the back door, expectant. We joked when they
began to stalk the smaller members of our family: the children, the old people,
me. There was uncomfortable giggling when the cranes began to surround the
house at odd hours and holler for bread.
On
the day that I ran out of Sandhill Crane bread and the birds threatened me with
outstretched pterodactyl wings and nightmarish screams of rage, I ran back into
the house. I began to search the pantry for something else to feed the gigantic
birds. Birds whose knife sharp beaks lined up with my eye sockets perfectly. I
found some stale coffee cake shoved behind a bag of powdered sugar. I grabbed
it—the cake not the sugar.
Standing
behind the screen door I threw the coffee cake at the demon cranes and made a
run for the barn. They rejected the coffee cake, registered the bait and
switch, and came after me like Navy Seals pursuing Somali pirates. I ran and
screamed.
The
birds hollered and ran. Throwing myself into the tack room I slammed the door
shut just as the beasts careened up onto the stoop. Through the dusty glass of
the door, I saw the cranes tipping their heads back and forth, their beady eyes
glistening as they worked out a way to destroy me.
Sandhill
Cranes like bread. Except when
it’s coffee cake.
So
this is what I learned from the Sandhill Cranes: free bread makes for mean cranes; handouts do not breed
gratitude and patience; cake is no substitute for bread; getting Sandhill
Cranes off the dole is dangerous. They tend to object. Strongly. I’m just glad
we didn’t start throwing tuna fish to the bobcats in the back pasture.
Linda
(Wild Kingdom) Zern
