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Damn Ostriches |
| Written by Wesley Freeman | |
| Tuesday, 11 December 2007 | |
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Share it:      One of the initial reasons I was attracted to Sarah, was because of her close relationship with her family. Sarah’s parents were an unlikely couple. Her father was a full blooded American redneck, with a big truck and enough munitions to make a small Middle Eastern country envious. Her mother, on the other hand, was an eternal hippie. Supposedly they had met at an anti-war protest, where she played the idealist and he played the drunken heckler. As if they had to find some way of melding their conflicting life perspectives, they established and now ran an ostrich ranch. Very early in our dating relationship Sarah’s father had the misfortune to twist his knee in a dirt bike accident just before her mother was to leave town for a political rally. Rather than have her stay home, Sarah had volunteered to help out around the ranch and asked if I would be interested in giving her a hand. I practically jumped at the chance. I’d like to say this was because I am a considerate male, but it was mainly because I was young and horny. Sarah’s parents owned about thirty adult birds that they kept paired up in paddocks. In that space the ostriches were free to do whatever ostriches do, which is pretty much to eat, sleep, crap, and lay eggs. The purpose of the ranch was to sell ostrich chicks to interested parties. I was amazed to find out how much these ugly creatures go for, and could see how owning just a few birds could bring in a decent income.
When most people think of ostriches they seem to envision them much like big chickens. Both have feathers, smell bad, and are incomprehensibly stupid. But while you may be able to kick the crap out of a perturbed chicken, try doing that to a seven foot tall ostrich. Harvesting ostrich eggs is not a leisurely activity. The way it goes is that one person is supposed to distract the male ostrich and lure it away from the nest, while the other person runs in and grabs the eggs, hopefully without being noticed. Since I was the rookie at the whole egg harvesting thing, I was given the “easy” job of distracting the ostriches, while Sarah would serve as the egg snatcher. Ostriches lay about fifty eggs a year, so it was expected that we would be picking up eggs in most of the paddocks. The whole thing sounded simple enough, until I actually stepped into the first paddock. It isn’t every day you are dwarfed by poultry. Sarah had warned me to stay away from their legs. Men have been killed by ostrich kicks, and the claws on their feet are sharp enough to tear your stomach open. I tried to act unconcerned about these details, but had the unnerving feeling that I was stepping into a pen full of Velociraptors. I didn’t feel much better when I was handed a mere five foot long ‘Y’ shaped pole to fend off any angry parents. We set off for the first nest where the sitting ostrich seemed to be eyeing us menacingly. Sarah told me to stay put until she circled wide around the nest. As I waited, the ostrich and I stared at each other. I wasn’t exactly sure how to lure the thing away, but I figured I would just walk towards it and see what happened. The fact that I was trying to piss off a 250 pound bird was not a pleasant feeling, and my “defensive pole” provided little comfort. Ostriches have been clocked at over forty miles per hour. If for some reason something went wrong, there would be no conceivable way I would make it back to the fence in time to get away. I squinted in the sunlight and saw that Sarah was in position on the other side of the nest, so I hesitantly began to walk forward. All at once the ostrich was on its feet, with wings flared, and rushing towards me at full tilt. It was making this spine tingling hissing noise that stopped me dead in my tracks. Nervously I began to walk backwards, hoping that the stupid little pole would actually do something. Fortunately, in an excellent demonstration of avian stupidity, the ostrich went directly into the ‘Y’ end of the pole. Although it pushed hard, it wasn’t getting any closer. The damn thing kept making that hissing noise and I considered taking a swing at its head to make it back off, but didn’t think that would go over so well with Sarah’s parents. Besides, trying to smack an ostrich in the head is like trying to take a swing at a slinky. I flashed a glance at Sarah and saw that she had successfully grabbed an egg and was moving away from the nest. Just as I was considering how I would retreat, I felt a sudden and intense burning in my left leg. I looked down, and to my horror, saw that my leg was covered in a swarming mass of dots. I had the misfortune of stepping into a rather large and irate mess of fire ants. For those of you who have never lived in the south, fire ants are these small, rather innocuous looking red ants that are known for being highly temperamental. They attack by first swarming all over their victims and then sending out a chemical signal that initiates a simultaneous stinging frenzy. This treacherous method of attack has been known to bring down cattle and occasionally kill humans. Feeling like my leg was being jabbed with an ice pick, I jumped off the ant hill and proceeded to unsurreptitiously rip off my shoes and coveralls. Although I was not fat, as a 31 year old with pasty white skin and an ever growing gut, I can’t say I was the most beautiful of people. Once my coveralls were removed, I was left dancing around like a maniac in my undershirt and tighty whities. As I bent over to knock off the remaining ants on my leg, I was suddenly reminded of my whereabouts when the damn ostrich pecked me in the ass! It freakin’ hurt! The bastard went to do it again as I jumped out of the way screaming curses. I could have killed the damn thing if I hadn’t dropped the pole, but now I was half naked and had no choice but to run to save my sorry butt. Fortunately for me, the bird didn’t give chase for long and I made it, breathless, to the fence. Sarah met me there, obviously trying very hard, but rather unsuccessfully, to conceal her amusement. Her father was less tactful. This became apparent when we heard peels of laughter coming from the porch of her parent’s house. Her father, who had been watching the whole escapade, was practically having a heart attack he was laughing so hard. Prick. Thankfully, I was able to survive my embarrassment, and Sarah wasn’t totally put off by my half naked flailings. A year and a half later she became my wife. The only unfortunate part is that there isn’t a gathering with her family where I don’t hear a retelling of my first encounter with an ostrich.
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| Last Updated ( Wednesday, 12 December 2007 ) |
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