Upon close inspection, I realize the noise isn't even coming from that pipe, but from the tin plate covering the chimney hole where the old furnace used to vent. If you saw the little furnace room, you'd understand, as this tin plate is right behind the pipe, and you wouldn't know where a noise was coming from till you crawled up behind the initial pipe. Made more sense that it was coming from the tin plate, as it sounded like a lot of fluttery ruffly noises rather than some scuffling little mouse. Unless he and the missus were already getting it on...
So now I have to get a screw driver and pry off the plate to look inside the hole. Sure enough, as soon as I get it off and pull it back a little, I see the back of a bird in there. Crap. Now what. I get a pair of big gloves, and a small fishing net, and wiggle up in behind the pipe. I take off the plate, and put the net over the hole, and try to reach in and grab the starling without killing it, or giving it a heart attack. After a few fluttery misses he decides he's going to play dead. He squashes himself right down tight against... wait for it, all the other dead birds at the bottom of the hole. That explains the smell coming from there when I took the plate off. Now I have to dig my fingers down between him and his dead comrades and coax him out. Eventually after my making noises somewhere between a stuck pig and a giddy school girl I managed to force him out, and carry him half in the net half in my glove to the open door. (I had the presence of mind to leave the screen door open so I wouldn't have to struggle with it) I shuffle him outside flip him out of the net and let him fly off, while I jellyfish on the front lawn. That was the easy part. Now I have to go back, reach in there, and pull out dead birds that have been in there for who knows how long. That is, and was very gross. Now I'm really squealing. The dog is cowering in the corner wondering what it could possibly have done to deserve such a noise. (It's not always about you, you know.) After bagging a couple of dead ones, I decide to call it quits, stuff the cover back on, and go outside for air.
After some time working in the fresh air, the kids come home. Then Les comes home, and we have to go pick up her bike, which has two new tires on it. That's all fine. When we get back, she decides to go out a little longer, and I go in to start dinner. The kids amuse themselves by taking turns crawling in a big blue rainbarrel and rolling each other down the hill. (I stopped myself from yelling out at them, they're going to have to learn for themselves sometime.) I went downstairs for something and low and behold, there it was, fluttering noises from the furnace room. Sure enough, some other stupid starling has found his way down the chimney, and can't get out. It's a foolproof starling trap.
I'm still grossed out from the last event, and I just can't get that smell out of my nose. Eventually Les comes home, and takes over dinner so that I can wire up the chimney opening before more fall in. Fly in. Whatever the stupid things are doing. Then I go back to the furnace room, pry off the plate, and try to get this bird out. This time, I have an audience, so there is noticebly less squalking on my end. The kids are around the corner, anticipating seeing a real live bird up close. Les is reaching in and holding the net in place so I can reach in and use two hands to handle the bird. He's leaning down tight against, Ugh, another dead bird. Guess I didn't quite clean it completely. Whap! The F#%&Er flies up into the net and whacks me in the face. I stuff a hand in there and hold him. Whew. Glad that's over. Whoosh-he's out now, flying across our downstairs. Now the kids are yelling, the bird is flapping and flying into every window in sight. The cat is there, trying to help I guess. The dog doesn't know wether to join in or run for cover. The bird is up, hits a window, down behind the little fridge, up again, across the room, into another window, and so it goes. Eventually, (with us all running behind it with our arms out like some bad cartoon) it runs into enough windows that it's stunned, and I can pick it up rather gently, and race the thing out the door with the kids in tow.
Quinn asks to pet it, but, seeing how it's just been nuzzling up to an un-countable number of dead buddies, (uncountable because I just don't want to look that hard) I say "no."
And here he is a split second before take off. We only had one chance to get that timing right.
I still can't get that smell out of my nose. Wait, I just took my hat off. Hmm. Maybe time to launder that particular item...
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