Birds must think I'm a complete a-hole

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A couple months ago on a Friday or Saturday night when I didn't have to work the next day, I was wired, so I decided to go out for a late-night walk. And by late-night, I mean really late — as in early; it was 3 or 4 in the morning. I was probably so wired because of all the Diet Black Cherry Vanilla Coke (not caffeine-free) I had been drinking.

Near the block of residential buildings where I live, there's an empty plot of land that has been vacant for as long as I can remember. I imagine the owners hope to sell it to developers of a small strip-mall someday; the sign suggests it's zoned as commercial property.

Whatever. Anyway, the land is probably two or three acres of grass and trees. The trees comprise a small forest through much of the property, and there's a strip of grass about 10 feet wide with a clear path; on one side of this strip are the trees and on the other side is the fence that separates the plot from the adjacent residential properties.

Anyway, I cut through this path during my walk, and while doing that I noticed that the trees were filled with a lot of birds. I could hear the chirping and the wings flapping and it was kind of like this weird, invisible alien society in there. Much of that society was obviously sleeping.

As I walked through, the rustling of the grass would wake up some of the birds and the noise inside the trees would increase a little and the flapping would get more lively. I pondered this sleeping bird community for a moment, and then shouted, "RAAAAH!"

The trees erupted into a cacophony of chirping and massive wing-flapping. It was as if I'd stirred up a hornets' nest — except they weren't hornets, they were birds, so they weren't going to come after me. There must've been hundreds upon hundreds of birds in there. I couldn't see into the dark trees, and none of them came out. I could just hear them flap away furiously and chirp like there was no tomorrow. I pictured them bouncing off tree branches and twigs and and each other.

Frankly, it was hilarious. I waited a few minutes for the birds to settle down, and then I did it again.

"RAAAAAH!"

Again, furious wing-flapping and hundreds of unseen chirping birds.

There was something funny about how I, as one human being, was disrupting a total mini-ecosystem purely for my own personal amusement. I was like the microcosm of human society upon Mother Nature.

Or not. Maybe I was just a jerk teasing helpless animals. The birds would think so, if they could think on that level. And they wouldn't be wrong.

But it was still funny.

Admittedly, the humor of the situation was probably enhanced by all the Captain Morgan I had mixed with the aforementioned Diet Black Cherry Vanilla Coke.

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