So I’m ok with spiders (alright, ok-ish) I have no problem at all with heights, but put me within oh, say 25 metres of anything feathered – no matter how small – and I will almost certainly have a 10-on-the-richter-scale anxiety attack.

I don’t actually remember when or how my bird phobia started – but I suspect it involved a trip to the Currumbin Bird Sanctuary during my childhood – ta for that Mum and Dad. Obviously there’s no chance I’ll be making the same mistake with my own children, thoughtful parent that I am. No Bird Sanctuary for you kids.

And let me tell you, having a phobia about birds is exhausting – they are bloody difficult to avoid. That is part of the reason I am not so much an “outside” person. Unless my worst nightmare happens – a bird flies inside (more on that later) – I can be pretty secure in the knowledge that as long as there are 4 walls, a roof and closed windows (derr – that’s what airconditioning is for) I won’t have a feather-induced freakout.

Of course, it doesn’t always go that way…

Many moons ago, before The Councillor was a Councillor, he was the Public Relations Manager at Brown Brothers Wines in Wangaratta in north east Victoria (not at all a crap job).  Anyway, at the time, I was living in Brisbane (long story – a whole ‘nother post) and we were flying between Wangaratta and Brisbane every few weeks.

The Councillor was living in a little cottage on a big property just outside Wangaratta, sharing with a 19yo girl (I know, I know) who kept chickens.  It was the country after all.  I was down on one of my visits, and The Councillor and the flatmate were both at work. I woke up late (well, I didn’t have to go to work) and wandered into the kitchen, where I was faced with – literally – my worst nightmare.  Someone had left the back door open, and every single one of the flatmate’s 20 chickens was in the kitchen. To make it worse, the back door had swung almost closed – but stupid chickens, having wings instead of arms, hadn’t been able to pull the door open to get back out.

So not only was the kitchen full of chickens, it was full of freaked out chickens trying desperately to get the hell out of there.

Not as hard as I was trying to get out of there though.

I’m surprised The Councillor didn’t hear me screaming from his office 10km away, but the residents of “the big house” on the farm heard me, and came flying down the drive brandishing a shotgun to deal with the axe murderer they were sure had me bailed up.

I was not at all embarrassed to tell them that a kitchen full of mad-eyed chickens was every bit as bad.

There is one other defining moment in the story of my bird phobia.

Several years ago we lived in Manly, in Sydney. I was walking to the ferry, which generally meant navigating my way around dozens of “flying rats” aka seagulls. I usually managed this by walking as though I was full as a boot on moonshine – weaving my way between the various gatherings of seagulls on the path.

On this day however, when faced with an enormous flock of seagulls (I didn’t like the group either) on the path, I decided it was time to harden up, and walk straight through them.  As long as they didn’t take off (just typing this sentence is sending shivers down my spine) I’d be ok.  It’s the flapping that freaks me out.  So head down, I soldiered forth.

All good until I got to the perimeter of the flock – at which point a hot chip came sailing through the air from the direction of a picnic table next to the path.  The chip landed in the middle of the flock – at the exact same time as I stepped into it.  All 15,000 seagulls (yes there were) took off at once, and I was in my own personal hell.

I screamed, obviously, and then marched directly to the picnic table from whence the chip had come and began a rant that went a bit like this:

“I can’t believe you threw a chip to those birds!! Can’t you read the signs?  Don’t you know you’re not supposed to feed the birds?! You’re obviously not local, or you’d know that the seagulls are just vermin! No local would ever feed them! I can’t believe you’d do something like this.” An on and on…

Now, I hadn’t taken any real notice of the occupants of the table, such was my indignation.  Until a lady from the table came up to me and quietly apologised for the errant chip, before going on to explain that the people at the table were physically and intellectually disabled, and one of them had just been trying to eat the chip, when he had inadvertently flung it in the direction of the seagulls.

No, there are no words.

And it’s proof that birds are the work of the devil.