Omen Of Dread Or What?
The other day I was out for a walk when, across the road, a woodpecker fell stone-dead to the ground. It made a much larger thud than I’d have guessed it could. I don’t know what happened but it fell at the foot of an electricity pole so it might have been electrocuted. Or it might have been murder -there were other birds at the top of the pole and none of them seemed in the least bit grief-stricken. One in particular, I’d have to say was “quite chipper” and I’ll say so in court of law if I have to.
Suicide crossed my mind (not mine, the woodpecker’s; I was having a life-affirming walk, all pleasant an’ stuff, and while the woodpecker incident was indeed upsetting, after a little bit of breast-beating, I was fine). Was this a bird, bone-weary of the sterile promontary (Villanova Road), dive-bombing the ground in despair, tears blurring the fast-approaching ground as stinging taunts of “Bernie is somehow different, Bernie is somehow different, Lets all go and peck him, Nah nanananana” rang in the headholes where his ears weren’t? We’ll never know but I like to think he’s in a better place now. Or she. Bernadette.
Anyway, I took the event as a sign of dreadful foreboding and all week now I’ve been sorely foreboded. What did the plummeting woodpecker mean? Are cider futures falling? Sell sell sell? Buy buy buy? Or is tragedy about to fall into my life?
I’ll tell you what it meant. I’ll tell you what it bloody meant, all right! I looked it up in a large tome called Witchy Lore. In Witchy Lore, page 7003, it says “If a lassie espye an Earthbounde Woodpecker, great shiftes in th’affaires of thon lassie will be afoote. For whensoever the wynde dothe change….” And that’s it. The next part of the page was ripp-ed offe during The Great Toilet Roll Shortage of 1603-04, and so I’ve not the smallest Scooby (nor yet a Scrappy) about what’s going to happen when the wind changes.
Does anyone else know? As I say, I’m up nights with the dreadfulness of the foreboding and the toll that’s taking on my early-morning packed-lunch-making skills is starting to be noticed. All the joy has quite gone out of packing yoghurt and pb sandwiches. If my children are ever again to experience anything more than lunchtime dismay, you must help me, beloved blogren! What’s afoote? Apart from the inestimable Footeater being back, what’s afoote wi’ me?
(Also, I’ve been getting pains in my right patella and above my left eyebrow especially when I stand along mystic ley-lines, if that helps any.)
December 4th, 2007 at 2:01 am
… or whensoever the wynde dothe change, and soghte doth blow the zephyrre strange, than fro’ the South there come the hordes o’ Sasanaigh wi’ boogie-boards …
It’s the ancient warning of your forebears about the arrival of surfer-dudes.
I actually have those torn-out pages, saved by my great-great-great-great grandfather (sean-sean-sean-sean-athair, as Gaeilge), Feardorcha, who was travelling in Albain at the time, collecting lore, and picking potatoes for chips.
December 4th, 2007 at 2:06 am
No omen of dread, I just Bernie Woodpecker was dead.
However, if he had just shat on you I believe that is good luck. Well, that’s what someone told my father when a bird shat on him at my brother’s wedding.
December 4th, 2007 at 2:08 am
what I meant was, ‘I just THINK Bernie Woodpecker was dead.’ It really would help if I learnt to read.
December 4th, 2007 at 4:01 am
i totally used to know what a dead woodpecker symbolized…but sadly, i have all these holes in my brain from taking so much E as a teenager. it slipped through one of them.
oh no wait…maybe it didn’t. hmmmm, does the word “trowel” mean anything to you?
December 4th, 2007 at 6:47 am
Bock, I’m only glad the wisdom wasn’t lost to some 17th century bottom. The privations of the privy in 1603-4 nearly wiped out all of Western books and learning since Bede won his Venerable stripes.
Surfers you say? It’s getting quite big at home. The only differences between surfers in California and surfers in the Hebrides are colour – ours are blue – and the propensity to be eaten by sharks. The most vicious encounter a British surfer might endure would be a turbot falling in love with some sexy rubber flipper action and moving in for an earlobe nibble.
Hi Laughykate, thanks for coming by. There was no question about his death. His passage from this world to the next was dreadful but real and thuddy. I just need to know what that means for me. ‘Cos I’m in California now see: there’s not an event that can happen on this earth that I cannot make about me. I’m sorry to hear your dad was shat upon. That’s too bad at his son’s wedding and all. Still, the mercy is it didn’t hit him in the beverage. That happened to a pal of mine in Inverness when they were pretending it wasn’t too cold to sit out on the bar patio. Not only in his beer but down his sleeve too.
Kara, trowel? Hmm, trowel…trowel… Ah! … Wait, never mind. I thoughtt it might somehow be connected to my old Home Economics teacher there for a minute. She did have a link to woodpeckers in that her brain too was suspended in order to cushion it from the hard blows of reality, but what I was thinking of was “trout” not trowel. It was a trout she was, not a trowel. She’d suspended her brain, her warmth and her sense of humour and given them to the Lord, round about the time the 342nd cheese and potato pie burned. I never saw her smile.
December 4th, 2007 at 7:47 am
In the jungle, it is always a good omen when something dies without getting eaten. A sign of plenty. Even the hawks are well-fed in your bountiful neighbourhood.
December 4th, 2007 at 11:31 am
a) there are no ley lines in Amerikkay.
In so far as the ways of the Native American nothwithstanding.
b) must have been a greater woodpecker. The wingspan must be sufficient to earth out one of the supply phases either to the nuetral or earth.
Hence starlings bring down supply lines with their weight (of the flock) to no ill effects to themselves, yet eagles biggest preditor is Con Ed.
December 4th, 2007 at 11:49 am
Hard to say what this means. It probably has something to do with the “All You Can Eat Buffalo Wing Special” at your bar. I’d change suppliers, I would.
Cheers.
December 4th, 2007 at 3:51 pm
“cider futures” – bwahahahaha
December 4th, 2007 at 5:36 pm
It probably means that it would be better to avoid sitting on electrical cables for a while. Or pecking wood. Or something bird related. Or maybe my brain is just turning to mush.
December 4th, 2007 at 6:18 pm
Maybe it was the lesser known Asphaltpecker you seen and he just got too greedy.
December 4th, 2007 at 6:46 pm
Sam, this only covers birds in dreams but it’s interesting:
http://www.dreammoods.com/dreamthemes/birds.htm
I would say it suggests that you may be in for a windfall.
December 4th, 2007 at 6:51 pm
Nanas, it seems they don’t have to even kill their own breakfast any more. I bet they want fries with that too.
Docs, there is a raptor centre in the valley which rescues and rehabilitates injured or orphaned birds of prey. They have a golden eagle who was seen swooping down on prey of some sort. It hit a power line which sheared its wing right off at his torso, like a cheese knife. He lived but they couldn’t reattach the wing and now he’s an educational bird. He’s a very odd sight to see.
Rand’, it is odd. I hadn’t even been at the Smarties like Pat.
Manuel, we just put in a Strongbow tap at the bar. I used to be able to drink 3 or 4 pints (20oz imperial pints, mind, none of your 16oz American nonsense) and then go dancing. The other week I had one16ozer and my God, the pain in my head the next day had me horizontal on the sofa ’til 11am. I had had some beer earlier, right enough, but it was the cider that felled me and the disappointment is acute. I love cider but I have told the staff never ever to serve me it again, even if I ask them for it.
birchy, woodpeckers will try their luck anywhere. We occasionally hear a doofus young one having a shot on the house. Telephone poles here are honeycombed with their nut holes. In fact after a while some become less wood poles and more nut poles.
Sneezy, the asphaltpecker branch of the family never really got a good evolutionary foothold, did it. I guess Evolution, ever optimistic and whimsical, throws one out every couple millennia to see if they’ll “take” yet.
December 4th, 2007 at 6:59 pm
Medbh, according to that “To dream of dead or dying birds, foretells a period of coming disappointments. You will find yourself worrying over problems that are constantly on your mind.” I guess that means I won’t win State Comptroller again this year. I had my heart set on it. But wait though – it wasn’t a dream! It was as real and perturbing as the dandruff on Bob Geldof’s urban fatigues.
December 4th, 2007 at 9:02 pm
The woodpecker was an offering to you, problemchildbride, queen o’ the scots from one of the American Gods (see N.Gaiman for additional info) and is a sign of respect.
Did you pull three feathers from the dead bird’s left wing then stand legs akimbo, quietly chanting, “richman poorman beggarman thief” with your right eye open and your left one..um…not open?
If you did, I’d like a photo.
December 4th, 2007 at 10:56 pm
You’re totally sure it was a woodpecker? I know quite a bit about omen pigeons…
December 5th, 2007 at 6:23 am
yeah but it had lovely plumage.
December 5th, 2007 at 9:57 am
Maybe he just knocked himself out… I hear woodpeckers like to write their names in tree-bark, which can’t be good for their little skulls.
December 5th, 2007 at 2:25 pm
Why does this remind me of the song ‘Titwillow’ from Gilbert & Sullivan’s Mikado?
During my first week in Japan, I happened to find a tiny white snake almost on my doorstep — dead, too. I lived in Japan seventeen years and never saw another one; no one I met there had ever seen one. You can bet I was plenty weirded out by that little snake. I was absolutely positive it had a significance.
The way I see it, if you can’t figure out the significance of a phenomenon, it’s almost certainly good luck. That’s how I’ve lived my life, and it’s helped me immeasurably.
December 5th, 2007 at 3:51 pm
What do you mean, they couldn’t put it back on?
And ‘educational bird’ do you mean that it… OK I’l stop. Can’t help myself, one armed eagle teaching American history, struting backwards and forwards calling out the presidents..OK I’ll stop this time.
Really.
December 5th, 2007 at 4:37 pm
I think you’re underestimating the fact that Foot Eater has returned. Can there be any other possible reason for a suiciding Woodpecker?
December 5th, 2007 at 4:40 pm
Sam Sam Sam! Forbode no more. Birds -just like you and me have life spans – some short some long and the incredible thing is not that we see a dead bird but that we don’t see them all the time. Where do they go when they fall off the perch? Granted I have seen the odd one who – silly sausage – has flown into the sun room window thinking it was space, and there is the odd cat victim from that vicious ginger tom from next door but on the whole there is a dearth of bird carcasses. So don’t worry honey.
December 5th, 2007 at 7:37 pm
It would be a very bad omen of impending erectile dysfunction, if you were a man. So you should be very pleased you saved some bloke from a dreadful hex. Stay off the cider, I once worked in the UK capital of cider and it’s not fit for human consumption.
December 5th, 2007 at 8:33 pm
Yeah. There’s nothing worse than bad hex.
December 6th, 2007 at 2:38 pm
We’ve got a window that takes a toll on suicidal thrushes. The sitooterie is very bad for it too. that and the 410 the puir wee things are havvin a terrrrible time.
December 6th, 2007 at 5:05 pm
I only know that if bird poop falls on you it’s good luck. I don’t know about the whole bird, aside from its own excrement.
This post has made me miss your writing terribly. Glad to be back.
December 6th, 2007 at 5:53 pm
Thine eyes shall squint and remain squinty,
And Squinty Sam, thine shall be called forever,
Thine offspring shall not thine anymore,
And thine ears shall be smote with their whines,
And the casting out thing will occur then,
And thine and Bernie shall be for an eternity,
And Mr Squinty Sam shalt prepare the yogurt and PB sandwiches for the whiners, forever and then, for one more eternity.
December 6th, 2007 at 7:16 pm
Jali “Did you pull three feathers from the dead bird?s left wing then stand legs akimbo, quietly chanting, ?richman poorman beggarman thief? with your right eye open and your left one..um?not open?”
Yes! Yes, I did!
No wait…no, I didn’t – that was another time altogether. There was a hen and a blood sacrifice and.. look I’d rather forget all about it. It was a confusing time.
Gimme, great! An expert. Look, I know you probably get asked this all the time but I’ve been having problems with these ominous pigeons too. Their blank stupid stares seem to have some power over me and I hate it when the prob husband threatens to rip their little heads off. I know I should want the head-ripping as much as he for rotting the concrete underneath their favourite roost with poo, but I am under their spell. What should I do? Sincerely, Bewitched in Ojai.
Knudsen, plumage doesn’t maketh the bird. Every bird is special in its own way, on the inside. Especially turkey. Plumage is in the eye of the beholder. It can cause horrible weepy styes and infections.
K8, vandalism hadn’t occurred to me at all – that might have been it! But, oh… nope I don’t think it was, after all. As far as I could see it wasn’t wearing a hoody and looking sullen. Dead yes, sullen no.
Mary, I like your attitude. I shall pray for a white snake on my doorstep too. What was Japan like for you guys.? I’ve heard some mixed accounts from people who’ve lived there. Some felt right at home, others always felt like outsiders and had a hard time breaking into Japanese society.
Docs, you know very well what I mean. A bird obviously can’t teach in a classroom. How could it hold the blackboard pointer for Godssakes. Think man ! Think. No, this eagle does distance-learning DVDs on civics. English and Spanish. $100 for the full set.
Kim, he does have an unwholesome effect on beautiful living things, doesn’t he? The Foot of decay, decomposing everything he touches. I guess it’s more digestible for a denizen of the crypt that way.
Pat, cedar waxwings are the dumbest birds in the world. Beautiful but dumb as rocks. I stopped counting how many brained themselves on our sitting room window in Minnesota. It was heartbreaking. Even the cat wept after a point. But you’re right – half an hour and they were gone. We ought to be knee-deep in bird corpses but we’re not. Discreet funerary squirrels perhaps? Solemn moles whisking them underground for proper rites of burial?
Conan, you must be referring to “pecker plummet”. Directly associated with excessive cider consumption, I fear, leaving hapless ladies little recourse but to indulge in their Chinese-made peckerdillos.
Bock, the amount of wailing caused by bad hex is reaching banshee levels in areas where their is little hex-education. People are crying out for more less, less.
Docs, why is the sitooterie bad for it? Do you wear glasses? You wouldn’t be the first person to get a nasty case of thrush in the eye. Is it an inside sitooterie?
Mom101, unhappily, I’m all too familiar with bird excrement. I used to rehabilitate orphan birds at the U of M and the amount they pooed out I was always amazed they managed to retain any food to grow on. rehabilitating orphan birds was very rewarding though, especially if you could work through the behavioural problems and get them off the meth.
Sniffle, I know! Thats what my granny always used to tell me if I squinted! She said “if the wind changes your face will stick like that.” By God, man, I think you’ve solved it!
December 6th, 2007 at 10:19 pm
Amazon has a special on the latest edition of “Witchy Lore” – a two-for-one deal, where you get “Omens, Omens, Omens and not a pb and yoghurt sandwich to eat”.
Speaking of which – pb and yoghurt together in a sandwich? Is this for real? Intemeresting…
December 7th, 2007 at 10:41 am
“Dead woodpecker in the morning, shepherd’s yawning. Dead woodpecker at night, shepherd’s alight.”
I think that is very true.
December 9th, 2007 at 2:19 am
Carolyn, it’s delicious au jus, with a mess of potage.
Asym, I live and die by that.
December 10th, 2007 at 4:28 pm
It’s Pat BTW. I don’t know how that happened but if in doubt just delete the lot please. Sorry!
December 11th, 2007 at 4:47 pm
have you sorted it out yet, sugar?
December 12th, 2007 at 11:36 am
I think you are safe. If a griffon had fallen at your feet, now that would have been an omen.
December 12th, 2007 at 11:48 am
I couldn’t find anything in the Shields tomes about woodpeckers per se but I did find this “Alexander Flemming observed some mold, and a few years later we had a cure for gonorrhea.” He saw mold, he invented a cure for a nasty condition. You saw a woodpecker, so much bigger than mold, so you are going to invent a cure for something huge like varicose viens. Or, actually, now I have it, the cider hangover.
December 13th, 2007 at 8:13 am
Pat, huh?
Savannah, I think it meant I would lose my keys four days in a row.
fmc, Only low budget omens here, I’m afraid. The San Fernando Valley gets all the best ones on account of their being so spiritual there.
Eryl, I did! I cured varicose veins only this morning. At last sufferers are free of the yoke of support hosiery! The Nobel committee can’t ignore me this time!
December 15th, 2007 at 11:41 pm
I’ll put in a word for you with Mr. Storch, but you’ll have to wait another 363 days as you just missed this year’s prize giving.
Don’t worry about dead woodpeckers, it’s a single live magpie that you have to watch out for. Should you encounter one, cast the following counter spell:
“Good morning (or whatever greeting is appropriate for the time of day) Mr. Magpie ( or Mrs Magpie, according to the magpie’s sex), please say good morning to your beautiful wife ( or husband, again according to the magpie’s sex).” Thus you will have presumed that the magpie is only temporarily alone and avoided any sorrow.