I like to think that I am a good friend to the birds in my neighbourhood. They chirp, they flap, and occasionally I give them some birdseed. As long as nobody ever asks them what they think, I can remain comfortable in this delusion until senility inevitably sets in. In my stronger moments, I wonder why people would ever want anything more than a nice morning and happy birds. Then I remember I need coffee.
As soon as I've had my coffee, my neurotransmitters are reinvigorated, and perspective returns. All of nature is an immortal, perfect balance that must be respected, but some of it needs to stay the fuck out of my house. There are, of course, birds that I don't like. Many of them poop on my car. Occasionally, a woodpecker tries to get inside my house and steal the copper out of the walls.
Once, I made friends with a guy at the bar who was really into falconry, in the hopes that I could convince him to come on by the house and scare off the woodpeckers. He showed up, alright, but without the bird. Doesn't do well in strange houses, he told me. Later, I found out he just admires falconry on Reddit, which is on the internet. The internet! Get the hell out of here, you freak, and don't come back until you have a razor-sharp subsonic killing machine latched onto your arm.
No doubt I would have regretted that if it had worked. I'm sure falcons poop all over the place. If one of them gets "off the leash," so to speak, it would probably try to kill all of my favourite birds. I can't afford to lose the cute little songbirds and the black-billed magpies that keep bringing me pieces of copper wiring from someone else's house. Again, the balance must be maintained.