Now We Know Why Caged Birds Are Off Their Game in the East Village

I checked out the radio on my way home this evening from a delightful outing for dessert at Park Place Diner on Route 34. (I had a slice coconut lemon cake. It was regular cake topped with the pie filling that you'd find in a lemon meringue pie. Quite good, and non-dairy, a plus for me.)

The car radio was tuned to the classical station of the New York Times (93.9 FM), so I listened to Evening Music for a bit. At one point, David, the announcer, began to share some rather nice blog entries from his listeners. They'd been tasked to discuss their September evening and many were waxing eloquent.

One listener caught my attention when she talked about how last week a hawk had tried to eat her pet birds, which were in a cage hanging near an open window in her East Village apartment. "Tonight I closed the window in which I have hung my birdcage where I keep my two new parakeets, Viridiana and Fernando, to protect them from the chill night air. Last week, by the way, a hawk (a hawk in the East Village!) swooped down and tried to attack my little parakeets, but was confounded by the existence of the cage. It perched on the steps of the fire escape for a few minutes, pondering, perhaps a little embarrassed at its mistake. Then it flew away, never to return."

I hate to wonder what story might lie behind naming one's birds after a violated novitiate and her oversexed uncle, played by Fernando Rey. After attempting to force his way with his niece (Viridiana), Don Jaime (Fernando) hangs himself. Sweet story to go with my dessert outing.