As Plucky as a Feather

We came a long way, from being caged at a pet store in swamp-ass Orlando, to being mindlessly fed stale crackers by the featherless giants… I fought and escaped all that to the uncharted skies of the Big Apple. The world will be mine.

Our ancestors came from the jungles of Central America in search of a better life, one that was free from deforestation, hurricanes, and Jaguars. Centuries (and possibly more in our bird years) later, we have chapters in every city in South America and Western Europe, and have expanded our presence in the US, from LA, Chicago, and New York. As expected, there was some pushback from the local flocks. Too bad for them, we came in numbers.

We were mainly in the construction business. We all worked as a ‘family’. We even allowed other species that needed protection to live under our roof…. For a price. Every utility pole that those giant humans put up, we would build our twig mansions above them all. Goddamn! Manhattan was filled with an ocean of massive infrastructure. I always had the vision of all visions: To build the biggest, tallest parakeet nest so massive that our distant families in Madrid and Rio could even see it from where they are. Get this, there was not one, but two skyscrapers bigger than any other that the humans were building in downtown NYC... In due time, these would become my throne. Mark my squeak…

Don’t let our subtle name of ‘Monk Parakeets’ fool you; We ain’t saints. God forbid, you call any of us ‘Polly’; We would bury you under one of the stick apartments we were building, or tie your limbs with vines and rocks, and introduce you to our finned friend Aкула down by Brighton Beach. That said, you can call me Paolo, and I am the one who offers the crackers out here, you got that?

Of course, every business bird knows not put all the eggs in one nest. Just being in construction and real estate ain’t ever enough to shine beyond. I knew a bird that saw a bird that knows a squirrel that so happened to get their ... What the hell do they call it? .. Flippers? digits? Those grabby paws they got instead of wings. I digress. They had their friggin hands on the most irresistible saltine cracker recipe out of some factory in Chicago. We had a team of Canadian Geese bake that recipe for us. After all, they owed us; We helped them escape from being over-fed by the giant two-leggers at a Quebec factory years back.

Out on the streets, our product was known as ‘Paulie’s’. These crackers weren’t like any other; You nibbled once, you were hooked. Doves, Ravens, Seagulls, Cardinals, Bluejays, …even those Wack-job woodpeckers would all line up to get their next hit. As the demand grew, so did our territory. Our empire expanded all above the five boroughs within a year.

In response to our success, the local pigeon families tried to disrupt us by claiming that they ‘were here first...’ How they’ve built this city’, yada yada.. Well, SHOW US then! What did these complacent fucks build since the 17 centuries? Being here before the country was even a country- You’d think they would have constructed a fortress that housed their entire community in Grand Central by now, right!? With the time they had, have they produced anything others wanted?

NO.

Lazy bastards had nothing to show for it. No wonder the featherless giants ruled over these losers despite outnumbering their population. It was time for the incompetent old guard to step aside.

These grifting pigeons had no honor either. They went to tattle-tail on the taloned enforcers of the skies and the sewer thugs about our intentions. We were willing to give them a cut, but- Snitches get the beak. Oh, if it was war they wanted- they’ve got it!

This wise Crane from the old world once taught me about studying our enemies and exploiting their weaknesses. Head-to-head, the Hawks are always bigger and stronger than us, but then they always operated alone. The rodents, on the other paw, had more numbers than us, and ruled below ground. Those crawly pricks even scared the giant humans! Yet they couldn’t fly, they mingled, so they were easy to target a bunch of them for maximum damage. These foes were all formidable, but they lacked what we excelled in: tight-knit teamwork, our ability to adapt to any scenario, and drive. As for the Manhattan pigeons, they’ve already shown their true feathers. I easily flipped their top lieutenants with shares of Paulies, and the rest- I gave them an offer they couldn’t coo.

My plan was a three-pronged attack that was designed for each specific adversary. To pull this off, we needed all wings and paws on deck. Anyone and everyone who owed us a favor was tasked to contribute to our cause. The Raptors and the pigeons are diurnal, so we hit them when they were asleep. Rats are not, so we kept them at bay by bombarding them with vinegar bottles we ‘borrowed’ from the old Dutch vinegar factory in Brooklyn. Then, we had our hungry neighborhood Raccoons pillage all of our enemies' nests, while our wise friends from the upstate barn helped us pick apart anyone that tried to escape in the dark. It was a real hoot.

During the day, with their aerial support taken away, the vinegar odors and relentless bombardment of burning cedar-pine in their sewers herded the Rats into position. The filthy underground enemy was forced into a bottleneck, with the only way out being into the east river.

Final assaults were with our Green Mallard Ducks from the eastern shores, and our Coney Island’s very own seagulls- that dive bombed any floaters. The rest were left for our finned friend Aкула from Brighton Beach. The victory was ours!

It has been 4 years since that fierce battle. We had our stamp on everything above ground, but the only adversary that wouldn’t bend to our will was the goddamn humans. No matter how many times we’ve tried to build our throne up on the brand-new skyscrapers in the financial district, these giant bastards would effortlessly push our mansions off to the ground.

Despite the human setbacks, I would still relentlessly take the exhausting vertical flight up to delegate the nest construction on top of the twin towers. Despite growing doubt within my own family, I hyper-focused on fulfilling our destiny! Without serious competition, it would have been a matter of time before we completed our throne at One Liberty Plaza- above the skies.

That all changed when the Pigeons from Northern Jersey, who have been trying to muscle into the construction business and getting their cloacas kicked by us, made unlikely alliances with a formidable foe. I began hearing panicked reports from my troops and workers who were being picked apart by an invisible demon that knocked them out of the sky like a lightning bolt. Some said it was a bat with a cape, but we Parakeets tend to exaggerate, so I took the potential threat with a grain of saltine.

Boy, was I wrong to assume. That was the problem of being the top bird for so long; I started to believe that I was invincible. This new enemy was as smart as us, but much faster, stronger, and with deadly precision too. They relentlessly hit us at dawn and dusk from above and from the sides. During the day, the Jersey pigeons chiseled away our infrastructure from the GW to the Empire State. These Garden State guys weren’t the same as the fat fucks we took care of years before; They were organized and ruthless. Bit by bit, our empire began to shrink eastward.

By mid seventies, we lost our grip on Manhattan and were pushed to the outer boroughs. To oversee what remained, I set my watch post above the crown of a green human statue due south of Battery Park. There, I enviously watched the city we’ve built expand upwards, and yet the top of skyscrapers remained barren. It was a painful reminder for me each day to see so much potential wasted.

The attacks have eventually lessened, but the damage has already been done. We could not cross the east river or the Hudson without the threat of being knocked out of the sky; The Jersey crew apparently enlisted Falcons to gain air superiority. There was also an influx of exotic foods dumped out by the two-legged giants, which far exceeded the flavor profiles of our Paulie's crackers. Worst was that, this thing they called ‘GARBAGE’ -was all up for grabs for anyone… Without any collateral. The ones we once ruled over- like the Seagulls, Raccoons, and the Crows all turned on us. The survivors from previous conflicts came out of the woodwork to get their revenge on us too, those sore losers.

To further the insult, loyalty from my own species dwindled due to the loss of our vision. Most of the Parakeet families self-exiled to Greenwood Cemetery in Brooklyn, and utility poles around Bayside of Queens. I still stubbornly held my ground on Lady Liberty's right arm as long as I could- but I’ve been feeling the heat from all sides every single day… I pushed everyone away and began using… ‘You don’t indulge on your own supply’.. Yeah yeah, I know… But I eventually got the Fuck-Its, and gorged on Paulie’s, since what the hell was I going to do with all of these unwanted crackers? That shit took the edge off of my worries, you know? Kept me alert, and aggressive as I needed to be. Reckless too, maybe. I knew my time would be soon, so I decided to take my final stand on my terms, crackered out of my mind… Alone.

My last act of defiance would be to reclaim my throne and take on the now completed twin towers in Manhattan. If they could all see my tenacity and resilience, as I got to the top of the buildings that go beyond the skies… I would undoubtedly be the king of this town once again! I was willing to die trying. The question for my adversaries was- are they?

Just as my old advising Crane taught me about learning from my enemies, I adopted tactics and traits from anyone and everyone- Even from the fucking humans. Luck would have it, those featherless giants have begun fixing Lady Liberty for a while now, and they always leave their construction gadgets scattered around. A lot of them are sharper than a Hawk’s talon. I’ve made a rope out of the cattail stalks that grew just below the shores of Liberty Island, and placed a circular blade with a hole in the middle through it. I’ve practiced my mid-air somersaults, and I would decapitate anything that got in my way. I also covered myself in mud to hide my green feathers. They all wanted a piece of ol Paolo, huh? Well, I wasn’t going down without one last squawk, and sure as hell planned on taking a bunch of them with me!

I waited until the hour of noon, when I could use the high-altitude skies and the blinding sun shining down to avoid detection from the Seagulls and the rogue Pelicans patrolling around the river’s surface. Once I passed by Wagner park, there came a swarm of Jersey Pigeons from Hoboken and Jersey city. They were adamant about playing ‘chicken’ with me.. Well, by the time they saw the jagged blade I was towing, it was too late for them. I painted the Manhattan skies red with their blood.

As I began my climb towards the towers, it became harder for the fat Pigeons to keep up with me; Soon, I was up in the thick clouds. Below, I saw a lurking shadow- Something with a massive wingspan headed up in my direction. Rather than be chased, I used the weight of the saw to carry me down at terminal velocity. By the time the Red-tailed enforcer knew what severed his wing, the fight was over. I swooped back upward to regain altitude and closer to my rightful throne.

Suddenly, I was slashed in the back by something that broke the sound barrier from above. It shot downward under the clouds, and I could see its silhouette rocketing up for a second run. With my back falling apart, I couldn’t hold my weapon anymore, so I flung it towards my enemy, but it quickly outmaneuvered away from it. It flew closer and closer, and I finally got to see the ghost in the sky: The aerial ace assassin of Manhattan- The Peregrine Falcon. I thought the humans killed them with pesticides before our arrival, but this ain’t some hallucination from the Paulie’s. This son of a bitch was what countless members of my family feared. Well, fuck 'em. I am still at a higher altitude. I must climb upwards despite the pressure from below, no matter what. The towering pole above indicated that I was almost to the top…

It happened in an instant. A second Falcon blindsided me from the side- digging her talons into my rib cage. She then began to push me downward towards the Hudson River at great speeds. I struggled and tried to outwrestle the Falcon, but it was no use. I saw my blood spurt out as she was getting ready to let go and slam me into the water below. That was the opportunity I was looking for! I used every ounce of my remaining life to maneuver towards the back of her neck, and when she began to bite defensively, I took out an old piece of dried jungle mushroom I held under my neck and force-fed it into her mouth. Immediately, the Falcon gagged, began to convulse, and foam at the mouth. By the time we hit the river, her eyes were blank- and I was able to break the fall with her body.

The polluted river was full of oil and shit. I couldn’t breathe. I had no energy to swim. I tried. I was almost up there- but this would be game over for me. While I accepted my fate, I had the current drag me under and past Ellis Island. I felt my life gradually fading.

Suddenly, a massive shadow from the abyss nudged me up, towards the surface.

“Ey Paolo, get up. Paolo!”

It was my finned comrade Aкула... Great. Was I going to end up being his Zakuski? Well, if that were the case, so be it. I would rather see my end with a familiar face. More honor.

“No- I don’t eat you. Too small. Besides, my Boss- Yuri- He want to meet you… " The Bull shark then took me over to Brighton beach, where I met a rare bird- A Eurasian Magpie.

“Hey, Paolo. I heard so much about you, and I am a real fan of your work. I was thinking, we fix you up- and you work with me. What do you say?”

I barely had the energy to rip his smug beak off. Before I could answer, I blacked out.

Months have passed. I have used my old connections to bring baking work back to my flock of Québécoise Geese. No more crackers. This time- I am having them mass produce a recipe from someone Yuri knows that knows a relative, that knows an Eagle… I don’t know. I don’t ask questions. What matters are these Blinis sell for 50 times more than a Paulie would, and they are in such high demand, from Eastern Europe through Asia, and the Americas. Yuri wants to stay back in Brighton Beach, so I do all of the logistics and delegating. This organization even set me high above the Ostankino tower in Moscow. Fate would have it that Yuri has an elite cast of Falcons that trained at the Kremlin’s ornithological service as my personal air force. It's cold as shit out here during the winter, but I’m untouchable… This, is where I always belonged.

I’m finally on top of the world!

Do you see me now?