Doughtie: This life is for the birds

Did you ever have a dream where you were flying? Probably every person on earth has either been asked that question or has asked someone else that very same thing.

As for me, I can't remember having a "flying" dream in quite some time, but then again, I rarely remember my dreams or, for that matter, anything.

But sometimes I wake up spread-eagled on the floor so my guess is I probably do and just don't know it.

So where am I going with this? OK, I'll tell you. Among all my other outdoor pursuits, I am a huge bird lover.

Between my house and my neighbor Ben Turner's house, there are at least 50 bird feeders. We have a friendly competition to see who can draw the really cool birds like painted and indigo buntings, hummingbirds and other unusual and colorful species.

But since a lightning bolt whacked a 100-foot pine tree next to my house, I have been kicking his rear end when it comes to having the coolest birds.

For example, last year I had a pair of Mississippi Kites nesting in that tree and this year, I had a ringside seat to a pair of nesting pileated woodpeckers that had wallowed out a hole in the tree and now have two fledglings that are just days from leaving the nest.

Every day I have watched mom and pop sharing feeding duties and when they land near their lair, the two red-headed youngins stick their heads out and begin caterwauling over whatever morsel that is being offered.

This day-after-day routine has got me thinking and, if you know anything about me, you know that usually means trouble.

What would it be like to be a bird?

I reckon the answer to that would depend on what type of bird you ended up being. So with that in mind, here are a few of my "visions" about being a bird and I guess I'll start by being one of my pileated woodpeckers.

By far the largest woodpecker around, a pileated woodpecker can demolish a tree in no time. I mean they don't gently peck away, they jackhammer the heck out of a tree.

So if I were one of these screaming demons, I would be the biggest show-off in the woods.

Like some macho dude in a Speedo swimsuit running down the beach, I would wait on a weakling like a little ladder back woodpecker to land on a tree and then drop in next to him. I'd let him bang his head against the tree a few times and, when I was sure all the ladies were looking, I'd go to town.

Wood flying right, wood flying left and I'm talking BIG chunks. Then when the tree tumbles, I'd let out my loudest mocking scream, which I do have, and watch that sissy ladder back cry like a little baby.

Yessiree-bob, it might make me reach for the Advil bottle, but after that show, I'd be a chick magnet for sure.

Now I'm a hummingbird. Which way do I go, which way do I go? Left, right, up, down? I can't decide. Faster, I must go faster.

"Is that sugar water?"

Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy.

"Wait, who's that? What is he doing drinking MY sugar water?"

Doing my best fly-by, I sure rocked his world.

"What did that squeaky brat say?"

Back at ya, slow poke. The wife says I need to chill out, but frankly, I don't know how to.

Or how about being a pelican? Take my word for it; being a pelican isn't all it's cracked up to be. All day long looking for food and then when I see a fish, I drop like a rock from 60 feet up.

Just try hitting the water going 30 mph and see how it feels. It hurts and, even worse, half the time I miss.

And the older I get, the more my pouch sags. I wonder if I can get a "pouch lift?" With the health system the way it is, I doubt if my insurance will cover it.

I may not dream of flying all that much, but I do think about the plusses and minuses of being a bird.

Are some birds afraid of heights? Now that would be a real bummer.

And back to my fledgling pileated woodpeckers. The hole they live in is a good 60 feet off the ground. Like when you turned 18, pretty soon mom and dad are going to say it's time to go out your own. I can just hear the conversation.

"OK, Junior, it's time to jump."

Now if I were one of those youngsters, I wouldn't hesitate to say, "Jump? Have you gone lost your mind?"

I would tell them I have vertigo or something. Can you imagine that first step out into nothing but thin air? That first step must be a real doozy.

You all know I'm a strange bird anyway, so I'm sure this article doesn't surprise you much. I just had to get these strange thoughts off my chest.

I guess since Thanksgiving is coming up, it would only be appropriate that I try and dream of being a big old gobbler.

Putt, putt ... gobble, gobble, gobble. Happy Thanksgiving y'all.

This story was originally published November 23, 2015 at 10:01 AM with the headline "Doughtie: This life is for the birds."