Scarlet Ibis                                                                     click to enlarge

Once while visiting Florida I met a bird walking down the road. It was what some know it all bird people, the ones who like to point out how ignorant you are because you don’t know the name, age and model of every bird ever made so they treat you like you have the IQ of a loaf of bread and they’re a toaster, call a Scarlet Ibis. I noticed him right off because he was a brilliant scarlet red bird with a huge nose. He didn’t seem to mind one bit that this legs were pink so I didn’t mention it. What was most curious however, was the garter he wore with the number 95 on it. He also had a collar on his other foot but that was easy. He’d obviously escaped from some chain gang they have down there and hadn’t had a chance to remove it yet.

What significance did the number 95 hold that he felt compelled to wear it so casually and blatantly, like a new tattoo? Was he the 95th bird counted, or the 95th specie of bird to be recognized by some organization like the Rotarians or Daughters of the American Revolution, or maybe AA? Was it adulterous and consequently it not only had to wear a scarlet coat but advertise how many times it had been so. He was a question begging for an answer.

Perhaps he was not only a commie but a flaming one at that, although commies are so over. It wasn’t sunburn, maybe on his feet, but not that shade of red. Also he was arrogantly red. There wasn’t a single ounce of apology for his redness in any part of his attitude, in fact if red had been an important person, he would have been the Pope, a sassy, hip kind of Pope that would dance the funky chicken without even being dared to and make his Cardinals join in too.

As someone who is compelled to find the answers to blatant statements and not only solve, but create non-problems like this one, I had questions. The problem however was I didn’t speak Ibis and he was disinclined to speak English, although I knew that he could. My attempts at communicating with sign language resulted in my getting smacked with his big nose to the point where I soon gave up, but he seemed to get in to it and I had to embarrassingly remove myself from the conversation by running away, making high-pitched squealing noises in an attempt to convince him I was an abject coward. He bought my ruse and after a quarter-mile or so left off chasing me.

Like many other things in life this is one of the problems that seems destined to be a mystery forever. I looked and looked but I did not see another Scarlet Ibis that had either the number 94 or 96 on its leg or any number on its leg at all. I failed to see another Scarlet Ibis period. Perhaps this was a clue. Maybe that’s how many there are left and he was the last one. If so it’s a good thing I took his picture because with an attitude like his he’s not going to be around much longer anyway. Now I’ve got to find some kind of cream or ointment to make these welts go down. Maybe an unguent will work. Those guys can really give you a whack with that big nose of theirs. This thing isn’t over, not while there’s answers to be found anyway. So, never fear, we don’t give up in the face of a little rejection, or painful welts. If there’s an answer we’ll find it, and that’s a fact, Jack.

Postscript: After some diligent research involving many long seconds on Google I found out what this guys real name is. Its Eudocimus Ruber. No wonder he’s red. I’d be mad as hell too. In fact I’d whack you with my big nose if you even looked at me whether you said it out loud or not. Eudocimus Ruber! His mother must have really hated him.