Birds & Staircases

It hadn't been a long day, but I was rather tired and looking forward to a shower as I clambered up the steps to my apartment door. If I had been paying the slightest bit of attention I would have noticed the birds on the stairs before I was almost on top of them.

My apartment is on the second floor of a squat little three-storey building, surrounded by grassy lawns, low bushes and some trees. Off to one side is a small lake, populated by several water-birds.

The water-birds are both enchanting and something of a bane. In the spring the little ducklings and moorhens tumble along like balls of fluff while their parents stalk close by and hiss at anyone who walks past. This year has been a good year for chicks, so it is a common to see them scurrying across the pathways, and one has to be sharp in order to avoid stepping in something unpleasant. The birds themselves are not overly shy, encouraged by the few people who will persist in leaving bread for them. I met one of these individuals early one morning, covertly scattering his cargo over the grass. When he spotted me he scuttled away as if the police were already after him.

The birds are almost grown up now, and largely unafraid of humans, they wander everywhere. Really, it was almost inevitable that I would find two juvenile dusky moorhens on the staircase.

Each of the birds was somewhat smaller than a chicken, so the staircase must have seen immense - so immense that they could not figure the way out of the building. A tar-like fluid, dark green and pungent, dripped from the first stair, clear evidence of their distress. They called out periodically, looking this way and that, taking haltering steps up while eyeing me.

"No, you're going the wrong way," I said. I gestured firmly towards the flight of steps I had just ascended. "Down there."

One of the birds tilted its head in the direction I was pointing, then glanced back at me.

The other one stared for a moment, then purposefully led the way up.

"Suit yourself," I shrugged, and stepped into my own apartment, closing the door firmly before they could get any ideas.

About ten minutes later I glanced out again. The "fluid" had dried out by then, and the birds were nowhere to be seen.

I went back in to call maintenance.