Freiburg is the “gateway to the Black Forest”…but it isn’t actually IN the forest. There are trees and all, but it is still a “university town”. In fact, our apartment feels pretty urban to me. I mean, when there are five policemen, a guy in handcuffs leaning against your building, and a gun on your sidewalk…that is urban, right?

I digress. (Not to worry anyone…that only happened once…)

I feel like we live in a city…but there seems to be a veritable zoo gathering at our apartment. As isolated incidents, the following just seem to be random encounters with local wildlife. However; when viewed as a whole, we seem to have some sort of animal magnetism…and I don’t mean the sexy kind!

The Insufferable Grasshopper – This guy stridulated incessantly! And it was unimaginably loud!! As best I could tell, he was loitering on our balcony in an attempt to attract a sweet little honey. So, I went out there with a broom and swept every corner and crevice of the balcony and side of the building to flush him out. No luck! He continued to squeak and chirp, mocking me from some mysterious place.

Eventually, after hours of scrutinous listening and inspecting, I deduced that he was in-fact inside the apartment. Specifically…in the bar. I don’t mean the bar, as in the room, but the actual bar…where all the alcohol bottles are. Yikes! I slowly removed each of the bottles, screaming when he leaped off the side of a bottle of vodka and landed on the rum. He was huge…and loud…and could jump like LeBron James, but there was no way I was going to sacrifice a handle of Captain. I drove four hours round-trip for that Captain.

I don’t know how, but I managed to trap the bugger in a pint glass…with minimal damage to the bar…and thankfully, the liquor. He probably felt bad for me, what with the screaming and flinching and what not. It was as if I never ran around as a kid with a four-foot dead snake on the end of a stick. I want it to be known that I didn’t kill him. I gawked at how unattractive and sizeable he was, and then panicked when he managed to get one of his antennae under the edge of the glass. Could he really lift up the pint glass and escape? I gave him a lecture about how I would spare his life in exchange for him never ever returning to the Wall Tavern, and then heaved him off the side of the balcony. Tschüss Grasshopper!

The Valiant Bat – One autumn night, Joe and I were enjoying a warm evening on the balcony. Perhaps eating and drinking, but I don’t remember. Then, something through the clear glass of the dining room door caught my attention. “There is a BAT in the dining room!” I said to Joe. He turned to glance at it and responded with, “Nope, that’s a bird.” I replied assuredly, “That is no bird. It’s a bat! I KNOW!”

You have to understand/imagine the lay-out of our balcony in order to wholly appreciate the ridiculousness of this situation. We have these amazing German doors and windows that tilt at the base, leaving only 7 inches (Yes, I just measured it. I don’t want to develop a reputation for exaggerating) of open space at the top. There are two glass doors that lead to the balcony: one from the dining room and one from the bar, which are next to each other, but separated by a wall inside the apartment. What this all means: the bat had to fly PAST US and through a very small space, in order to get into the apartment. Yuck!

Something else that needs to be explained is that our apartment building was once French barracks, constructed during one of the many times Freiburg belonged to France. Henceforth, it is very compartmentalized and every living-area is a separate room which can be isolated with a door.

So, once we both acknowledged that there really was a bat flying around our dining room table, I ran into the apartment and closed the door to the rest of the apartment. Disaster #1 already avoided: a bat flying wildly around the entire apartment at-will. He was (somewhat) safely contained. Then, we walked to our second balcony, which has glass doors leading also to the dining room. We stood there with a flash light, watching the bat loop frantically around the room and land dejectedly in the corners, in a my legs aren’t strong enough to hold my body upright sort of way.

Bat-spying

We watched him for what seemed to be forever, hoping that he would fly out the same way he came in. No such luck. We started to hatch a plan. My family has some intimate experience with bats, so I knew what was at risk here. If I told you I didn’t share genes with someone who had been personally contacted by the Human Quarantine Sector of the Department of Animal Control and subsequently received 20 “debilitating” rabies shots directly in the gut, I would be lying. Here was the plan: I was going to cover every inch of skin on my body with clothes, grab the flyswatter, go into the dining room, completely open the glass door so he had 19.5ft² to safely exit, and then start flailing my arms and fly swatter around until the bat left the premises. Sounds effective, right?

I had myself about 90% covered with clothes and was searching for my swim goggles, when I heard Joe yell from the living room, “He’s gone! He’s out!” Oh damn…I was actually getting myself into a really good arm-flailing, day-saving, bat-hero kind of mood.

The Crapping Pigeons – One day, we noticed a pile of sticks on the “grill balcony” (aka, the “bat watching” balcony). It was a really crappily-constructed bird’s nest. I mean, the structural integrity was a complete fail. Not to mention that “conveniently located next to a hot grill” and “roommates with a dog” shouldn’t really be good qualities when searching for a location in which to raise your winged offspring. Pigeons are so dumb. So, we cleaned out the stick-pile and moved on with our lives.

Well, those asinine pigeons CAME BACK and built another nest! Before we could even blink there were eggs! Had I any premonition of what was to come, I would have dressed up in my best fox suit and pitched those eggs right off the balcony. Shoulda, woulda, coulda.

The beginning of the horror.

Things got out of control really quickly after that. Between Joe’s thesis work, arranging all the logistics for our repatriation, screening new renters for our NJ house, and traveling…there was no space in our heads for birds. A rolling stone might not gather moss…but it surely attracts fowl. We suddenly became co-habitants with an entire pigeon family!

The only animal species in the world whose babies are NOT cute.

At first it was a bit exciting to have two little babies to spy on. At first. That is, of course, before they became shit-machines. But it was too late. There was no turning back. Worst part about it: the parents had taken up a “vacation home” on our other balcony. Oh, you need a place to raise your young, as well as a place to escape from your young? Oh perfect…we have two balconies. And don’t worry about the feces. Just go ahead and poop wherever you please. Really…honestly…just shit your brains out.

Despite my growing discontent, our parade of visitors found it quite entertaining to watch the calamity unfold. They saw an opportunity to experience the beauty of life, in-progress. I saw an enormous mound of bird-shit, in-progress.

Not yet reaching their full crapping potential.

Two shit storms.

Those freakin’ squabs just WOULD NOT leave. I should have written down everyone’s tips and advice…some of it was quite amusing. Joe’s aunt was actually the most helpful: she raised pigeons as a kid. Who does that?!

Eventually, the baby pigeons flew the coop and I began the arduous task of scrubbing. So gross. So. Unbelievably. Gross.

Just f-ing leave already!

Except, like all quasi-grown children, they never really left. They continue to taunt me…and my balconies. In fact, they watch me from the roof next-door, waiting for me to finish scouring their lavatory before returning to happily vacate their bowels once again. I have a fly swatter right by the door (aka “the bat swatter”) and as soon as those buggers land on the balcony, I go out there…screaming and yelling and flailing!

I am relentless and omnipresent. Don’t even think about crapping on my turf!

The entire family…watching as I scrub and curse.

I think I deserve some serious brownie points with the animal world, on account of my willingness to let everyone live and all. I mean, we can look beyond the swearing, screaming and violent fly swatter moves…right?