Avoiding my own Cardinal’s sin

Recently there’s been a male Cardinal obsessed with the mirrors on my truck.  Looking in them, he worries, postures, yaps and pecks.  He perceives a threat from the invader staring back at him as intensely as he stares at it.  And he attacks, trying to eliminate the problem, as it attacks back, heightening the conflict.

As an outside viewer with a greater perspective I realize the Cardinal is his own worst enemy.  If he’d simply smile and fly away there wouldn’t be an issue.  It amuses me to watch the bird-brained animal attacking his own image, thinking about how complicated he’s making his own life and how much frustration he’d save himself if he’d just get his own misconceptions out of the way.  It’s a repeated source of amusement…as long as I don’t think about it.

Unfortunately, the lesson the Cardinal needs to learn is one I’ve been dealing with for years.  I create far more stress for myself than any outside source provides.  And that’s saying something for an extreme introvert, I get stress just from being around other people (extroverts get stress-relief from being around people).  I should add, I’m not shy; introverted and shy aren’t interchangeable.  I enjoy people but I need to escape them from time to time.  Sadly, I can’t escape my own thoughts as readily.

Usually thinking is a good thing.  Analytical reasoning is considered a strength.  But, like sneaking bites of cookie dough, hitting the snooze or mentioning your child’s latest brilliant achievement, moderation is the key.

Occam’s razor is a principle that says the answer with the fewest assumptions is the correct one.  In other words, the simplest explanation is usually the truest.  For that bird, he may not have the intelligence to understand a mirror’s reflection.  His slide down Occam’s razor leads him to think, “That devilishly handsome Cardinal is here to take over my territory.”  It also leads him to spend a ridiculous amount of time away from mating and eating (a Cardinal’s primary jobs) and focus on kicking his own rump.  The mirrors on my cars lessen the poor bird’s chances of fathering future generations of beautiful, red, overzealous simpletons.

Following Occam’s razor it’s much more likely my dog is simply in the bathroom and near his water bowl more often when I’m there because he likes to follow me around, than him having a devious plan to make the most obnoxious noises (the sound of an animal slurping goes through me like nails on a chalkboard, I must have been water-boarded in a past life) in my presence, trying to drive me insane in an effort to take over the house and gain unlimited access to the refrigerator.

Another interesting side effect to the bird’s aggression is smeared poop on my door and mirror.  This leads me to believe either A) birds are dirty fighters or B) he has to deal with a great deal of anxiety and fear to wage the war on his identical opponent.

The first takes away from his character in my eyes, while the other adds to it...the valor, not the lack of colon control.  Both make me glad birds are neither much larger nor mad at me.  And watching him makes me work a little harder at avoiding my own Cardinal’s sin.