A Battle for Territory That’s Just as Useless as It Sounds

In the Texas Hill Country, you can find the trappings of a sport most unusual to those of us in the South. It’s become more and more of a common occurrence in recent decades, and that’s the introduction of soccer. Some folks call it “football,” but all of us sane folk know that it just ain’t so. It’s soccer.

Here, led by the sultry tones of a Longhorn alum that we all know, Matthew McConaughey, you may hear a hearty “Listo!” followed by a responding “Verde!” You’ll see the green and black markings of the Austin Football Club, and now and again, this will come with a black bird.

That black bird is called a Grackle, and he’s the dirty bird that recently found the tree adjacent to our bedroom window about three months ago.
Mr. G is the universal representation of battles you never wanted to get into but were somehow forced into, like an aviary version of Pearl Harbor.

At first, it wasn’t so bad. A single grackle in the backyard, staring at me from the fence like it was judging my life choices. I figured, “It’s just one bird, no big deal.” But then they call all of the other feathered hoodlums, and you get stuck with the whole shooting match. One turns into two, and before you know it, you’ve got a whole flock that thinks your lawn is their personal AirBnB.

Now I’m walking out to my mailbox, and they’re there, perched like the Grim Reaper, just waiting for me to make a move. The grackles had formed their own gang, and there was nothing I could do to stop them. All I wanted was some peace and quiet, and what I got was a black-feathered parade that had set up shop in my own yard.

Like any grown adult, you try to reason with the little peckers at first. I threw some birdseed on the opposite side of the yard, hoping they’d relocate. But they looked at me like I was the problem. “You want us to go somewhere else? Have you heard our singing? This is why you don’t have any friends.” It’s hard to argue with a grackle louder than your 10-year-old neighbor after a heavy morning hopped up on raw sugar and gumption.

The battle lines were drawn. Every morning, the grackles would show up like clockwork. They’d take over the birdbath, stand guard bullying my garden gnome, and leave their little nasty calling cards all over my car. My backyard was no longer mine — it was theirs. And they were making sure I knew it, and they wouldn’t pay rent.

I tried several time-honored tactics: loud noises, waving sticks, and threatening to unleash the dog on them. But they were relentless. They laughed in the face of my intimidation tactics. I don’t have it in me to bully so well. And yes, I’m sure it was a laugh, even if it sounded like a screech from a horror movie. But it felt like they were mocking me.

I ended up staring at them, wondering if it was even worth it. Why was I fighting this battle? I could just go inside, close the blinds, and pretend like they weren’t there if it wasn’t for that sound of bad brakes that needed a shade-tree mechanic. But I wasn’t about to let a bunch of birds claim victory over my backyard. I have standards.

It became clear to me that this wasn’t just a quaint territorial dispute — it was psychological warfare. These birds weren’t just trying to take my lawn. No, they were trying to break me mentally. They would stare me down every time I stepped outside. The way they cocked their heads made it feel like they were trying to take my soul. And the worst part? The little barking ear darts always won.

The gracken, bless their little black hearts, have no respect for a man’s sleep schedule, or any other schedule for that matter. The rascals are feathered devil spawn. They need to learn what quiet time is and what it means to let someone sleep in. By 5:30 a.m., I could hear them shouting their opinions about everything wrong with my yard, trees, and life choices. I’d heard things like this before, but not from a bird.

Somehow, the grackles knew how to take advantage of every vulnerability. I’d chase them off the porch, only for them to return five minutes later, more determined than ever. They had no boundaries. No shame. And I think they knew that their power over me was growing.

After three months of this nonsense, I had to ask myself: Was I really winning this battle, or had I already lost? Sure, I’d tried everything from loud noises to fake predators. But it wasn’t enough. The grackles were always one step ahead of me, and I could see it in their evil little eyes — they were waiting for me to get tired.

I threw my hands up in sheer frustration and said, “Fine. You win, grackles. You’re the rulers of this backyard. For now.” And you know what? It felt like a relief. I found that the racket bled into the background like a sinister white noise. I stopped fighting them, and lo and behold, things got quieter. Not much quieter, but enough to breathe again. Earplugs helped.

In the end, I realized something that I hadn’t before. Sometimes, it’s not about fighting. Sometimes, it’s about understanding that you’re part of the ecosystem, no matter what Fish and Feather may tell you. The grackles would be here, whether I liked it or not. And maybe, just maybe, I had been taking this whole thing way too personally.

So here I am, three months later, still living with Heckle and Jeckle. I’ve come to accept them, not as enemies but as neighbors with bad manners. I’ll never understand what goes on in their tiny, black-feathered brains, but I ain’t losing sleep over it anymore.

The good news is that there are now fewer of them than there were before. Only the most persistent ones stuck to the tree like they were glued there.
Maybe the real lesson here isn’t about winning or losing. Maybe it’s about learning when to fight and when to make peace because sometimes, pains in life can come with feathers.

Just kidding. The little black demons have a week, and I’m calling McConaughey to come get his damned birds.