"Monday, Monday," sang Mama Cass, "Can't trust that day…"
But if you thought your Monday turned out bad, just look at this rare scarlet-phase pigmy vulture…a.k.a. plain old cardinal.
What a difference a few feathers makes!
You have to wonder what this normally natty ol' redbird would think if he could see himself in a mirror. Would he be aghast? Would he try and roost with the buzzards in the sycamores across on the island? Do chickadees flee in terror while pileated woodpeckers double over in laughter every time they see his ugly mug?
Molting is such a drag. No wonder most of his feather-regenerating time is spent hiding in the underbrush. Yet a feller has to eat; the occasional daylight foraging excursion must be made…and as luck would have it, there's always some member of the paparazzi waiting to snap your photo and slap the unflattering shot up on the Internet. Just ask those chagrined movie and T.V. folk who simply popped out for a double dip of Häagen-Dazs ice cream, sans makeup, comb-over, and tummy-tucking jeans, and a week later found full-page screaming color images of their sorry-looking selves plastered all over the supermarket tabloids.
Of course it doesn't help when one assumes a doltish, rather guilty expression. Where's that noble redbird visage—the patrician beak, the regal eyes, the striking red-and-black neck and facial cloak, the glorious crest? Who's the doofus with an oversized honker worthy of a parrot?
I almost feel ashamed posting this…almost. But hey, it could be worse—the vulture look could be permanent instead of just temporary. Count your blessing!
Now, if I were you, I'd skedaddle back into the underbrush.