Living in a neighborhood set in the midst of the entertainment industry, there are plenty of things that one would expect to see on a morning walk – the requisite number of ultra-luxury cars; the Hollywood Hills; at least a couple of celebrity sightings; views of movie studios; an inordinate number of pampered puppies and spoiled kids. What one might not expect, though, is wildlife much beyond squirrels, crows, and an assortment of songbirds. Wildlife that doesn’t live in the city. Wildlife that you only see in the movies. Or so I thought. To wit:

On a recent early-morning walk, B.’s voice was suddenly drowned out (no small feat) by a bird sound we’d never heard around here before. A noise so raucous that it made the usual sound of crows seem tame. So loud that it stopped us in our tracks to look up, up, up into the very tall, very full tree next to us. And there it was – an entire flock (maybe 20 or 30) of wild parrots taking off for another perch. Unmistakably parrots by their brilliant green plumage, their beaks, and their sound (although smaller than those you might find in a pet store or in a rainforest), and unexpectedly here, knocking at Hollywood’s door.

Parrots in non-tropical, desert-like LA? Were they here for a casting call? (Was a live-action version of Rio in the works with parrots instead of macaws?) Nope. While the stories of their origin are varied, apparently they have been here for decades, and are not looking for their big break (no matter what the tabloids may report). Talk about mavericks.

Another walk brought to mind that scene in The Wizard of Oz where one of those awful flying monkeys picked up poor little Toto and carried him away. (I hate to even type those words, so fearful am I that one will swoop down and find me. Yes, it’s a childhood thing, and no, I don’t want to talk about it.) Okay, this walk didn’t involve a flying monkey. Or a dog. In this case, a cute little squirrel was running along the top of a driveway gate when, all of a sudden, boom! A bird of prey, probably a hawk (seriously – in this neighborhood?), swooped down, picked it up, and carried it off in its claws. (Sort of like the eagle picking up the sweet little puppy in The Proposal while Sandra Bullock’s character is on the phone with a client, completely oblivious. I wish I’d thought of that example before the flying monkeys came to mind.)

“Wait! Stop!” I yelled, while B. reminded me that birds of prey do not actually respond to commands of passersby. (Good tip.) A block or so away, though, the bird dropped the squirrel and it scampered way, probably not to be seen again for weeks. As for me, I’m on flying-monkey watch for the indeterminate future.

And lastly, who remembers the pack of evil hyenas from The Lion King? This was just like that – well, almost. Sort of. All right, not really, but it’s a good story anyway. As we were rounding a corner in the neighborhood last week, there it was – a coyote. Living here for all these years, we’ve seen coyotes on our walks several times, usually pretty scrawny and always trotting along at a good pace, keeping to themselves and hurrying to keep away from people. This one was large and well-fed, and it wasn’t trotting. Wasn’t moving. Wasn’t interested in going unnoticed. And was in our way, just hanging out at the end of the block. Waiting. (Cue the Jaws theme. Dun-dun.) While lone coyotes usually aren’t a threat to adults (it’s the packs or rabid ones that are certainly dangerous), we decided that maybe walking in the opposite direction might not be a bad idea. Coyote ugly.

Maybe living here has stoked my imagination just a little. Maybe I make screenplays out of life, at times, and hear soundtracks in my head. Sure, sometimes a tiny little lizard is just a lizard – but sometimes it’s Jurassic Park.

Keep walking.

©2023 Claudia Grossman