Cousin Rosie Bell, from Robertsdale, recently told me about her friend's grandson visiting Baldwin County for the first time since he was a baby.

It seems this 10-year-old now lives in a large city — I don't remember where — but the one thing that amazed him most about this area was the constant chirping noise the birds made. This child had never heard so many birds singing before. He even sat in his grandmother’s yard for an hour, recording the sounds to take home to Birdless City, USA.

This story stuck with me for a few days. I had never before thought about living in a place where there were no songbirds. I know big cities have fat pigeons that “coo-coo,” but they don’t really give that “tweet-tweet” singing of other birds.

Coastal Alabama has so many birds that we even have festivals, trails, classes and seminars on the creatures. It’s a wild, feather-filled kind of place.

I’ve always liked to look at birds through the safety of a window, but I don’t really want to get anywhere in the pecking-my-eye-out vicinity. I’ve traced my distrust of birds back to the mean guineas that roamed my grandmother’s farm.

“Be careful,” she would warn, “those birds will chase after you… now go outside and play.”

Okay, Granny, which will it be? Chased and pecked to death, or frolic in the yard? You can see why I was terrified and confused.

For the most part, Baldwin County has very well-mannered birds. Never have I been dive-bombed by mockingbirds like every time I tried to wash my car in college. Tallahassee was filled with the aggressive aviary creatures that despised humans and wanted to peck at my big 80s hair-dos.

My little Celica stayed fairly dusty because of the hostile territory near the garden hose. And to think, the unfriendly mockingbird is even Florida’s official state bird. If my opinion mattered, the slow moving flamingo would have been the obvious choice for Florida. Either that or snowbirds.

My bravery has grown over the years, and I now like to put birdseed in my yard. Cardinals are my favorite visitors, and they follow proper protocol.

Alabama’s beautiful state bird, the yellowhammer, makes an appearance every now and then and is always well behaved.

The pelicans, which look like dinosaurs to me, thankfully don’t cross aviary-gang lines and stay on their turf down by the Bay. I can only imagine the severity of heart attack I would have if while I were rocking on the porch a pelican landed next to my lemonade.

A few years ago, the regulars down at Latte Da were abuzz regarding the rumor of possibly changing Fairhope High School’s mascot from Pirates to Pelicans. Would opposing teams really fear a native, scowling pelican more than a pirate, who never really stepped foot on our shore?

We all know the traditional pirate prevailed, but for a brief moment, I considered the scary bird as a fierce mascot. My reasoning: there’s always a chance you can smile at the pirate and charm him, but a pelican will just start snapping away at your face no matter how much you bat your eyes.

Especially if you ate fish for lunch.

Truly, my only bad bird experience I’ve had in Baldwin County was the day I decided to take my then two small children down to the Fairhope Pier. And give them popcorn. In a convertible. With the top down.

What ensued looked like a slow-motion battle scene from the movie “The Patriot,” acted out with legions of seagulls. The huge flock that instantaneously appeared began attacking from every imaginable angle. The second-line infantry of pelicans hovered nearby and served as the gulls' cheering squad.

I screamed the magical words, “SHOO! SHOO!” while I drove and tried to put the car’s top up, but seagulls were getting trapped inside, so I’d put the top back down.

Up-down, up-down, swerving around the rose garden, my hands simultaneously on the steering wheel and flapping wildly overhead. The fishermen on the pier and joggers stopped what they were doing and stared in horror. Parents covered the eyes of their small children.

All the while, my own tots were laughing hysterically in their car seats and tossing more popcorn in the air.

On second thought, maybe I need to find out where this kid who visited Robertsdale lives and hears only the the cooing of slow, fat pigeons. It might not be such a bad place after all.

Leslie Anne Harrison is a contributor to the Southern coterie website and blog, Fairhope Supply Co., www.fairhopesupply.com.