Greetings, gentle reader, and welcome to the brand new year of my column, a column dedicated to shining a bright, critical light on areas deserving of scrutinizing attention, but often overlooked.  In other words, I'll be spending the year reviewing things that I think deserve a review, whether positive or negative.  Let's get down to business.

This past week I voyaged up to Woodley Park and the National Zoo.  I like wild animals, so it was a natural enough decision to go there.  True, captivity is perhaps not ideal for the critters, but without zoos, our species could very well entirely kill off said critters, so there we are.

Although zoos are a good conservation tool, do not to let them lull you into a false sense of security.  These animals are not terribly interested in you looking at them.  The Sloth Bear doesn't really want you gawking at him while he licks himself.  The tiger would sooner slash your face than pose for your picture.  The llama would rather spit at you than prance around for your entertainment (but he'll spit at you regardless of what he wants, admittedly).  These beasts may all be aesthetically pleasing, but let's be honest: many of the residents of the zoo are unfriendly, and more than a few are unrepentant killers.

And this brings me to the Bird House.

In terms of price, the Bird House cannot be defeated-although it can be tied.  And indeed, every exhibit at the zoo does tie it.  The Bird House does stand apart from many of its competitors in terms of location, however.  While many of the houses-such as the Great Ape House, the Reptile House, and the Invertebrate House-are positioned along the main walkway, the Bird House is a bit more secluded; you sort of have to traverse the Asia Trail to get there.   Because the Bird House is not readily visible from the primary thoroughfare, this also means that it does not suffer from the rapacious hordes of humans and their young that flock to the chaos that is the Reptile House (or that was the Reptile House last Sunday at about 4:00, anyway) or the pandemonium-wracked Great Ape House (the Great Apes do help generate said pandemonium, however).  Even the Invertebrate House attracted larger crowds than the Bird House, but this may have been due to the Giant Octopus feeding that was taking place.  Young people love Giant Octopus feedings, after all.

In any event, the small number of individuals at the Bird House rates as a positive factor.  So, too, did the fact that, unlike the aforementioned houses, the Bird House featured two areas-one indoor, one outdoor-where zoogoers could hang out in the same space as the birds, without any dividing line between human and avian.  Would that there was such a space in the Reptile House-small children should have to learn how to contend with boa constrictors and crocodiles as soon as is possible, in my opinion.

The temperature in the indoor aviary was warm enough so as to be ever-so-slightly uncomfortable, but it was what the birds needed, so the compromise seemed fair.

It seems that what the birds also needed was human flesh.

As I stood on one of the higher parts of the trail through the indoor aviary, I was able to look down into the lower part.  Below me, a mother was pointing out various birds to her young daughter, who was a foot or so away from the nearest birds.  I don't recall the exact name of said birds, but Speckled Remorseless Murderer Bird is as good a name as any, and accurate.  The mother was apparently pointing out something about the Speckled Remorseless Murderer to her daughter, who leaned slightly forward.  Suddenly, the Speckled Remorseless Murderer darted forward in an attempt to bite and/or peck the young lady's face and/or eyes.  The Speckled Remorseless Murderer came up slightly short, but the girl's blood-curdling scream, followed by fitful sobs, left no doubt that in this latest round of humanity versus nature, a member of team nature had gotten the better of a member of team humanity.

The Hitchcockian ambience created by this incident serves as a half-strike against the Bird House, but not a full strike.  The Bird House also loses points for the menu, which consisted solely of exotic birdseed that members of the public are not even allowed to try to eat.  The only beverage served was drinking fountain water, which was not distinct from any other drinking fountain water in the District, although its taste was less metallic than that of many D.C. drinking fountains.

Out of five possible Giant Pandas, I give the Bird House three, insofar as it is neighbor to only three Giant Pandas..