Tag Archives: inverse translations

mirlo

Un mirlo se quedó atrapado en mi casa el otro día.

Un mirlo se quedó atrapado en mi casa el otro día.

mirlo [noun, m/f] – blackbird

I know it’s not that advanced a word, and it’s been in my peripheral vocab for a while, but somehow I have a minor mental block with this one; if I ever need to use the word “mirlo” (blackbird), the generic word “pájaro” (bird) always pops out first. That’s why I’m blogging about the humble blackbird this week, to see if I can move it into my core wordbank for once and for all.

A few days ago, I heard a noise downstairs when I was alone in the house. It was a kind of agitated fluttering noise coming from one of the boys’ bedrooms. My heart was pounding as I opened the door, wondering who or what was in my son’s room when he was out at school. Yes, the clue’s in the title, Sherlock: it was a blackbird that was flapping around in the bedroom, desperately trying to get out of the closed window. Aargh! I immediately called my hubby at work for a bit of moral support. (Ahem. I’m not sure at what point in the last ten years I turned into one of those women… Ha ha.)

Hay un pájaro atrapado en la habitación del peque y no sé cómo sacarlo de allí porque está un poco loco y no quiero acercarme.” (There’s a bird trapped in the little guy’s room and I don’t know how to get it out because it’s going crazy and I don’t want to go near it!) What I would have said in English is “There’s a blackbird trapped…” (Hay un mirlo atrapado…) I’ve no idea why I used the generic term “bird” in Spanish when I do actually know the word for “blackbird”. Another of the mysteries of linguistic acquisition, I suppose.

Anyway, I bravely mustered up the courage to get close enough to the frantic whirl of feathery flutteriness to open the window, but the little bugger hopped past me out of the bedroom door and flew up the stairs to the loft!

By now my feathered friend was really going bonkers. It was circling the loft and making crazy kamikaze stabs at the closed window. So, heart in mouth, I edged close enough to open the loft window and eventually, after some gentle coaxing, the little mirlo found its way outside to freedom again.

Incidentally the very next day, when I was eating my lunch in the garden, a blackbird was sitting in the tree, singing its little heart out the whole time I was there. Call me silly if you like, but I couldn’t help but think it might have been my new pal.