Sunday, August 10, 2008
Our House: Apparently, Not For the Birds
I think long and hard about this situation and can not figure out what I'm doing wrong. Birds come near the feeders, but they won't try them. Maybe they are eating so many bugs right now that they are too full to go to the feeders. I share this idea with my husband, whom I affectionately call Milk Man. He disagrees.
He jokes at my expense. "Maybe they heard you cooked the meal for them." Sitting on the porch, ignoring him, I stare at a finch on the front lawn. I try to imagine myself in the bird's shoes. Yes, Reader, I do know birds don't wear shoes, but you get my point. Anyway, that's when I realize that my house is just too loud. In fact, if I had wings and a beak, I'd be scared to death of our family. The children run around like looney birds, and Hell Hound once swallowed a pigeon whole.
It's a good guess that birds will never go near the feeders. I decide to empty all of them and pour the seed into a frying pan. Milk Man stops me at the kitchen door. "What are you doing now?"
I hand him the pan and grab my most retro-styled apron from a hook on the wall. "Why, I'm making you dinner, of course, dear," I declare, enthusiastically.
Dear Internet Traveler,
Welcome to my writer's blog, started about six years ago for fun. Over time, the writing I have posted has ranged from personal reflection, to Long Island history research, to tall tales for my own amusement, to feature articles for local newspapers. As you can see from topics listed here, I travel in many mental directions in regard to interests. Click on the tabs and labels to explore my strange mind which senses that you may be having a criss-cross day. If so, perhaps this blog will distract you. However, please note that if you tell me my blog is beautiful just to get me to advertise rhinoplasty surgery and cheap drugs from Canada in your comment, I will ask the gods to give you a tail that cannot be concealed.