Gut Rumbles
 

September 06, 2008

same old same old

Originally PUBLISHED June 14, 2006

Illegal immigrant tropical storm Badass Alberto is gone now. I enjoyed all the rain he dumped around here, but when I checked the gauge in my yard this morning, it held a fraction more than 1", which is about 5" less than what we needed to wet the ground decently. Shit. The sun is blazing as mercilessly as usual now and the ground will be as dry as a popcorn fart again by tomorrow.

Still, it was better than nothing.

I picked a lot of tomatoes (no more of the sexually-deviant kind), two bell peppers and some more banana peppers this morning, and I experienced a mockingbird attack while I was out there performing stoop labor. I think those are the same birds who have nested in my back yard scrub-woods for the past four years--- I recognize that big, honking, hostile male--- but they've moved their nest to the other side of my woods from where they've homesteaded in the past.

I was first alerted to their presence by a lot of screeching and shaking of small tree limbs nearby. I tried to ignore them while I picked vegetables. But those birds didn't WANT "peace." They wanted a "PIECE" of ME, dammit, and they set forth to get it, too.

I was swooped upon. I got pecked on my tender noggin. I had some of my thinning gray silver hair snatched out by the roots. In typical attack strategy, one bird occupied my attention in front, while the other one snuck up from behind and attempted to drill a hole in my skull. I thought that maybe if I stood perfectly still, they would give up and ignore me.

Bad plan. All I accomplished with that tactic was to make those birds more pissed off than they already were and provide a stationary target for their bombing raids. I could hear little baby birds chirping (or maybe cheering) from their nest in a nearby tree, as mama and daddy made me do a non-happy-dance all over my garden. They were tearing into me worse than my own mama ever did with a willow switch.

I finally ran for my life, spilling freshly-picked tomatoes in my wake. Those mean-ass birds chased me all the way to my back door, then roosted on my barbecue grill to laugh at me once I was inside with the door locked. Mean little bastids.

Still, I gotta admit one thing. I kinda ADMIRE those birds. They are fiercely protective of their nest, they ain't afraid of ANYTHING and they work together like a well-trained sniper unit when they attack. Plus, they are marvelous songbirds to listen to in the morning.

They don't eat seed from my bird feeders--- mockers prefer LIVE food--- but they'll perch up there on the T-bar, sing, scold and run off any other critter who dares invade THEIR territory. That includes dogs, cats, other birds and ME. I admire GALL, and they've got plenty of that.

I intend to go out and pick some more goodies from my garden today. But I really need a football helmet, elbow-length gauntlet gloves and a Kevlar vest to armor myself with first. Those hostile little bastids will come after me again, just as sure as Jawja has pine trees, when they spot me on "their" turf.

I ain't gonna shoot 'em. I kinda like their attitudes.

But they don't like ME.

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