You may ask yourself, why does this strange man care about a few backyard pigeons? Wouldn’t backyardia become more park-like with the arrival of these new visitors?
I would say, yes, and if I scattered cigarette butts and empty malt liquor bottles about and adopted a few homeless people the conversion of backyardia into parklandia would be complete.
The campaign is going poorly. Not only is the small scouting party of the dreaded birds growing more comfortable and sending word of the superior quality of my feed to their friends in the mother flock, but this morning I noticed they’ve made an alliance with my sworn enemies- the rodents!
The irresistible porridge of blended rat poison and almond butter proved lethal to mom and pop rodent, but the greedy couple apparently didn’t share with the little ones b/c dick and jane were seen scampering out of the wood pile to mingle in the seed party with the squirrels and the pigeons. I’m starting to feel (to steal from Malinda) like bitter party of one up here on the back deck. I provide the refreshments but have no say over the guest list. See pests eat. Watch disease vectors flourish.
Not in My backyardia!
Meanwhile the pigeons grow bolder. A few weeks ago a single loud clap would scatter them like an olympian thunderbolt in an explosion of panicked flapping. Clean, renewable clapper technology. To get the same effect now I have to pull off a flipflop and, as my wife says, tirar choncla. Effective for dominating both children and beasts since the dawn of shoe technology. Disaffortunadament, my aim isn’t great and the ammunition is limited.
Back to the laboratory.
How about another picture of that sexy scrapwood feeder!