WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY

A penny for your thoughts, a quick decision-making toss of a penny or perhaps a penny wished upon for good luck? All those options pertained to me today. Soon into my 2 ¾ mile trek this morning I saw a gleaming penny on the sidewalk. I picked it up, turned it over and saw it was minted in 2013. It was a very bright and shiny copper and looked virtually untouched. Momentarily, I was reminded of my mom who always referred to a penny as a “copper” which is really a Canadian reference for this coin. Well, I made a wish and tucked that penny into my pocket for safekeeping. That wish came to me easily because I am burdened by worry and uneasiness the last few days. I am conflicted over a problem, so in a sense, the penny represents me . I wish it were as easy as tossing a coin into the air to call “heads” or “tails” and the resulting plunk of that penny would determine my answer.

My walks take me all over Lincoln Park and everywhere I go I see spent firecrackers in every size, some still half-bursting from blackened cardboard wrappers. There are always sparklers laying around too, just discarded onto sidewalks, driveways, even lawns, including my own. I was very concerned about neighborhood firecracker usage last year with the drought, but now my fears are intensified. Last week my handyman was cleaning out the gutters and found a burnt shingle near the rear of the house, which would be the location of my bedroom. The firecracker had burnt the shingle, necessitating replacement of the damaged shingle as well as tearing off two perfectly good shingles to get to the burnt one. Luckily I had a large package of shingles in the garage from when I lost some after a heavy wind several years ago, or it would have cost more than just the $45.00 for last week’s repair job. Unfortunately, this was not just wind damage – no, not an act of God– this was damage from a person who was more interested in the momentary pleasure of a few colorful trails of lights in the sky or a big boom here and there than being respectful of other neighbors. While I had almost gotten used to the nightly 10:00 p.m. – 10:30 p.m. noise fest since well before Memorial Day, the more critical beef now is the burnt shingle from an errant firecracker. This morning’s local news told the tale of a West Bloomfield home which sustained major damage when a neighbor’s firecracker landed on the roof, smoldered all night and ended up gutting the house due to smoke and water damage. That story terrifies me, especially when every night my neighbors across from and behind me are setting off firecrackers. Where are they keeping their stash during the day? Stockpiled in the garage? Do I alert the authorities about the damage and then worry about retribution down the road? Do I go and ask the neighbors behind to be more careful, i.e. appeal to them? Do I let it lie and risk the potential of the house burning down? My neighbor Marge and I have dealt with our backyard neighbors in the past in 2008 and 2010 – both occasions were because their pit bull, left out 24/7 barked day and night and caused rat problems. The fiasco only ended because they got rid of dog number 1 and number 2, and certainly not because of our pleas.

Tonight, a massive crowd will head to the Detroit River to see the impressive international fireworks display. Firecrackers should only be displayed under controlled circumstances like this and I rue the day Governor Snyder legalized them in Michigan. I wish this were not so, … but wishing does not solve problems – so heads or tails it will have to be.

This is an open letter to the Robin family who became the avian equivalent of DPs, or displaced persons, this morning. Please understand that I really like birds, and believe me when I say I am neither happy, nor proud, that I evicted Buddy’s brethren. I am sorry that my slate “Welcome” sign seemed to invite you to become permanent residents here, and that you mistakenly thought my coach lamp was something special, made for your needs and move-in ready. You built your nest in record time, but sadly, now that home is gone. I suppose you and your kin shall hold me in the same esteem that you did the last time I tore down a nest at the side door. Yup, Dad sat on the cyclone fence and chattered angrily and loudly while I dismantled the nest. And, yes, for two or three years after that, every morning when I watered my flowers, and picked a few weeds, or re-arranged the mulch, you went right out, while I was still there, and pecked pieces of mulch out of the garden and threw it over the rubber edging and onto the lawn. I appreciated that. Thank you. Yes, I know it was under the guise of “looking for worms” that you just grabbed the mulch and picked it out of my garden. Every time I went outside, you stalked me and gave me an evil look. But that nest dismantling was not an isolated incident. How many nests did I need to tear down on the front and side coach lights, eh? A dozen perhaps? And, I had to put bags stuffed with styrofoam peanuts and a pinwheel on the bend of each coach light to deter any more settling in. Finally, we both moved on and I threw the contraptions away and figured you and your kinfolk relocated to another neighborhood. Well, evidently you have a short memory because once again this morning what did I find? A large nest in my front coach lamp. And yes, I am guilty of evicting you on the spot, no eviction notice even tendered – out on your fractious feathered butt! I hope we have now reached an understanding. You will see that I had to put a large puffed-up bag in the coach lamp’s elbow in the front yard to deter a return visit. Lookin’ good in the neighborhood now! I do, however, have to admire your tenacity in building this remarkably made nest in record time. I went out to check the mail at 3:00 p.m. yesterday and there was no mail. The rains and storms began around 4:00 p.m. This morning I went outside to walk at 7:30 a.m. I thought I’d check the mailbox to see if mail arrived after the last check. There were huge spots of dried mud on the lid. In the dried mud spots were large pieces of grass, weeds and tangled up dried vines. The front door had similar mud spots and splats up and down the glass and dripping from the cross-buck portion of the white metal door. Of course I looked upward. I saw a fully-formed nest, about one foot in diameter, resting solidly on the elbow of the coach lamp. Yes, I knew it was a Robin, since I’ve obviously seen your calling card before. Yes, it was duly noted that two of you were watching me as I left on my walk, and again 3 ½ miles later, when I returned and rounded the corner, you were taking more nest fixin’s … perhaps you were adding on another room? I can’t deal with any of this and I am sorry. You were messy and it will not be tolerated. While I am angry with you, and you with me, I still marvel at how you modeled this durable home for your mate to lay eggs and sit up there. The mud that “glued” the nest together had not even dried yet. The nest lifted out with a small rake, was intact, and it was large and fully formed, anticipating the big event. Mercifully, there were no eggs in the nest. If I could have, I would have taken it somewhere else for you. I apologize for leaving the whole nest sitting in the dustpan momentarily in the driveway while I collected my thoughts on what to do next – I did not mean to taunt you. You looked at me with anger and hurt in your eyes. I felt somewhat humiliated and still do; I am not a mean-spirited person and the last thing I would ever do is harm a living creature. That is why I put your handiwork into a white plastic bag and took it to the end of the street to the alley.

Please don’t hate me – I feel badly enough.

Signed, Homeowner.

The sun was up early and so was I.  After my alarm clock rang and so rudely interrupted my sound sleep, I put on my radio headphones  just in time to hear the Weather Channel reporting it was already 73 degrees out.  It was only 6:00 a.m.  What happened to the cool and refreshing temps a few days back?  Ugh to The Muggies.   I left the house early and got in a 3 ½-mile walk this morning, which puts me over the century mark now; I hope the temperature doesn’t rival that number as it will certainly put a kibosh on long walks for awhile.  Bumper stickers and fortune cookies proclaim:  “Life is a journey, not a destination…”  so my journey going forward will involve my best effort to stride another 100 miles to my goal of 200 miles in 2013.  I wonder if I will make it?  A few more days like today and I will melt into a liquid pool.  I stand corrected as The Weather Channel touted TODAY as the longest day of the year – actually a minute longer than yesterday.  So, today the sun will shine the longest and the moon will be the brightest and closest to Earth.  The tides will rise several inches because of this Super Strawberry Moon.  Well it all sounded good on paper, however the sun disappeared most of the day and thunder boomers and rain came in its stead.  The weather, the sun, the moon, even Al Gore’s supposed global warming – a lot of funky things are afoot in our universe nowadays.  Perhaps the plausible excuse is the stars are not aligned correctly.  Maybe we should be singing a few lines from The Fifth Dimension’s  “Age of Aquarius” and that will make things right again with the world.  Groovy idea man.  Peace & Love.

Today is the longest day of the year and the shortest post I’ve made. I am often long-winded so today’s commentary will be short and sweet, potentially bordering on sarcastic or snarky and perhaps smacking of a bit o’ wit. Bill Shakespeare quipped that “brevity is the soul of wit” … so here goes. As we now head toward Winter and all things snowy, cold and frozen, let me segue to the frozen foods section at Meijer which provided the fodder for today’s post. This morning, after walking several laps around the store for exercise, I headed over to the frozen foods area to cool off. While I was perusing the popsicles and fudgesicles, a woman and two young boys happened along. She suggested to them to “go get you somethin’” and then they pushed past me, opened the freezer door and reached in. They snatched up a box of Snickers Ice Cream Bars, tore the end flap open and took out two treats, one for each of them. They unwrapped and enjoyed their frozen filched bars while walking next to whom I presume was their mother. I am sure my mouth gaped open. How selfish they didn’t include mom in their pilferage!! I next caught up with them at the self-serve checkout. No, the rest of the box was not in their cache of groceries they were paying for. Ms. Manners would shudder at this incident. I was appalled. Just sign me: Not SNICKERing in Lincoln Park.

It is said “a picture is worth a thousand words” so let me try to capture some images and create a photograph of what I saw on this morning’s travels … a postcard, if you will.
First off, I walked past a corner house where an entire length of the yard was a spectacular color combination of yellow and purple. It was as if the owner swiped two primary color crayons from a kid’s Crayola box and ran around the yard with them. There were bright yellow Stella D’Oro day lilies interspersed with regal-looking, deep purple irises. Then, a small paver-brick pathway separated a most-impressive array of yellow pansies with purple “faces” which looked upward seeking the sun. The pansies appeared to be gazing at the trailing purple Jackmanii Clematis creeping and climbing on the chain-link fence above. Wow, this was a work of art and some creative garden planning.

Everyone’s annuals are progressing nicely, albeit still pitifully scrawny and looking a little lost in large pots and planters boxers, except of course the perpetually perky zonal geraniums. I saw some beautiful hot pink ones in powder blue pots in a bed of white gravel which looked almost too perfect. Our cold May led to planting later, but not to despair, these puny plants will be blessed with the Summer’s warm rays and a little Miracle-Gro on the side to help them along. In a month these pretty blooms will be worthy of a page in a Georgia O’Keeffe coffee table book.

The same goes for what I term “wanna be trees” … those cute little maple tree seedlings, basically a stick with one or two leaves, which no doubt sprouted from a maple seed “helicopter” as we always called them. I saw several of those mini-mini saplings today, all encircled by a small fence. Its owners have aspirations for this little seedling, they’ll nurture it and see where it goes. I can tell you from experience maple and elm seeds don’t need TLC. Over the years I’ve had hundreds of seeds land, sprout and grow, eventually embedding themselves with huge roots in my lava and river rock gardens.

There must’ve been a convention of crows somewhere this morning. Their constant caw, caw, caw was annoying in the quiet 7:00 o’clock hour. The crows were swooping and circling, almost buzzard like, and occasionally a large group of them would settle into the treetops. They seemed so huge with their widespread wings. The noise overhead actually stopped me in my tracks and then in my peripheral vision I caught a flash of black. It seemed that if I closed my eyes, Buck Owens and Roy Clark would scoop me up and plop me down between them on a bale of hay (hee-hee-hee-haw-haw).

So, there is your picture I’ve painted for you on this last day of Spring 2013. I hope you have enjoyed the scenery. I took an entirely different route this morning and probably couldn’t recreate it again – I was here, there and everywhere. I clipped on my pedometer and left the house at 7:15 a.m. and arrived home exactly one hour and 6,005 steps later. Three miles. The heat and humidity are slowly coming back after today. The lush lawns have already gone to seed and soon will start getting brown and then crispy. But today, at my feet the grass was emerald, and glancing up toward the Heavens were Berry Blue Jell-o with generous spoonfuls of Cool Whip – a Kodachrome experience to be sure.

Wish you were here … see you later ‘gator. 

I crept out of bed slowly today. Unlike when I get up at the crack of dawn to go walking, or I head out with a full agenda of items to tick off, I knew I had to go out in the yard – with them – those demons that exist in my backyard. I know they are out there hiding, and, yes, probably more afraid of me than I of them, but still they are there and it terrorizes me. But, I had to just put on my big girl panties and get out and prune and deadhead my roses and give my flowers their first dose of bloom fertilizer this season. It sure seems inconceivable to me that it is the 19th of June and I’ve not used the hose yet. I usually multi-task in the yard, by trying to use the sprinkler to water and simultaneously pull weeds or tug out, or at least tame, that &^%$ choke vine and purple nightshade which threaten to overtake the garden every year. This growing season, we’ve had way too much rain to even think of watering, so I’ve not tackled the weeds either.

The alarm rang, I rolled over and got up a tad late in apprehension of my chore. I watched the sun filtering through the slits in my metal blinds in the kitchen as I sipped my still-steaming coffee. I blew on it to cool it off so I could drink it down and get dressed. I had on sweats and my green vinyl gardening boots and headed outside while it was in the low 50s. While men sweat and ladies perspire, (or merely glisten as the saying goes), I was already sweatin’ bullets about going outside without getting myself further fizzed and hot and bothered when the sun came out; yup, I had already whipped myself into a frenzy about dealing with the outside critters. I hate spiders and centipedes but our backyard bouts with rats off and on since 2006 leaves me somewhat paranoid every time I go out back. My neighbor Marge reported lots of baby rats in the early Spring this year and that tempered any enthusiasm to get out and work in the yard.

My friend who lives in Richmond, Virginia e-mailed me last weekend, and attached a picture of a five-foot snake shown slithering along her porch railing when she got home from work Friday night. Her husband Tim was terrified of it and called Animal Control, (they are still waiting for them to show up), but Evelyn was cool and calm about it (a helluva lot calmer than I’d have been). She waited until the snake struck a pose on the top of the railing and promptly grabbed a camera and a measuring tape. It posed prettily for her, and turned out to be five feet long! Tim and Evelyn found a burrow at the side of the house and given the size of the snake and its home, they figure it’s been there awhile. I’d never go out of the house again. Evelyn offered to box her snake up and mail it to me to help with the rodent population, but I declined. I forwarded the snake picture to a friend who lives on the cusp of a woodland area near Rochester, New York and told her “this was hanging out in the Richmond ‘burbs – OMG” and she replied “it’s so small!” — Right.

So, out I went this morning, my over-active imagination in tow, and knowing that any form of backyard demon that crossed my path was sure to cause me consternation, a heart attack, or, at the very least, to pee my pants. I’m happy to report that I knelt, stooped, hunched down and stuck half my body into the seven-foot tall row of prickly rosebushes and there was nary a critter – with legs or without, that threatened me. I filled up half a waste bag with that obnoxious, scraggly, purple night shade, and more than a few tall thistles, plus I put a stranglehold on the choke weed which clings and winds around every stem so quickly that it looks like a National Geographic time-lapse photo from one day to the next.

Well PDQ, those gardening and fertilizing chores were dispensed with and I hurried in to reward myself with a big glass of chocolate milk, then got cleaned up and ready to attend to the rest of the day. Gardening used to be a favorite pastime, then my little paradise became a private hell with the onset of rats in 2006. They went somewhere else in 2007, resurfaced in 2008 and thereafter. In 2010, we had days and days of torrential rains and I ended up with slugs everywhere. Every morning I went out to find slimy trails where the slugs inched along the sidewalk and over the leaves of my hostas, butterfly bushes, daisies, Black-eyed Susans and coneflowers where they subsequently munched away to their heart’s content. I even bought soapstone toadstool ornaments that get filled with beer to guarantee the slugs would enter, drink up and drown, but it never worked. All it did was cause my yard to smell like Michelob every time it rained or I watered, and there were lots of drunken slugs from slurping up all that beer by the time the sun came up. I pressed copper pennies around each perennial to give them an electric jolt when they slid over the copper, then the birds started flipping them out of the dirt and onto the grass. Gallon jugs of Sluggo® pellets sprinkled around the base of the flowers nearly put me in the poorhouse but the slugs slunk around that congealed mess as well. As of 2011 they disappeared forever – Shhhhhhhhhhhhh, I don’t want them back.

In 2010 and 2011 I also battled black spot on my climbing roses and doused them daily with disease control potions –the black spot won and I acquiesced one day when the roses looked sickly and in frustration, I trashed them and their special umbrella trellis. The neighborhood scrapper was happy – he had lunch money that day. But black spot was not a pest per se, though I’ve conquered other perennial issues, including the loss of two butterfly bushes this Spring. Alas, the butterfly count will be way down this year. Now, I have only perennials and roses in the backyard and have “potted” artificial plants in the front and side; no muss and no fuss … no more endless deadheading, fertilizing, pruning and twice-daily watering and no one is any the wiser they are artificial, even up close. How I wish I’d done that years ago!!

We get too soon old, and too late smart. ~~(American proverb)

God created a picture-perfect day for us today. A day as pretty as this one helps make up for the many bad weather days back in April and May – all that snow, sleet, rain and cold thwarted my attempts to walk and kept us collectively miserable and feeling Spring would never arrive. With 90-degree temps predicted by Summer’s arrival this Friday, I set out to enjoy this 60-degree morn at 7:15, wearing just a short-sleeved tee-shirt and lightweight pants. The chilly air was invigorating and conducive for a long walk and I was so energized that I kept going farther and farther, and stayed the course all the way to ECORSE! I got to the Ecorse/Lincoln Park borderline and decided to turn right on River Drive and walk parallel to Council Point Park, enabling me to vicariously enjoy the ambiance of the Park from the opposite side. From my vantage point, there were no mosquito worries and from afar I was still able to hear and identify a handful of birdcalls. I chuckled as I watched several bunnies bolt, when their keen hearing from their tall and sunlight-filtered, nearly translucent ears, detected my assortment of pepper spray, whistle and I.D. info tag which were noisily jangling on my lanyard as I strolled along. There was no “duck fix” today as I did not go near the Creek, but I did glimpse a gaggle or two of geese, perhaps gathering for gossip over donuts and coffee, along the Park pathway. (Smile.) I was so glad I made this impromptu detour to Lincoln Park’s little gem and the time flew by. When I arrived home, I was surprised to see my pedometer registered 7,554 steps … wow, over 3 ¾ miles. It just felt good to be alive and enjoy this splendiferous day. I am reminded of this children’s poem that Mrs. Jamieson, my first and third grade teacher back at E.A. Orr Elementary School, often had our class recite– it is meant to fill your heart with joy and leave you with a warm and fuzzy feeling all over … hope it has the same effect on you as well. Enjoy!!

All Things Bright and Beautiful
~~by Cecil F. Alexander

All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful,
The Lord God made them all.

I left early this morning to get a walk in before the sun was high in the sky and caused me to swelter. The kids are now out of school for the Summer so less people and traffic around made for a hushed and humid morn as I did my 2¼-mile round trip to the Wyandotte/Lincoln Park border and back. I was enroute to Wyandotte when I first heard it. The unmistakable rhythm of a woodpecker drilling his beak into a tree. I swiveled my head to get a look at this fractious bird but could see nothing. Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrt, brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrt – my ear could not detect his whereabouts either … and then he stopped. Soon thereafter, a similar, if not identical, noise sounded in the distance. It wasn’t an echo. I couldn’t find the offender this time either. Then, the first noise resumed, subsequently stopped, then sure enough, the other woodpecker once again responded in kind, as he drilled fast and furiously. The pair was raising a ruckus and causing consternation to someone out there to be sure. I hope no one wanted to sleep in. On my return trip from Wyandotte to Lincoln Park, the pair was still up to their respective drilling expeditions, each episode lasting a minute or two. I had to stifle a smile as I imagined one or two homeowners nervously glancing out the window, mindful of the series of staccato jabs into their prized trees, and witnessing a pair of fine-feathered friends performing their rendition of “Dueling Banjos” out in the backyard. As I moseyed on home, my imagination went into overdrive and I soon could hear none other than Woody Woodpecker looking down from the tree and laughing hysterically in that goofy sound he always made. Further pondering those little buggers caused me to conclude they were merely alerting each other to bug and grub hidey-holes via Woodpecker Morse Code. Well, go figure.

“Nature is what wins in the end.” -Abby Adams

Well the weather forecasters predicted a gully washer last night and again this morning. I got up early anyway and did my housework that had languished since last weekend. Unfortunately, the weatherman only got the forecast half-right and when I took my garbage out at 7:45 a.m., the sun was peeking through the clouds and I could have walked. Oops!!! Well, life is full of coulda/shoulda/woulda events – this was one of them. It is only fitting that it rained for Father’s Day because it rained for Mother’s Day, so what is good for the goose is good for the gander. I thought about that little phrase when I heard the rain pittering-pattering on my patio roof very early this morning. It may have been a soggy early a.m. breakfast at the pancake house with Dad but I think the afternoon eventually was salvaged for brats and burgers in the backyard. I intended all along to write a walking post that incorporated Father’s Day into the commentary, but when I didn’t walk, I decided not to lambaste my father any further in this forum, since I already said how I felt earlier this week on the occasion of what would have been their 60th wedding anniversary. Perhaps next year – it will be thirty years in May since I last saw him – perhaps I will recognize that anniversary. For me, there is no angst or sadness with Father’s Day like with Mother’s Day. Weeks before Mother’s Day, there is a constant barrage of radio ads of what to buy mom, or just walking through the store you cannot help but see cards and cakes for mom. Well, when there no mom to buy for, it causes some heartache – sometimes, there is a lump in your throat but you have to gulp, swallow hard and carry on. I was never remiss in showing my mom how I loved her while she was alive so I am buoyed by any good times and memories we had together. Before getting too maudlin, I will share how Father’s Day was celebrated in our house after the departure of Max Schaub. I decided my mom would fill the shoes of both parents, so every year I went to Hallmark and bought her a Father’s Day card with the word “Father” xxxx’d out and “Mother” scrawled over in its place. She got a present wrapped in masculine wrapping paper and a festive cake tailored to “Dad” … we always made sure to go out for lunch as well on Father’s Day. So, I wasn’t Daddy’s little girl anymore but I sure as h*ll got over it. Cheers to the fathers who have created cherished memories for their children and for their evergreen wisdom once they leave the nest, significant character flaws for the man whom I called my father … ‘nuff said.

The word “Twittersphere” has finally migrated from “The Urban Dictionary” to “The Oxford English Dictionary” and I had to laugh when I heard that story on the news yesterday. Social media has taken the world by storm and now, even the prim and proper British dictionary used by wordsmiths everywhere. will include the words “Twitter” and “Tweet” … not so long ago, twitters and tweets were bird noises only. I’ve always loved birds and through the years our family has had pet parakeets and canaries and it has always been fun to listen to them jibber-jabbering to their toys, talking a blue streak, chirping or singing away, truly a sign of a healthy and happy little feathered friend. My canary Buddy has been with me for two and one-half years today. He is truly “my buddy” and I think the world of him, and then some. But my love of birds does not stop with my pet. I also enjoy the wild birds – their antics, or beautiful voices once the sun comes up on a still Summer morn, or even the long, mournful cooing of a mourning dove. We’ve even had crows here in the neighborhood through the years – we’d listen to their loud caw, caw, caw as they flew from tree to tree. It sounded a little the old T.V. show “Hee Haw” sometimes. I like interacting with the outside birds, hearing their song and whistling back to them. They would continue for an hour if you were so inclined and your whistler did not get too parched and dry. I was getting better at identifying some of the birds at Council Point Park, even if I did not see the actual bird, but I have decided to abandon that weekend trip until the Fall much as I hate to do so. The area is too marshy and with the humidity and all our rain, I suspect it will soon become a haven for mosquitoes. While walking this morning, I passed several quagmires and toadstools aplenty from all our recent rains plus more rain is in the forecast. So, I mapped out a similar length route today, away from the water, so we’ll see how that goes. I got three miles in today, but no duck tales to be told.

Query: why do people use the term “birdbrain” – birds are far from stupid. From their perch high in the sky, birds can spot food in the street, a treat or a bird bath from the highest tree top.

In the grocery store parking lot yesterday, someone had left behind a half-eaten pizza and at least twenty seagulls honed in on the bright red pizza box, and had flipped it open and were taking crusts to go – in fact, two of them playing tug of war with an especially long piece of crust. Still others were playing tiddlywinks with the pepperoni pieces that were scattered around the parking lot. They were so raucous and swooping and diving, I was hoping the congealed cheese might glue their mouths shut for awhile. No birdbrains there – they know a good thing when they see it. You don’t ever want to go to A&W and mindlessly toss an onion ring or bite of your footlong bun to a seagull there because in record time he will jump up on the hood of your car to demand more. I saw it many times when my mom and I used to go to A&W.

The birds sit high in the sky and spy the owner of the birdfeeder once they open the door, with the seed container in hand. This morning, I watched in amusement as a squirrel was dangling dangerously over a huge feeder causing it to list precariously and spill seed everywhere while he greedily used his paws like scoops to shovel out sunflower seeds and birdseed into his mouth. Well you are not a bird so what gives you the right Mr. Squirrel? The mourning doves and pigeons saw him and the spilled seeds and sped over on their short, stubby legs to grab their fair share. The starlings were stalking about, clearly mad, as they tried to butt in and snatch some of the seeds that they figured belonged to them. Three jays were calling angrily trying to threaten the squirrel with bodily damage from their sharp beaks. A row of angry sparrows lined up like soldiers and were wearing equally angry looks as they chattered to one another about “their” seeds. The squirrel was not paying any attention to any of them … he continued his calisthenics to pilfer anything within his reach. Well the trickle-down theory just doesn’t apply to Economics 101 – life isn’t easy is it? So, I guess you can say this post is for the birds.