Ok so here I am wondering, like a poor naive fool, what kind of rodent is burrowing into my corn mounds (see previous post). It's really getting to me and I'm contemplating what kind of small rat or large mouse is doing it and thereby causing all my mounds to dry out. Secretly I am blaming the unseen plague of super-rodent on the non germination of my three sisters corn crop which has put out one measly seedling. But I am unprepared for the horror of meeting my nemesis, the Evil Beak Bird, from the swamp down he road, who is shoving his satanic beak into my garden beds to get at the buggy and wormy compost within. Shouting at him works temporarily, and he flies lazily away, not even respectful enough to put up a good show of flight response. To my shame he returns within an hour
with a mate, to feast upon my soil life and disturb the innocent corn seeds within.
That night I am awoken by the taunting
honk of the Evil Beak Bird as he and some hanger-on relative devour my compost critters. I resist the temptation to run outside in my underwear, yelling in a shrill feminine voice. But I do not forget. I plot. I scheme. Deep in the recesses of my shamed and troubled mind I hatch a plan to protect my corn. The next morning I erect this brilliant scheme, an invisible force field made of fishing line, designed to
freak the freak of that freakin' Evil Beak Bird. I imagine him swooping in for a free feed, graceful until he is rebuffed by my scheme. Perhaps he gets his foot stuck and flaps pathetically, the laughing stock of bird life throughout the neighborhood. I can sleep easily now, awaiting the germination of my corn safe in the knowledge that evil is at bay.
Ok so here I am wondering, like a poor naive fool, what kind of rodent is burrowing into my corn mounds (see previous post). It's really getting to me and I'm contemplating what kind of small rat or large mouse is doing it and thereby causing all my mounds to dry out. Secretly I am blaming the unseen plague of super-rodent on the non germination of my three sisters corn crop which has put out one measly seedling. But I am unprepared for the horror of meeting my nemesis, the Evil Beak Bird, from the swamp down he road, who is shoving his satanic beak into my garden beds to get at the buggy and wormy compost within. Shouting at him works temporarily, and he flies lazily away, not even respectful enough to put up a good show of flight response. To my shame he returns within an hour with a mate, to feast upon my soil life and disturb the innocent corn seeds within. 
That night I am awoken by the taunting honk of the Evil Beak Bird as he and some hanger-on relative devour my compost critters. I resist the temptation to run outside in my underwear, yelling in a shrill feminine voice. But I do not forget. I plot. I scheme. Deep in the recesses of my shamed and troubled mind I hatch a plan to protect my corn. The next morning I erect this brilliant scheme, an invisible force field made of fishing line, designed to freak the freak of that freakin' Evil Beak Bird. I imagine him swooping in for a free feed, graceful until he is rebuffed by my scheme. Perhaps he gets his foot stuck and flaps pathetically, the laughing stock of bird life throughout the neighborhood. I can sleep easily now, awaiting the germination of my corn safe in the knowledge that evil is at bay. 
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