Maggie's Farm

Dump vulture. After he or she finishes eating, there's clams for desert to be dropped on the deck of yer boat, so's they'll crack open and spill their guts all over the shiny brightwork. Oh, and then there's the poop, so we can all enjoy Mr. Flounder again . . .

Always on optimist, I used to fill my bird-feeder when my cat, Bill, was still on this earth. Dense sod that I am, it took a while to connect the feeder, the cat and the basement window-mounted cat door with the increasing wounded animal population gathering in the neighborhood of the return air grill of my furnace. The furnace being a hungry beast, as well, gathered up all the carrion-infested vapors within its grasp, and sent them forth for the rest of us to enjoy. What finally brought down the curtain on Bill's small but growing collection was the noise. "Click, click", , "click, click", ; the unmistakable sound of a bat, missing several vital pieces necessary for safe and fruitful navigation of the skies, sending some form of code to its fellow bug eaters. Investigation of the source of this at 3AM provided a glimpse into the activities of a deranged cat (well-fed, I might strongly add) over the last several days, the Three B's - Birds, Bats and Bunnies. Busy lad, that Bill. After several minutes of dispatching the poor critter from its misery, and gathering up the others, graveside services were conducted for the first of Bill's harvests. One of my neighbors must have witnessed my 3:30AM digging in the backyard, that cool and now peaceful May early morning - she called the next day to speak with my then wife, having never called before; probably to verify her continued existence. Bill's critter gathering continued until all the young bunnies were slaughtered and I stopped filling the bird-feeder. Now that Bill has gone on to meet his maker, I once again put out birdseed, and I'm finally learning to enjoy the little winged wonders. Not in soups or roasts or stews, as you might guffaw, but perhaps in a shadowy rendition of the passion that you, BD, project to us here at Maggie's. I'm close to exhaustion from this, but let me say that if Bill had had access to seagulls, he would have dragged them in through his door, a piece at a time, if necessary. Also, there should be a bounty on seagulls when near boats, unless they are following a fishing vessel from a respectful distance.

Well, I'll have to do some research now, BD. Thanks a lot; just what I need: another hobby, as if tormenting the Trotskyites in the neighborhood wasn't enough . . .

Seriously, I never have the kind of birds I can really enjoy, and this little hawk might be one I'd like. My dream would be to have 4 or 5 buzzards perched on each chimney pot, just watching the neighbors as they bring their little dogs around to poop on the lawn. I don't mind the dogs, but I wish there were something large enough to carry a few of the humans off for snacking purposes.