Beware all ye who are about to enter here.......Lo is ready to rant.
The world is full of selfish, self-obsessed, self-absorbed, self-indulgent idiots and I am fed up with each and every stinkin' one of them. They desperately need fixing and I have decided there is only one way to fix them. If I were running things I would decree that two surgical procedures be performed on all of them...first a lobotomy and then sterilization. There might be 5 people whom I would spare.....I shall not name them here......but everyone else would get fixed, by gum. The only ones who might escape this fate are those who can run faster than me, and since that includes everyone including the lame and the halt I guess the world is safe from my merciless "repair" project. All I can say is, "faugh, I have had a rotten day."
Were it not for God's Gift to the Universe, the Awesome Finches, I would surely put rocks in my pockets and jump in the the pool.......the deep end this time. I figured out why it didn't work the last time I tried that. How stupid can you get? I guess you really have to mean it to jump in the deep end.....
Anyway, after today imploded, exploded and self-destructed I hauled myself out of the debris a tattered wreck and spent what was left with my nose pressed to the bird cage observing the most charming, delightful creatures on the planet. Except that, apparently even in the bird world there are selfish, greedy bullies who insist on grabbing all of the nesting material for themselves even though their nest basket overflows with the stuff and there is hardly enough room inside for Frank and Doris not to mention the four eggs I counted this morning...yes......I lied.....I have reversed myself and decided to let them breed one brood so I can observe the fascinating process. Frank, of the lovely voice and bullying propensities spent the afternoon depriving his smaller, weaker compatriot, Mickey, of every shred of straw that I had gathered and offered. After watching heartbroken as he snatched the last shred from Mickey's gorgeous red beak and stuffed it vigorously into his own digs there was nothing left but for me to intervene. I am just a meddlesome fool and that is the truth of it. I spent the rest of the day selecting the choicest bits and offering them directly to Mickey's eager but inept beak. It sometimes took 5 minutes for him to get the hang of it and get a good grip, but then what joy and fulfillment to see him drag it through the bars, up to the nest basket and in through the entrance, inch by inch till it was all safely indoors while Frank watched stomping back and forth on his perch in helpless frustration. I have discovered that it is the male who is responsible for building the nest. the women just sit around scratching their feathered fannies and watching their husbands toil away. I guess they figure having to lay all the eggs is job enough for them. Seems only fair, I guess. I have read that both the male and female sit on the eggs and feed the babies if and when they hatch.
Frank and Doris are definitely the dominant pair, but the two smaller birds seem to accept that and cope pretty well. They are all eating like foodaholics, enjoying their swimming pool and flapping, flying, chirping and muttering sweetly to each other all through the day except when they coyly enter their respective abodes and discuss the state of the economy, the freshness of the Swiss Chard, perhaps baby names and whatever it is they are saying to each other in that amazing, strange bird whispering and chortling that issues forth from the nest baskets when the pairs are inside.
Oh, Gawd........I have become as insufferable about my feathered children as people are about their sticky faced offspring and grandchildren. I beg your forgiveness......but you might as well get used to it. The obsessing and the apologies that is.
Pictures will be forthcoming as soon as I can figure out how to shoot inside the cage.
And, incidentally.....so far there has been not a lick of the Cat/Bird problem......tenks gott.
Now, off to bed....this has been an exhausting day with a few bright spots for which I am hugely grateful.
The New Yorker covers: August 18, 1975
12 hours ago