I checked out from the library the collected works of Daphne du Maurier, author of The Birds. Remember the quaint Hitchcock film of the same name? Little did I know then it was a sign of things to come.
On our property is a mass of pine trees, planted far too close together to afford the previous tenants oodles of privacy from the back neighbours at least a hundred yards away. As you can imagine, the trees also afford quite a bit of privacy to various wildlife, including a skunk which likes to investigate our garbage, but is unfortunately not part of the point of this particular story.
Most of the wildlife in the pines are birds. Starlings in particular.
The starlings spend a great bit of their day watching what we are doing out of their beady little eyes. We go into the woods, they follow, cackling at us all the way. Keeping a close eye on us, they are. I figured they wouldn’t be impressed with us and our plans, and I was right.
Last week, Ron with Addison as his helper, lengthened our driveway and turned it about in half-circle through some pines and back onto the street, removing the need to back into traffic.

The birds were not impressed.

How do I know this?
The back of our house faces the pines, and as such, is easily accessible to the starlings. It even helpfully juts out from the rest of the house. In a cleverly executed maneuver, the birds have impressibly managed to dive-bomb the entire side of my house with their, er, missile droppings. Yes, the back side of my house, the door, the back cement stoop, even the windows are covered with massive streaks of bird doo-doo.
When Ron’s plans from yesterday included thinning more pine trees, I thought for sure the birds would fire up for a fresh round, so to speak. But no, they chose to be even more diabolical and get us right in the heartstrings by throwing their young out of their nests, forcing us to rescue them.
I wondered what would be next, but according to my neighbour (“My name’s Gerard, but everyone calls me Jake.”), the starlings will only be around for another couple of weeks. Where they will be off to he didn’t say. I can only imagine what havoc they will wreak upon other in warmer climes, and what devious plans they have for us when they get back. Until then I will cautiously listen for any sound of beaks scratching against the window panes.

Heaven help us all.

Because Ev said I should update, here’s the latest –

Well, after avoiding the list yesterday to Get Things Done, in
retrospect I should have just sat in front of the computer all afternoon
as usual. In a fit of neatness home-dec frenzy, I attacked our bedroom
and decided that new room-darkening shades and proper valances *needed*
to be installed. RIGHT NOW. When I couldn’t find the step ladder (either
one) and then realized the screw gun wasn’t charged (lost the adapter
too), I should have seen the signs and stopped there.
THe big lessons learned is not to use a plastic strage container to
stand on, and also clear the furniture out of the way. Forming fresh
screw-holes overhead is a job left best to the professionals: men.
That’s what they’re good for. Also, get help before anyone needs to come
running at your screams by which time you’re *really* testy. Addison has
since related, that when i’m in such a mood, it’s best not to say
anything, including “are you all right?” because apparantly I’m going to
yell at him anyway.
Whatever. THey are big bleeding hearts, here, I tell ya. They weren’t
very impressed by the purple-blue bruise I got when my side hit the
dresser on the way down. Since it was under my arm and right where bra
elastic hits it, I get to let the girls run wild today.It’s also a
startling shade of magenta now. One butt cheek (same side) has a nice
bruise, and the other one hurts like heck, especially when I lean a
particular way on the toilet seat. I also smacked the inside of my elbow.
Okay, maybe Ron is sympathetic, but Emma keeps getting in the way. My bedroom looks really nice, though.