A Seedy Post

The birdfeeder is outside my dining room window. To get to it you have to go out the door on the other side of the house, around the front, and back along the other side to where the feeder hangers from its wrought iron shepherd's crook.

There's still a lot of snow on the ground. Deep snow, that I don't want to tromp through.

I have, not a ten-foot, but a four-foot pole, with a hook on the end, that I made for fishing things out from under bushes (mostly plastic grocery bags that the wind blows out of my dog-doo collecting stock on the back porch. But I anticipate). This winter I have discovered, that if I open the dining room window and lean out, this pole is long enough for me to hook the birdfeeder, fetch it in, refill it, and hang it back on the crook.

(This may explain why my natural gas bill was so high last month, but let's not think painful thoughts.)

On Friday, I fetched the feeder in and poured in the mixed seed from the big popcorn tin under the window. I hung the suet holder on the plastic hook under the feeder, then, having placed the feeder bale on my pole hook, I leaned out, out, out the window to hang it up.

Oopsie!

This time, I missed. Feeder and suet cage crashed to the ground. And this time I could've used a ten-foot pole.

Rats. Gotta go out in the snow regardless.

Picked my way along the partly-thawed strip along the front border and crunch, crunch, crunch into the side yard. Where I discovered that the plastic hook on the birdfeeder was broken.

Oh, well. I hung the suet holder on the shepherd's crook, too, and came back inside.

1. Where I discovered that
   I had neglected to put the lid on the birdseed tin before I went outside, and


2. There was a biiiiggggg dent in the birdseed and scads of millet and sunflower seeds and cracked corn scattered across the floor, and


3. Llewellyn was happily helping himself to it all.

If I had any question that it was he who'd caused the birdseed level to drop so precipitously, it was settled in a few hours when I took him out to do his business. You'd think my dog had turned into a canine seed drill. Doubt the birds will want them any more, sauced as they are with essense of doggie digestive tract, but I do have to wonder if any of this stuff will sprout when Spring finally comes.

After all, it works that way with birds.

Why Feed Birds?

The current issue of Birds & Blooms magazine features an article called "Why Feed Birds?" wherein various contributors "share why they feed feathered friends."

They came up with all sorts of lovely reasons . . . but none of them mentioned one of the big reasons I feed birds.

And why?

To provide entertainment to my goggie and kittehs, of course!



And it's not just the birdies that are so much fun, it's also the squirrels the birdseed attracts!

But alas, the fun is over for awhile.

Night before last a big wind blew through and knocked over the arbor vitae next to the birdfeeder. The feeder is under there.

Somewhere.

Homeland Security

The kittens Gwenith and Huw are increasingly out and about these days, so appropriate measures must be taken to Protect the Homeland.

And not necessarily from the kittens themselves.

Here's the security device I rigged up on the Kitten Room door a week or so ago:

It's designed to keep Llewellyn out of the room and out of the catbox cookies.

Comme ca:

(Poor baby!)

Then early this morning, I installed this on the hatch door to the attic storage:

The dark recesses of the void under the roof has been a popular hideyhole for Rhadwen ever since we moved in four years ago. In fact, this is what she did back then when I tried to block the door with a full can of white trim paint:

Imagine coming home from a nice Sunday afternoon out to find that!

But we now have an understanding. I can pretty reliably call (or bribe) her out of there when I need to. But who knows what Gwenith and Huw might get up to in that long, dark space. They might park themselves way in the back just to assert their feline independence. They might creep in unbeknownst to me and I could inadvertently close the door on them on a very hot or very cold day. Do not want!

I kept them out as long as possible; yes, I did. But yesterday they, too, figured out how to push aside the door stop, spring the cabinet latch, and get inside.

Huw I quickly managed to catch and deposit back in the Kitten Room. But Gwenith had found something marvellous in the attic space, something delightful and delectable, something so fascinating she must bat it and attack it and carry it in her little mouth all round and behind and between the boxes and bags and stored Christmas decorations, something she was going to keep away from me, oh, yes, she was. It was stiff and gray and looked sort of furry-- Oh, no, do I have mice?

But eventually she--and it-- got close enough and I pounced. This is what she'd found:

A dead bird does not surprise me, though I'd like to know how it got in. Wouldn't be the first bird, live or dead, I've found in this house.

Even so, I don't need my kittens breaking into the attic space in hopes of further necrotic avian treats. Thus, the bolt.

Here's Rhadwen this afternoon trying to get the hatch door open. It's too bad I didn't get a picture of her glaring at me afterwards. If looks could kill--!

Sorry, BabyCat. The kittens ruined your fun for you. The attic has been made Secure.