The Drinking Horn of Thor

We have two good-sized trees in our small backyard. Under one of those trees, two bird feeders hang from a hooked metal pole. One feeder is stocked with the usual mix of small wild bird seed and the other with sunflower seed. We host finches, nut-hatches, robins, an occasional bullying jay. In branches overhead, a pair of gray squirrels has built a nest and taken up residence.

It's a good suburban life for a squirrel. Oh, there are a few neighborhood cats but they're fat and stupid, and if you've got eyes on both sides of your head and are paying the slightest attention, they're not much of a threat. We awaken to the sounds of squirrels scampering across our roof, making heedless leaps from roof to tree, and spiralling down one trunk and up the other with abandon.

And there ... not quite close enough to tree or fence to chance the leap, not quite low enough to reach from the ground, hanging from a slippery metal pole that takes all your finger and toe strength merely to climb ... juuuuussst within touching distance of one tiny claw if you stretch as far as you can ... is the bottomless buffet. Nirvana.


I'll be traveling on business for a week and doubt I'll have a chance to post. Take care, and don't forget to check back.