Life in a small town

Avian Liberals …

It’s 06:00 on a beautiful summer morning, and the birds are twittering lightly, the cattle bawling just on the edge of town, the sun shining brightly, and a gentle breeze wafting through my bedroom window., and nary a cloud in the sky. No bugs up this high and this early so no screens to blog my view as I recline in my lazy boy  and sip the first coffee of the day. AAAHHHHHH… and like clockwork, the annual ritual begins. Training the local gang of new teenage arrivals who have never felt the wrath of the father. Life’s little pleasures …

My idyllic interlude shattered by this annual exercise on the first nice morning of the summer by the local Liberal Gang in all their cacophonous glory I resolve to act – as I have done every year when faced with this irritant.

Resplendent in their shining black and white, their long  tails streaming, their razor sharp beaks searching for nestlings to rend or plump morsels of rotting garbage to devour, screaming their threats and their current emoting to the neighbourhood. All the song birds rush to hiding, even the crows run for cover.

This loud and boisterous crew of vandals target my neighbour’s garbage every morning that the weather is compatible with open air picnicking. But the first gang of teenagers of the year gives a whole new flavour and volume to the exercise. Onesies and twosies are hardly noticed but 14 or 20 get one’s attention.

With lout cries of joy and much chortling they rip the big green bags apart commiserating in harsh screams their joy at each new treasure. One or two active ravagers busy in the big bin while the rest of the tribe keep an alert watch for any potential victim unwise enough to threaten their domination of the feast. They are immortal!!!!  BWAAHHAHAHAHA!


Feathers fly! One wire perched terrorist dives for cover in the dumpster!  Silence descends. WTF was that????

My target pistol speaks again!

More feathers fly and another Liberal somersaults  off the wire and recovers just before hitting the ground, speeding away trailing loose feathers and screams into the distance.  The rest as one voice burst into a cacophony of screams WHO DARES CHALLENGE OUR REIGN!? Flying and swooping and diving and screaming their defiance to the world. The churning thrashing continues until once again they settle into their perches.  Nothing.  HAHA!  See! We are the rulers of the universe!


Another feathered parasite plummets headfirst into the dumpster in a chorus of outraged shrieks!  The rest of the mob race away in panic from the unseen demon that bites without warning and upsets all their assumptions about the established order.

A couple of stragglers emerge from the dumpster and flee in disarray. Peace returns. The crow emerges from wherever he hid, surveys the scene, and majestically departs on his assigned errands. One by one the songbirds return and resume their melody. Peace and order are restored.  All is well until tomorrow when the boisterous vermin will return for a second lesson.

These winged vandals are far more intelligent than typical Liberal Progressives. It rarely takes more than two sharp lessons for order to be established in that generation for that year. Sigh … a lesson for our times perhaps?

AAAHHHHHH…  the pistol rests in it’s well worn rack beside my comfortable chair, the coffee is warm and good, a strong press of Espresso Roast. I wonder what we will have for breakfast. Maybe I’ll shave first …

Lesson for those who want to try this fun … don’t waste ammo on wing shots … wait till they are perched … it’s hard enough to hit them when they are perched using an air pistol at 40 or 50 yards, and all the shots are acutely ballistic at these velocities, adjust for shooting up or down out of the plane. I really miss the days of 7.62 x 54.



Strawman Disclaimer for Nitpickers: …  Oh well , ya know the drill,  POAD.



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