Happy Summer Solstice! Tonight will bring a little “camp fire”, with s’mores of course! And maybe chocolate covered strawberries if I’m ambitious. Otherwise plain strawberries.
Every day for the past several, each time I would see one of my cats I would say, “and STILL you bring me no dead gopher”.
This morning, I was working from home, and Jeff was getting ready to leave to drop the kids at their mother’s and head to HIS work. He forgot his flashlight (which he uses to peer into the dark innards of automobiles) so I went out on the porch to let him know, and he was standing in the middle of the (wee baby) bush beans. When he came up on the porch he said, “It’s not a gopher.” My heart rate accelerated–what was it? Something even more horrible? A basilisk perhaps? “What do you think it is?” I asked anxiously. “It’s the starlings,” he said, “digging up worms.”
Birds, following the soaker hoses where worms and bugs come to the surface during watering time, and also the ground closest to the hoses is much softer.
Guess I owe my kitties an apology. They are mighty hunters, but even they cannot be expected to capture a wily starling. After all, starlings are the organized crime family of the bird world.