It's a dangerous act, but we've taken to feeding the birds in our yard this summer. Those of you who have been following this blog understand what a reckless--dare I say foolhardy?--act this is, given the attack on our humble abode by the Cedar Waxwings back in April.
This is a thistle feeder. . . and it's been attracting little gold finches to our yard. (Nice little finches; not murderous Cedar Waxwings with rage in their hearts (and beaks.) By the way, last weekend a flock of 25 to 30 Cedar Waxwings sauntered into my friend, Sheila's, backyard. And one flew at and into her window! I'm prepared to whisk her to a safe-house if necessary.
Feeding the bird should not be confused with flipping the bird. For the first time in my life, I "flipped the bird"! It was just one of those things. My husband and I were driving down the street, competently, I might add. And some wild ones decided to swoop in front of us, and the passenger gave us the finger. We were baffled as to the reason, and why oh why didn't I pull out my camera and snap a shot? But I did manage to return the gesture in (un)kind. We felt like we had suddenly been dumped into a certain class of drivers poking along at tractor speed. . . but we weren't. Odd how sometimes drivers have this sense of "violated rights" once they get behind the wheel.