Yesterday Grandma found a dead chickadee inside the green bird feeder. :( Sic transit gloria mundi. On the other hand, Ms. Sharpears heard a FLYING SQUIRREL in the old familiar wall cavity the other night. The trap was set, and, just at midnight, FLOP! SCRAPE! BANG! was heard. "You'll have to get that thing, or else I will have to move downstairs," was the rallying cry. So the Great White Hunter got a pail of water, pulled out trap+squirrel and immersed same, and put the bucket in the vestibule, where it remains for a time as we watch the yard fill up with snow.
By the way, if you want to see a prime enabler of gun violence, just click here. Thank you, as always, Hillaire Belloc.
Flowers for Algernon?
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