My husband has already suggested that I've become the "Erma Bombeck of knitting blogs," but I shall ignore unhelpful comments from the peanut gallery.
Saturday, I looked out at the birdfeeder in my backyard. "Oh look," I thought to myself cheerfully, "that gray bird is really enjoying a winter snack!"
A few hours later, I glanced out back again. "Wow! That bird is back again, enjoying the best birdseed Target has to offer!"
The next morning, I saw that the bird was back again. In the exact same position. Not moving.
I know a dead bird when I see one, and this bird was definitely dead. [Passed on! He was no more! He had ceased to be! Expired and gone to meet his maker! A stiff! Bereft of life, he rests in peace! He's kicked the bucket, he's shuffled off this mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisibile!!]
My birdfeeder guillotined him.
We have really cheeky squirrels and this was described as a squirrel-proof model. A little flap allows lightweight birds to get seed but a heavy squirrel makes the flap come down. Apparently this poor birdie found some way to get his head stuck in the flap at just the wrong time.
(This led Tom to speculate that what made the birdfeeder squirrel-proof was the prompt appearance of a dead bird stuck to the feeder. Who'd want to eat after staring into the glassy eyes of a poor dead sparrow? But personally, I don't think our piggy squirrels would let a minor detail like that stop them. They are that greedy.)
Being that I want only to feed the birds, not kill them, I put on my rubber gloves
and threw the whole damn thing away.
We'll try again today, with a less bloodthirsty model.