I have a little fenced-in patio with hanging pots of purple, red, and violet flowers. There is a little section of soil where we meant to grow lilacs and roses. A small grassy area lies next to a brick walk-way and for the longest time, the only thing missing were birds. I love to watch birds, especially here in Virginia where cardinals are so plentiful.

I bought the cutest bird feeder and hung it on the fence, filled it with sunflower seeds and waited for the sweet little birdies to flock to my garden. We added a birdbath and filled it with fresh water. In a few days, we had all kinds of birds visiting our patio. Spencer and I became experts at identifying the different types of birds in just a few short days! We both agreed that the male cardinals were the most beautiful. They have a brilliant red color and shocking orange beaks. What happiness it was to eat breakfast in the morning and look out our sliding glass doors at nature. Happy birdies! Sweet, happy birdies! And what a surprise! Sunflowers began to grow in the soil beneath the bird feeder. What an exciting event it was for Spencer and me to see nature feeding nature....

I'm not sure of the precise day when it happened, but gradually our sweet little bird paradise became Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom. The cardinals were soon evicted from their perches by crows, doves, pigeons, and various other ugly and rude avian creatures. The squirrels moved in. I'm thinking it was a squirrel that laid the huge turd in the feeder...or we've got some freaking pelicans around here. Every morning the birds sit and wait. They see me walking around in the kitchen and they know I'll bring the food out. But it's not enough anymore. They suck it down and then fly beak-first into the windows until I bring more. The squirrels are actually ballsy enough to knock on the damn door and say stuff like, "Yo bitch...you're gettin' kinda lax on the chow out here..." There is bird crap and feathers everywhere. Fights are common, with screams, violent and bloody deaths, gangs, knives, and small automatic weapons. Sometimes it looks like some horrific scene from an Alfred Hitchcock film and I'm Tippy Fucking Hendron, walking out as quietly as possible so as not to incite a crow to fly at my eyeballs.

I should have taken the damn feeder down long ago. I'd do it now if it weren't for that damn Possum Patrol. I used to look out my kitchen window and listen to the sweet chirps of Morning Doves and Finches. Now I peer out behind a slit in the blind and think, "I got your chirp right here, bitch."