It’s that time of year again, when even the mildest-mannered gardener turns into a homicidal lunatic. I wasn’t mild-mannered in the first place, so I’m in full Rambo-mode.
Why, you ask? (Or maybe you don’t; but tough noogies. I’m going to tell you anyway.) Yep, once again I’m locked in a life-or-death struggle with garden-raiding critters.
In March, Hubby took down last year’s bird netting so he could double the size of our strawberry patch. We now have 22 raised beds, an area 60 feet long and 20 feet wide. After much anticipation (and much weeding), the first few berries began to blush a couple of weeks ago.
The robins swooped in immediately.
“That’s okay,” I thought. “It’s a giant patch. There’ll be enough for all of us.”
Robins do not share well. Nor are they considerate berry-pickers. When I went out to pick ‘my share’, I discovered that long sharp beaks had plunged into almost every berry that had even a touch of red, and about half the harvest was gone entirely.
Then the robins got possessive. No longer did they fly away when I approached. I had to chase them off, waving my arms and shouting obscenities. (The obscenities probably weren’t strictly necessary, but they made me feel better.)
Then it got to the point where they’d only move about ten feet despite my bellowing and arm-waving; and as soon as I hunkered down to pick the pathetic leftovers, they’d settle in a couple of rows behind me and chow down all over again.
The worst part was their derisive clucking and chirping. I just knew those little feathered bastards were laughing at me.
So, up went the netting again. As I secured the last gap, I shot a triumphant look at the robin perched outside the perimeter. “This is your own fault,” I lectured. “If you hadn’t been so greedy, you could have still been eating nice fresh berries.”
He let out a loud chirp, flicked his tail at me, and flocked off. He didn’t have a middle finger to jab skyward, but I got the message loud and clear. Now I know why they call it ‘flipping the bird’.
At least my berries are ripening unmolested now. But… last night I spotted a rabbit checking out the veggie garden.
AAARGH!!! GRAB THE CHICKENWIRE; I’M GOIN’ IN!
Do you ‘enjoy the relaxing hobby of gardening’?