Aaaannndddd, Karma's a...

...bird, apparently.

I was so very, very happy with my new hooters.

I really was.

They were things of beauties and within 24 hours those poopin' finches were outta here.

24 hours after that the doves moved in.

Doves are not afraid of hooters.

And doves shit twice as big as finches do.

Damn you, Karma!

I Got Me Some New Hooters

No, really.

I did.

And I love them.

You see, in just the last few months, a family of finches has moved into the tree that provides shade  for our stairway.  Who knew that those little three ounce birds could shit sooooooooooo much.  Our stairs and handrail are coated in the nasty stuff.

I feel like our stairs look like this...

From Google Images

But they really looked more like this...

From Google Images

And that's plenty gross.

And I really hate birds.  I loathe them.  They are nasty, mite-infested flying rats.  I get the heebie-jeebies from them (I got your back here, Crazy Texas Mommy) and would have shot them out of the tree except for one teeny, tiny little thing.  The police station is less than a block from our apartment and they would have frowned upon me shooting the birds in town.  Besides, I've already been to the pokey once and I ain't goin' back!

So, Jay and I did the next best thing.  We went and bought a pair of plastic hooters.

Not from Google Images, from my own camera.

The little birdies were sitting on their shitting branch having a de-lightful little conversation with each other while taking turns soiling our stairs when Jay took the first owl out.  Within seconds, their little conversation ended and they were all standing at attention sassing the owl, trying to decide if it was worth their lives to stay on their toilets or just move on.

By the time we got home that evening, they'd chosen to move on.  To another branch, but at least it's not over our stairs any more.  We put the second owl out that night and we haven't seen them since.

Yessirreee, I love my new hooters.

I love being married!

So, at O'God thirty this morning, RockCrawlinChef discovered that one of the cats (Gizmo) had killed a bird, brought it into our bedroom and was noisily eating it (I didn't hear a thing until he woke me up). When I was single I would have been the one to have to clean up the rest of the bird, but now I'm married, I said the first thing that popped into my head..."You're the man, you get to clean it up." And he did, after allowing Gizmo to continue to chomp on it for a few more minutes. When I got up this morning, there was no sign of the devoured bird. Yay, me!