Milk

Growing up, I was a feisty, stubborn little thing and I hated milk.  HATED!
My folks ascribed to the "clean plate" school of parenting (and that included liquids) which is how I ended up sitting alone at the dinner table one evening while my mother cleaned the kitchen.

I knew that children were starving in China but couldn't connect how my drinking this milk could help them.  Finally, I snapped.  When Mom had her back turned, I poured the milk into the trash can which was lined with a brown paper bag.

 "My milk's gone."

"You may be excused."

I went off to play while my mother finished up the dishes.  When she lifted the brown paper sack out of the wastebasket to take it outside to the garbage, the bottom fell out. 

My parents also believed in corporal punishment, so I got spanked.  I secretly felt things worked out well for me though - because nobody thought to pour me another glass of milk.

I'm Never Alone

Jerry has been away on business this week which means that I am all alone, or I would be if I didn't live at "The Zimmermans' Animal Spa and Wildlife Refuge."

We find bird-watching entertaining and have three feeders and a block of suet hanging off the roof of our front porch.  Right now both a bluebird and a red-headed woodpecker are snacking out there.  A cardinal is watching and waiting for his turn to swoop in.  A whole lot of whistling is going on and birds - lots of birds - are pooping on our deck and stairs, of this there is little doubt.

Earlier, one of (God only knows how) many squirrels was visiting the feeders.  Chasing squirrels from bird feeders is an exercise in futility so I don't. The birds don't seem to mind sharing, so why should I?  Plus, squirrels are fun to watch.  They are the trapeze artists in the cirque du soliel of the animal kingdom.

In the evening an old raccoon with a gray muzzle lumbers up the stairs and checks to see if the birds left any seeds uneaten.  Often he will stand up on his hind legs, put his front paws on the windows and stare inside.  He doesn't seem disturbed at all that we are sitting less than a yard away.

Just moments ago I looked out the window to my side yard and saw a young deer standing in my terraced flower bed eating a newly planted bush.  Out of the entire woods, this is where he chooses to munch.  When he saw me he gave me the "what?" look.  He knew he was being naughty and he knew I knew it too.  I used to see that exact look on our children's faces when I caught them involved in questionable activities, too.

Last night as I was drifting off to sleep I heard a blood-curdling cry like some  poor creature was being stabbed to death right underneath my window.  I didn't bother to get up and look out.  We live in the woods; it's dark here at night.   (This is not my first rodeo.)  When we heard these noises before, Jerry researched them on the internet.  The cries are either from an owl or a fox.  Surprisingly they sound a lot alike.   

Now there are two deer in my flowerbed...

...and people wonder why I don't watch t.v.