Saturday, March 22
When pigs fly
See the level of sugary water in the hummingbird feeder here? See how low it is? It’s 4:30 in the afternoon, and that feeder was filled at 10:30 this morning. That’s six hours, and the flying pigs have consumed at least 6 ounces already (175ml for people outside the United States and Borneo). What do they think I am? Their fawning servant? Good grief! There must be a little tube that goes directly from their greedy mouths to their sphincterless anuses! Sugar pumps! Give me a break—after all, I have a dog to medicate, a cat to satiate, five fish to ingratiate, and I’m already running late! All day I’ve grubbed around in the dirt on the sidewalk project, then all of a sudden the filter in the fish fountain clogged with algae, floated to the surface and had to be taken apart and cleaned (stinky stuff inside!) then reassembled and put back without upsetting the fish too much, I’m tired and achy, and it looks like I’ll have to refill the feeder (one of two feeders) before I can even have a beer! When does this relentless daunting responsibility let up? How much more can one person take? I should have embarked on a more sedate life—been a matador, or a flight controller. Actually, forget the matador part, too personally gory; if a flight controller makes a teeny little goof he doesn’t actually see the planes crash into each other except as intersecting blips on his radar. As a bonus, there’s some interesting video on the nightly newscast. Gives meaning to his life. I’ve never been on the news for missing an empty hummingbird feeder. That’s nice. Who needs all that excitement? I think I’m confused.