I can always count on my blogging friends to solve mysteries for me, and it’s happened yet again.
Some of you have been kind enough to wonder where I’ve been and what I’ve been up to for the past few days.
A few have even admitted to worrying about me.
Cool! Thanks for the concern. Things have been crazy here, with little slowdown expected in the foreseeable future, but perhaps if I let you in on the craziness, you won’t worry as much.
I think I mentioned My Favorite Domer has a JOB in the Land of the North, and I’m helping him get settled there.
I’ve made three trips up and back in the last two months, no easy feat as it’s a full day’s travel one way!
This last trip, my mom wanted to tag along.
Traveling with Mom is
a nightmare an experience.
At first she thought we might stay at Domer’s new apartment, but I nixed that fast.
She has a bladder the size of a grape; no way would he or I ever see the inside of the bathroom!
So we opted for a hotel.
Now Mom wants her hotel room lit up like an airport runway, hot as a greenhouse, and noisy with her snoring. I need darkness, coolness, and quiet.
It’s useless to complain, so I travel with my MP3 and a stuffed bunny (so I can use his floppy ears to shield my eyes from the light).
Don’t judge — you’d find my routine very relaxing.
Anyway, once we got to Domer’s place, I noticed a bird’s nest right outside his door, just as it had been for my previous trip.
‘Didn’t the babies hatch yet?’ I asked.
‘I think so, but I can’t be sure,’ he said.
These birds (some mysterious species prevalent in the Land of the North) have a proclivity toward SWOOPING at Domer every time he uses the door.
They almost landed in my hair last time, and Domer was horrified.
So he avoids them whenever possible, even to pinpointing their typical swooping hours!
Sorry, Mama Bird, but my son is paying good money to live here, whereas you’re camping out for free. That, in itself, seems wrong, but what’s even more aggravating is for you to be teaching your kids to attack my kid.
And that will never do!
‘I’m going to knock that nest down,’ I told Domer. ‘Those babies should have flown off a long time ago. Perhaps if the nest is gone, they’ll all just go away.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ he told me, reaching into his golf bag and handing me a Seven Iron. ‘But have at it.’
And he opened the door to let me out.
‘You’re not going to help?’ I asked, feeling a momentary panic.
‘Nope,’ was all he said.
From behind the closed door.
‘Just let me know when it’s done,’ he added.
My heart was pounding as I reached up with the club, pushed the nest off the downspout, and, finding it empty, chipped it into some tall grasses.
‘Take that, you beasts,’ I thought.
Moral: Don’t ever mess with this Mama Tiger protecting her cub!