Ever since our front yard began to take on the unmistakable look of a job site, I've been more paranoid than usual about drawing the attention of wandering no-goodniks. Our neighborhood had a little rash of break-ins this spring/summer, and tools were a primary target. Plus, even with the back still open to the elements, the box is a lot drier and cozier than the rest of the great outdoors these days--an additional attractive feature.
But I don't have to worry anymore, because yesterday morning my fears were realized. Bob and I had just started working on the rig, when my tape measure flushed a confused (and probably hungover) cedar waxwing from the corner of the door sill. He'd taken a colorful dump full of partially-digested laurel berries on the threshold, and disgorged one more for good measure while I was wrestling the glass doors open to let him out. Bob had observed a whole bevy of them whooping it up in the laurel hedge the day before; we assume that this poor sot conked out early and was abandoned by his fellow revelers to sleep it off in the shelter of our motorhome.
I wish I'd had the presence of mind to snap a photo of his little 'hostess gift', but alas, my cleaning reflexes outpace my archival reflexes. Stains, you know. But the memory of the incident had me chuckling throughout the rest of the day. It's nice when one's worries come true in a harmlessly absurd fashion.
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