In a pensive mood, your agent settled onto the back deck with a cup of tea. It was late on a sunny afternoon. An occasional cool breeze brought the first hint of the impending autumn. Suddenly, one of the last hummingbirds of the season appeared at the feeder adjacent to my chair. It fed momentarily and then zipped away into the trees. Although they're frequent visitors to the Wonders' yard, I never fail to be mesmerized by the frenetic motion of these minute creatures.Hummingbirds are definitely cool.***
As time passed on the deck, my mind began to wander. This occurs with some frequency. Thankfully, it always seems to find its way back where it belongs.
Although lost in thought, I suddenly became aware of a small feather as it wafted above my forehead. The feather fell slowly and gently. It landed between my feet. I examined it without picking it up. The feather was light grey and its ends were rather frayed.
Oscar says moments such as these should not be ignored. A feather landing at one's feet must have some kind of deeper meaning. It could be a harbinger of things to come.
I pondered this possibility for some time. A feather, of course, can be a symbol of peace. On the other hand, the feather appeared to be a little unkempt. Perhaps instead, a case of ruffled feathers lies in wait for me around the next corner.
In the end, I dismissed the notion of this metaphorical feather. For the most part, I reminded myself, I'm the creator of my own destiny. Satisfied with this resolution, I stood up and finished the last drop of my tea. Then a familiar rumble suddenly echoed through my stomach. I was starting to feel hungry.
For some reason, I really felt like having chicken for supper.
***
The errant feather, however, did provide me with one benefit. I started thinking about the various creatures that inhabit the Sack. I refer, of course, to the non-human variety. These are the animals, birds and insects that also reside in this suburban cul-de-sac.
This is what we're going to talk about today.
Weed says he wishes people would always announce the gist of their message, before they start talking in detail about something. This way, he explains, one can decide whether it's worth one's attention. He says it would save both parties a great deal of time.
"Life is too short," he told me once, "to listen to stuff you don't want to hear about."
So, today we're going to talk about the beasts and pests of suburbia. Don't say I didn't warn you first.
***
Raccoons have descended upon the Sack in greater number over the last year.
These nocturnal creatures have been increasingly displaced by the misguided growth of the old town's suburbs. Every time a wooded area is cleared for construction, their natural habitat shrinks accordingly.
The Sack, of course, now occupies a lofty position on the raccoon's list of preferred dining areas. This summer, their visits have become a nightly spectacle. If one's refuse or compost material isn't secured, a yard strewn with garbage will undoubtedly await in the morning.
The old town's waste management professionals collect garbage, compost material and recycling bags on Friday. It remains folly, however, to place these items at the curb on Thursday evening. Gangs of marauding raccoons will appear boldly in the street when darkness descends.
Recently, a mob of raccoons arrived on the curb in front of Little Doug's house. It was just after midnight. For over an hour, the animals feasted on the contents of his compost bin. Inside the bin were the leftovers from a large family dinner. According to Little Doug, his extended family had enjoyed a grand seafood supper.
It wasn't difficult for the raccoons to access the remains of the seafood supper. They simply knocked the compost bin over and let the contents spill onto the street. In the midst of their repast, however, a terrible conflict arose amongst the raccoons. The ensuing fight included some horrible shrieks and death-defying screams. Raccoon disputes, it seems, are not for the faint of heart.
Almost everyone in the Sack was awakened by the noise. Residents watched from their windows as the raccoons squared off in the middle of the cul-de-sac. Eventually, cooler heads prevailed and the raccoons resumed their feast.
In the morning, the street was covered with shards of lobster and crab shells. Young Doo promptly smashed them to smithereens with his hockey stick.
***
A few weeks ago, Computer Doug emerged from his house with a bag of food scraps. He was going to dump it in his compost bin.
It was about six o'clock on a Friday morning. Computer Doug was wearing a pair of striped pyjama bottoms and a black Rolling Stones T-shirt. He also wore his infamous Bigfoot slippers.
Computer Doug, of course, is not much of an outdoor person. He's not the type for hiking or traipsing through the woods. If given a preference, he would probably opt to pave over his front and back yards. He'll be the first person to tell you that he's strictly an urbanite.
This particular characteristic made it even more amusing when Computer Doug opened his compost bin. A young raccoon had somehow become trapped inside during the overnight hours. It came leaping out of the bin in a frantic, distressed fashion.
Later, Computer Doug would admit that he was so startled by the raccoon that he almost "crapped" in his pyjama bottoms.
Oscar said this would've been far more entertaining than the raccoon fight in front of Little Doug's house. I remain doubtful about this.
***
There are, of course, numerous cats and dogs living in the Sack.
The cats are notable only for the killing field in Little Doug's backyard. If you're ever in the market for a dead mouse, squirrel or bird, this is where you're likely to find one.
Most of the dogs are well behaved and keep a low profile. The big barking dog who lives in Burning Manor would be the obvious exception. Thankfully, he seems to have settled down a bit over the summer.
Lately, however, the big barking dog has reserved its rambunctious nature for one particular Sack resident. For some reason, he begins to bark with great fervor whenever he sees Elizabeth's husband, Philip.
Elizabeth and Philip, of course, live beside Burning Manor. Even when the dog is inside, it reacts to Philip's presence. If he simply pulls into the driveway, the dog's urgent barking will still echo into the street. When the dog is tied up outside, it will bark frantically at Philip long after he has disappeared.
Neither Philip, nor Elizabeth, can understand why the dog reacts in this fashion. Philip is a rather unassuming man and he rarely gives the dog a second glance, even when it's barking madly at him. Elizabeth thinks Dirk and Dora have set the dog against Philip because he backed into Dora's sister's ancient Ford Fiesta and then called the peelers about it.
Dirk and Dora are not particularly fond of the peelers.
Oscar, on the other hand, has a theory about the big barking dog's dislike for Philip. He says it has everything to do with Philip's occupation. Philip, of course, works at a funeral home. One can only assume that he's handling dead bodies with some regularity.
"His scent," Oscar explained learnedly, "probably includes the smell of death."
Weed, of course, thought Oscar's theory was preposterous. He accused Oscar of smelling like stupidity.
"Fine." Oscar said haughtily. "But, the next time you see Philip, take a little whiff of the guy. You'll see what I'm talking about."
Weed said he would certainly take a whiff of Philip at his next opportunity. But the only thing he expected to smell was some Old Spice aftershave.
I remain doubtful about all of this.
***
The most prolific insect in the Sack is the industrious ant.
While these tiny ants are plentiful in the outdoors, they have also found their way into many people's homes. This is a frequent problem around the old town.
Everyone, of course, has their own method for keeping the ants away. Most people employ store-bought repellents. A few use their own homemade concoctions. Some residents are more successful with their methods than others.
Oscar says he has a small ant-sized sign posted near his front door. Apparently, the sign reads: No Ants Allowed. He says it works like a charm.
I remain doubtful about this, too.
***
Little Doug swears by his own brew of anti-ant goop. Dropped near entrances and window sills, he says it does a great job of keeping the tiny insects at bay. Weed, however, begs to differ on this point. Apparently, Little Doug's eyesight is dreadful. An ant would have to be crawling on his eyeball, according to Weed, before Little Doug could ever see one.
Weed claims he gets most of his aerobic exercise from stepping on ants.
***
There is probably some truth to Weed's assessment of the ant situation at Little Doug's house.
About a month ago, Daisy and he were getting ready for bed. Their son, Baby Doug, was fast asleep. While Daisy was disrobing, she suddenly felt a tickle near the seam of her underwear. A quick investigation revealed a tiny ant in the vicinity of her nether regions.
Alarmed at the discovery, Daisy shrieked and clawed at her underwear. She spun around the room like a cyclone. Weed said she was trying to rid of her underwear and the ant at the same time. Amidst the ruckus, Baby Doug was roused from his slumber.
Weed says it's true what they say about having ants in your pants.
"You dance, man," he said calmly. "You really dance when you have ants in your pants."
***
Birds are another part of the Sack's landscape.
The Wonders home, of course, is the focal point for many of them. We seem to be the only residents with more than a passing interest in their presence.
Over the years, there have been a few notable birds in the backyard. These are birds that rarely show up in a suburban environment such as the Sack. Unfortunately, your agent's enthusiasm for these moments is rarely shared by other residents. Yawns and blank stares seem to be the usual response.
Once, an Indigo Bunting was in the back trees for about a week. I asked Oscar if he would like to take a peak at this brilliantly-coloured little bird. He thought about it for a moment and then looked at his watch. "Naw," he said through a stifled yawn, "Law & Order is gonna be on in few minutes."
***
On another occasion, a ferocious-looking Sharp-shinned Hawk suddenly appeared on the rail of the back deck. A dead starling was clutched in one of its talons.
The hawk perched on the railing for about five minutes. It stared at your agent and Mrs. Wonders through the patio door. We were sitting at the kitchen table with open mouths.
We certainly didn't want to see the hawk devour its prey. We didn't want the raptor to leave the starling's carcass behind, either. When shown on television, these normal, yet brutal aspects of nature always lead your agent to change the channel with great haste. Thankfully, however, the hawk eventually revealed its impressive wingspan and then laboured into the sky with its prey.
"Now, that," Oscar said later, "would've been worth seeing."
***
Among Sack residents, however, the most notable stories about birds involve the misfortunes of fellow neighbours.
Computer Doug's house, for example, is graced by a starling's nest at least once every spring. He'll refuse to acknowledge its presence for as long as possible. In the end, he has to get Little Doug to get rid of it for him.
Norma, Ben's wife, was once the victim of some errant pigeon poop. The thick, milky substance landed on her shoulder while she was gardening. Unfortunately, she was oblivious to its presence. It was only after stopping to talk to Big Doug that she learned of the matter.
"You've got bird shit all over you, you know," said Big Doug bluntly.
Norma was appalled to learn about the pigeon poop. Only the presence of Big Doug stopped her from stripping off her blouse in the middle of the cul-de-sac. She made a beeline for her front door with her arms held out woodenly.
According to Big Doug, Norma said "Yuck, yuck, yuck" repeatedly as she walked toward her house.
***
Elizabeth was once briefly attacked by a crow. She was wearing one of her gardening bonnets at the time. It was adorned with some fake foliage.
The crow swooped down and clutched at her head for only a second. It was likely going for the apparent nesting material on her hat. Oscar, who witnessed the event, said Elizabeth made some high pitched whooping sounds when the crow made contact with her. Then, like Norma, she made a beeline for the safety of her home.
Oscar said she sounded just like Curly from The Three Stooges.
***
Lately, the Sack has been the home of a rather unusual animal. At least, that's Oscar's opinion on the matter.
For the last number of weeks, there has been a new resident at Burning Manor. She is a woman of enormous girth. Apparently, she was recently released from a federal prison. According to Norma, the woman's name is Arlene. Sack residents had already tagged her as Bertha. Most are sticking with this moniker.
Oscar says he has no quarrel with people who are morbidly obese. He does, however, have difficulties with the uncouth. This is a quality he finds Bertha to own in spades.
Twice in the last two weeks, Bertha has eaten a fast food meal on the steps of Burning Manor. In both cases, she did it during the early afternoon. The first meal was a feast from McDonald's. According to Oscar, it was clearly a super-sized order in every respect.
At the time, Oscar was walking past Burning Manor. He was on his way to the corner mailbox. Bertha was oblivious to his presence. He said she was lost in concentration as she devoured her meal. According to Oscar, it wasn't difficult to determine the ingredients in her Big Mac. The front of her white sweatshirt was covered in ketchup and other toppings.
Oscar said he walked past her with his head down on the way back from the mailbox.
***
Bertha's other front porch meal was also notable, according to Oscar. This time she inhaled a substantial portion of Kentucky Fried Chicken. Oscar says he was unnerved by the number of times Bertha licked her fingers.
When she was finished eating, Oscar said Bertha left the box of KFC remnants on the front steps of Burning Manor. Both Dirk and Dora came home separately, but didn't give the box a second glance.
Bertha's box of chicken bones stayed on the porch overnight.
At about two o'clock in the morning, an unholy racket began in the front yard of Burning Manor. Four adult raccoons were battling for control of Bertha's chicken bones. Oscar said the ensuing raccoon scrap definitely rivaled the one at Little Doug's house. Fortunately, your agent was away at the time.
Oscar says he feels no animosity toward the raccoons. After all, he points out, they're just trying to keep themselves alive. Bertha, on the other hand, is another matter entirely.
"People have all kinds of pets around here," he said thinly, "but Dirk and Dora had to go and get themselves a wild pig."
***
