Waterbaby has a farm, E-I-E-I-O

A few minutes ago it looked like Hitchcock was here to film.

The grass outside my window looked like this (pic snagged off Net):

That's because every day I sprinkle a feed.

Sometimes tortilla chips that I stomp on to turn into a corny dust.
Sometimes pieces of cornbread, baked for them and me, crumbled.
Sometimes Cheerios, again crunched underfoot.
Unshelled peanuts on special occasions.

I'm in a pickle though.

Because when I put out feed for the birds, these arrive:

I do love to feed and watch the birds.

Yet I don't want to encourage rodents, the bushy-tailed ones, mice and God Forbid the ones that resemble mice but are lots bigger. Starts with an "r." Because that "r" word … lemme just say, if I were a prisoner of war, all my captors would have to do is show me one in a cage in the next room and I'd be spillin' my every secret. National security?! Screw that!

Last week I bought a 50-pound (22.6 kg) box of bird seed from Costco.

In my Subaru it sat as I weighed feeding the birds against the invitation to rodents. Particularly because the presence of those "r" things has been noted. That's another posting if and when I ever get past the puking and shivers just thinking about it.

A few days later I'm back at Costco with the unopened box.

So, for now, I continue this balancing act of portion-controlled feed while monitoring the variety and volume of animals.

Oh yeah, and there's these:

I'd way rather watch their intelligent minds at work than the bushy-tailed rodents'.

So far the crows number a manageable half dozen or so.
Poor Hitchcock. No movie set here.

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