Holder House

OUTSIDE!!!!

YES!!!!

It's summer!!

Let's go OUTSIDE!!!!!

I love this time of year. Those of you that put up with my pissing and moaning all winter long prepare to be equally annoyed by my constant praising of the spring and summer.

I can't help it. I just love the warmth, and the feeling you get being outside in the fresh, fragrant spring to summer air. 

Only in spring do you get to watch the ducks that come to our yard every year lay and warm their eggs. 

Only in spring to you get to watch the eggs hatch and follow the fuzzy ducklings on their first walk down to the pond. Their first swim! Imagine that!

It is the time of year for feeding the tadpoles and listening to the bullfrogs...or in our case, getting our neighbour Ryan to catch one for us so we can hold a bullfrog the size of a rotisserie chicken.

It is time for smores at night, staying up too late, and dirty feet.

It is time for hose fights, water balloons, and vegetable gardens.

It is time for sangria in the backyard.

It is time for fun.

Beat that, winter.

Bird's The Word.

Or caused some people around here to say some words, anyway. 

BAD words.

Let's start at the beginning, which is of course, always the best place to start things.

It starts with the Christmas wreath on our front door.

What does this have to do with birds and bad words you ask?

Well, pretty much everything.

You see, said aforementioned bird had decided to build a nest in said, aforementioned wreath.

So, the other night, Jim opened the door, and this dumbass bird flies in. Or maybe not so dumb, it is, after all, 72 degrees in the house, and colder than a witch's you-know-what outside.

You can imagine the pandemonium which followed the entrance of Senor Bird in the house. Screeching. Laughing. Running. Pointing.

And that was just me.

The kids totally flipped out! There's a BIRD flying around in our house!

Well, Jim set to work trying to catch the bird. He tried to get it down from our upper window sills, which only succeeded in driving it upstairs. He finally got close enough to throw a towel over it, and that bird was caught. Just like that. Lickety split.

So he takes the bird downstairs, opens the door. Sets it free.

And the effing thing flies right back into the house.

Enter a string of VERY bad words.

This time, Senor Bird proves to be a little more elusive. He has headed upstairs, but we can't quite locate him. He has gone to ground somewhere in my bedroom we deduce, clued in by the bird crap all over the silk lampshade on my nightstand.

We decide to give up for a short while, sure in the knowledge that the bird can't hide forever. 

We put the kids to bed. They all request closed doors, as they all have slight fears that the bird may peck/crap on them during the night.

I decide to get ready for bed as well, head into our little toilette room when, like an angry god after a sinner, who arises out of the floral arrangement on my toilet tank all set to divebomb my head, but Senor Bird.

We've got him cornered!

There's nowhere he can go! 

So I shut the bathroom door and yell for our resident bird catcher extraordinaire.

He does it again!

He catches the bird!

And this time, he CLOSES the front door before he lets the little sucker go.

Without further ado, I present to you, Senor Bird, and his nemesis, Bird Catcher Man.

Senor Bird, are you ready for your close up?

And yes, this is bird crap.