Ruffling Feathers

I am currently embroiled in a battle which will hopefully culminate in the use of expensive surveillance equipment and (with luck) a deer blind and a potato cannon.

For those who are following along at home you my recall that I recently came across a strange little sign on a park bench, imploring the reader in shaky red marker, "PLEASE DO NOT PUT BIRD SEED ON THE BENCH." 

Normally I wouldn't have thought much of it but it's been a long wet spring with no hope any time soon of dusting off the river tube.  I needed a distraction and, let's be honest, nobody likes to be told not to do something they had absolutely no intention of doing in the first place.  By wedging that carefully inked little square of cardboard between the slats of a simple wooden bench this stranger, this sweet, unknowing, anal stranger, has become my favourite hobby.

Every Saturday there is a new sign on the bench and every Saturday I remove it and replace it with birdseed, which I have started carrying in the back of the Volvo despite JD's observation that Milk Bones would be more useful.

A few weekends ago I think I may have finally begun to chink the armor because the sign was thumb-tacked to the bench and each word had it's own personal underscore. 

This may have been the result of my latest effort: I smeared the words "Place Bird Seed Here" in peanut butter and sprinkled millet over the whole business.  

I won't stop until I am the subject of a tersely worded letter to the editor.  Stay tuned.