People seem to think that I’m a peaceful, happy kind of bloke. Most folk will say that I’m relaxed and chilled.
Those people are wrong though. Underneath this chipper exterior lurks a beast whose sole purpose in life is to starve, destroy and humiliate.
Thankfully though I’m fairly discriminate in whose bones I crush. You, dear reader, are safe. Safe, that is, as long as you’re not a bird reading this on the bottom of their cage.
Now don’t get me wrong, I love birds. Chicken, turkey, quail, duck, squab. They’re all delicious.
Kill them I say, kill them all.
The gummint should be subsidising air-rifle sales to minors so they can be wandering the streets indiscriminately shooting all things feathered, birds that aren’t behind mesh that is. As for those colourful native ones? They’re just hippy starlings.
See what they do to me? They overrule my usual centre-left political leanings leaving me somewhere to the right of Mussolini, and also as a possible poster boy for the Shooters and Fishers Party.
Once all my fruit is safely off my trees, I find inner peace once more. I do though now have an action plan to take control of my garden and find permanent nirvana.
I’ve tried decoys, sprays, rubber snakes, CD’s, tin foil, all those non lethal frighteners and some of them, like the hawk, actually work. Up until the birds catch on that that skinny bird must be on some weird diet, that is.
So apart from buying an air-rifle, putting on some camo gear and getting all Rambo, it looks like I’ll have to start channelling my inner Christo and start covering all my fruit trees in bird mesh.
To be honest, I should have been doing this from the start. Once birds get into the habit of eating at their local takeaway, they just keep on coming back and so it is here at McLogan’s Bird Restaurant.
I’ve wrapped up my fig tree and a plum tree that is going gangbusters with fruit that’s due to ripen very soon.
As for my apples? Well this year my codling moth numbers are well down thanks to my bait station and spraying, but that fruit is now being eaten by the birds.
No wonder our local fruit growers are a bit mental, ‘it’s dem dang burds Ma dat’s doin’ it! Where’s me shotgun?]