Another Gray Day in Michigan

We have started our cycle of gray cloudy days. It is unusually warm for this time of year. It should be in the forties during the day, but we are in the low fifties. The dogs are going crazy, whole flocks of mallards are landing under our maple tree outside the living room window. Dad put out ten pounds of bird food/corn under the tree for Gertrude and Dick. They must have spread the word of "free eats". Gertrude and Dick duck waddle up for brunch and supper each day. They have been with us since we moved here. In the Spring, Gertrude and Dick not only showed up each day but they brought their brood with them. Tiny fuzzy grey and yellow spotted ducklings. It was like a marching band coming with the cheep, cheep, cheeping anouncing their arrival. Presently with a huge flock of mallards under the tree, the noise is deafening. The quacking, the loud crunching and grinding, the screeching from the fights over food, and the sudden take off with a thousand wings beating the air, have the dogs jumping from couch, down to the door, and back up to the couch to peer out the window.

Even Sherlock finds this horde of ducks to be annoying. I introduced you to Sherlock the squirrel last week in my blog, but due to overload I dumped the story. If you remember, Sherlock visits us daily trying to remove the decorative wooden "acurn" I have on the top of my deck railing. He stands beside the acorn on his back haunches holding on to the acorn with both of his front paws. He pulls, he strains, he stamps his feet and flickes his big furry red tail but the acorn will not budge. It must have some of that heavy duty glue Jason used on my rustic unpainted birdhouse. When it doesn't move, he gives up and begins attacking it. He naws and naws leaving holes in it, chattering, and barking, all the while, Poochie is waiting at the door to take pursuit. If I could only understand squirrel speak, I'm sure it would be full of four letter words. Sherlock has proclaimed himself king of the new fence Jason and Andrea built. He walks up and down it daily. Checking out the birdhouse so he can stuff his cheeks till they bulge like a kid with the mumps. Every morning he awakens me, by perching himself on the tree limb that over hangs my bedroom window, barking and chattering to see if Poochie is laying wait for him under the arborvitar tree/bush. Once he determines she is inside, he scurries down the limb to the tree trunk to the ground. He takes two giant bounding leaps and he is on the fence. This starts his daily routine of walking the fence, attacking the acorn, and stuffing his face. Cock of the walk.