So the snails haven't been at it again, at least as far as I can tell. I can't blame them for their celibacy after being pried apart with a giant spoon and all. Kinda kills the mood.
But we do have something new to fret about just outside the back door--a wren has some baby birds in a birdhouse. Not a problem, except for the fact that the birdhouse is old and rickety and just about to fall completely apart and plunge to the ground. Certain death. It's hanging by ONE NAIL. The roof pulls open a little more every day and now we can see all the babies inside. Oh no!
Compounding this problem is the fact we have four, count 'em, FOUR cats here at Casa Cebula, who are wise to all this and sit patiently waiting, mouths open, for breakfast to fall from the sky.
Now, most Darwinists might say to leave them be, but no, not us. This has become a family project. SAVE THE BIRDS. I built a net contraption out of pieces of old trellis and torn-up soccer goals and hung is just below the branch. It's very pretty. But at least it will break their fall. Then my dad hooked twine around the bottom of the house and tied it off on an opposite limb. Whew. It looked like the babies were safe. Success!
Until today when it started pouring. THEY'RE GETTING WET! POOR THINGS! MOMMY!
So there I was, climbing a tree in a rainstorm, so that I could hook an umbrella to the branch above. I froze and nearly killed myself, but those freaking birds are dry.
These are the kinds of things I worry about. I just came in from checking on the birds for the 40th time today.
This might be a sign from the gods to go out and get a real job.