Blizzard, my butt.

For about a week now the weather guys have been going mental, promising us this killer blizzard, eh. Howling winds, maybe 18 inches of snow, extreme winter and I've been getting like totally psyched, dude. (That Californiaspeak was for Catiecake over in The Land Which Begat The Beach Boys where it is so cold she might have to pull on a sweater AND SHE IS WHINING ABOUT IT.)

Hrmph. .:cough:. Sissy .:cough:. (I meant that in the kindest, gentlest, most supportive and least judgmental way possible, of course.)

Okay, so anyhow I got in extra food, checked the kerosene levels, wicks in the lamps, batteries, candles, you know, the usual Big Winter Storm Preparation Thingie and then we get maybe six piddly inches of snow. SIX PIDDLY INCHES OF SNOW. Heck, I know people with worse dandruff than that.

My disappointment over the puniness of this storm knows no bounds. I definitely feel cheated.

Fortunately, I now have a war to keep me amused.

Yes, as we begin the transition into 2001, my spousal unit, bloodied but ultimately victorious in The Great Raccoon Wars, has now launched The Great Gray Squirrel Wars.

With the raccoons Ground Zero was our garbage can; with our squirrels, it's the bird feeders. There was months of fun watching Paul duke it out with the wiley 'coons. I'm anticipating an equally protracted battle this time around because although his adversaries are smaller, they are definitely more agile and determined.

Um, you see that platform part way up the birdfeeder pole that the squirrel is sitting on? That's actually the squirrel guard, which is supposed to keep them from climbing up the pole. As you can see, they've outwitted that and actually toss seed down on top of it so they can snack in comfort rather than perch precariously on the feeder.

Fine.

Oh, and it appears that they are breeding like bunnies. Last year we had two. This year we have at least eight which means there's enough of them to empty our feeders in a flash AND drive away our beloved birds at the same time with their territorial antics.

So their army is growing and Paul's army consists of um Paul, me laughing hysterically and not being any real practical use, our cat Zoe who does not leave the house, and Zubby who has actually killed one squirrel. I nominate Zubby for a generalship right off.

As I write this, Paul is off in his workshop trying to design a new holder for our feeders which will allow us to move them away from the trees and into an open area so the squirrels can't use the trees as a staging zone to leap into the feeders. The big problem here is that the ground is frozen, and so getting a support into terra firma to actually hold up the new feeder stand is going to be tricky.

There will be further bulletins as events progress.