����Had a woodpecker pecking the house today, the whole place vibrated with the force of it. When this happens, I run out with the broom and scare them off because once they get started they can do major damage to the logs--one of the joys of living in a log cabin.

����Spring is the worst time because that's when the males become obsessed with their peckers. See, that's how they attract females. The male who makes the most noise by banging his pecker against stuff gets the most females. Being generously endowed pecker-wise is a good thing ... as far as woodpeckers are concerned.

����About three years ago this led to us being tormented by the Woodpecker From Hell.

����The first time, it was barely dawn. Both Paul and I started up in bed, convinced that there was a major hail storm. The tin roof above us was reverberating so much it sounded like an endless bag of marbles was being dropped on it. Paul twigged to what it was by the rhythm--a woodpecker. We laughed, thought it was kind of cute.

����After all, the decibels this guy was throwing off probably had every female woodpecker within a ten kilometer radius convinced that she was about to see the pecker of her dreams. It was really quite creative of him to find such a powerful amplifier for his courting efforts.

����The cuteness of the situation dropped considerably in our eyes at the end of two weeks of being woken up at the crack of dawn by Mr. Woody. Heck, hadn't he had enough action at this point?

����Nuh UH.

����Clearly we were dealing with a bird of some stamina, able to pound his pecker against a tin roof for half an hour at a go and then service anyone who came by to admire it. Oh my.

����He usually chose the middle of the roof, but one morning we could tell he was on one of the edges, which meant we could finally see him. I assumed, by the volume and length of the pounding he was giving our roof, that he was probably one of those really big pileated woodpeckers.

����So I wander out in all my morning glory--shapeless jammies, bare feet encased in rubber boots, looking even worse than usual because I haven't had a decent night's sleep in weeks, and what do I see? A slightly smaller than normal red-headed woodpecker, about half the size of the bird I expected to see.

����I had to laugh as the situation became clear to me. Because once again, Mother Nature had proven:

����It's not the size of the pecker, it's how creatively you use it.