Adrienne's new favorite. So small, so darling. At first, I confused one on the feeder for a downy woodpecker but upon further inspection and consultation with my book, we determined it was this old boy.
And not this young fella.
They are both so itty, it's hard to tell at first glance which is which--especially since they flit so fast. Small birds don't spend too much time on the feeder. A little nip'll do 'em.
There is also a squirrel update. I think the battle is over. Perhaps, it's too early to tell; but Legion has been giving the feeder a wide berth these days. I can neither confirm nor deny that this turn of events might possibly correlate with a recent incident involving a low-velocity though point-getting-across-ing air-soft pellet reaching a rather abrupt, trajectory-reversing acquaintance with the knucklehead of aforementioned ravening rodent.
Neither am I at liberty to say, pending PETA's inquisition, who perpetrated this admittedly violent act. However, you can be assured that such a person regrets his or her actions, has confessed them to be mean-spirited, and gets choked up just thinking about those first confused sixty seconds when the poor gray soul flopped to the ground--confused, startled--and started bouncing around like a kitty in a catnip frenzy. Be assured also, that the squirrel is now fine--perhaps even better off because he has discovered a new source of food in a nearby flimsy tree in which he Tarzans about, limbs loping low, plucking green nuts and nibbling adorably.
All's well that ends well? No, I don't think I necessarily believe in that. Sure, ending well is better than ending poorly; but the interim intentions between start and finish have to account for something. I guess. Either way, sometimes a moment of reflection before taking aim can render the argument moot. One thing's for sure: All's well that never goes bad. It's then that things go poorly.
I think I hear PETA knocking. I mean I think some unidentified person of interest hears PETA knocking. At any rate, gotta go!