So he put a bird feeder on his back deck. ![]() THE DUMMY, RAINING RANCID FAT, AND ONE A-HOLEĪt some point, The Dummy decided he liked birds. Creepy, Motor-Mouth, The Dog-Faced Family, and Spazzle Dazzle (Spaz). It explained why he couldn't see dropping garbage on his neighbors as inappropriate.Īs Liana can vouch, I always Christen weirdos I am guaranteed of seeing a lot in the future. He worked in the insurance trade, which pretty much guaranteed his brain was over-taxed by simply opening a box of Graham Crackers. Was he a creepy molester of fat-middle-aged-pet-store owners, or did he work in the insurance industry? I remember when he had me in his grip Liana gave me a sideways, wide-eyed look that said, "I'm so proud of you for not punching this guy in the face." ![]() The encounter sent alarm flags up my spine. Spock's Vulcan Mind Meld or Vulcan Nerve Pinch. I wondered if I was going to be the victim of Dr. He kept that hand on my shoulder for what seemed like the life of the galaxy. He saw fit to give me trite and embarrassing advice he no doubt thought sage and compelling. Then the worst possible thing happened- he and I saw each other at Kalers enjoying a drink and he avuncularly put his hand on my shoulder. I secretly wished the Whackjob was back in that apartment accusing me of Satanism. ![]() Liana and I walked out to the road and he scuttled inside. He stood on his deck, looking into his plant pot perplexedly. "DON'T DUMP SHIT ON ME!!!!" Liana looked at me and shook her head side-to-side ever so slightly. "THEN IT'S NOT JUST WATER YOU IDIOT!!!" I screamed at him. I said back in a sing-song way, "Then pour it in the si-ink!!" He said, "HEY! It's just water!" in a sing-song way back at me. Secretly, I was disappointed there wasn't at least one employee out there. I said it in the most jovial way I could muster, considering he was splattering his garbage all over my car, a UPS delivery, my dogs, their dog beds, and everything else in range. He was pouring something out of what looked to be a large plant pot from his deck onto our parking spot and vehicles below. My first run-in with him was right after he moved in. The guy from Connecticut was much friendlier. She shot daggers out her eyes whenever we met. He was from Connecticut, but I didn't hold that against him because previously there was a Whackjob from Maine living there who said my business was Satanic. In that way, I think you will be hugely uninterested and never finish this, saving me the inevitable litigation and death threats from my neighbors. How, exactly, did I find myself at odds with a flotilla of dull, nondescript, angry birds in Boothbay Harbor? I shall take things slow and from the beginning. Of course there was The Bald Eagle – the DDT-ravaged symbol of our great nation and the moniker of an Englishman named Eddie who likes to ski. Sure, there was the occasional friend’s parrot, the seagull I’d inadvertently hit with my car, or the band of noisy crows that always seemed to rip apart my garbage on Friday. Since that time, my life was sadly bereft of birds. Then you had no choice who your neighbors were and could be cut down into patio furniture at any given minute. I left the poor, dead, uninteresting birds where they lay, only to be consumed by the wonder and beauty of nature where the end game was apparently to be eaten by something. My mother would scream from somewhere, “DON’T TOUCH IT!!! IT’S SWIRLING WITH DEADLY GERMS!!!!” I took my mom’s word for it, as she was an RN. They are most definitely the same nondescript gray birds that routinely committed suicide on our windows when I was a kid. I thought they were Grackles, but now I’m thinking scientists thought they were too boring for a name. They just kind of cheep-cheep and shit on everything. I’m battling uninteresting, small, gray birds. Unfortunately, my battle isn’t with interesting birds like Non-Philly Eagles, Bushtits, Masked Boobies, Dickscissels, Horned Screamers, or Titmouses. I’ve been in a running battle with birds in Boothbay Harbor for several years now. And be warned, should you dare click on the link below, you will be whisked away to a Wordpress site where I vomit up a regrettable Odyssey I had thrust upon me for the last several years and shows no sign of abating. So, if you're one of the curious ones who have confusedly found yourself at this point in the newsletter, let me thank and perhaps entice you into going a little further. So far, nothing has worked to make any of this worthwhile enough for people to click on it. Then I changed the name of "Max & Aug's Dog Blog" to "The Harbor Dogs' Stories" hoping it would pique interest back into the bit. Then I added "We Love Hate Mail!" and everyone just read "We Love Hate Mail" for an easy laugh and skipped the rest. When I first started this newsletter, everyone skipped everything in it and went straight for "Max and Aug's Dog Blog."
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