The other afternoon we heard a screeching outside, rough and ragged, shrill. It went on for a few minutes. The crows must be mad at Bootsie, I remember telling Gar. They sure are giving him heck. And they sound like they are recovering from Laryngitis.
Then just yesterday when I was busy at my drafting desk, I heard the same shrill screeching. Out on the branches of the giant Rhody were a pair of brilliant blue Steller's Jays. Busy telling everyone in earshot how upset they were that we did not include peanuts in our contraband birdseed. I guess they felt that the buffet was just not up to their standards, since they never stuck around long enough for me to grab the camera. They seem to be coming and going, a little camera shy, but loud, very badly behaved tourists, finishing up their winter vacation in White Rock. I've got to send Gar out to get some peanuts, or whatever these picky eaters prefer. Somehow I am sure that I would not want to be in the kitchen when they send back the meal.
