Shame on You, Grackle!

A grackle was in my backyard this morning. He arrived in a ginormous hemi SUV blaring hip hop music, quickly festooned himself with $27,000 worth of photographic equipment and repeatedly flushed a Snowy Owl until it died by the toolshed. Then, he robbed six songbird nests and directed some Cowbirds to the ones he couldn't get to. He whipped out a ten-pound bag of mixed Garlic Mustard and Japanese Honeysuckle seed and dumped it all over the neighborhood, keyed my car, sprayed DEET on my scope and binoculars, tore off my catalytic converter, and put food out for the feral cats.

He raised his middle primary to me as he fired up his Hummer, belched fledgling feathers, and roared home to sleep it off. Of course, I tracked him to his flop and rousted him. In the nest, under his carefully folded Klan robes, swastika armband collection and New York Yankees memorabilia, were grisly souvenirs crafted from the remains of the Lindbergh Baby, Jimmy Hoffa and Amelia Earhart.

This report generated by eBird.