It is the New Year, and we are all aglow with the infinite possibilities before us. O world! O wonderful glorious improbable world!
Surely this accounts for why in a fit of stupid optimism, I have purchased yet another finch feeder. It does not claim to be squirrel proof, but at ten bucks, if it holds up longer than a finch sock I’ll be happy. Squirrels aren’t supposed to like nyjer seed, so they presumably chewed through the past finch feeders out of spite.
And yet, in my breast, fluttering and dewy eyed as a dove,* my obviously reality-challenged soul hold out hope that the plastic is sufficiently tougher than cheesecloth that they will not bother gnawing the feeder down merely to get at seed they don’t even want.
My rational brain gives it two weeks, tops.
*Y’know, an idealized Disney dove, not one of those mourning doves with the tiny beady eyes and tiny beady brains who go “hwhoooo!” and then fly into the window.
