Supah Soakah

Mom mounted bird feeders along the rail just outside the French doors so she could watch them feed. With each passerby, seeds fell to the ground, "They do that on purpose, for the ground feeders, so they can eat too."

"Why can't they just go to the feeder?" I asked. The question revealed my feelings on bird feeders, they were stupid, so I resumed watching MTV's Real World.

Another time she screeched, "Oh my god, there's one right there, Bryan look!" waking me from a midday nap.

Pissed the house wasn't ablaze, I snapped, "What is it?!"

"Its an Icterus galbula, a Baltimore Oriole, they only come around once a year and its extremely hard to get them to come to feed." She was beaming, fishing through the basket next to her barcalounger for the binoculars. She could sit reclined for hours, sipping Folgers and smoking while leafing through The Audubon Sibley Field Guide to Birds of Eastern North America.

"Yeah, Ma, that's great, let me know if any pterodactyls show up to feed, I'll let the cat in," I said, rolling over.

She spent countless hours in the yard, tending to the ducks, feeding the bunnies, and weeding the herb garden our cat Dizzy spent most of his time in because of the fresh catnip. At any given time neighborhood felines could be seen lounging there, pie eyed.

Mom wanted me to share in what her new home allowed her that our city home didn't. Plus, drunk half the time, she had little time to enjoy these trivial luxuries. Squirrels were the bane of her existence. They'd climb down from their perch, high in the trees, enact a move known only to gymnasts and contortionists, and feed, upside down, on birdseed. This made Mom furious, and me giggle, for it was then her anger would spew in an array of profanity the likes I've never heard.

"You God damn, mother fucking, shit bag, diseased vermin, get the fuck off my porch!" she'd scream as she marched toward the porch, sending the rodents scattering, along with anything else within earshot.

One day she noticed my super soaker, one of the few things left after I sold all my possessions to coke dealers. "Does that thing shoot far?" she asked. I knew instantly her intentions. "Mum, seriously, you're starting to scare me," I said.

My brother and I stole the super soaker from Toys-R-Us and used it to soak the unsuspecting drivers we sat next to at traffic lights. Kev pulled up, I soaked them, and we'd watch as they stuck their hand out to see if it was raining.

Her search for better pest protection came after she wrote multiple letters to the bird feeder company that claimed their product was Squirrel Proof. In response, they sent her the: VARI-CRAFTS VCSBF1 Bouncer, a feeder that resembled a tiny Fort Knox, designed to shake off squirrels so that lighter, winged creatures could feast without interruption. It failed. The VCSBF1 bouncer was no match for hungry squirrels. To his credit, Dizzy tried to catch them but ultimately failed. His depth perception may have been impaired--the squirrels easily traversed the frail branches, but Dizzy went plummeting toward the ground.

Mom used the soaker to scare off rodents. Our screen door was constantly soaked where she'd blast "those God damn squirrels" with hot water. It wasn't long before an air pumped BB gun showed up, the origin of which I chose not to ask about. But lest she fancy BB sized holes in her screen, she had to open it before firing. The noise alerted the squirrels, who were always faster than she. So, as with any creature hell bent on survival, she learned to live with them.

One day, as I sat watching Danger Mouse on Nickelodeon, something caught my eye. It looked like a dragonfly buzzing around one of Mom's feeders...until I realized it was a hummingbird. (dragonflies don't move like harrier jets). It zigged left, rose high above the feeder, then zagged like, 'A bat outta hell,' as Mom would say. I scrambled for the binoculars and waited with baited breath. A few minutes later it returned. I froze, scared to move for fear it would spell out 'haha' in jagged movements and blast off. But it stayed and fed and was beautiful.

From that point on, one of us called to the other, "Come quick! There's a Red-winged Blackbird outside on the feeder." The overpriced $80 feeder we'd been suckered into buying had worked, magnifying our excitement.

She instilled in me a greater appreciation for the finer things in life that don't necessarily sparkle, but that leave an indelible mark nonetheless.