the birds

One of the best things about living in the country is that it's (a) quiet, (b) relatively private, and (c) see (a).

There are no sirens, no car horns, no screeching wheels. Every now and then, a tractor or the feed truck drives past, but we consider that a virtual traffic jam out here. 

So with the exception of a dog bark or a cow moo, most days it's pretty quiet.

Which is why it didn't take long to figure out something was up earlier this week when the WORLD'S ENTIRE SNOW GOOSE POPULATION SHOWED UP AT OUR HOUSE.

I was at my desk in full-on editing mode -- which usually involves water, a style guide, a highlighter and a healthy dose of utter silence -- when I heard a racket that most definitely wasn't the feed truck, a cow or even my deep-throated Great Pyrenees. 

At about the same time, the sunshine, which had been shining cheerily in the house windows, disappeared. Seconds it later, it shone again. 

People, these birds created a big and thick enough cloud to cover the sun and turn the house dark!

What is that Hitchcock horror film? Crows? The Birds? Whatever it is, I'm pretty sure this little experience was not far from it. 

Maybe minus the part where somebody's eyeballs got plucked out. 

I'm not sure how long they stayed in the field, landing and eating and taking off and swooping and landing again, but they were still there at lunch time, landing and eating and . . . oh, we've been down that road, haven't we?

I'll tell you this: Despite the fact that the snow geese made a racket fit to beat the band, I took a lot of comfort in knowing that my livestock guardian/Great Pyrenees Wally had me covered. 

Dive-bombing birds? No problem. Swarms of creatures set to attack the house? Nahhh. 

He was all over it. 

Ok, or he was hiding in the garage. 

Hey, maybe Hitchcock was on to something after all.

PS A picture of the Heins Family Farm sign made it on the Dairy Farmers of America calendar in the month of February. Check us out here. Thanks, DFA!