It's 6 o'clock on a Sunday morning and I am suddenly awoken by a murder of crows on the roof of my deck (right outside my bedroom window), more crows in the driveway and even more on the roof of the house.
They were all squawking as if calling to their friends to come join them and the noise of their beaks pecking at the steel roof on the deck made me want to scream. We have crows every now and then in the yard, as do most people I'm sure on the street, but this was just ridiculous. They sounded like they were in the bedroom.
There was no crow convention (I know, I checked with Tourism PG), my wife hadn't changed into Dr. Doolittle overnight, and my affection for crows certainly hadn't increased from zero while I was sleeping.
Then it dawned on me.
It was my son and his friend. It was all their fault.
The evening before I slaved away in the back garden getting the gravel base ready for a shed I am trying to build. My son, who had borrowed a sling shot from his buddy was looking for things to shoot from the slingshot. He knew rocks were out of the question unless shooting at targets on the fence so he opted for something a little softer. He had come across a bag of out-of-date mini marshmallows in the cupboard and on went the light bulb. These were going to be the perfect projectile to fire at his dad while he sweated away working in the garden.
So my son and his buddy - taking turns - began firing out-of-date and slightly-hard marshmallows at me, yelling, shouting, hooting and hollering every time a marshmallow whizzed by my head or even hit me on the foot. I swear this was the most fun they had in months and they were coughing they were laughing so much.
Once the marshmallows ran out a ziplock bag with Cheerios appeared from nowhere and the old man continued to get peppered. Luckily they weren't the honey-coated Cheerios as those tend to sting and can leave a nasty little mark.
Once I was done with my work and the Cheerios and marshmallows were depleted, the boys took a pee break and I ran into the house to clean up.
Shortly after I could still hear the boys shouting in the driveway with Ohhs and Ahhs and cries of "That was so close" coming in the windows.
I had to see what they were up to.
My son's friend had arrived back at my house after his pee break with a large bag brimming over with peanuts still in the shells.
They were firing them all over the place. Trying to see how far they could shoot them, how high they could shoot them, how they would burst open if you got really close to the fence and generally firing them at anything and anywhere they could.
I just hope my son's friend's parents didn't think he was getting the peanuts so the two of them could have a healthy snack.
A great time was had by both boys all evening, but it was only when those damn crows started pecking at my deck roof that it twigged. They were eating the marshmallows, the Cheerios and all the peanuts the boys had so much fun firing around the previous evening.
Note to self: When the boys are playing with slingshots again, make sure they stick to the traditional method. Rocks. At least the crows won't want to eat them.
