Hummer Wars
A long time ago, on a balcony far, far away… (cue pompous brass fanfare) HUMMER WARS.
Them little suckers is territorial as all get-out. A friend warned me about that on LiveJournal; now we know she’s right.
We have at least three hummers back there; I just saw two trying to fake out the third, who has our feeder staked out as his personal territory. All your sugar-water are belong to ME, he says. Which is silly, because all three of them combined couldn’t possibly empty it before we have to dump and clean it anyway, but the ways of hummers are unaccountable.
Watching Mr. 0wnz0r standing sentinel (well, perching sentinel) in his jaunty green weskit on the tree a little way from our feeder, David asked me quizzically, “Are you sure that red isn’t the blood of his enemies?”
No. Honestly? No. I’m not. Though it’s darn shiny blood, if it is blood.
It’s nice to come home and watch hummingbirds swooping about like superheroes, though. I hauled twenty-some-odd pounds of interlibrary-loaned Rg Veda concordance home tonight (note to dissertators at a distance: it is advantageous to marry an academic librarian), and now I’m not even grouchy about it.