I’m not a father.  I’m a step father.  My step kids were insistant that being a step father is close enough for fathers day.  I went along with it on the sole condition that they promised me that their father came first.  They both made me cards and got me a gift.  One of the gifts is a little bird house.  Now, from the minute we moved into this house I have wanted to encircle it completely with bird feeders.  I don’t know why, but for some reason a bird feeder in the yard is like a symbol of territorial rights.  That’s lame, but it’s something like that.  If I hang a bird feeder, then it means I belong here.  Right.

When we first moved in, my step son and I hung a great big bird feeder from a tree on the edge of the woods.  Big mistake.  The squirrels in the neighborhood were well fed, but the birds… not so much.  I filled it twice that year and never again.  Today, we went to a pet store and bought some seed.  We’re trying again.  I also bought a second small feeder.  What the hell, we’re on a roll.

The one issue with the bird house the kids got is that it does not have any way to actually hang on anything.  My temporary solution was to put the planter box back on the dining room window.  I filled the little house with seeds and balanced it on the corner of the box.  We’ll see how it goes.

The feeder I got for myself was nothing special. I took it out back and hung it from a tallish plant hanger that I found in the back yard when we first moved in. I’ll bet that the squirrels find a way to knock it over, but we’ll see how it goes.