do not feed the dragon
This dragon’s gilded cage dangles from one of the old crabapple trees in our parking strip, Adam and I saved a princess last year and imprisoned the dragon behind the very precious metal he’s so greedy for.
The Tyrannosaurus Fir dinosaur herd made it’s way to the backyard this afternoon in search of greener pastures (and fresh meat). And I think we’ll probably move dragony to a corner of our garden shed in hopes of warding off the rats who visit on their way to the chickens next door. We had to stop filling our birdfeeders a few months ago. The fallen seeds proved to be too strong an attractant for the rats. One day I threw a rock at Fat Rat, who was sitting on an old metal bucket below one of the feeders: He was back moments later-longer, so I threw another rock at him and he disappeared under the shed. But he came back a few minutes more later-longer, so I threw another rock at him but then he came back again. He won the battle, I sat there and watched Fat Rat stuff his face. We never had so many daytime rats until Mark and Beth got their chickens, two more of which were recently murdered by raccoons, by the way. Being one of their hens is basically a death row sentence I should have to say.
Since we stopped putting bird seed out, I haven’t seen Fat Rat in our yard. I still occasionally spot him scampering across the chicken coop next door. Rats are a fact of life in the city but they’re brassier than ever since the egg-layers came to town.