STARLINGS STAR IN STARRY EYED THESPIAN'S ILL-STARRED PRODUCTION!

The ubiquitous Starling!

If ever an avian avatar were to embody the essence of Loki, he would chose the form of the Starling as the vehicle best suited to ruffle the feathers of we mortals!

The Starling is a pest who's greatest redeeming value is that it is the bird you love to hate.

Starlings are not native to the United States. They were first introduced to North America from England in the late 1800s by an itinerant admirer of Shakespeare named Eugene Scheiffelin.

This fine gentleman had a keen ken for all the fictionally feathered fellows that once flew about the playwright's Globe.

The dapper Mr. S, (No doubt working as a secret agent for the Crown) released 60 Starling in New York's Central Park.

Apparently the Starlings took their role to heart, for it seems that now... all the world is their stage.

Pandora's box had been opened!

And....From those sixty or so winged wraiths of woe are now descended the estimated one to two billion starlings currently patrolling the skies of North America.

Starlings are exceptionally intelligent little rascals!

As the beleaguered owner of a few dozen Cherry trees I can attest that in a head to head contest, the only birdbrain to be found at the scene of the crime is ... yours truly!

A Starling knows the difference between Cliff with a 12 gauge and Cliff with no 12 gauge!

I am barely out the door with ol' Betsy freshly primed and cradled in my arms before the word is out. Down to the ground go the Starlings as they commence an amazing show of evasive action between the trees. Meanwhile, their less mentally gifted cousins, the blackbirds and the Robins, are left sitting in the tree wondering what the heck all the commotion is about.

"Uh...Duh..Hey George! Yea, you with the cherry in your mouth!....Who is that guy pointing that metal "stick" at us, anyway"?

Meanwhile, a mile or so away, (And at least fifteen minutes later) the supreme council of the Starling Varmint and Pest Association send back a scout to see if Cliff has the temerity to still be parked under what he mistakenly believes is next winter's cherry preserves!

Our chosen flying feathered friend is no fool! He will make a wide loop around the orchard unerringly out of range of the shotgun.

Starlings have eyesight that would beggar that of an eagle. If Six-gun Cliff has stumbled back into the house for a cup of morning grog, the all clear is sounded; then like the locusts that plagued Egypt...a cloud of doom for this years cherry crop descends from the heavens!

Just give those foul feckless fowl a half hour! That's all the time they need to relieve any cherry tree owner of the necessity for hiring pickers!

To add a wee bit of cavalier, "in your face" insult to a pirate's premeditated injury, All Starlings KNOW the range of a shotgun! I

t's gotta' be genetic! No Starling EVER flies a straight path when artillery is in the picture. Instead the entire congregation of wannabe sinners will make a wide loop around the intended object of their thievery, all the while hurling immense amounts of raucous feathered invective at the source of their frustration.

But not to worry. The choir from hell will be back! And when they do, they will bring their next of kin from the land of brimstone to share in the delicious fruits of sin!

Starlings! Truly... the bird you LOVE to hate!

It's no wonder the English learned to bake them in a pie! It was the only way they could at least get some of their stolen produce back!

-CliffMickelson