Merle Higgins – curmudgeonly outdoorsman, lives in Minneapolis
21 February 2009, noon
I went by the old Callipeaux place again this morning. I found that damn pair of hippy freaks, Edmund and LeTigre, standing in their backyard again. Only they weren’t wasting there time watching some owl eat a rabbit. This time they were watching a flock of ‘bout 200 robins fly around the trees! The crazy damn birds were all over the place!
“What in Sam Hill are they doing?!” I said.
Edmund replied, “Aren’t they supposed to be down south still?”
“Hell if I know,” I said. In all my days as an outdoorsman, I’ve never seen a thing like it! “They’re makin’ a hell of-a racket. I suppose you'll want to start some kind-a hippy robin-commune freakfest back here. I’ll betcha wanna call Greenpeace.”
Edmund said, “I’m getting pretty dizzy trying to count them, Merle.” I wondered if Edmund, not being the brightest bulb, could even count past ten, let alone two or three hundred.
I said, “I’m going to have to go back home and get my scatter-gun for this!”
I drove back to my place in Minneapolis, and on the way I had a few sixteeners of Blatz, and I thought, “To hell with them! By the time I get back there, those NPR loving freaks’ll probably just tell me I can’t shoot them damn birds anyway. So, what's good would it do?”
Hell, why’d I even go over there in the first place?! - MH
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