Charlie here: Friday morning at the north sector of Casa del Whackos; the Jude Bear and I are on hummingbird patrol in an attempt to preserve what is left of our winter stores of sugar. And yes, the feathered little ingrates are back; not in the numbers that we anticipate towards the end of August, but definitely enough for us to realize that we’re in for a rocky ride in a few weeks.
All of the inmates are assembled, with the reserves mobilized as well; Toby and Victor made the trek from the neighboring haciendas to lend their support in what will be known to future generations as the Battle of the Bloated Yak. Because that’s what these little varmints become after gorging themselves at our expense, feathered airborne PortaPotties discharging their loads indiscriminately with no consideration to the collateral damage they are affecting on those below.
We don’t expect Dad to be much help in this battle, as he seems to have developed a soft spot for these micro-velociraptors. And that’s just fine with us; the old man seems to be slowing down a bit in his defense of the fatherland. No, if we are to emerge victorious from this confrontation, it will be behind the leadership of the young war chief, Jude Ironnipple, under the guidance of myself, Charlemagne Bravissimo, Shield Maiden of a thousand such campaigns.
And it will be said of the Last Battle of Charmegeddon:
This was their finest hour.