In ascending order of presence, I have the following creatures hanging out in my yard, an unkempt yard - au naturel, as preferred wisely by my landlord. Rabbits, squirrels, a giant lizard which lives in my water meter box, deer, wild finches of every variety, elk, raccoons, woodpeckers, bluejays, a miniature schnauzer named Roxy and a 4-inch- chipmunk that pretty much controls the whole menagerie. 

   That tiny, vile creature has me toying with a "Have a Heart" animal trap, with relocation planning as a very real option. But I seem to lack the audacity to break up the family of such a powerful entity. It's really the bird feeder that has rendered this a sleepless house, with more nighttime and dawn-hour activity than a wharf-area diner in San Francisco.
   The bird feeder went up a few months ago. It is more of a bird airport, with 12-feeding ports springing from three long seed-holding tubes, with a roof. I wanted action when my friend helped me choose a bird-feeder, for the purpose of entertainment out my west windows. I got the action. From all directions. It now defines my existence.

  For two weeks after I hung the airport, not a cheep. Nary a flutter. Birds flew over, around and onward, as if to mock me. Having invested around 60 bucks in food and hanging devices, I began to take a dislike to my feathered friends. I considered night neon, with "OPEN FOR BUSINESS - GULLS, GULLS, GULLS," blinking incessantly throughout the dark ocean night we have here. But, thinking of the neighbors, who had grown accustomed to a dearth of neon in their lives, by the very act of moving here, I waited, spirits plummeting, birdless, seemingly doomed as an "easy mark" for the lost 60 dollars, and the canceled "entertainment" I had hoped for.

   My learned friend suggested that I needed some "cover" for the birds - that they liked privacy. She donated two young cedar trees, in large pots, which sat near the bird airport, now starting to look like that housing development in Banks. Finally, after a few days of shaded privacy and fly-bys, I got a pair of cranky bluejays. Still, I was elated, even if the ever-present "song" in the air sounded like endless reruns of "The Bickersons." They seemed to hate each other so. 
   Eventually, the airport began to flourish, so many birds that I have taken to a book to identify them, a gift from another friend. Flights in and out, always in groups or couples, began to keep me hopping back and forth with 25-pound bags of black-oil seeds, voracious hordes forcing me to find time to refill the airport-eatery and hose down the porch on a daily basis. 

Then, a night visitor, driven to the seeds, spellbound, fearless. One determined raccoon, capable of utter airport shutdown with one swipe of its greedy little paw. The schnauzer flying madly against the sliding door and making primal noises at 2:30 a.m. on a regular basis. Me, filling the blender jug with water and flinging it at the leering bandit, it coming back twice more a night.
   Sleep patterns began to be an issue. But the real demon from the dark forest was yet to arrive. Able to run straight up and down beams, dive under a half-inch-high piece of wood at a single leap and possessed of the ability to drive Roxy into a high-pitched shriek, barking in tongues. At dawn's early light. And for me, there was no reaching her, once she saw that Disney creature from hell. 

   Now, each time I let the dog out, she runs, spinning her feet like a lathe at the start, and dives headlong into the long brush behind my garage, where she has apparently reckoned the little chipmunk resides, and smashes her head on a drainpipe. Rather than lying around or playing ball with me, she now sits, staring out the slider window for 16-17 hours a day, hoping for a glimpse of the object of her desire. A chipmunk that she will never come close to catching. 

   Me? I don't sleep much anymore, with the night maneuvers going on outside and inside, with my many forest friends and my now-deranged schnauzer. I've redesigned the airport a bit, with a pair of full five-gallon jugs set on the railing to keep the raccoon at bay. Still, every so often, he has a go at it, usually successful, forcing me to re-assemble everything and refill the food silos at dawn. 

   People say, "move the birdfeeder," or "take the thing down." 
   I can't. 
   Somehow, the way things are humming around here, with the entire living ecology of the neighborhood seemingly dependent on the bird airport, it would feel like some kind of environmental atrocity to remove it. Plus, for a few hours a day, the birds do provide engaging entertainment.
   All I really wanted was a few chirping birds to look at. Got in over my head, I did. Are there meetings I can go to? Other sleepless people with ornithology issues? I'm willing to work the program.

© 2002 Michael O'Brien, sports editor at the Tillamook Headlight Herald.    Most illustrations link to their page on Habitat's Advocate. (menu)  (Original illustration source: Grolier 1994 Multimedia Encyclopedia)  Schnauzer links to an AKC page.