I never was much of a cartoon kid. They mostly annoyed the hell out of me. Comics, too, with the exception of Peanuts. Guess I was philosophical or something. We did have a beagle almost as goofy as Snoopy. But for some unknown reason I used to say that Woody Woodpecker was my favorite cartoon as a kid. No idea why. Was his awful signature sound a lot like my machine gun laughter? Yikes. Hope not.
Lately I’ve been haunted by woodpeckers–the animate kind as opposed to animated. They show up at our windows–three or four pileated woodpeckers at 5 a.m.–and start tapping around. It’s a prettier version of The Birds, but my husband and I still end up running around like crazy people–he trying to shoo them away from the new windows (which are made of glass and clad in aluminum, dumb birds!) and I trying to capture them with my camera.
I think he’s trying to tell me something. Actually I think they’ve discovered our oak throne bug restaurant out front and like the grub. I suspect they think we must have some other worthy pieces inside. Nope. Well, bugs, yes, but furniture, no.