Sharing My Pool...Is For The Birds!

Could someone please tell me where in my contract did it mention that I would have to share my pool? After signing on the line, I thought I was free and clear. I mean it is in my back yard. It is properly fenced. Last time I checked, it's my address that's on the house it sits behind. Yet, I continue to get visitors....unwanted visitors!

Take for instance Mr. Duck who mistakes our pool for his own personal launching pad. Not to mention a Day Spa as well.

Mr. Duck stops by every year. Occasionally I will have just awoken, only to find Mr. Duck perusing the waves. Sometimes he stops by for just a few minutes. Other days, he stays a bit longer. But don't get me wrong. The last thing Mr. Duck wants is to be bothered....As If! Once I enter the back yard, Mr. Duck is on his way. Mr. Duck is shy and refuses to engage in any conversation with those who are not wearing feathers.

Next I must mention Mr. Frog. Or shall I say, the entire Frog Family (cousins and all). The Frog Family must have done cartwheels when then found out there was a pool going in at the Brennan Ranch. For as soon as we installed the pool, the Frog Family jumped in immediately to do their morning laps. Unfortunately, while the Frog Family may have admired the ease of entering the pool, they failed to realize there was no exit. Once in the pool, the Frog members had to await a member of the Brennan family to rescue them with a net before they reached exhaustion. While our success rate may be higher than our failure rate, I have to admit that more than a few Frog members just didn't make it. A special place in the Brennan Garden has been dedicated to them.

Lastly, there are the birds. Those damn birds. When I look out from my window at my backyard I see an oasis. A place to retreat to during those hot days. A gazebo to relax under and enjoy conversation. A barbecue to enjoy good meals. And a swing set where the kids play for hours.

What I didn't realize is what my pool may look like to others. Or for that matter, what it may look like from the sky. Apparently, for our winged friends it looks like a giant bird bath. I have afforded these creatures a chance for a break. A truck stop if you will. A chance to free themselves of pollutants, and whatever else may collect in those feathers during long flights.

While sharing my pool with wildlife may not have been part of my plan, it sure appears that it will stay that way with or without my approval. And until I decide to screen in my entire backyard I will just have face the facts: This pool thing is "For The Birds!"

For the Birds!

There's an old saying that goes: "If you do what you've always done, you'll get what you've always got." I don't know who said this, but I'm pretty certain they were talking about me.

You think I'd learn by now not to buy those hanging flower baskets for my porch every Spring, but it's easier said than done. See, every year like clock work around the same time I'm hanging my baskets, bird families everywhere are searching for prime real estate. I don't advertise, but apparently they have a good agent. Generally within a week of hanging a new basket, the newlyweds move in. And you know what they say: "New house, new baby."

And so the saga continues. This is where it gets a little tricky. I love my flower beds. It is the one thing that totally belongs to me. It is my retreat. Even if I have only 10 minutes a day, I treasure every minute. I never minded watering, until now. The one thing I've noticed about birds is they are a bit territorial. When I try to go out in the morning to water, I am met by squawking. I believe it is the Father Bird who throws the first punch. He generally flies out of the basket to the adjacent tree. It is there that the "Calling of the Birds" begins. I know how crazy this must sound, but you have to believe me when I tell you Father Bird calls in the troops. Within minutes, fellow birds begin to line my neighbors rooftops. "And War is Declared!"

I can't say exactly what Father Bird has planned but I carefully keep one eye on him and his posse while attempting to water my flowers. The baskets are always the scariest to water because I have to figure out a way to keep my plants alive without the possibility of drowning or blowing a baby bird right out of their nest. I have performed this task for seven years straight. Nonetheless, I feel more like a Ghost Buster with a Proton Pack than an amateur gardener with a hose.

And so I wait. Yes, wait. I wait until those little critters decide to spread their wings and fly. Fly far, far, far, away. I then return back to my Happy Mommy Maestro self. The happy Mommy I was before Alfred Hitchcock's 'The Birds' was reenacted on my front porch.

Before I know it, all is quiet once more. The only sounds that resonate are the hissing from the hose, the morning paper that just slapped against the sidewalk and the new family of birds that just moved into my neighbor's hanging basket (Ha, Ha).

I will spend the rest of this summer season alone. My job here is done. My husband doesn't understand why I even bother buying those darn baskets year after year. Clearly I already know what is going to happen. He likes to say the whole thing is: "For the birds." (pun intended) I like to tell him he's right, "The whole thing is for the birds!"