It is almost a perfect day today – sunny but not too hot, with a nice breeze to keep the mosquitoes at bay. Almost perfect, except that the pleasant chirping of birds is being punctuated by the sound of fake gunshots created by some stupid machine placed by a local farmer in his field to scare away the crows or raccoons or something. How stupid does he think they are?
So much for peace and tranquility in our woodland refuge.
Farmer Featherbrain started using his “gunshot machine” a few years ago, and some of the neighbours registered complaints about it. Unfortunately, there was nothing that could be done – although it is extremely annoying, it does not exceed the decibel level allowed by noise bylaws. So, all we can do is put up with it and curse him under our breath. I suppose we should be grateful that he’s not starting it up at 5:00 AM anymore. After a couple of mornings of that, one of our neighbours would go over and shut it off, but when Mr. Muggins found out, he put up “No Trespassing” signs, and threatened to shoot the guy if he caught him on his land. Nice. He eventually listened to reason – well, sort of – and compromised by holding off until 7:00.
One of Herr Brain’s latest projects is to cut down all the trees surrounding his fields. I guess he figures if the crows have no place to perch, they won’t come around. Hmm, is it possible he hasn’t figured out that THEY CAN FLY…
Killing trees generates quite a pile of brush which our resident genius disposes of by setting on fire. Because they are green, the burning brush piles generate great plumes of smoke, polluting the air for miles downwind and adding to the sensory overload. And of course, our neighbourhood numskull doesn’t worry too much about acquiring burning permits, or the attendant bans of such on dry days.
One interesting fact that has arisen from all of this is the discovery that he has had corn in the same field for 3 or 4 years straight, which is a blatant contravention of PEI’s Agricultural Crop Rotation Act. As a result of this discovery, Farmer Featherbrain was fined – some consolation for the neighbourhood perhaps, although I honestly doubt the consequences amounted to more than a slap on the wrist.
How do you talk sense into someone like this? Hmm, I wonder what he would think of me practicing the trombone across from his house…