The old man spent a good portion of his morning clearing away the garbage that was strewn about in his yard. This had become a weekly, no, bi-weekly event as trash was to be carted away each, and every Tuesday, and Friday afternoon. It seemed that any precautionary measures that were resorted to in an attempt to avoid this ongoing dilemma was always countered with a further counter measure. Actually, since those counter measures were always successful, all of the retired man’s counter, counter measures were failures. He failed miserably, and he knew it. Clearly, that damn bird succeeded on each, and every one of those Tuesdays, and Fridays to make the retired plumber look the fool. And he was beginning to feel like one too. Despite all of this, it could not be said that the retired man was one who had an aversion to the ways of nature, and its instinct to survive. In fact, the man cared for animals in general. But, when it came to that particular bird, he hated it, and referred to it as that foul, and feathered foe, or that damn bird.

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