by Ken Thibado, Prognosticator
The winter has been mild and the landscape wears few of its seasonal scars.
Soon the robins will return, and when they take a look around…we’re gonna have problems.
If global warming is real, and not just a made up hoax intended to boost the sale of compostable toilets; we’re staring down the barrel of a robin apocalypse.
(The Mayans aren’t coming just for History Channel’s viewers; they have it in for the robins too!)We, of the walking and talking variety, understand that the climate will swing back and forth a bit before the temperature gauge finally gets permanently pinned to the “H”; Robins, however, have no freakin’ clue.
I fear the robins will return home, take a look around, and say to one another, “Let’s not schlep our way down to Fort Lauderdale next year. We can tough it out here; besides it’s still a slow economy and we could save some money by liquidating one of our residences.”
Now, the plan may work the first year, maybe the first two.
The robins will get a little tougher, the weaker ones will get weeded out, and they’ll get a little cocky.
It will be like those people who refuse to leave their home as the hurricane bears down on them. It’ll be a desperate confidence that will cause the robins to sign their death pact.
Bam! The last great Adirondack winter will hit.
Good snowfalls, cold snaps, frozen grounds.
The robins will make a last ditch effort to like seed, but the longing for worms will drive their little bird brains insane.
They will become disheveled, perhaps even forgetting to bundle up as they head out to wander the cold skies, in search of prey they’ll never find.
…the story won’t end there either.
After the last crazy robin has faded away, like a fiscal conservative suggesting moon bases, the worm population will explode.
…and not just worms, but maggots and worms.
This year I managed to drive my worn-out tires all the way through January. I’ve shoveled less snow than ever. The Christmas drive was done on bare roads (until The Big Moose Road anyway).
I’m being sure to breathe-in this easy winter, because I’m afraid that these changing seasons are a sure path to ankle deep maggots and worms.
Global Warming is no laughing matter (Mayans are kinda funny).
I’m afraid that we are spending too much time on who Barack
Obama is going to run unopposed against, and not enough time on real problems; like robins going out as worm-starved, amateur weathermen facing down a blizzard with nothing more than a pair of swim trunks and a broken sand shovel.
Ken Thibado holds degrees and honors, none of which qualify him to report on the climate, or birds. If you’d like him to leave the Mayans alone too, you can tell him at halfstache@me.com.
