When you have to trim about a linear mile of bushes at work, you mustn't pussyfoot around. Using powered hedge-trimmers is a must, and you don't have much time to think about all the feathered freeloaders who might be squatting in your demesne, especially when you are using electric plug-in shears that cut their own extension cord every time you drop your guard.
Luckily, a crazy burst of flapping mother bird will alert even the most preoccupied bush-groomer when the shit draws near to the fan. One day, a lady mallard went pounding the pavement when I clipped her roofing to a smooth crop. She was keeping neat house, so I hope she reclaimed her brood before traffic came on too heavy.
Just days later, steady clipping through the canopy of a long hedge brought a beady-eyed dove to frantic escapism. She arced to the asphalt in a dismaying flap—look, I must have severed her wing! But no, she was only putting on her clever injury show, and in the nick of time: there, just inches from my aborted cut, were two runty pabulum sacks just beaming with oblivious victimhood. I just pruned around the little barf-beggars and sure enough, mom got back in the saddle in time for lunch. Not a single knothead was lost.
|classic mother-ploy narrowly averts disaster for these squirts|