We have bugs, and I am very happy about it. The mealworms that I ordered for the baby mockingbird have finally arrived!
Spouse Sparrow (brave, heroic soul that he is, all praise be upon him), wrangled the mealworms into a container. They arrived in a roll of newspaper, wrapped in a cotton bag, in a cardboard box with screens in the side. A good many of them had chewed their way through the cotton bag, and they were loose inside the box. 1,000 loose mealworms is no picnic, especially since they were all alive-o and wriggly. The Spouse Sparrow picked them all out, one by one, while wearing his panic face. You may recognize his panic face; it's that stern, British, stiff-upper-lip face. You can just picture him listening to Winston Churchill, and determining that the job must be done, no matter what the sacrifices.
The mealworms are safely entrenched, with some fortified oat mix, in a ventilated plastic container now. They're eating up, to be nice and healthy and fat before the baby mockingbird gobbles them. I'll put them in the refrigerator tomorrow. It's a lot better when they're cold, as they're not as wriggly, and don't protest as much when you cut off their heads.
Spouse Sparrow also caught another cricket today, one that was stupid enough to come inside the house. The cricket is in the fridge now, cooling its heels. It's one big, juicy cricket. Spouse Sparrow, chest puffed out with pride, then proceeded to ask the baby mockingbird if he was a breast or a leg man. I do believe the cricket drumsticks will be a meal in themselves.
Now that they have finally sent me my bugs, if Wormman.com will get their act together and send me the right mealworm bowl, I will refrain from slagging them off in my blog.