Everyone's a Critic

I noticed that our free range rose bush was blooming yesterday. It's a bit like hydrangeas and only blooms twice a year, midsummer and early fall. I have no idea what it is, where it came from or how it keeps surviving when all we do is mow around it.

But still she pops up every year with a couple of buds that smell delightfully rosy and then dips back down into a long slumber:

But while I was lining up the shot, trying a few angles, getting attacked by space bees an unholy racket like one dropping a bunch of marbles on top of a flock of seagulls that owned mopeds.

At first I was polite, trying to ignore it in the hopes the noise maker would wander off but still the teeth rattling reverberations continued.

The space bees handled I turned back to the flower only to have the garrulous fiend appear even closer but still hidden safely in the depths of the dark branches above. Isn't that the way of all critics though? Hide away while dishing out vitriol as anonymity emboldens even the weakest of spirits.

I; however, was having none of it. Swinging my camera around I snapped a picture of my little furry menace.

Which promptly sent him scurrying back into the depths of the tree.

Finally I was free to get a rose picture in peace and quiet. I also learned something that day, much like my dog squirrels can make the most unholy noise imaginable with their mouths full.

Also squirrels prefer peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with their crusts cut off.