Apart from love, mischief is cruel. My last mischievous act almost went too far.
You should know that my wife (Dale) enjoys “her” birds. She fills the feeders every morning. Every evening she brings the feeders in so the bears won’t destroy them.
Soon she’ll attach the hummingbird feeder to the window. Last summer she spotted a family of eagles.
She heard them before she saw them. While sitting on the deck, I heard her say, “I think that’s an eagle.” That’s when I heard it too and that’s when she ran for her binoculars.
“Our” eagles soar high. But you can find them if you search with diligence.
It’s more fun to watch her watch them than it is to actually see them. But we haven’t seen or heard the eagles this year. Well, that’s not exactly true.
I did the evil deed last week. It was warm enough, one day last week, to use my back-deck-office. We took our chairs out.
She thought she heard them. Is that an eagle! I heard it too. I pretended to look. She grabbed the binocs. I kept scanning the sky.
I couldn’t believe it actually worked. The eagle’s call she heard came from my phone. It echoed off the wall and sounded enough like the real thing that she believed. Until she saw my phone.
First, she was ticked. Then she laughed. “I think that’s your best ever.” I’m proud.
In a weird way, playful mischief means someone is thinking of you.
I hide in the closet and make a sound when she walks by. Occasionally, I stand in the bedroom with a blanket over my head. That one’s creepy.
I even lock her out of the house.
Is it time to lighten the mood?