Stop, Thief!

Arriving home, arms full of ingredients for dinner, I make a quick stop by the garden to check on progress and harvest a few herbs. Arugula and lettuce are coming in nicely I see, although still too early to thin, and, yes, I can just make out dark red and green beet shoots poking through the soil. Garden peas are slowly making a showing but alas, no sign of peas comma sweet.

But wait, what's this I see? Sacrebleu! There's been an invasion! Indeed, every last top of my adolescent dill has been cruelly lopped off! Upon closer inspection and, adding insult to injury, the fronds lay scattered randomly about, wilting quickly in the late afternoon sun. My eyelids narrow and brow furrows as I channel Mr. McGregor and consider the possible culprits.

Suspect Number One: Humans. I purse my lips in thought but quickly eliminate any upright but not upstanding thieves. I'm on good terms with all neighbors in close proximity and Oliver, the dog next door, is happy to alert his owner (a fellow gardener) to anyone setting foot on the property, friend or foe. On second thought, there are two notoriously unfriendly folks a few doors down, but, no, they wouldn't dare sully their shoes in manure for a dirty deed such as this.

Suspect Number Two: Rabbits. There's plenty of them to go around and they're fast and furious but I eliminate them from the perp list as well. I've a good, strong rabbit-proof fence of high quality chicken wire that I've checked and rechecked for possible entryways. No pawprints were found at the scene, though I did lift a partial from a nearby stake. Still, I say no, a rabbit couldn't have committed this dastardly crime.

Suspect Number Three: Birds. Hm, I intoned, as I twisted my moustache. (No, wait, that's not right!) Hm, I intoned, as I jutted my jaw and looked to the skies. They travel in packs, speak in tongues and rise early enough to see us off for the day. No fence will keep their getaway wings at bay and their small stature draws little attention. The dill was low enough to the ground to favor their spindly, leave-no-trace feet and its stalks just tender enough for the snap! of a concrete-sharpened beak. Yes, my money is on these little rascals, cloaking their innocence in pretty feathers and song, all the while training their beady, calculating eyes on my fledgling dill.

And so, with one last glance at the crime scene, I tag and bag the evidence (still needing it for the salmon, after all) collect my packages and head upstairs to write up my report and plan my thwarting revenge.