I hate grackles. They are smart enough to know it. And retaliate.
Once I pulled into a parking space at the grocery and a grackle hopped on the hood of my car. Naturally, I shooed it away. When I returned, my windshield was splattered with three direct hits. It was direct cause-and-effect.
Most real Texans hate grackles, too. Bird lover are just wrong on this one. Dead wrong. Grackles are noisy, aggressive thieves with an ugly, awful sound. An electric gurgling sound. And their droppings stink from Kansas to Chile.
Check out downtown Austin just before dusk. You’ll think you are in the middle of a movie shoot. Alfred Hitchcock, indeed.
Since I converted from fundamentalist to liberalism, I stopped killing things. However, I would shoot, kill, stomp, maim, and flush a grackle in a heart beat. But they are protected by a bone-headed federal law because they are migratory birds.
I had a friend who was a crack shot. He would drink a little wine and drive around town in his van armed with air pistols. Puff. Cloud of feathers. Problem solved. Another grackle gone. My buddy was too kind. I think a Gatlin gun more appropriate.
Nothing short of death works. Cities have waged war with shotguns (real and recorded), screeches from predator birds (real and recorded) and other devices aimed at startling the glossy, iridescent pests away. To no avail.
I’m thinking of breeding owls -- for fun and profit.