"...and remember, the next scream you hear may be your own!"

So I thought that I had survived the horror. After all, I made it through the marathon known as NaNoWriMo for the 4th year in a row.

But the terror had only begun.

Invasion.

That's right. It's... in our house.

We first heard the tap-tap-tap on our wall about 24 hours ago. Cold fear filled our hearts as we stepped outside to find the source of the sound.

A cute, fuzzy, adorable... Downy Woodpecker.

Eating our house.

A quick trip around the internet made us feel no better. Several sites told us that this sort of single-minded intense pecking meant that our little stalker had decided that our house... our attic, to be precise... would make a very nice home for the winter.

This morning, he made it. In just one day, even with Hubby making frequent trips outside to yell at the little guy, (GET! GET OUT!) he proceeded, undeterred, through about an inch and a half of nice cedar into our attic. And now he's doing us the dubious favor of flitting about up there and pecking little neat holes wherever he hears bugs. Or thinks he does. Or maybe he's just making a big connect-the-dots design that we'll only truly be able to appreciate in a few months... you know, when the ceiling caves in.

So Hubby and I again consulted our good friend, the internet, and came up with warring remedies. Both of us agreed that the bit about aluminum flashing over the hole leading into the attic. From there, our philosophies on woodpecker removal differ a bit.

Mine involves horror movie tactics. Thanks to the Cornell University ornithology lab, I was able to put together a 45 minute loop of this short soundtrack. To you, it may not sound too frightening. But to our little Jack Torrance (as I have begun to think of him), it sounds horrifyingly like another Downy Woodpecker screaming bloody murder, followed by the sounds of a scary hawk crying victory over its prey. The idea is that he hears this, thinks, "Whoa, crap. I'm not going in there," and then goes and pecks through our neighbor's wall instead.

I guess technically, Hubby's plan involves horror movies tactics, too. But where mine is a creepy, atmospheric sort of thing, his is a bloody, gore-spattered sort of thing. And it's also a lot simpler. A lot more low tech. A bit of suet. A giant industrial sized rat trap. A couple of nails to hang it next to the hole. You do the math.

After loads of sad looks and mewling about "cute" and "fuzzy" and "not his fault" from Amy and me, Hubby has agreed to let us try Operation Don't Go in the House before he implements Operation Splat.

We'll keep you apprised.