I stood at the kitchen sink, sipping sweet tea and gazing out at the bird feeders, watching finches cluster, ten to a sock of nyjer seed, clutching the mesh fabric with their little claws as they gobbled up the daily offering.

Then I glanced over at the hummingbird feeder and saw that it was nearly completely empty. They may be tiny birds, but they sure can slurp up the sugar water, about a cup a day. I think there are four, though I have trouble keeping track of them.

I had made the sugar water conconction earlier today, and it was cool enough to refill the feeder. I took the unsteady step stool out and clambered up, unhooked the feeder -- and was dive bombed by hungry anxious hummers.

Don't let anyone tell you that hummingbirds are the epitome of delicacy and beauty. These little s.o.b.s were aggressively swooping at me, buzzing like World War II Zeros, nearly knocking me off my perch. Humpfh.

I refilled the feeder with its red body and yellow flower-shaped feeding holes, returned outside to rehang it, and they started circling, ready for the kill. I swatted one away as it buzzed my head, but my ladder was unsteady enough that I spilled some of the sugar water.

Feeder hung, I climbed down, and turned on the hose full blast to hose down the porch (ants, you know). The hose lies curled up in its bowl, nozzle happened to be pointed toward me, and I got an unexpected bath.

Good thing it's warm outside and also that no one was home to see me re-enter the house, lugging my step stool, soaking wet and quite discombobulated.

The hummers were already clustered around the feeder, greedy little beasts, as I pulled the screen door closed.