The bird call tapes must be working. I came slowly awake from unsettling dreams of pagers left vibrating on the table to the reality of a woodpecker going nuts on the siding, and as the repeated and endless calls began to sink into my brain, I thought groggily "A descending whinney is a downy woodpecker, but this is a flat whinney, so it's a Northern Flicker."
Satisfied with this, I drifted back asleep, and dreamed of pale woodpecker women standing in green fields with badly airbrushed mist.
Nothin' like goin' to your tax guy and discovering that you made marginally more money last year, but you owe less than half as much. O frabjous day!
Artists, get a CPA. Trust me. It's worth the money.