Lining a bird’s nest

I believe everyone should invent at least one thing before they die. It doesn’t have to be a new kind of artificial intelligence, or a car that runs on ketchup, or anything important. It’s enough if you invent a better way to make your favorite noodle casserole, just as long as you mark your life with a little innovation.

Me? I invented trimming my beard in the yard.

It’s not as unimportant as it seems, either.

I have a beard, a modest facial shrub. Sometimes, I have to trim my beard. I own a cordless, battery-operated trimmer.

I used to trim my beard over the bathroom sink, but this is an old house, the plumbing is a little eccentric, and that sink clogs easily. Because of that, every time I trimmed my beard, I used to line the sink with a paper towel so the trimmings of my beard wouldn’t go down the drain.

I’m not a neat man. No matter what I used to line the sink, no matter how carefully I cleaned up after I trimmed, there would always be tiny beard hairs in the sink. My wife would be angry.

And so, one early fall day last year, I invented something.

“I’ll just go trim my beard outdoors,” I said to myself. I said this to myself while my wife was out shopping. The best time for a married man to test out a new invention is when his wife is at the grocery store.

I took my wife’s small makeup mirror and my trimmer outside, sat on a lawn chair, took my shirt off in the interest of neatness, balanced the mirror on my left knee, and trimmed my beard. When I was done, I brushed the beard hair out of my chest hair, and went back inside.

When my wife got home, I helped her carry the groceries in, and told her of my invention. I couldn’t have been prouder if I’d just invented thick cut bacon.

“What happened to all the hair you cut off?” she asked.

“It’s in the grass,” I said. “The wind will blow it away.”

She looked doubtful, but then her face softened.

“The birds will find it and use it to line their nests,” she said. “It’s nice and soft.”

And I knew I had the patent on my invention. My wife believes all animals should have food, water, comfort and love, and she believes they should get those things in our yard. If a rhino showed up in our yard, my wife’s first question would be, “What do you think it eats?”

I let my barber cut my beard in the winter, but now that I have my invention, I cut my beard in the front yard from April to November. I’m sure other men do this, but I like to pretend I’m the only one. It makes me feel like more of an inventor.

If they come before winter, I may be trimming my beard in the front yard when the missiles roar in from North Korea. It’s not a sure thing, though. Maybe their crazy man is saner than our crazy man. Or the other way around.

Maybe it’ll never happen. If it does, maybe I won’t die. Maybe other people will die, but not me.

And if I die, and I don’t yell too much, maybe I’ll be a hero. Maybe I’ve been a hero all along. Maybe you have, too.

And we’ll leave behind a little comfort for the birds.

To find out more about Marc Munroe Dion and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit www.creators.com Dion's latest book, a collection of his columns about the 2017 election and it's hideous aftermath, is called, "The Land of Trumpin." It is available in paperback from Amazon.com, and is also available for Kindle, Nook, iBooks and GooglePlay.