Mike and I Disagree on the Definition of Madness

Mike called me on his lunch hour, and we had the following conversation:

Me: I generally find myself in disagreement with the blackbirds when it comes to bark chips.

Mike: You mean where to put them?

Me: Well, yes. I carefully weed some flower bed or other and then spread bark chips on top, and the blackbirds come along and go, "Ooo! Bark chips! I bet there's something tasty under there!" and then proceed to kick them all over the lawn and the sidewalk.

Mike: Have you tried telling them to kick them back when they're finished?

Me: Well, yes, but do you think they listen? Pah, do they.

Mike (mocking, I tell you, MOCKING): Ha ha, I bet you have, too.

Me: And what exactly is that supposed to mean?

Mike: I hear you out there all the time, having an extended conversation with a bird, or a bee, or whatever else has wandered by. Don't try to deny it.

Me: I fail to see what this has to do with anything. Besides which, I've already explained to the slugs that we could reach at least a partial detente if they'd just limit themselves to the bind weed and blackberries. Heck, I'd even be willing to plant a row of, say, carrots just for them if they'd leave the rest alone. At this point, they're killing themselves as far as I'm concerned.

Mike seems to think that this sort of normal garden conversation is mad. I think the poor man is just confused and short-sighted. I am sure you will agree.