My first real job was working third shift in a factory. I adapted pretty well to sleeping in the daytime until a woodpecker decided the wall of my bedroom was a good place to practice his pecking. It was like being inside a giant drum. No way I could possibly learn to sleep through that. He would hammer for a minute or two and then fly away and come back in half an hour and wake me up again, and kept it up all day, day after day....
My family would lean out the bathroom window and yell and wave at him and scare him away, but he still kept coming back. So I got out my old Daisy spring-powered BB gun and loaded it up and put it next to the bathroom window, figuring it wouldn't injure him but it would sting a little. We were all pretty good shots, and it wasn't long range....
Shooting him would make him fly away, but anything would make him fly away. It didn't make him stop coming back.
It went on day after day. I wasn't getting any sleep; I was going to lose my job or my health or my sanity.... Finally I decided it was him or me, one of us was not going to make it. I didn't want to shoot a hole in the house, but my brother had a CO2-powered Crosman .22 pellet gun. I borrowed it from him, loaded it up and sighted it in. It was deadly accurate and had plenty of power to kill a woodpecker. I set it by the bathroom window and waited . . . . . . . . . . . .
Never saw that woodpecker again. Maybe he knew somehow -- maybe he was psychic ... maybe somehow he knew if he came back he was going to be killed.