A Walker in the Suburbs

Here at the beach the snowy plovers have hatched but are not yet able to fly. They skitter around on the sand like so many tiny tumbleweeds. A sign warns beachcombers to beware. They camouflage themselves so well that it would be easy to step on them.

I spotted a couple of these cuties on a beach walk. A small crowd had gathered to watch the newly hatched chicks. Seeing them at their crazy ballet got me thinking about bird feet in general.

Though it’s a bird’s wings not its feet that most singularly propels it, shore birds are an exception — from gulls hopping up to beg for sandwich scraps to sandpipers running through the surf.

This morning I spied a tern daintily dipping its webbed toe in a tidal pool. I saw a yellow-footed snowy egret with a long white mane like an aging conductor. And I saw a pelican land nose first in the water, its feet flapping behind.

Bird feet were central in all of these tableaux. And I’ll think about them long after the beach walk is over.

(A bird on the wing instead of on foot.)

Preserve the magic — that’s what I took away from a recent Washington Post article on the declining population of fireflies in our heavily developed cities and suburbs.

Fireflies — or lightning bugs, as I grew up hearing them called — are harmed by pesticides and insecticides. If you’re spraying for mosquitoes, you’re getting rid of fireflies too. The greatest threat they face is the loss of their habitats, as fields and wetlands fall to the bulldozer and crane.

Seems like I see fewer and fewer flickers every summer. Though it’s tempting to say it’s part of growing up and growing older, losing the wonder and all of that, this article helped me realize that it’s not just in my head.

There really are fewer of these precious, ephemeral creatures in our lives. But we can bring them back — not by clapping hands but by living more lightly on the land.

(Photo: Audubon.com) 

Walking before dawn. The road is empty and cool, and the birds are chirping like mad. All the familiar ones — robins, cardinals and jays — plus one or two I don’t recognize. And then the crows, of course.

Crows have been on my mind since I read an article about one over the weekend. Canuck the crow was caught stealing a knife from a crime scene. Chased by a police officer for about 20 feet, the bird finally dropped the weapon. Turns out, he’s a known thief, though this is the first time he’s meddled in a crime scene.

Canuck fell out of his nest as a hatchling and bonded to the human who nursed him back to health. Although he’s wild, he stays as close to his rescuer as possible, doesn’t fly far from the man’s neighborhood and goes for rides perched on the wiper blade of his car. There are videos, magazine articles, even a Facebook page for Canuck.

“You’re always talking about crows, Mom,” said my resident millennial when I shared this story with her. I reminded her that crows use sticks as tools and mourn their dead. She was not impressed.

But I know in time I can bring her around. This is the cat-loving daughter now completely gaga over Copper the dog. She understands the joy of animal companions, what they bring to our lives.

(Photo: CBCNews.com)

With babies, they say, it is in part the ratio of head to body and eyes to head that makes them so adorable. What is it, then, with dogs?

There is, of course, the way they cock their head to one side, as if to say, “Really?!”  And their warm, almost human, eyes. Their jauntiness and energy.

With Copper, there are his antics: racing around the house in circles, begging on his hind legs like a circus dog, thumping his tail on the floor then barking because he doesn’t realize that he just made that noise and not an intruder.

With Motet, who’s visiting us for a while, it’s her big ears, her tiny little body (she weighs less than 10 pounds soaking wet), her wiry coat (looking as if she just threw on a robe out of the bath) and her sweet little face.

Whatever it is, it’s cute.

This little guy is off duty here but I have caught him (or one of his brethren) sitting in front of a house I pass on the way to the beach, looking for all the world like he’s guarding the place. He glances to the left and right, he moves his head up and down. He is alert and ready to scamper. What he would do to combat an intruder I have no idea. But … he’s ready.

Chameleons are known for their changeability, of course, and why not variation of role as well as color? A playful mood, a cautious mood, a dutiful mood.

Here he is hanging around the boards of a deck, perhaps contemplating his next change of skin.