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Category: animals

Munch, Munch

Munch, Munch

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Yes, they have to eat, too. But does it have to be my day lilies? Or hosta? Or, based on the nibbled stalks I’ve spied in a neighbor’s yard, the cone flowers, too?

I snapped a shot of this little fellow munching some vine or weed in the woods. To him it’s all the same: impatiens or Virginia creeper. He can leap most fences and surmount most barriers. Stick with the wild stuff, I tell him as I pass on a walk. I don’t think he was listening, though.

A cashier in a garden shop told me about a customer who came in three times to replace the plants deer had snatched from her flower pots. Eventually she gave up and stuck plastic flags in those pots. The deer ate those, too. 

They Grow Up So Fast

They Grow Up So Fast

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Children do, of course. But so do goslings! I’ve been watching this year’s Lake Anne spring babies toddle into semi-maturity for the last few weeks. A few weeks ago, this pair struggled to follow their mom and dad down to the water, slipping and sliding much of the way.  No helicopter parents these.

By now, the spring babies have grown into gangly teenagers who would rather die than acknowledge their ‘rents. Notice the nonchalant way they graze and lag behind. You can almost imagine them grumbling, “Mom, puhleeeeeze! Don’t you have something else to do?”

Such is life. And such is parenthood … throughout the animal kingdom.

(Top photo: Sally Carter)
In the Mood

In the Mood

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Though I remain more of a dog and bird person, I occasionally visit with a tabby cat named Felix. He’s an agreeable fellow; he hasn’t bitten me once.

I like to watch him look out the window as he takes in a glistening, green world full of birds and squirrels that he might love to chase if only he knew they were real. 

Instead, he contents himself with climbing contraptions and scratching posts and an adorable little toy that looks like a laptop. If only he was in the mood, we could both be tapping “keyboards” at the same time. 

The thing about cats, though, is that they’re seldom in the mood. 

Photo Finish!

Photo Finish!

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A photo finish was just what we needed yesterday, or at least just what I needed. A chance to lose the self in the moment, the moment being the “most exciting two minutes in sports,” the Kentucky Derby. 

In this case, those two minutes were followed by several more minutes of uncertainty as judges studied a photograph of the race’s conclusion, the first time since 1996 that such a move has been necessary. When the ruling came down — Mystik Dan by a nose — the crowd erupted. The 18-1 shot had bested Sierra Leone (9-2) and Forever Young (7-1). 

To see those three thoroughbreds thundering to the finish line, looking for all the world like a single unit, was to see grace in motion.

(A 1953 photo finish of the first triple dead heat in harness racing. Photo: Wikipedia)

Capturing Birds

Capturing Birds

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Once upon a time, I wrote a book for parents, encouraging them to avoid the trap I’d fallen into, double-thinking my words and actions until I’d turned what used to be a joyous and natural activity — raising kids — into a highly fraught, expert-dominated procedure.

In one chapter I talk about what children bring to adults when they’re allowed to remain children, not miniaturized adults, how they remind us of the way the world looks when we’re just coming alive to it. 

I was reminded of this the other day when Isaiah asked his mother why his grandparents “capture birds.”

We keep parakeets in a birdcage, you see, but to Isaiah, we are stalking the Northern Virginia landscape in search of parakeets. Every time I think of this, I smile. 

It’s the child’s mind trying to make sense of what he sees around him — and it’s a joy to observe. 

(Two of our “inmates.”)

To the Fox

To the Fox

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To the fox, we are a meadow, a resting place. Our grass is not sprayed and coaxed to greenness. A few patches of plain earth make an appearance, as do clumps of weeds. We lack the hummus of the forest, but the randomness and vagaries of real life thrive in our backyard. 

The fox moved through earlier today, paused, as he usually does, taking in the scene. As I write these words, a plump squirrel, still as a statue, surveys the yard from the deck railing. Maybe he’s feeling as the fox does, that he can enjoy himself among the dandelions and the stilt grass, that our yard is his castle.

Some neighbors leave peanuts for wildlife. We don’t go that far. But we are lawn care minimalists, and for many animals, that is enough. 

Peep Peep!

Peep Peep!

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This photo may feature baby chicks, but the peeps I’m thinking about come from small frogs, spring peepers.

The racket comes from males trying to attract females (which accounts for much of the racket in the animal world this time of year), and it can grow quite loud along a path I walk that edges a wetland. 

I was glad to hear it yesterday, though. I’d been listening for spring peepers since I arrived home but had missed the distinctive, high-pitched sound. 

Now the little critters have spoken: spring is here to stay. 

For Copper

For Copper

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Seventeen years ago today we took into our home a dog of uncertain heritage and even more dubious temperament: a bundle of nerves, a combination of dog parts that never seemed to fit together. Long body, short legs. Perky ears, plume tail. 

A dog that fooled us from the beginning, behaving so well at the Loudoun County Humane Society shelter that you barely knew he was there. A week later he would bark at anything that moved.

He had the powerful shoulders of an Olympic swimmer, could bound over the couch in one leap: preferably into the arms of my mother, visiting for Christmas, sipping a glass of red wine and no fan of rambunctious animals.

In his first month with us, Copper would consume shoe leather, eye medicine, a pair of pink panties, and the contents of a colostomy bag. He sometimes ate dog food, too. He barked, he nipped, he escaped every chance he got. 

But none of that mattered. Because we loved him right from the start. Loved him fiercely. He was joy incarnate, you see. And now … he’s gone. 

Haunted Chicken Coop

Haunted Chicken Coop

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It wasn’t exactly a haunted walk I took yesterday through uptown Port Townsend. But it was filled with little ghosts and goblins and houses decked out in their Halloween best. 

My favorite was this haunted chicken coop, the hens pecking away nonchalantly behind faux tombstones. They don’t need to make fun of death because, well, they have no idea they’ll experience it one day. 

We humans, of course, are another matter. 

Deer Management

Deer Management

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“Shoo! Get out! What are you doing back here?”

At first the deer looked at me blankly, as if they had no idea what the fuss was about, why I might be waving my arms at them as they strolled casually through the backyard. 

Eventually they got the idea, though, and I counted them as they raced along the fence line and leapt into the common land. 

One, two, three, four, five. Their white tails waved as they vaulted themselves into the air. 

A small herd, but a herd just the same. 

(This sign is not in my backyard, but it did come to mind this morning.)