We are invaded on a daily basis, by the usual suspects. Coyotes that hunt in the meadows sometimes get confused and end up in the yard. Tara still challenges them—from the deck. She’s not so brave since one followed her up to the steps and engaged in a tussle. Ruby is a fraidy cat; she barks and then heads for the door.
We see rabbits pretty often and they aren’t afraid of Ruby, which is a mistake. We try to interrupt the meal and dispose of remains, but she managed to eat a bunch of the newborns recently. She has a taste for gophers too, and has been known to dig them out of the traps Bruce sets, and have a feast.
We are generally watchful for skunks, and discourage the dogs from engaging with them, but this year we’ve seen very few. A blessing, whatever the reason.
There’s at least one pair of swans nesting on the lake but geese aren’t as numerous as usual. Cormorants come and go, along with the occasional flock of seagulls; blackbirds are present at breakfast, or soon after. They must have a signal for when the food is put out because they appear very shortly after. In human terms we’d probably call it “the word on the street,” and on the rez, it’s the “moccasin telegraph.” I don’t know what it is in bird talk but it works quite well.
Mama cat stalks every bunch of birds on the lawn but gets only an occasional treat. The birds retaliate by entering her house and stealing the cat food. She’s a picky eater; won’t even look at a mouse, alive or dead.
One rooster pheasant doesn’t mind sharing bird seed that drops on the ground, and the blackbirds ignore him. I’ve been surprised that Mama cat hasn’t tried him, but she must be as chicken as Ruby about something bigger than she is. He’s on a timetable, comes in at breakfast time and again at supper.
Haven’t seen as many deer in the yard this year but the tree groves along the county road are a place to slow down and watch if you don’t want one for hood ornament.
We have a lot of little yellow finches, and they are fun to watch at the feeder and playing in the sprinkler. This year marks the fewest barn swallows I recall and, wondering about that, I realized they eat mosquitos.
My mom often found time, on a summer afternoon, to sit in the yard with me and watch thunderheads build. She called them popcorn clouds; “Don’t they look just like a bowl of popcorn?” Not sure where that came from, I never knew her to eat a kernel of the stuff. But she maintained that every cloud has a silver lining, and I believe it. Having seen only 3 or 4 ticks and a couple of mosquitoes so far, I choose to call that the silver lining in this discouraging drought year.
Meet me here next week and meanwhile, pray for rain. The barn swallows are hungry.