It's got A Lot More Wacky 'Toons in It Than Call of the Wild
You know how much I enjoy a good nature piece that will astound, amuse, or perplex me, as well as frighten, horrify, or repulse me a little. I keep an eye out for these stories in the news, but I wasn't expecting to see them this week. Who would, after all?
The sound of a strange cat amid the chirping of birds in our yard began Monday with the call of a new bird and the sound of a strange cat amid the chattering of birds. I noticed a small gray bird fluttering through the chokecherry trees and grasses, blathering on with some sing-songy chatter, punctuated with the occasional mew — coming from the bird — a bird that says "mew."
I stood at the window for five minutes, capturing sounds of this unusual species, as if I were the United States' equivalent to David Attenborough, unable to properly track down the bird with my camera through the window screen. Even with only one bird book at my disposal, I was able to identify the gray catbird in about three minutes. It's a catbird. That's logical.
I had no idea such a thing existed in the neighborhood, so I informed everyone, even if their eyes glazed over.
My husband noticed a jack rabbit on our property on Tuesday. They're probably abundant in some locations, but not in my neck of the woods, where the cottontail rabbit reigns supreme. I believe we've only seen three in the last 30 years. I'm not sure why they don't dwell here permanently. Cottontail gangs marauding around the countryside may be keeping land values down.
The show-stopper, though, came on Tuesday evening. The robin that has taken up residence in the chokecherry tree outside our living room window with its new family has caused a commotion, like a cage-match throw-down type of commotion. I ran to the window to discover a bull snake partially in the nest, munching on the newborn peepers, about 2 feet from my face.
I dashed out the door to the nest, grabbing a shovel along the way, and the snake and I fought it out for the destiny of those little nestlings — at considerable risk to myself, I may add, for that enraged mommy robin was diving-bombing the back of my head as often as it went after the snake.
A No. 2 spade is a terrific tool for getting a bull snake out of a thick chokecherry tree, but it's not the right equipment for getting a bull snake out of a thick chokecherry tree. So, as soon as I got the snake to back off and reconsider its life choices, I dashed out to the barn and returned with a hard-tined rake. That's a true snake handling tool, as well as an excellent weapon if things go nasty. That's another another free tip from a seasoned pro.
The snake was out of the chokecherry in no time and racing for safety in a, y'know, quick slithery snake style, but Mama Robin still got two excellent shots in before it disappeared under the shed.
One of the young peepers died in this portion of the story, but two others survived to keep Mama occupied. But don't get too comfortable just yet; more stories are on the way.
I opened my email intending to tell a friend about the snake and bird tale and its happy-ish conclusion, but instead I received an email from her that said, "Oh, by the way, I witnessed a herd of deer pass by the house through our field, then a few minutes later two wolves came through pursuing the animals."
I was really taken aback, and then what? I had a common bull snake attempting to eat some baby birds, but you had two wolves – mysterious, deadly, and divisive wolves — leisurely hunting deer in your grassland field 13 miles from town. Girlfriend, that's bad-ay-ess-ess.
When I opened the front door the next morning to let the cat out, I was still thinking about the wolves when I saw a skunk foraging through the grass about 15 feet away. The thrills keep coming, I know.
My cat stalked out onto the front step like he was going to kick the skunk's stinking end all the way to the county line, despite the fact that the skunk was neither hostile nor terrified.
I couldn't get the cat to stop, so I just grabbed a camera.
There was no action. The skunk wandered up to the hillside, I snapped a few photographs, then turned around to see my cat sitting on my manure compost heap, staring at it, which was OK, but dull. Right. The plot isn't going anywhere.
As I stood there watching my cat, I noticed a skunk waddle its way over the hill into the unknown, or perhaps simply to the neighbor's house to eat. The bull snake and the robin were a very decent illustration of nature in the throes of drama, but Tweety Catbird, Peter Jackrabbit, IRL Pepe Le Pew, and the Cat in the Crap had better raise their theatrical offerings if they want another mention in my column.
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Buck did not read the newspapers, or he would have known that trouble was brewing, not alone for himself, but for every tide-water dog, strong of muscle and with warm, long hair, from Puget Sound to San Diego. Because men, groping in the Arctic darkness, had found a yellow metal, and because steamship and transportation companies were booming the find, thousands of men were rushing into the Northland. These men wanted dogs, and the dogs they wanted were heavy dogs, with strong muscles by which to toil, and furry coats to protect them from the frost.
Jack London, "The Call of the Wild", 1.2