Hello my little fur shedders! This week, I’m definitely feeling a sense of ennui. Soon, I will concentrate on new adventures. But for now, I can’t help but think about what I’ll miss when we move later this month.
Bird life at the ranch is always busy. I watch hawks soar, hummingbirds feast, and geese doing goose things. All from a safe distance, behind the impenetrable glass of a sliding door.
Mother’s mother was a complete bird nerd. Back on the farm, she hosted purple martins and became an expert on them. She loved all flying creatures except the carp of the skies – starlings. She wouldn’t harm a starling but she’d make sure it knew it wasn’t welcome, whether with her words, or by waving a broom. Left to their own devices, starlings would raid purple martin nests and poke holes in their eggs in an evil method of population control. Mother calls starlings shit-birds because they do no good in the world, and shit anywhere they wish. Swallows, which are plentiful around here, are shit-birds, too.
We thought it unlikely that there were hummingbirds nearby but Mother’s mother had convinced mother to put out a feeder anyway. Soon, our back deck became the cool hangout for hummers in the hood. They are delightful little creatures and fun to watch.
Somehow, in early spring, a family of shit-birds built a nest in a pocket on the house above the feeder. They interrupt the hummers at feeding time and generally cause chaos and unrest. Mother and Father will alert the home’s new owners to this unruly behavior but for now, with babies flying in and out, they don’t feel it’s right to issue an eviction notice. Even shit-birds deserve that much respect.
Every spring, well, two springs now, we’ve waited for the return of our geese friends, Lucy and Ricky. Sometimes they bring their BFFs, Fred and Ethel. They also surprise us by holding conventions in the field. Hundreds of them, honking away, discussing who knows what.
I will miss these sights. And I’ll miss the shit-birds that sit on the posts. As a legendary hunter, I crouch down, emit a low growl, and crawl toward the window, planning my attack. They’ve always flown away before I got there. If only I had more time…
Meanwhile, Mother has attempted to right the wrong of not building a moving box for me to rest in. I have sniffed it and rubbed it with my scent. She tore down one side for easier access and lined it with one of Father’s T-shirts. I’m still thinking about going in it. Every night I sit here and think. (It makes her crazy!)
We are two weeks away from our move. Please excuse me – there’s a shit-bird in my line of sight and he needs to know that’s not okay!
Until next time, my couch pouncers, I remain your friend,