Poor Dad – Maybe Not

On Sunday evening, Father’s Day, I took a bag of garbage to the dumpster. Floating up against the top of the container were three shiny, colorful Father’s Day balloons. They were already in the dumpster in the early evening of Father’s Day!
Who throws away special occasion balloons? Don’t most people keep them until they deflate? Then you can subtly put them in a garbage bag and they don’t float out to haunt you.
So was it a father who discarded them? Or perhaps a child who had second thoughts on this gift.
I’m thinking if I were the child and reconsidered the gesture, I would probably be angry and would pop the balloons wanting to see them burst!
So why would a parent discard them? Hates the kid, dislikes false sentimentality?
Guess it could also be they were left over somewhere and needed to be thrown away. I might still like the bright shiny things to hang around awhile. They would probably scare the cats.
Wonder if they escaped when the truck emptied out the dumpster. Imagine them floating away to freedom…landing somewhere where somebody else wonders about poor Dad whose balloons escaped.

Sharing the Bathroom

Oh those cats and their litter box! I’m getting real tired of bits of cat litter scattered on the floor of my bathroom. Can’t walk in there bare footed.
Why do they insist on throwing the litter out of the box? And one of the cats perches on the edge of the box and urinates over the edge. I’ve given up using throw rugs under the box to catch the litter bits on their paws. I just put newspaper underneath. Of course they scratch at that and piss on it too.
I tell them, “You think I like this bathroom sharing arrangement?”
Probably need to buy a new litter pan with no smell.
I could just open the screen door and get rid of both problems, cats and litter box use. But I know they’ll come back to get fed.

Close Encounters

On a typical warm summer evening, I went out my front door. The dogs were there, as always, eagerly pushing out to be the first into the yard. Sitting right next to the front door is a brush porcupine, made for cleaning dirt off boots and shoes. As I exited the door behind the dogs, I happened to glance down at the boot brush. Something caught my eye –I didn’t have my glasses on but it appeared to be a really big bug perched on the brush. I bent down to examine it in closer detail. It was a bird, a ruby-throated hummingbird!
My immediate concern was that I may have caught the attention of the dogs, and they would really take an interest in something so very clsoe to their noses. I had to move this bird. There were also my predatory cats to contend with. It was surprisingly easy for me to pick up the bird in my hand. I thought about placing it back in a tree on a nice branch safely above resident predators. It didn’t seem to be able to perch – the tiny claws didn’t grasp the small twig. I careful looked at the bird as it sat quietly in my hand. It didn’t flutter in panic, just sat.
What to do? I couldn’t just toss it into the wind and let it be taken up by fate. I thought about my past attempts to rescue wildlife critters; sometimes they work, and often they don’t. It has been easy saving birds temporarily stunned from an encounter with the window. Baby birds just out of the nest too early were a big problem; often I couldn’t find or get to the nest. My few experiences with calling various animal rescue groups in the past didn’t prove useful in finding an immediate solution for the problem at hand.
This bird seemed just tired, and I wondered if perhaps it was an old hummingbird. So I decided to administer basic first aid – rehydration with water. And I knew I had a formula for mixing hummingbird food that consisted of sugar dissolved in water. I also had a syringe handy that I last used to dispense medicine to the cat a few months back.
I put the nosey dogs in the house, mixed the simple formula, all the while gently holding the bird. With a filled syringe I headed outside to sit on the swing with the tiny bird. The bird sat very still in the palm of my hand, eyes closed. I placed the syringe over the beak, and suddenly this very long tongue darted out taking in the liquid from the syringe.
So I spent the next 45 minutes having the most astonishing experience watching this hummingbird but 5 inches from my face. I could see the sunlight make the feathers glow with a shimmering iridescence. I also could see that the beak was really a tube, from which a needle like tongue darts out to take up the sweet water. He took enough water to leave a water souvenir in my hand.
So there we sat, I was enjoying the late summer afternoon and the extraordinary experience of this bird in minute detail. He sat quietly, eyes looking more alert.
All of a sudden he lifted off my hand onto a short branch of the oak tree some five feet over my head. I watched him for a bit longer then went in the house. It was time for my day to continue. A short time later I came out to check and he had left the branch.
In the next few evenings, as I was working in the perennial bed next to the oak, a hummingbird would make his way around the flowers. I like to think it was the same bird, stopping by for a visit, and to grace my flowers.

Cat Update

My poor neglected pussies. Stuck in this small apartment, they are never able to go outside to smell the fresh air and kill birds. I try to dope them up with catnip, but it doesn’t seem satisfying enough for them.
Not that they do much anyway, but they could probably use more stimulation. Should I try walking them on a leash? Would they be horribly insulted?
They do come out, not like the first two weeks where Putt lived in the closet. He has come out of the closet, and now spends a lot of time on the window sills. No longer rushes off to hide if there is a sudden noise – which an apartment has plenty of. But he is still skittish. It is nothing like the solitude of the 20 acre home we had before April 1st.
And Boomer was the quickest to adjust. That fat cat prefers the living couch for lounging. day or night. I try to keep the slider open a bit so they can sit and pretend to be outside. Do cats dream, maybe of days where they hunted, free to explore scents and chase bugs, mice and anything that moved?

Day of the Ducks

It was early winter when the ducks moved in. Snow was on the ground and ice had formed on the lakes. There were a couple – a drake and a female. Because they were mixed, part mallard and part domestic, they couldn’t fly away come winter as the lake froze over. The people that fed them throughout the summer were no longer out throwing bread scraps. The mallards flew south, but these ducks were left to fend for themselves, and they couldn’t. This is how they ended up at the Humane Society animal shelter before they starved or froze to death.
I was a board member of this Humane Society and the workers knew that I wanted some of what I called ‘decorative’ garden fowl. I had a house in the county with acreage and wanted something picturesque to wander around the yard. I already ‘rescued’ a very large rooster that was picked up running about in the north end of the county. He was big, but good natured. Friends asked if it was a turkey – city folk! I could easily pick him up and he got along with the dogs. They quickly learned to keep their distance as he had long spurs and big wings that he would flap at them when they got too close.
Being able to pick up the rooster proved handy when I needed to first check him for lice. And then I got to treat him for the lice. That’s another story.
Life with the rooster, dogs and cats was fine. They all knew their place in the hierarchy. That is until one day while the dog Molly was peacefully lying in the sun warmed grass when the rooster jumped her. He either was trying to mount her or needed a better post from which to crow.
Molly was 65 pounds of dog and really pretty startled at having something, anything, actually try to climb up on her. I was startled as to what the heck was going on. This is surely unnatural. Then it occurred to me that the rooster might need a chicken, or two. Interspecies relationships just aren’t going to work for any number of reasons. And I lived in a religious area where Darwin wasn’t considered a proper subject for science class.
So I got chickens from the Humane Society, two Rhode Island Reds. Seems certain ethnic groups living in the city like to keep fresh animals on hand. Whether for Santaria rituals or food, I don’t want to ask. And when they get out – animal control is called. The shelters want to adopt them out as soon as possible. Farm animals bring a whole new level of issues.
So by the time the ducks moved in there were the dogs, cats, chickens with rooster. Room was made in the little outbuilding for the two ducks and a big water bowl. I didn’t know if the ducks actually needed the ability to swim through the winter months. There was a small ornamental goldfish pond in the yard, very small, But they didn’t want to walk through the snow to get to it.
I learned many things, including that ducks are very messy. Chicken poop is much easier to clean up than ducks splats. We got through the winter alright. The shared living quarters for the poultry proved fine with everyone getting along. I had my hands full keeping things clean, however.
Soon it was spring and all the critters could spend more time outside. Ah, in spring a drake’s fancy turns to thoughts of sex. The first problems were with the dogs. I’d catch the duck chasing after Molly. The drake couldn’t really fly, which he why he was here in the first place. Instead he did a low level combo run and fly chasing Molly around the yard. She thought this was great fun, as the duck tried to bite her in the butt. To her it was a game. And it was rather amusing to see a bottom heavy duck chasing a 65 pound dog.
Then there was Sydney, the other dog. Sydney had a fondness for birds, the fondness that comes in hunting genes. He had already dispatched a Rhode Island Red hen – first time I ever had one pet kill another. I scolded him even though he looked so pleased with himself as the brown feathers fell from his lips. Fortunately I was in the yard when the duck bit Sydney in the butt. I ran quickly to snatch up the duck away from the jaws of death.
Then one day as I was enjoying the spring weather I saw the rooster dragging around the duck who had his bill clamped onto the roosters wing! Break it up!
As I sat at the picnic table the ducks would wander over to me and slyly nibble at the hem of my pants. I think they wanted to bite more, but were testing the waters.
The duck was uncontrollable. He ran after the cats. He continued to chase after Molly who was starting to tire of this game. None of the animals were safe to wander the yard without finding themselves victims of the sex crazed duck.
As soon as the cats got out the back door they would run and jump over the fence for safety. Sydney would no longer even go out into the backyard; I had to let him out the front door to do his business.
One day the duck was walking past when I noticed little dots on his white head. I picked him up to look closer. I think they were peck marks! He must have tangled with Mr. Rooster again.
Oh, the horror of it. There was no enjoyment to be found in the yard. Everyone had to keep an eye open for that duck. He would run for any critter in his sight! Quack – quack, and fastened his bill onto a feather, some fur, a leg. He was unstoppable!
The duck was terrorizing everyone. Couldn’t sit outside and we didn’t have a moment’s peace.
Resettlement was the only solution. I consulted with the people at the Humane Society. They pull me in touch with a wildlife rehabilitator that specialized in waterfowl.
I put the crate in the back of my truck and grabbed the two ducks and took along a forty pound bag of feed. Off I drove. The rehab place was most of a half acre lot. It was fenced in and had a nice large pond. There was a crowd of Canada geese and several ducks. Many of the geese had angel wings, a deformity that made them unable to fly.
We carried the crate into the yard and let out the ducks. The drake ran into the throng. At first he seemed in sex crazed mode, but then he became aware of all the other ducks, female ducks. Oh he was going to be busy for some time – defending and seeking new conquests.
When I got home I made a nice beverage and went out into the yard. The dogs came out cautiously; the cats joined us. Then chickens stared to wander about the yard pecking among the plants for bugs. No one was being chased. There seemed to be a collective sigh of relief. My peaceable kingdom had returned.