This young Cooper’s hawk came to my birdfeeder. I apologize for the number of photos, but he had so much to say.
How rude of them to all leave the second I arrive on the roof of the feeder. They’ve got my feathers ruffled now! I have as much right to be at the birdfeeder as anyone else. After all, I plan to feed on birds. Isn’t that what a birdfeeder is for?
It’s hard to find friends when you’re a bird of prey. I’m not even good at catching birds for my supper yet, being just a youngster.
I have a better view from here. And I think … yes … a few of those delicious finches are returning.
Eyes front! Play it cool. Pretend you don’t see them.
Oh no. Wouldn’t you know it? What a time for my mom to be calling. Should I stay or go?
Meanwhile the birds took off again. Darned dogs running around scaring off my meals. Can’t you just sit still for a while?
Another night of going to bed without supper.
But just you wait until I get my claws into you tomorrow.
I’ll pretend I’m not looking. That usually works.
Or … I might have to settle for that mouse down there.
Don’t judge me for hanging around the birdfeeder! What did you think? I gotta eat!
I love the quietness of the prairies, and yet, when I thought back on the morning, it wasn’t all that quiet. On my approach, the sharptail grouse jumped up out of the grass and flew low over the land cackling with that laughing call they make. I scared up two sleek and well-furred rabbits – not at all feeble like ours at home on the coast. Could they ever run! I could almost hear their thumping feet as they bounded away.
Twice, I almost walked on hen pheasants that held tightly to their hiding places in the grass, hoping I wouldn’t come their way. But when I was about six feet from them, the hens shot up into the air and flew away, leaving me with my heart pounding in my throat.
Hawks flew overhead shrieking and then diving down on coveys of sharptail grouse.
No … I guess it wasn’t quiet after all.
Almost done for the morning, my husband thought it would be good to check out a small copse of trees and bushes
and give Emma, our English cocker spaniel puppy, a chance to find out what a pheasant smells like. To get there, I assumed we would walk. After about six miles of walking, what’s another half mile?
But no. The man in charge thought he would show what his four-wheel-drive truck could do. Down into the dip he drove.
And there we stayed!
“But I went through here twice yesterday,” he said.
It doesn’t look so bad, except the wheels just kept on spinning into the muck. We were going nowhere but lower into the ground.
Notice how close to the muck the bottom of the door is.
Mr Four Wheeler walked for help.
The farmer who kindly allowed us access to his land, was busy working on it elsewhere, so his very capable wife and daughter came out in their truck.
If you noticed in the second photo, there is a farm gate (an extra post with the barbed wire wrapped around it). This is where the smart farmer’s wife drove through, to go around the muck and tow us out on the other side of the mudhole. Mother and daughter got right into rescue mode and pulled the Man-no-longer-in-charge out of his predicament.
To his credit, the grateful man gave the farmer’s wife a very heartfelt thank-you-hug.
Then he and Emma went for one last walk. Notice Emma’s legs? None of them are touching the ground. She was one happy dog.
And I was happy to get out my Kindle and wait in the not-stuck-anymore truck.
By the way, happy Thanksgiving to all Canadians. I almost forgot it was Thanksgiving weekend because of being in Montana where they have Thanksgiving in late November.
We really do have a lot to be thankful for, whether we live in Canada or the United States.