wordsfromanneli

Thoughts, ideas, photos, and stories.


30 Comments

Snowy Hills

Way up high on the hills, the rain turned into snow.

Why is it that white snow comes out of black clouds?

How did that sunshine get through to the hills when the whole valley is in shade?

Can you guess where the deer are that used to live up in the hills? Where are the birds? Bears? Cougars? Squirrels?

I can only hope that those who didn’t wander down to lower elevations are hibernating in some cozy den. Probably even those who might hibernate would have come down from the highest parts of the hills, if they were able.

 

Meanwhile, I’m in my cozy den at home, not hibernating, but also waiting for winter to pass.

A new year is coming. That gives me hope that spring won’t be too far away.

Have a happy year ahead, everyone.

All the best in 2025.

 


20 Comments

The Brothers

I said I would try to include Shorty in my alphabet series but Shorty was displaced by Squirrels for S. So here he is. Hard to believe he was Cowboy’s brother. Their coloration was quite different, but they were definitely brothers. I adopted them when they were only five weeks old, not quite ready to leave their mother. But I got them drinking milk from a dish by dipping my finger in the milk and letting them lick my finger. Gradually I brought my finger down close to the dish between licks and they figured out that they could tank down all they wanted without my finger.

They were good company for each other as well as for me.  Best cats I ever had living with me.

They did a lot together.

That doesn’t mean they didn’t get into trouble, but even that was something they often did together — their midnight snack adventure for example.

 


Shorty

 

Cowboy

 

Taking the Fall

Cowboy was a sleek, smoky gray cat with ears that seemed a bit large for his smallish head.  His brother, Shorty, was a perfectly made Siamese cat.  Well, almost perfectly made.  Sometimes when the sunlight would shine on his tail, you could faintly make out the rings in his alley cat tail.

Even though they weren’t perfect, the brothers loved each other very much.  They wrestled together, snuggled up to sleep together, and sometimes they got into mischief together.

It’s hard to say which of them was smarter, but it seemed that when the two of them did something bad together, it was always Shorty who got caught and ended up taking the fall for their mischievous stunts.  It was like that the time they decided to check out the kitchen garbage can after the people went to bed.

The kitchen trash was kept in a cupboard under the sink.  It was really easy for a smart cat to get into.  All Cowboy had to do was to hook his paw under the door and pull.  Then quick as a wink he would stick his head in the open space and squeeze through.

Ahh! What a lovely aroma of chicken scraps greeted him as he peered over the rim of the garbage can.  Up on his hind legs, he could clearly see a half-eaten chicken drumstick that the people had thrown away.  There was so much meat on it still, and pieces of skin not eaten.  Ooh! He was drooling as he thought of the wonderful snack he was about to have, when suddenly a Siamese paw reached past him and scooped that drumstick right from under his nose.

“Meeeooow!  Shorty!  Give that back,”  he spat.

“Shhhhh!” hissed Shorty. “You’ll wake the people!”

No sooner had he said that than he heard a pair of people feet land on the floor in the bedroom.  The shuffling of slippers was coming closer.

“Yikes!” Shorty said. “I’m getting out of here.” He slipped out of the cupboard and sat on the floor as prettily as he could, eyes looking towards heaven.

“You don’t fool me, Shorty!” The lady shook her finger at him.  “I know you were in that garbage can again.  Weren’t you?  Don’t you do that again! Shame on you, Shorty….

“I wonder how much mess he made,” she grumbled to herself.

As she opened the cupboard, there was Cowboy, licking his paws and washing his face.  All that was left of the “snack” was a tiny piece of chewed up drumstick bone.

 

 


33 Comments

S is for Squirrel Babies

Just to set the record straight before you read and look at the photos – these are the baby squirrels from a couple of years ago. There were no babies this year that I know of.

 

“Come on, you guys! It’s lonely at the top.”

“Let’s wrestle.”

“We need a referee.”

“You go down and tell him to come up while I find a referee’s chair for him to sit on up high.”

“Aw, come on! Stop playing hard to get.”

“I don’t want to be referee. It’s too boring.”

“Let’s play tag instead.”

“You’re it.”

S is for squirrel babies.

 


20 Comments

R is for Raccoon

Reggie Raccoon is honoured to be the selection for the letter R in our countdown.

He’s waiting for that woman with the camera to go away before he’ll come down from the safety of the tree.

Next time he’ll only visit after dark when there is no danger of getting his photo taken, and when that curious Emma-dog is in the house.

That might be a good time to check out the garbage can by the back door. Last time there was a stick of pepperoni. The wind helped knock the can over, and I had a buffet midnight snack.

R is for Reggie the raccoon.


29 Comments

Q is for Quail and Quince

The quince was beautiful when it was in bloom last summer.

Quentin the quail used to come visit  and hang around under it.

You may remember that he was the last of the many quail that used to live around here until our area got built up and turned into a dog walk for the subdivision about half a mile away. Quail and dogs on the loose just don’t mix, and the quail were the losers.

I last saw Quentin about a year ago, and I’m sure he has gone to quail heaven now.

But I loved having him around for visits now and then while he was still alive.

Q is for Quentin Quail in the quince.


28 Comments

P is for Pileated Woodpeckers, Pam and Patrick

“Ooh!” says Pam. “I see that handsome Patrick. See his red cheek slash? So manly!”

“Oh, Patrick! Do you like my little red Christmas hat?”

“Meh – it’s not bad, I guess,” says Patrick. “Wanna come down here and get some bugs out of this stump?”

“Actually, I think I see some at the end of this raised bed,” says Pam.

“Hmm. I guess that wasn’t what he wanted to hear. I’m not very good at this dating stuff.”

“Hmpf! Pam is playing hard-to-get. I’ll show her…as soon as I get that pesky bug off my shoulder…. Maybe she thinks I have dandruff.”

P is for Pam and Patrick the pileated woodpeckers. I’m sure they’ll find each other eventually.

 


23 Comments

O is for Octopus

Octo is for the eight arms of Oscar the Octopus. That’s a lot of knitting for Christmas mittens.

Did you know that the giant Pacific octopus ( Enteroctopus dofleini) usually weighs up to 33  lbs. and has a tentacle (arm) spread of about 14 feet?

But the heaviest and largest scientifically recorded octopus of this species weighed 157 lbs. Claims have been made of even larger octopuses, but these have not been documented.

The smallest octopus (Octopus wolfi) is a tiny little fellow weighing only one gram. (It would take 454 of them to make a pound.) It is only about an inch long.

Most octopuses have a mild venom in them, but are not out to hurt people. However, the four types of blue-ringed octopuses (Hapalochlaena) can inflict a deadly bite, injecting a toxin called tetrodotoxin which can paralyze muscle and prevent breathing. If the victim of a bite from a blue-ringed octopus can get to a hospital immediately, and be kept breathing artificially, he may be able to recover within about 24 hours. Many of these blue-ringed octopuses are found near Australia.

There is so much more to know about octopuses – their relatively short lifespan, their method of defense by squirting ink. They are fascinating creatures (and so tasty to eat – sorry, Oscar).

Now to lighten your mood, here is a poem by Ogden Nash about:

The Octopus

Tell me, O Octopus, I begs,

Is those things arms, or is they legs?

I marvel at thee, Octopus,

If I were thou, I’d call me Us.

 

by Ogden Nash

O is for Oscar the Octopus

 


					
		
	


32 Comments

N is for Nuthatch

“It sure is a lot of work to pick a hole in a tree and make it big enough for a nest, but I’ve made a good start,” says Nancy Nuthatch.

“Hmm…I wonder if I should go deeper. Can’t make the entrance too big though, or those nasty squirrels will come visiting.”

“Ah, there’s a solution. Nora Nuthatch is making a nest on the lower level. We can take turns keeping an eye out for predators and shriek to call out an alarm if the squirrels come looking for trouble.”

N is for nuthatch, but really we are Nancy and Nora, the Nuthatch Ninjas.

 

Do you see Nora working on the lower level of the tree?

 

 


27 Comments

M is for Mice

Where is your mother, little mice?

You’d better get back into your nest.

Mama Mouse was found in an old apple box that, once she had jumped into it, was too high for her to jump out of.

Mama Mouse was exhausted from all the jumping efforts, and lay still after her rescue, soaking up the warmth until she recovered from her ordeal.

In a few moments, she perked up, and remembering her children, rushed to save them.

M is for Mighty Maisie the mama mouse and her three blind mice.

 

I know that some people are afraid of mice, but how do you think they feel about us?

Here is one of my favourite poems by Rose Fyleman:

Mice

I think mice
Are rather nice.
Their tails are long,
Their faces small.
They haven’t any chins at all.
Their ears are pink,
Their teeth are white.
They run about
The house at night.
They nibble things
They shouldn’t touch
And no one seems
To like them much.
But I think mice
Are nice.