At first glance it looks like the farmer grew a crop of mallards.
On second glance we can see that there are widgeons among them.
At third glance, in a close look near the bottom of the photo we can see that the farmer actually grew potatoes. Some were missed and have been unearthed by the ducks to nibble on. It’s not their first choice of food but who knows what other seeds or insects may be hiding alongside the potatoes?
D is for duck, but when they sense danger, they don’t “duck.” They fly!
Cowboy was a cat, probably the most special cat I’ve ever had. He loved me and I loved him. When he and his brother were only a few inches long, the two of them lay in their owner’s hand. The owner of the kittens told me, if you don’t take them … and he made a motion as if he would close his hand and squish them. Of course he wouldn’t really do that, but the cats’ lives were at stake.
I took the two cats and named them after two boys that I had taught back in those long ago days. Their mother had called her children by the nicknames, Cowboy and Shorty. I liked the names, and thought it would be perfect for these cat brothers too.
We may meet Shorty in a later post when I get to the letter S.
Cowboy thought he owned me. As you can see, he has claimed my knee in this photo.
When I brushed my teeth in the bathroom of our very small starter home, Cowboy would jump up onto the toilet lid and from there up onto my back as I bent over the sink. He got comfortable on my shoulders and then stretched his head around the side of my face so he could lick the toothpaste off my cheek and chin.
I guess it had that same minty flavour of the catnip in our garden that sometimes had him doing backflips out there.
He didn’t like to be left behind if I went for a walk down the field below our house. He would follow behind, trying to catch up, hoping for permission to come along, by calling out, “AllOW! … AllOW! … AllOW! (He had a bit of Siamese in him and was able to make that sound of a baby crying.)
So of course I would allow him to come along.
He lived for 13 and a half years, and it was nowhere near long enough. I still miss him.
I have loved birds even when I was a small child. My mother used to tell me that the birds were talking to me. If I listened, I could hear what they were saying. Let’s just say that the power of suggestion worked overtime on me. I imagine the birds talking to me (and to each other) even now in my old(er) age.
Most birds bring us joy with their songs and their antics.
Some bring us a rude awakening when we walk under rows of them perched on overhead wires.
I had to wash my jacket after walking home under these birds.
But the owner of this car had a bigger washing job to do the next morning. He won’t park under the wires again.
Still, without birds, the world would be quiet, and not as happy as it could be.
Enjoy your day, and remember to listen to what the birds are saying. They may be talking to you.
Today they are saying:
B is for birds.
Imagine being known for your good flavour on the dinner table. The godwit was known, several hundred years ago, to be a “god whit,” a good creature (for the dinner table, it is presumed).
It was netted and sold at market, fetching even more than a snipe might have sold for in those long ago days.
These marbled godwits were dabbling around at the beach, poking their long bills into the sand in search of any small invertebrates they might feast on.
Their long legs help to keep their bodies from getting wet unnecessarily, but these birds do swim. For foraging though, they have more luck near the shore in waters shallow enough to walk around in without getting their bellies wet. Their long bills can easily probe the sand or mud there without having to dive for what may or may not be there.
They are no longer considered a target as a gamebird. Luckily for them, it is too much work to hunt and prepare these birds for the small amount of meat they offer for the table.
And like the turkeys that the president pardons each year, these godwits are thankful for their own version of the “Passover” at Thanksgiving.
Before the big windstorm happened, the Captain was keeping a few cans of beer cool, in a plastic tote on top of the patio table that you can just see the corner of at the right side of the photo.
The second patio table, the round one on the left, used to sit in the middle of the deck where the fallen hanging basket is lying on its side now. The wind must have blown the table over as far as it could go.
The oranges were on the table beside the beer cans, to keep cool. I also had a small parsley plant in a pot. You might see it lying on its side without the pot near the far end of the deck. Just a matted clump of dirt with a few yellow green leaves in it.
The blue pieces are part of a small clay pot that I painted about ten years ago. I always liked that little pot, but never imagined that the wind could send it flying off the table and smash it. The white saucer used to be under the parsley pot. Not sure where that pot ended up. I think it was plastic so it may have flown to the neighbours’ place or be in the next town by now.
The bits of branches from the fir trees are relatively small compared to the branch that came down just beyond the deck, as you will see in the next photo.
I’m glad no people, dogs, or squirrels were out for a walk when this branch decided to drop in, and I was so happy to see the squirrels and two hummingbirds alive in the morning.
And so, further to the previous post about Thanksgiving Day, and all we have to be thankful for, I feel very thankful to have been spared major trouble from this windstorm. Even the few hours of a loss of power were not too bad. I can’t begin to imagine the terror people go through in hurricanes. Hearing this wind roar through like a freight train was bad enough.
Since those unfortunate fat white turkeys have been raised in a domestic poultry setting, these wild turkeys have a lot to be thankful for every Thanksgiving Day. American Thanksgiving Day is on Nov. 28 this year. It’s still a few days away. Time for us to think about how blessed we are.
Queen Ellie (alias Eleanor Rigby) and Hostess Emma in the family room.
The golden-crowned sparrow and his girl are having an adventure on the feeding station roof. They are observed from a distance by a fox sparrow and his friend.
What a grand winter home Crispin has!
His bedrooms are deep in the middle of the woodshed. You can see that the Scotchman (that pink float hanging on the left side) is still there. He hasn’t frayed quite ALL of the rope that’s holding it up … yet.
His kitchen and dining room are in the center of the house near the middle post. Zoom in if you want a better view of what’s cooking.
Lately it’s been the same old boring diet of walnuts, but at least they are pre-cracked to save on teeth.
Click on the video for a few shaky seconds of dinnertime.
Bon appetit!
wordsfromanneli 