The 7 O'clock Magpie and Battlelines Drawn

Here's what's amazing. The 7 o'clock magpie showed up this morning at 7 o'clock. This is our first morning back after an absence of four months and she is still coming to the Bird Park at 7 am to check for peanuts. Yes, peanuts were waiting. Naturally, the first thing I did when we pulled in last night was fill the bird baths and feeders and put some peanuts on the table. Some hornets have colonized one of the empty feeders so they get to keep that one (I'll toss it when they move out this winter) but I filled the other three. That's enough for a start. Anyway, how 'bout that magpie?

That's the good news.

The bad news is that it just about took the jaws of life to jack myself back into my office this morning. The shelves are always crammed and bloated with stuff giving the room that WALLS_CLOSING_IN feel then last night I cluttered what precious little work space I do have with the things I brought in from the car... laptop, tablets, notebooks, various writing instruments, books, camera, sun glasses, phone etc. plus the different bags I carry everything in. And the tiny floor space has been reduced to a single channel connecting the door to my chair where I sit marooned in this flotsam of projects unfinished, current and yet to come. It's paralyzing. Must dig my way out. Must organize.

When we were driving across the country, anticipating this encounter and wooed by that special camaraderie born of the road, I invited M. Lee to help me gut my office and reorganize this winter. I may regret that. He is way too eager to help but I am already crushed by even the idea of tackling this. After all, the stuff is not to blame. It is my own self I must wrestle and tame, or at least cut a new deal with. As it stands, my mind has colonized my refuge from it. No one else can stand up to me but me.

Breakfast in the Bird Park

Some time deep in the middle of the night, after two days of fury, the wind finally stopped blowing. Just in time, I say. It was really making me crazy. I think it was the silence that woke me somewhere around five and, even though the blinds were closed, I could tell by the light in the room that the much anticipated snow had arrived at last.

This morning was like the old days in the Bird Park. The trees were stuffed with birds. Everyone came early and stayed and I made sure that they weren't disappointed. I served leftover pancakes and oatmeal along with the usual fare...peanuts, sunflower seeds, apples, kibbles and scratch.

Between bites, grackles compulsively scanned the skies. The starlings were fierce and reckless as usual. After the other magpies finished and left Seven, aka The 7 O'clock Magpie, hung out in the aspen digesting seconds waiting for thirds. Quail scratched in the snow for hidden tasties then stopped and did what they always do. Stood around. The pigeons showed up late as always but got right to work. They are the clean up detail.

Even Minerva dropped in for her share of the oatmeal. You might wonder how I know this particular crow is Minerva but why not Minerva?

After all, crows live for decades, they're smart and the Bird Park is The Place to be on a day like this so why wouldn't she come? Plus she's a founding member and enjoys her seniority status.

And with this storm the birds finally accepted the "new" tree as their new perch. They were really slow adapting to the change after Dick's widow cut down his, and their, beloved cottonwood last spring. Everybody loved that tree but her. Ol' Dick's body was barely cold in the ground when she had it whacked.

The "new" tree is actually in a better location as it stands right behind the seed tubes but on Dick's side of the fence. I couldn't have chosen a better spot for it myself. I hope she doesn't have it cut down too. Thanks to Dick, who appreciated a good tree, it got started around the same time as the cottonwood, about ten years ago when the development was new. But the "new" tree grows slowly so was ignored. You know birds. Bigger is better and they don't like change.

As for the starlings, I wasn't exactly delighted when they first showed up. They are the humans of the bird world, invasive and too damn successful. They toss babies out the nest then claim it for their own. Or they just move in and eat the whole family, the whole neighborhood. But the Bird Park exists under open skies. Everyone is welcome, well except for the cats, but they come anyway. I like to pretend they are too fat and lazy to do much other than fantasize but they try.

Not the hawks. They mean business. One fellow recently made the Bird Park his personal hunting ground and, every now and then, that ends up being a big bummer for someone else. This little quail hit my window trying to escape. M. Lee was outraged that I considered burying him instead of letting the hawk keep him. He was right.

Full moon in the Bird Park

Morning musings

An “actual” dove just dropped by the Bird Park. I say “actual” because, although pigeons are actually doves, Mr. Lee is given to calling them flying rats, as though rats and, by comparison pigeons, are somehow nasty. There are varieties of doves, just like there are varieties of people and yet we are all still people. Right? Cretin racists need not respond to this point. Racists do not deserve "equal time" because they do not represent a legitimate “other point of view". Anyway, pigeons are doves but, what people generally think of as a dove, showed up this morning and that's pretty cool.

What was I talking about? Oh yes. Bananas. I am having my breakfast at the moment, oatmeal with bananas, banana, and every time I open a banana I think of monkeys. And my Irish mother. How could she possibly have been an expert on the best way to peel a banana? But when we were kids we didn't question it. She taught us most of those little life skill things, but guess what? Peeling a banana from the stem down really doesn’t work as well as peeling one from the top down, not from the stem up. Which is how I do it now. However, every time I peel a banana I wonder about two things.

Click for tutorial

How much other childhood misinformation I still hold dear and how do monkeys open bananas? After all, they are the experts. I am always on the lookout for a monkey opening a banana whenever we're in Central America. So far no such luck so this morning I did a a little research. Thanks internet. I believe I finally have an answer.

Second shift and One-Legged Pete

Grackles and the one-legged magpie

The grackles were late for breakfast again today. Competition is fierce here at the Bird Park and five or ten minutes late can mean the difference between eating or not especially since the starlings have started showing up. Their specialty is muscling up to the trough. Anyway, I refill things during the brief break after the magpies leave so there was still food when they arrived although there are always a few lingering from the first shift. Notice the magpie drinking water. That's One-legged Pete. He does pretty good.

Harp Seal in my backyard

Last night's storm left a Harp Seal in my backyard.

Happy 2011 everybody

While I'm waiting for the magpies to finish their breakfast of kibbles, nuts, cheese, soy chips and apples I want to wish everyone happy new year. So happy new year. May all your dreams come true. Dream wisely. Gotta go. Time to restock the buffet for the shift change. The grackles arrive about 7:30. Today they will be getting rice with oil along with kibbles, nuts, grapes and apples all served with a generous helping of guilt as the birds in the Bird Park are enjoying a better new year's breakfast than many people in the world. Life is strange. I hope you feed some birds today too or someone who is hungry. Here's a little something you can do in flick of the wrist magic. Just click the pretty purple icon below and feed a hungry shelter animal.

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Postscript

:( The grackles didn't come today. Too bad. I like them. They have very cool songs. But the little birds are here filling the trees and the starlings came plus, of course, the hip to everything magpies came back for seconds. I swear, they have a sentry posted in one of the trees keeping an eye on the place all day. They don't miss a thing. Oh, and the one-legged magpie came for breakfast this morning. That was nice.


Postpostscript

The grackles just showed up but they are an hour late and the place is totally picked over. It's snowing like crazy and there are lots of birds rummaging in the mounting drifts. At some point, someone will get startled and they'll all fly off for a few minutes and then I'll sweep off the table and restock it with goodies.

Postpostpostscript

It just occurred to me why there are so many birds today. It's not just because of the snow. There are NO CATS. The bastards are staying inside this morning because of the snow.

Local news at 10:33

Today marks the end a three month period during which we've been gone more than we've been home. At the moment I don't feel like I live anywhere in particular but the 7 o'clock magpie will be happy to find the peanuts I scattered around the Bird Park this evening. She is faithful. It will take the others a few days to catch on. Until then, she will have them all to herself.

News travels fast in Bird Land

Everyone knows that birds of a feather flock together but not many people realize what huge gossips birds are. I am over 2000 miles from home and the Bird Park but these guys had my number the minute I hit the beach. What? I should carry a bag of treats wherever I go?

Babette's Lucky Day

This morning about 6 AM the magpies were screaming like hell so I went out to see what all the ruckus was about. Just then Babette (the squirrel formerly known as Bob) came skidding around the corner at top speed, blasted by and dove under the lilac bush, the cat coming behind her like a steely gray ground missile. Babette took advantage of the distraction, did a 180 and shot back to the Bird Park and I chased the fucking cat off in the opposite direction. It clawed its way up and disappeared over the fence and presumable went back to it's own yard. Talk about lucky. The magpies hate cats. This isn't the first time we've double teamed the bastards.

Return of Bob or is he Babette?

I don't have any new photos of little Leo but I hear he is happily nursing at all hours of the night.


But Bob is back and I not only got more photos of him, here's an :11 sec. short of him dining on a tiny sunflower. One thing though. On closer examination, it seems Bob may be a girl.

Bottom of the Barrel

The most recent Bird Park member of note is a fellow named BoB (Bottom of the Barrel). You could say he fell from hell.

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My guess is that BoB, being a feisty little dude with catlike bounce, managed to wiggle out of the talons of a passing hawk, fall from the sky and (luck upon luck) land in the soft dirt of the Bird Park. In any case, I found him chirping his long string of shrill prayers and curses from the woodpile at the top of his voice with excruciating, ear-rending fury. He became deathly still when I lifted the boards. I wish I'd remembered my camera but, for all the anxiety I caused, I tucked a few peanuts in and let him be.

This morning I heard what turned out to again be BoB, or more exactly the sound of his head hitting the locked lid of a barrel from the inside. It would have been BoB's Last Stand because, after clawing and wiggling his way into the barrel, he did not have the leverage to scratch and chew his way back out. Thump THUMP.



At first I didn't know where the sound was coming from. I looked out the window but, seeing only a few birds walking around, I went back to my computer. Thirty seconds later....

THUMP THUMP THUMP...

I leaned to the glass and looked up and down the way. Nothing. I sat back down.

THUMP THUMPTHUMP!!!

I looked again. Again...nothing.

Then, just as I was turning away I saw from the corner of my eye, the bird seed & crow kibble barrel rock wildly back and forth. This time I took my camera.



About 20 minutes after getting poured out of the barrel and scampering under the house, BoB sauntered back out into the Park for a leisurely sip from the pool.

Willy, the first Bird Park squirrel,
making the most of his brief tenure.

I don't know what happened to Willy but I do know that this is not the best place for fat little guys without wings. Even the cats are potential hawk snacks, the gods forbid. Those bastards better stay sharp. As we know, everybody is food for somebody.

Stardate -312451.7040525113, Bird Park update

I have a terrible habit of rewriting posts after I publish them. I had to start this one just to pull myself off of the last. No wonder a novel takes years. And while I'm on the subject, thanks to those who responded to my mumblings about needing readers for my "manuscript" though, to be accurate, I was more thinking out loud than recruiting. I am not anywhere near letting other people read that gaggle of words, but I will keep your generous offers in mind should I ever manage to develop the thing past blobhood. I find it invaluable to hear my writing through different ears.

In other news, Mr. Lee saw Baby Q. and his parents yesterday. That's the little fellow who nearly drown about a week ago. I guess he can now fly now. Wonderful. There is a young quail couple in the park as I write this but I don't see a baby with them. I hope he's still okay. It's a treat having a family around as quail don't hang out in the Bird Park much during July. Seems this place is more their spring fling single's bar than nursery. A huge group mixes it up here then but disappear when things get serious. Too bad. Quail are the most fun to watch.


But, even without them, the Bird Park is plenty busy. There's the chummy pool party pigeon set, nimble melodious red wing blackbirds, shrewd daring starlings, tiny cute sparrows, hilariously cantankerous finches, sundry drop-ins and lots of swank skiddish magpie and a big family of noisy spindle-legged juvenile crows, plus mom and maybe dad, who are very cool in an edgy kind of way. The young ones hop and dash after their parents chortling and squawking for handouts and, when they get the brush, chase each other. Crows are smart and long-lived so I'm thinking the parents are probably card carrying members of the Park scene. Makes sense as they are unusually tolerant of me, sometimes simply hoping up on the fence when I come out. One fellow in particular greets me with a lot of sweet talk. It doesn't take much to get a treat and he knows it.

The biggest change is that Snooky, the scrawny blue-eyed Siamese who recently adopted our next door neighbor Dwayne, has claimed the lonely shade of the quail's abandoned lilac bushes bar as her own. She's not a punk like the two little gangstas who hunt here but try telling that to the birds. She chills the mood. Snooky appeared this spring after Clarance the Bastard (and I mean Bastard with the greatest affection) died in his arms. And Dwayne is dying so what should I do? Chase off his one bright light in a smoke gray twilight? Snooky is welcome.

Stardate calculator

Harvey Pekar, RIP

RIP Harvey Pekar

Thanks for the memories. You're right. It matters anyway.

So... I dedicate today's inane Bird Park video to you. Baby crow had a good morning. In case you're wondering, the baby in this clip is the one flapping his wings and chasing after his mother with an open mouth. So whatever death is, I hope you had a good morning too.

Saving Baby Q.

Remember those two quail families I wrote about the other day? There were some 15 babies between them. Well, all but one of the babies have disappeared. I don't blame the cats. They are following their nature but I am sad for the quail. They are innocent, really fun to watch and defenseless. I am, however, disgusted with our lazy, irresponsible neighbors. They could at least put bells on their little fat ass lions. WTF?


Anyway, Baby Q. is the only quail baby in the Bird Park right now and he had a near fatal accident the other day while walking on the edge of pool but, in the end, it turned out okay.

Police report

“Dogs believe they are human. Cats believe they are gods.” -Unknown

Again with the cats. This morning I chased two lunkers out of the Bird Park where they were hunkered down in Old Man Hills, planning their next kill. I was surprised... a) by how fat they are and... b) their flash response to my growls. The bastards were up and over the fence in a flat two seconds. It was a magpie who alerted me to their presence. Seems they consider me the Bird Park police.

Nature's little gangsters

The neighbor cats

I chased these guys off the fence again this morning where they sit everyday looking for baby quail, which they eat like popcorn. Bastards. Since I got back from San Antonio yesterday, no sign of the 15 or so babies that were in the Bird Park before I left. I fear the worst.

Babies and Baglady Buddha

Reentry is hard. Extended travel changes the mind. In fact, I don't think you really ever quite change back or want to. I haven't, don't. I didn't leave the country this time but, being gone even a month, I felt pretty detached when I got home and now Mr. Lee is going through it. And he really went feral, I will say that. Reentry takes time. Easy for me to say. I get to go to San Antonio tomorrow for a few days. It's a drag that I am leaving so soon after his return but that's the way it is. And besides, a couple of days alone to sweat it out may do him good. And I will be home Sunday. BTW, he has promised me one last post, a follow-up and recap of his travels, so stay tuned. And yes, I am still waiting for some damn photos.


Anyway, the big news is that we have our first two families of quail babies, just hatched, still rumpled and fuzzy, just....just out of the egg. They are out running around as I write this and too cute for words so here are some blurry photos instead. More to come, unless (and until) the neighborhood cats eat them. These little guys are like popcorn to those bastards. If you have a cat, for god's sake, put bells on 'em. They kill everything in the vicinity, just because they can. By the way, those are not weeds you see in the photos. It's a wildlife corridor/cat baffle for the quail. And besides the quail, there are a couple of very noisy magpie babies and some young 'un crows in the neighborhood, all somewhere in their terrible twos (months) that squawk all day long. But I love it. It a bit of jungle here in the desert.


It just occurred to me I am very in the rears with photos myself. I haven't even posted anything from the Reno Spoken Word event I read at a couple of weeks ago. So here's one and a promise for more, redeemable at your local Language Barrier outpost trading company store sometime in the future. I call her the Baglady Buddha. Is that disrespectful? Would the Buddha mind? No mind.


WTF? What the hell back hand, left hand mudra is that, Baglady Buddha?

Local news at 6:45

The magpies had to fight the wind to land in the Bird Park this morning. A storm is blowing in. Mr. Lee is ecstatic but he's a ski bum. The birds are not happy. At the moment one just jumped into the middle of the yarrow bush and tucked a tasty nugget there. Hope she remembers. The wind is blowing with such force, she is having trouble navigating even on the ground. Carson Valley is famous for its wind anyway. It blasts over the Sierra with such force that, even on sunny summer days, the currents offer world class conditions for glider planes. It's not so good for cyclists, runners, riders, hikers or anyone else in it. Makes even a walk to the mailbox an uphill trek both ways.

The magpies are still busy stashing food for the upcoming storm. I have been feeding them cheap small dog kibble lately. They seem to like it okay and I like it because it's cheaper than peanuts and not messy. Peanuts are problematic. It's the shells. I go in cycles. Sometimes I shell them, sometimes the birds do. When I toss out whole peanuts these days, I do less. That way, competition remains high and the birds fly off to guard their treasure, thus shelling them, you know, elsewhere. Does that make me a horrible person?

Just got back from Tonopah. Great weekend but I didn't take many photos this trip but I will post some soon.

Sunday morning coming round

The magpies weren't so sure about having sesame balls for breakfast this morning. I don't blame them. Sesame balls are greasy little gut bombs that sit in the stomach like a boat's anchor, not a high energy breakfast that gets you up and going. And then I scared them off anyway fiddling with my video camera. Crap. I consider myself the friend of all wild creatures but I am the one who usually scares them off with my enthusiasm.