It’s a lovely Sunday morning in the Valley. The day is clear with a slight breeze, temps in the mid-seventies. The dumb doves seem to be everywhere, who-who-who-whooing to each other, wings slapping loudly as they fight for position in the arbor vitae or engage in their seemingly endless sexual activities. The other morning I watched a female browsing for juuust the right sticks for a hastily made nest. I wonder how many nestings and egg layings they do in the course of a year. Apparently , with all the sexual activity, they just go from one hatch to another. Judging from the many doves we have in our neighborhood they must raise thirty or forty a year. A seldom seen road runner came skulking through our yard a bit ago, but no Wile E. Coyote giving chase. Curious how few coyotes come through our yard anymore. We used to have three large siblings browse through every week or so, but I haven’t seen them for several months. I read an article about a coyote pup that ran headlong into a jumping cholla. Oh, what a mess he found. Jumping cholla, or teddy bear cholla, are an infernal cactus that look as innocent as a teddy bear, but when you inadvertently brush up against one, its little arms seem to jump out at you and attach to foot or leg, and when you try to detach it with hand, it then sinks its little innocent barbs into the hand. And then the other hand when you try to rid yourself of it. The coyote pup would have died a painful death if not for two workers at the golf course that found him. They held him down and used a pair of pliers to extricate the pup, then gave him back to a wary mom. One lucky lad. The other thing curiously absent are the quail families coming and going. We used to see countless parents with as many as twenty little acorn babies scurrying by. But so far, none this year. The road runner couldn’t possibly account for their absence, although they can eat baby quail like popcorn. I haven’t seen the cardinal for a while, but I still hear him sing now and then. And the yellow monarch that hung around for several weeks is now gone. They usually migrate in great social clouds, but this one seemed to be too independent for that. She finally flew the coop north to join her fellow kings and queens, in time to lay her eggs that will hatch and become caterpillars that munch on milkweed before chrysalising to repeat the whole process. Such a nice circle of life. We should all be as lucky as monarchs (both kings and queens as well as flutterbys).
I've always collected errors in diction, things people mis-hear, like "windshield factor" and "the next store neighbors." Years ago, one of my students wrote an essay in which she described the world as being harsh and cruel, "a doggy-dog world." I've since come to think she may have been more astute and accurate than those who describe it in the usual way. My Stories - Mobridge Memories -
Sunday, May 19
Back Yard News
It’s a lovely Sunday morning in the Valley. The day is clear with a slight breeze, temps in the mid-seventies. The dumb doves seem to be everywhere, who-who-who-whooing to each other, wings slapping loudly as they fight for position in the arbor vitae or engage in their seemingly endless sexual activities. The other morning I watched a female browsing for juuust the right sticks for a hastily made nest. I wonder how many nestings and egg layings they do in the course of a year. Apparently , with all the sexual activity, they just go from one hatch to another. Judging from the many doves we have in our neighborhood they must raise thirty or forty a year. A seldom seen road runner came skulking through our yard a bit ago, but no Wile E. Coyote giving chase. Curious how few coyotes come through our yard anymore. We used to have three large siblings browse through every week or so, but I haven’t seen them for several months. I read an article about a coyote pup that ran headlong into a jumping cholla. Oh, what a mess he found. Jumping cholla, or teddy bear cholla, are an infernal cactus that look as innocent as a teddy bear, but when you inadvertently brush up against one, its little arms seem to jump out at you and attach to foot or leg, and when you try to detach it with hand, it then sinks its little innocent barbs into the hand. And then the other hand when you try to rid yourself of it. The coyote pup would have died a painful death if not for two workers at the golf course that found him. They held him down and used a pair of pliers to extricate the pup, then gave him back to a wary mom. One lucky lad. The other thing curiously absent are the quail families coming and going. We used to see countless parents with as many as twenty little acorn babies scurrying by. But so far, none this year. The road runner couldn’t possibly account for their absence, although they can eat baby quail like popcorn. I haven’t seen the cardinal for a while, but I still hear him sing now and then. And the yellow monarch that hung around for several weeks is now gone. They usually migrate in great social clouds, but this one seemed to be too independent for that. She finally flew the coop north to join her fellow kings and queens, in time to lay her eggs that will hatch and become caterpillars that munch on milkweed before chrysalising to repeat the whole process. Such a nice circle of life. We should all be as lucky as monarchs (both kings and queens as well as flutterbys).
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