We had a squirrel incident in the back yard in suburbia this last week. Somehow, three baby squirrels had fallen from their nest high in the cypress tree on a cold and rainy night. The mother was whistling for them, but the little things must have been too dazed to move. Queequeg found them for us, and before he could do what dogs do, Libby put him in the house then retrieved the half-drowned squirrel pups and put them on a soft towel in a box in our garage. She didn’t think they would live, but by morning, they were, quite literally, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. When she let them out under the cypress, two darted right up the tree to mama. Another made for the tall ivy by the fence. But it was then that she found the fourth one, flat on the ground and soaking from being exposed outside all night. She put the barely moving thing in the box and put it in the garage again. She called me at work and told me I would probably find a dead squirrel when I got home. Instead I found yet another bright-eyed and bushy-tailed baby squirrel in the box, and when I let it out, it ran under our new porch. Later I saw it on the porch, surveying the yard. I think the family is reunited now.
If I had to count on one hand the most formative experiences of my life (that I’m conscious of, anyway), one of them would be those idyllic boyhood summers on my grandparents’ farm in Kentucky. I still have an aunt living near there, but I don’t think I’ve been back to Kentucky in fifteen years. That may change soon. My mother is moving there from St. Louis. I understand I’ve already been recruited to move her possessions (though not with Prolechariot but with a big rental truck). So it looks like I’ll be making some visits there in the years to come. Of course I’ll have to visit all of the old spots I saw as a wee lad, and I’m sure half will be changed while the other half will be gone. It will still be good to reconnect.
International Rock-Flipping Day was another hit. If you haven’t gone over to the coordinating blog to see the links to all of the participants, give yourself a treat. There is also a Flickr pool of pix you might enjoy.
The submission deadline for the next edition of the Festival of the Trees at local ecologist has been extended until tomorrow evening, September 28. Send your tree-ish links to Georgia at info (at) local ecology (dot) org, or use the handy contact form.
Every time I see a mourning dove at the backyard feeder, I always think it is a female. I know that can’t be true each time. Among the birds of my acquaintance, these are among the least distinctive between male and female, and also among the birds of my acquaintance, these are among the most “feminine” looking, so my initial reaction makes a kind of sense.
- White pelicans congregate at Squaw Creek and Swan Lake National Wildlife refuges through mid-October.