Fox in the Box

We've all joked about children getting presents when they are younger and quickly grow tired of the toy and spend more time playing with the box that the toy came in.  And it's true.  I've always loved boxes.  It was so much fun as a child when my parents got a new appliance like a refrigerator or washer or dryer.  Those boxes were fun!  We made forts out of them, spaceships, race cars.  A child's imagination could run wild with what you could do with an ordinary box.

As it turns out, when I grew up, I never outgrew my love of boxes.  When we make a new purchase, I put the empty boxes up in the attic because, "that's a good box and it'll come in useful one day."  The other day, Tricia ordered a new crock pot.  When we have 'dinner on the ground' at church, it is so doggone handy to have a crock pot to bring your offering to the fellowship hall, plug it in to keep the food warm, and place on the serving line.

That new purchase meant we have a new box.  But we have so many boxes already.  Tricia placed the empty box outside in the garage to put in the trash can.  But now we can't possibly throw it away.  Why, you may ask, can't we throw it away?

Because Ginger, the cat, has adopted the box as her new home.

Instead of the cat in the hat, I call her the fox in the box. 

Each day, she's in her box where she naps in solitude, in safety, in security, tucked away out of sight.  And it's a good thing that she's not out patrolling around because just outside the garage door on the patio, there is and adventure taking place.  Like Marlin Perkins on Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom, there is the hunter and the prey.

Let's take a look.  Can you spot that bird on top of the patio chair?

That's a Carolina Wren and she's got food in her mouth.  She's bringing bugs to feed her two babies that are in the planter behind the ivy plant.  We watched as she repeatedly fed them.  The babies were big, almost full grown.  The Carolina Wren was mighty brave, trying to raise her young in a nest at ground level instead of in a tree.  A ground level nest provides zero protection for her or her two babies from the huntress.  But she is a really wise wren, and she surveilles the area, not giving away the location of her babies until she is absolutely sure that there is no danger.  Then she swoops in and brings a breakfast of bugs to two open mouthed baby birds.

We were worried about the mama wren and her babies.  But the babies grew up quickly on their diet of bugs and apparently flew out of the nest for they were gone today.  They owe their lives to the fact that the carnivorous cat was otherwise preoccupied with cat-napping in the cardboard crock pot box.

A Requiem For The Blue Jay

In the last post we showed how we rescued a hummingbird from certain death.  Not all heroes wear capes.  In this post, we show that not all stories have happy endings.  We solemnly eulogize Mr. Blue Jay.  DOA March 25, 2022.

Mr. Jay, you flew so proud,
Your flights were strategic and your shrieks were loud,

A backyard bully, you swooped and taunted,

You courted mates, your skills were vaunted.

But on that fateful day you met our cat,

She pounced, you dropped,

And that was that.

Your remains were deposited on our door mat.

Alas, you lie on cold, hard stone,
Your eyes are closed, your last flight flown,

In your dress blues, you wear whilst dead,

A tufted feather upon your head,

The sky was the domain you ruled,

Your prowess was certain,

You could not be fooled.

Your strength was unrivaled,
You were regal and fat,
But you met your match when you met our cat.

Rest in peace, Mr. Blue Jay.

A Hopeful Beginning - A Tragic End

On April 22nd we discovered a nest in our blueberry bush.  Almost every year we find a song bird's nest in a bush right around the house and we follow it from the time the eggs are laid until the babies leave the nest.

The nest -2020

The nest was constructed with care.  It had a strong outer nest made with live oak twigs and an inner lining fashioned with hay and grasses woven to make soft bedding for the baby birds that would be coming.  Three blue eggs that were speckled with brown spots were laid in the nest.  Momma bird flew off to eat and I peeked in.

A few days later, things started to happen.  The first baby chick hatched out of the egg.  So tiny and so newly hatched, the chick was still curved into the shape of the egg.

After a few days, three ugly chicks were out of the egg, clamoring for momma bird to bring some worms or bugs or something to eat!

Every time I checked in on them, they seemed to be all peach fuzz and mouths wide open...

I'm not sure what type of bird this is, but here is a photo of the momma bird sitting on her nest.  She would squawk at me when I got near, so I backed up and zoomed in and got a picture of her.  Know what kind of bird this is?

A few days later, I looked in to find only two birds in the nest.  I don't know what happened to the third baby.  The two remaining looked to be growing.  The peach fuzz was almost gone and you can just see the tiny pin feathers on their small bodies.

Over the course of the next week, we weathered a few rough storms with lots of rain and wind.  From a distance I could see that the momma was sitting on the nest, keeping her two babies warm and dry.

The next time the weather cleared, I checked in on our little bird family.  With dismay, I found the nest was empty, and it was laying on its side.  The parts of the nest that were once so impeccably built and cared for were now askew .  There was no trace of the baby birds.  There was no warning squawk from the momma.  Just silence.

I was sad.  The momma bird had worked so hard, done all the right things, shown care and compassion, nurtured here offspring, and yet...  The promising start was full of hope and potential.  The results were discouraging and tragic.  I still am not sure what happened.  If I was a betting man, I would put my money right here.

Ginger would be the primary suspect.  I can't prove beyond a reasonable doubt that she did it, so at this point charges will not be brought against her.

I looked it up on the Internet and found that most song birds only nest one time per year, so this just makes it even more tragic for the momma bird.  A whole year lost!  But I bet she'll try again next spring!  Just in a better spot!  There is a parable there, I think, for humans.  Even in the midst of trouble, trial, and tragedy, we should keep going and not give up.  Persevere.  Persist.  Push on!

Let us not lose heart in doing good, for in due time we will reap if we do not grow weary.
Galatians 6:9

A Mother's Love

In addition to having fresh food and enjoying a pastoral life, having farm animals allows you the opportunity to constantly see up close, the circle of life.  From birth to death, cradle to grave.  Every day is a parable, a teachable moment.  You see the joy (and pain) of birth.  You see the sadness and sometimes brutality of death.  You see the gentleness of a mother to her offspring.  Even in a first-time mother, instincts take over.  This occurs not only in farm animals, but others as well.

Yesterday afternoon I witnessed an event that was a day too late, but despite their motherly instincts, wild, uncivilized animals don't celebrate Mother's Day.  I've recently set up the portable electric fencing in our 3 acre pasture.  Each day I rotate the cows and goats into another paddock for grazing.  I'll probably post about it more once the grass really comes in strong.

Anyway, as I was walking toward the western perimeter fencing, I became aware of a bird on the ground trying to catch my attention.  Was it hurt?  Then I heard its cry and saw that it was a Killdeer.  A killdeer has long legs, a shrill cry, and runs around on the ground.  They bird was trying to lead me toward the east. 

You can see the killdeer in the center right of the photo running away from me (pardon the poor quality of the photo)

The bird began to drag its wing like it was injured.  It stopped and looked back at me to be sure I was following and then resumed its frantic display.  As much as I tried to keep up with her, she kept running.

Of course I knew the game she was playing.  She was leading me AWAY from something - her nest.  It became a challenge for me to find it.  I simply walked the opposite way that she was leading me and walked around looking on the ground.  Killdeer build their "nests" directly on the ground.  Despite being camouflaged, I was able to find it after a bit of time.  The four eggs were hidden in plain sight!

I looked at the eggs for a moment as the killdeer emphatically tried to get me to leave.  I'm sure she thought I was going to harm her eggs, but of course, I did not.  I quickly walked away, leaving the mother to protect her young.  This little bird will lay her eggs and raise her young, risking her life to save them until they are ready to leave the nest and raise families of their own.  This killdeer's instinct invokes her to run, cry, employ an act of dragging a wing so that a predator would think it was an easy meal - all the while leading away the one would would harm her unborn bird (a clump of yolk and albumin at this point).  Amazing!

If God instilled this self-sacrificing, protective, motherly instinct into a small, dumb bird, how does a highly developed, civilized and functioning human abandon the instinct to nurture, protect, and care for her own flesh and blood?  As I walked back across the pasture in the coolness of the evening, I realized that although we're at the top of the food chain, we can still learn some things from animals.  (I say some things, because some animals EAT their young.)  Only one day after Mother's Day, in the incident I witnessed in the pasture, the killdeer showed me a beautiful illustration of a mother's love.

A Rare Sight Indeed

This Sunday afternoon after church, we loaded up in Benjamin's truck and headed off to my parent's home in Kinder.  It is a 30 mile drive north and west from Jennings.  We like to take the back roads to get there.  As we turned due west on the last leg of the trip, I spotted three white birds standing in a rice field.  They were about 20 yards from the road.  They were so tall, so out of place, I immediately knew what they were - Whooping Cranes!

Whooping Cranes are on the endangered species list.   A quick search on Wikipedia informed me that back in 1941 there were only 23 birds.  Now there are over 800.  The whooping crane is North America's tallest bird, standing well over 4 feet tall, with a wingspan of over 7.5 feet wide.  We pulled over on the side of the road and just watched them for a while until a car drove up from behind us and we had to move on.

The map shows that they breed up in Canada, migrate down to winter on the Texas-Louisiana Gulf coast.  Some stay year-round, though. 

They were on the brink of extinction due to habitat loss, predators, such as bobcats, alligators, and wolves, but mostly because of illegal hunting.  It was great to be able to watch these majestic birds and know that you are looking at 3 of only 800 in the world, but I wanted to tell these guys to pick a more secluded spot.  I don't want them to end up in a gumbo.