Who is that having a breakfast of birdseed with the squirrel? It is Norman, the Norway rat.
Maybe it was all the weekly chips that Mom threw out the back door after her fish and chips, (before we moved in). Maybe it’s all the birdseed I thought I was putting out for the birds. But there was Norman, the Norway rat.
Kind-of-cute, except for his tail. He bounded away like a miniature kangaroo. Hopefully, if we stop feeding him, he will go away.
They are very romantic together; very affectionate.
They go out for a drink. They have some food. They preen themselves and each other; they make love and they spend the rest of the evening together on the telephone line.
They always have dates to go out for a drink together. They have ‘his’ and ‘her’ sides of the bird bath.
Mr. purple finch had a very long, animated and exquisitely beautiful one-sided conversation with his wife while hopping around her on the telephone line.
The perfect dandelion is so large, so yellow, and has a perfectly symmetrical design.
The dandelion that has gone to seed, is an exquisitely spherical orb. A perfectly overlapping design of fluffy seed umbrellas.
The muted brightness of the tulips in the twilight has an almost ethereal glow.
They look like they are from another world.
The man in the yellow helmet in the cherry picker has arrived. I saw him at the neighbours down the street. At first I thought he was working on the hydro lines, but then he started cutting the tree.
I thought, at first, that he was just giving it a trim, but then he kept on going. “He’s going to cut the whole tree down,” my husband said. “No, he can’t do that!” I said.
But then he did. Branch by branch. It was too horrible to watch. It was like something living was being killed. Which it was.
The squirrel was jerking back and forth uncontrollably in the grass. I was really worried about it. Had it got caught in some wire or a line?
I had thrown a thin branch into the grass from the garden and the squirrel was grabbing it and twirling under it and at one point it jumped straight up, at least half a foot, into the air.
And then I understood. It wasn’t caught or hurt. It was having fun.
The starlings are skittish and neurotic, acting like they are part of The Three Stooges; while the common grackle lands far away from the suet and seed, and confidently saunters over like he is inspecting the place and giving it a once over.
The white-throated sparrow made an unexpected visit to the bird feeder today. He appeared with his jaunty striped racing helmet on, looking like he was ready for the Tour de France.
The red-winged blackbirds were noisily playing a game of hide and seek in the bushes by the bay; while the Hungarians were having a friendly contest with the Poles, of ‘who-can-catch-the-most-fish?’ on the other side.