Category: Critters

The critters we love and the critters that deserve our love.

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Critters outdoors

Wanderings

The weather has been very dismal lately, but it broke a couple of times, enough to get out for some short walks. Thanksgiving day was one such day, and it was the type of weather I enjoy for walks: cool but not cold, snow on the ground, but not the walks. And not many people out, which suits me, as I haven’t been in the mood for lots of chattering about.

I followed the path into the forested area, enjoying the sun breaking through the clouds. As I walked I could hear crashes all around me as snow came falling out of the taller trees, heated by the new sun. When a fairly solid chunk hit in front of me, I quickly put my camera into its waterproof carrier bag, understanding now why I had the treed area to myself. Other than that, I wasn’t worried about getting hit by the snow–it was too light to do more than send cold trickles of water down my back.

I still managed to grab a few shots, including this one I rather like. More, I also tried out the new Photo Stitch software that comes with the Canon printer to create a semi-panoramic picture, which you can access here. It’s not a true panoramic, because I didn’t have the camera on a tripod to maintain the same height for all pictures, so the software had to do a lot of extrapolation; this results in some blur, but not enough to obscure the scene and show why it’s one of my favorite contemplative retreats. It’s more popular in the summer, but I like the winter view; quiet and gentle and somewhat timeless.

Later that day, I walked through the Botanical Gardens, checking out the Conservatory and the Climatron. Of course, the Climatron, with its warm, moist atmosphere, probably will be out for wanderings the rest of the winter — not unless I get my eyes operated on so I don’t need glasses. The Conservatory was pleasant, but most of the winter flowers are still in bud and won’t be out until about the time of the orchid show.

At the main center the Gardens had created a Christmas room filled with model trains. There were antique trains, and modern ones; a San Franciso trolly car, and even a steamboat. I grabbed a closeup of one of the scenes, and then a larger photo showing the detail in the room. The larger photo is a big file, so you might want to pass on it unless you like model trains.

Yesterday morning I went on a walk at Powder Valley to exercise my ankle, which had been getting stiff from the hikes on uneven ground. I saw one of the bucks, which are a rare sight, and this young man was a beauty — a thin rack, but with several smallish points.

I had passed a father with two little girls earlier and decided to walk back and mention about the buck, to tell the young ladies if they approach quietly, they might be able to see him. After a few feet, I hear this blood curdling scream, and there was one of the girls running through the forest chasing the deer. Another was hanging on one of the trees, pulling at the vines, tromping all over the growth at the side of the “please stay on the walk” conservation area.

I continued approaching the man, smiling and he smiled back. I then proceeded to tell him that this part of Powder has a thick covering of poison ivy in most spots, and even though you can’t see the leaves, the branches of the plant are still coated with the substance that can cause serious allergic reaction. The two young ladies stopped and looked at me, as the man thanked me for telling him this and then turned to his daughters and said, “Did you hear that? You want to be careful.”

(I am visualizing a scene ten years from now when both girls leave for the evening, both stoned out of their minds, ready for as much unprotected sex with strange men as they can get, and the man points to an ad on TV warning against drugs. Did you hear that? You want to be careful.)

Today, though, was not a good day for a walk, being wet in the extreme. When I returned home from errands, I noticed, though, an odd fluff falling down from the tree above. Looking up I saw a sharp legged hawk directly above me, pulling feathers off a finch that it was eating. It would pull a feather and then spit it out into the wind; another feather, another spit, creating a trail of feathers dancing in the breeze.

I ran inside and grabbed my D70 but the battery was dead and I had forgotten to charge both it and the spare. I then grabbed my trusty old 995 and managed to grab one photo before the bird grasped what was left of its prey and flew off. It’s over-exposed, but you can at least see the bird.

He’s a beauty, isn’t he? But how will it work for cat Friday?

Categories
Critters

Cat Friday blogging

It hit me yesterday about noon that what we all really needed was a dose of cat blogging. However, rather than disturb the little princess, otherwise known as Zoe, to take more photos of her, I thought I would go to the zoo and take photos of the big cats.

First up was the exhibit with this fine looking sun bear.

“Where are the cats”, I hollered.

I’m a cat.

“No, you’re a bear.”

I’m a cat. See? I have claws.

“Do you like catnip?”

No

“Do you like to play with mice before you kill and eat them?”

Eat a mouse? Ewwww! Gross! Okay I’m not a cat. But can I ask you something before you go?

“Sure.”

Does this fur make me look fat? Can you see the line of my bikini underwear?

A bit further on, I came across this fine fellow, waiting to have his nose scratched.

“What’s your name, cutie”, I asked, as I stretched out to pat his nose.

Elvis.

“Where are the cats, Elvis?

I’m a cat.

“No, you’re a camel.”

No, I’m a cat. I’m covered with fur, and I have an adorable face.

“But what are those two huge lumps on your back.”

Fur balls. I have lots and lots and lots of fur balls.

“Ewwww! You just grossed me out, Elvis.”

Hee hee hee. See, told you I’m a cat.

From Elvis, I went to the new Penguin and Puffin Exhibit. There I met up with this handsome fellow, diving in and out of the water.

“Hi, I don’t suppose you know where the cats are, do you?”

I’m a cat *splash*

“Wow man, you almost got my camera. And no, you’re not a cat. You’re a penguin.”

Am not. I’m a cat. *splash*

“Geez, you’re going to ruin my camera with your playing. And you’re not a cat.”

Tell me something. Don’t cats like to play?

“Well, yes.”

And don’t they like to destroy things.

“Yes, that’s true. Cats do tend to destroy things.

Isn’t that camera of yours a ‘thing’?

“You got me there. But you’re in water. Cats don’t usually like water.”

I’m special. *splash*

Walking further, I arrived at the Seal display, and spotted this lovely on the rocks.

“Hey, where’s the cats.”

Strike a pose.

“No, that’s not what I asked. I asked where are the cats.”

Strike a pose.

“Oh, never mind.”

Strike a pose.

Eventually, I found the cats, but by this time, most had crawled off to wherever they go for their afternoon naps. Except for the cougar, napping in the sun on a rock near the roof of it’s enclosure.

“Finally, a cat.”

Damn straight, I’m a cat. And I want you to….

Saaaaay. What’s that jumping up and down screeching out ‘Look at me’ next to you? It looks tasty. Like a young pig I had once.

“Well, urh, it’s a child my cougar friend.”

A child, eh? Well, why don’t you take it out of the packaging and slip it into my cage.

I looked at the child, screaming, jumping up and down and yelling out its demands. And for a brief moment…

“Sorry, no can do. I mean, someone somewhere loves this kid.”

Most things are loved by someone, somewhere, lady. But a guy still has to eat.

“That sounds very philosophical.”

Hey, I’m a cat.

And there you have it, my Friday cat blogging post; posted on Saturday, true, but which is about cats, but also somewhat about the world with a little Elvis thrown in.

Categories
Critters

From the Squid Lady, a story

According to this story giant squid now exceed us in biomass in the world. This is born out by the sudden appearance of the Humboldt squid in the Puget Sound and off the waters of Alaska–not these creatures normal hunting territories.

Then there is the story about the giant squid, probably Architeuthis Dux, confirmed in New Zealand, and measuring 12 meters long. That’s close to 40 feet, for the metric challenged. Taller than a four story building.

Since this is Halloween I decided to look to see if I could find a ghost story about giant squids. I didn’t find a story, exactly, but I did find a very interesting weblog writing from May, 2004, that seemed to be looking for the same type of thing. The post provided a link to a wonderful Michael Chabon introduction to Casting the Runes and Other Ghost Stories, and this marvelous quote:

It may be, in fact, that the ghost story, like the dinosaur, is still very much with us, transformed past the point of ready recognition into the feathered thing that we call “the modern short story.” All short stories, in other words, are ghost stories, accounts of visitations and reckonings with the traces of the past. They describe moments when a dark door, long closed, is opened, when a forgotten error is unwittingly repeated, when the fabric of a life is revealed to have been woven from frail and dubious fiber over top of something unknowable and possibly very bad. Were there ever characters in fiction more haunted than Chekhov’s or Joyce’s by ghosts?

All short stories are ghost stories, because they all reflect, in some ways ghosts from our past. Isn’t that lovely?

Comments to the post in the weblog (Wired Mesh ) led to this giant squid song lyrics — which will have to do for Halloween, and giant squids:

I Crush Everything

I lie below, you float above
In the pretty white ships that I’ve been dreaming of
And I’d like to swim beside you
Getting dizzy in your wake
Getting close enough to touch you
Getting brave enough to take you into my arms
And bring you down to be with me

But I can’t do that thing anymore
I can’t be the thing I was before
Maybe I am better off alone
Because I crush everything
And I crush everything
And I crush everything

My body’s strong, but my will is weak
I got pretty nice arms, but I hate my beak
And the dolphins are all phonies
They seem nice enough at first
They pretend to be your friends
Until they see you at your worst and then they leave you
Without a word they swim away

So I can’t do that thing anymore
I can’t be the thing I was before
Maybe I am better off alone
Because I crush everything
And I crush everything
And I crush everything

And everything I want I take
And everything I love I break
And every night I lie awake

Did the stars come out? Did the world spin round?
Does it matter that much when you’re ten miles down?
And in the light that filters down
Into my giant yellow eye
I can see the sails unfolding
Stretching white against the sky and I forgive them
I forgive and I let go

Cause I can’t do that thing anymore
I can’t be the thing I was before
Maybe I am better off alone
Because I crush everything
And I crush everything
And I crush everything

And I crush everything
And I crush everything
And I crush everything

I lie below, you float above
In the pretty white ships that I am dreaming of

Sometimes this weblogging thing works out.

Thanks to Danny and his creepy pumpkins, and others,who have been sending me giant squid stories. They never fail to cheer.

Categories
Critters Just Shelley outdoors Photography

On a wing and a prayer

Someday I’m either going to get shot for trespassing or hit a deer in the dark.

The drive to the wildlife refuge was longer than I expected, and cloud cover cut into the afternoon light. By the time I pulled in, it was too dark and too gray to get any pictures. I did explore and do a little photography along a trail by the edge of the lake. Don’t expect much, though, the light wasn’t good. I’ll have to try another refuge next time, as this one doesn’t allow you to get close enough to the birds for photos.

Close enough to shoot though. On the other side of a stand of trees surrounding the lake was the area where hunters are allowed, and hunting season is in full swing. The sound reminded me of my childhood — walking along the edge of weedy ponds on a cold and gray day with a slight smell of wood smoke in the air and the faint faraway sounds of shotguns and the bay of hunting dogs.

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On the way back home I passed a field and in the sky were hundreds of Canadian Geese circling about preparing to land. They were as thick as starlings and considering their size, you can imagine how impressive it was. I didn’t even pull over, I just stopped on the road and rolled down my window and watched as several V shapes would meet and collide, only to break apart and swirl around each other.

Smart birds. Land in a farmer’s field rather than the shooting gallery waiting for them at the lake.

I used to watch the geese circle for a place to land when I worked for Boeing years ago. We worked in a new building built on former wetland, in an area that formed the new industrial park of Seattle back when Seattle’s fortunes were just beginning to take off. I worked there for a few years and every year, there would be less green and more cement and it would be harder for the migrating geese to find a home.

Finally, all the geese had was a strip of green between two roads not far from where I worked, but my last summer there, they dug up the green and put in rocks and some tasteful evergreens. That Fall, when the geese arrived they circled about and we could hear them but not see them in the drizzle. Their voices became fainter and fainter as they looked for their little strip of land but couldn’t find it.

Luckily today’s geese had no problems.

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There was an old house on the side of the road I’d seen coming down that looked perfect for photographs. The light was right for pictures on the way back, and I wasn’t worried about someone being there because the place looked like no one had lived there for years. I pulled over and grabbed a couple of shots before the door opened, and an old man came out on the porch.

“Can I help you with something?”, he asked and the way he asked it let me know that my answer better be No.

“Sorry, I saw your house from the road, and it was so, uhm, pretty, that I wanted to stop and get a closer look.”

“Well, this is private property Miss. You’ll want to be moving on now.”

“Yes, uh, yes. Sorry.” I jumped in the car and backed out on the road, barely looking to see if anyone was around, all the time being watched by the man on the porch. It was only then that I saw the TV antenna on the old roof.

oldhouse.jpg

Today was my first long trip I’ve taken in some time and I found that I didn’t enjoy it as much as I usually do. I had another road trip planned for the end of the month but all I want to do now is stay home, go for walks in familiar, favorite places, and read.

I’ve been in such a quiet mood lately, and it seems worse tonight. Maybe its a combination of tooth and jaw ache — driving home in the dark on back country roads in the middle of hunting season is asking to hit a deer and I clench my jaw every time one jumps along the side of the road, or you see your lights reflected in their eyes. As much back country driving as I do, its only a matter of time before I hit a deer–they’re as thick as mice in the Missouri countryside.

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I did come close to hitting an animal today, but it wasn’t a deer, and it wasn’t at night.

On Highway 36 heading west I was going along at about 55 with a small white car hanging off my back fender like a burr on a donkey’s ass. It’s never a good idea to tailgate in any circumstance, but its worse in the country because there’s always something in the road.

Sure enough we topped a small rise next to an overpass and I saw a dark four legged figure by the side of the road. I pumped my brakes to warn the car behind me of danger ahead and to get his butt back. Just when I recognized that what I thought was a deer was, instead, a large dog, the dog moved on to the road and just stopped in our lane and looked towards my car. I hit my brakes, hard, and the car behind me ran off the road on to the shoulder to avoid hitting me.

The dog didn’t move, just looked at me with its shoulders hunched and tail hanging limply down. The driver of the other car–all blonde haired, blue eyed 30-something young privileged white mama’s boy of him–was quite agitated but I wasn’t going to run the dog over because he was driving like an idiot. I ignored him. He wasn’t hurt, just inconvenienced, and hopefully given a well deserved lesson. He took off while I was still in the middle of the road, looking at the dog, it looking at me.

When the shoulder was clear of the nuisance, I don’t know why I did it, but I pulled over, put on the emergency lights, got out of the car and called out to the dog, “Here puppy.” Puppy?

The old dog had walked to the other side, but stopped, turned around, and looked at me when he heard me call. Cars would travel between us, but we just stood there looking at each other. It was a very large dog, with grey matted hair that looked as if it was coming loose in patches. It was so thin, you could see its ribs. And its tail stayed hanging down, slight tipped in so that it was almost but not quite between its legs.

I’m not a city-bred girl and I know the dangers of an unknown dog on a back country road. It was a damn foolish thing to stop, and worse to get out of the car. I suppose there was something about its eyes that made me stop. I wondered though what I would do if he did come up to me.

He did this odd little dance, heading towards the hill, and then turning back to the road to face me, then back to the hill, as if he wanted to come to me but he’d been offered that hope before and it always came out false. Eventually he headed up the hill but partway up, he turned around one more time and just looked at me for a moment before disappearing over the top.

As it disappeared, I knew I didn’t do that dog a favor by slamming on my brakes.

duck.jpg

Categories
Critters Places

Sound washing around you

My broadband is out this morning and I came down to Panera Bread (St. Louis Bread Company) for a latte and a small loaf of asagia cheese bread. I’m finding it pleasant to catch up on my weblog reading and email, sipping good coffee from a large, white china mug, and nibbling at my excellent treat. More, I’m enjoying the noise around me as I type away. I miss this by working at home–not the direct interaction with people, which is nice in its own right but is a different thing; the background sounds of people chatting, washing around you like a gentle river.

Yesterday, I spent several hours happily working on the CSS for a couple of different sites, discovering that I really enjoy tweaking and fixing other people’s pages more than my own. So many hours in fact that I was late to get out for my evening walk and had to rush down to the park in the twilight. When I got there, the last people were leaving, carrying flashlights to light their way. It wasn’t so dark that you couldn’t see the path but I cut my walk short to just the one path, and only one lap.

The nice thing about walking in the dark is that all the energy of your mind that’s normally directed to your eyes can get re-directed to your ears and you’re treated to a symphany of night sounds you just don’t hear when the lights are on. Various chirps and breeks and clicks, not to mention rustles of sound in the leaves and the bushes. An occasional something falls down, probably seeds or loose branches. I would never walk at night in the woods on uneven ground, but you’re okay in a park near the city. At least, this park, in this part of the city.

Except for the webs. In the dark you can’t see a newly spun web, and there’s few things worse than walking into a web. I brushed convulsively about me to make sure I had picked up no spiders and hastened my steps as if to get that much further from what is probably a teeny, tiny arachnid.

“Ewww, ewww, ewww, ewww!”

The late night forest sound of a woman running into a spider web in the dark.

Headed back to my car past the pop machines I stopped suddenly when I spotted a large racoon in front of me, it’s back to me as it snooped around looking for dropped food. It reached the end of the machines and turned back, spotting me as it turned. Its reaction was hilarious, as it tensed up and the fur around its neck fluffed out and its eyes popped. If a cartoon bubble had appeared out of nowhere above its heads with the word, “Eeeek!” in it, I wouldn’t have been a surprised. I shouldn’t have laughed, human laughter can be a frightening thing to an animal, but couldn’t help myself it was that funny looking. Scared the poor thing away.

This morning I was going to write about a couple of articles I found on the CBS memos and Iraq, the Missouri voters, and ‘man speak’, but there’s something about sipping a latte in a white china mug, listening to the murmer of happy, active voices around me, all against a background of soft jazz that just makes you want to write about something experiential.

No wonder poets spend so much time in cafes.