Friday, June 30, 2006
A Hamilton Update
I forgot put in Hamilton's entry his sweet and delicate bird-cry of a meow and what a surprise it is coming from such a monstrous cat. He is taking his daily morning imprisonment very well overall.
A Cardinal Update
There are two cardinal babies. Both sport the charming, young-cardinal mohawk; one's beak has become orange, but the other's is still dark. They have the patchy coloring and sticky-outy feathers of the young and they come to the feeders daily. Afternoon seems to be time for the junior set at the feeders; I just saw both cardinals, the titmice pair, and our young little scrub jay all snacking and hanging about convivially.
7.5.2006: No, there are three cardinal babies! There are two with bills not yet turned; one has a striking orange mohawk, and the other's is brown. Saw them all yesterday at the feeder. Yeah, baby!
7.5.2006: No, there are three cardinal babies! There are two with bills not yet turned; one has a striking orange mohawk, and the other's is brown. Saw them all yesterday at the feeder. Yeah, baby!
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Scorpion #5, 2006; and The Crazy Mantis
Scorpion #5, June 29, 8pm or so:
Inside the front door, sort of tucked between the door trim and the wall. Another one that sort of made me sad; he was just sitting there. He was trying to hide. Hugh tries hard to convince me that its mere presence in our house is not acceptable...but that argument doesn't entirely negate my feelings of remorse.
The Crazy Mantis:
Wednesday night, out back watering, I spotted a little green mantis on the rock near Rosa Winchester Cathedral (a potted rose). It was just going around and around in circles! We decided it must be newly b0rn. It was very green, very short, and very plump. When Hamilton moved into the area to drink some of the water overflowing from the rose pot, I moved the little mantis into a protected area. I took photos but they didn't come out very well, as it was dusk.
Inside the front door, sort of tucked between the door trim and the wall. Another one that sort of made me sad; he was just sitting there. He was trying to hide. Hugh tries hard to convince me that its mere presence in our house is not acceptable...but that argument doesn't entirely negate my feelings of remorse.
The Crazy Mantis:
Wednesday night, out back watering, I spotted a little green mantis on the rock near Rosa Winchester Cathedral (a potted rose). It was just going around and around in circles! We decided it must be newly b0rn. It was very green, very short, and very plump. When Hamilton moved into the area to drink some of the water overflowing from the rose pot, I moved the little mantis into a protected area. I took photos but they didn't come out very well, as it was dusk.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
My Very Special Spotted Bug is Famous Now!
I can hardly believe it but my very special spotted bug, which I now know is an Ironclad Beetle (see The Gorey Beetle), has made it onto the What's That Bug website! I feel so honored. Special thanks to Jen who introduced me to the site and to Carolyn B who said on Friday, "Your bug is better than (or maybe she said "as good as") those--you email him!"
p.s. I am practically famous now. Or at least my bug is.
p.s. I am practically famous now. Or at least my bug is.
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Mr Fritz's Summer Outfit
I tamed Fritz from the wild, you know (I am fond of saying this). And just look at him now, lying in the lap of luxury.
Fritz, also known as Frito Pie and Mr Loud, is the other cat that came with the house. For the first several months, we'd see him every three weeks or so, when he'd come to eat voraciously from the bowl of food we'd leave for him on the front porch, and he'd run away when he saw us. I worried what he'd do when winter came (though as this is Texas, winter is not usually very life-threatening, as it is in, say, Norway). Gradually, as we spent time outside, he'd venture nearer, eventually climbing into a lap now and then. As the months passed, he started coming inside on a regular basis and next thing we knew, he was one of Our Cats.
He has the thickest, most luxurious short fur I've ever felt on a cat, which gives him a curiously stout and padded look, though he's actually quite small. I found myself saying things like This sweater makes me look like Fritz, and I began to notice a certain type of short-necked, square-jawed person who also brought him to mind. But this spring he suddenly shed his thick coat and began sporting what I call his summer outfit, in which one can see his true diminutive size. It's funny; I don't remember him doing this last year, which was a deeply, miserably hot summer.
The "Mr Loud" nickname is quite self-explanatory, but I do also happen to have a drawing I made of this side of his personality. I'll round that up and post it....
Fritz, also known as Frito Pie and Mr Loud, is the other cat that came with the house. For the first several months, we'd see him every three weeks or so, when he'd come to eat voraciously from the bowl of food we'd leave for him on the front porch, and he'd run away when he saw us. I worried what he'd do when winter came (though as this is Texas, winter is not usually very life-threatening, as it is in, say, Norway). Gradually, as we spent time outside, he'd venture nearer, eventually climbing into a lap now and then. As the months passed, he started coming inside on a regular basis and next thing we knew, he was one of Our Cats.
He has the thickest, most luxurious short fur I've ever felt on a cat, which gives him a curiously stout and padded look, though he's actually quite small. I found myself saying things like This sweater makes me look like Fritz, and I began to notice a certain type of short-necked, square-jawed person who also brought him to mind. But this spring he suddenly shed his thick coat and began sporting what I call his summer outfit, in which one can see his true diminutive size. It's funny; I don't remember him doing this last year, which was a deeply, miserably hot summer.
The "Mr Loud" nickname is quite self-explanatory, but I do also happen to have a drawing I made of this side of his personality. I'll round that up and post it....
Friday, June 23, 2006
Antvasion! and the Walking Stick in My WIne, and What is Biting Me?! (The Story of the Jeep)
It is prime insect season at the cabin. Even as I write this, there is a crazed spider running up and down the wall in front of me. It is very confused about exactly where it wants to go.
In addition to the masses of ants in the sink, whom this year do not seem repelled by the fresh mint and so are giving us all kinds of Kodak moments for filming for our epic picture Antvasion!, the other night a walking stick fell into my wine where it innocently resided on my bedside table. We do not know why I, undisgusted by anything other than rats and giant cockroaches, are so unsettled by walking sticks, but I am. I think it's because you cannot see their heads. That is, they appear not to have them, because that would make them look like not a stick and that would ruin the point, now, wouldn't it. I bravely plucked him out of my wine, though, and with barely a shudder got him out the back door and onto the porch.
The other primary insect action right now is whatever is biting me at night. I wake up every day with a new bite in a new place. Of course the first thought is always that it's a brown recluse, and one waits anxiously for a couple of hours for the necrosis to begin; thankfully, it never does. But because of this, 2 weeks ago on Saturday when I woke up with bite just under a pink and swollen left eye, I immediately wanted a Benadryl, though they completely send me into a stupor. I could not go get one myself, as I was pinned to the bed by cats, so I asked my darling husband if he could be so kind as to get one for me. He did. It was the wrong kind, the blue sinus type. I asked for another, hoping for a pink, non-capsule type that is easy to break in half. He came back with a pink capsule one , at which point I said to hell with it, I will take the whole dang thing. So I did.
Which is, I believe, the reason that when we left the recycling center that afternoon on the way to brunch, I backed our jeep into a telephone pole. Or, as my friend K would say, a telephone pole leaped out and attacked me. I managed to hit it at the juncture of four—not one, not two, but four—different car parts: taillight, right rear panel, liftback, and bumper. Oh, and possibly more damage under the bumper, according to the guy at the body shop. We proceeded on to brunch and then took me home where sadly and
druggedly I fell into a deep 3-hour sleep. Two weeks later, you can still see the bite mark under my eye.
In addition to the masses of ants in the sink, whom this year do not seem repelled by the fresh mint and so are giving us all kinds of Kodak moments for filming for our epic picture Antvasion!, the other night a walking stick fell into my wine where it innocently resided on my bedside table. We do not know why I, undisgusted by anything other than rats and giant cockroaches, are so unsettled by walking sticks, but I am. I think it's because you cannot see their heads. That is, they appear not to have them, because that would make them look like not a stick and that would ruin the point, now, wouldn't it. I bravely plucked him out of my wine, though, and with barely a shudder got him out the back door and onto the porch.
The other primary insect action right now is whatever is biting me at night. I wake up every day with a new bite in a new place. Of course the first thought is always that it's a brown recluse, and one waits anxiously for a couple of hours for the necrosis to begin; thankfully, it never does. But because of this, 2 weeks ago on Saturday when I woke up with bite just under a pink and swollen left eye, I immediately wanted a Benadryl, though they completely send me into a stupor. I could not go get one myself, as I was pinned to the bed by cats, so I asked my darling husband if he could be so kind as to get one for me. He did. It was the wrong kind, the blue sinus type. I asked for another, hoping for a pink, non-capsule type that is easy to break in half. He came back with a pink capsule one , at which point I said to hell with it, I will take the whole dang thing. So I did.
Which is, I believe, the reason that when we left the recycling center that afternoon on the way to brunch, I backed our jeep into a telephone pole. Or, as my friend K would say, a telephone pole leaped out and attacked me. I managed to hit it at the juncture of four—not one, not two, but four—different car parts: taillight, right rear panel, liftback, and bumper. Oh, and possibly more damage under the bumper, according to the guy at the body shop. We proceeded on to brunch and then took me home where sadly and
druggedly I fell into a deep 3-hour sleep. Two weeks later, you can still see the bite mark under my eye.
Hamilton the Best-smelling Cat and His Asthma
Hamilton and Fritz came to us with our house. Laurie, the wife of the selling couple, had said to me when we were viewing it for the second time,"So, we think we're going to leave the cats with the house." I responded along the lines of That's okay, I love cats!, never dreaming that she meant it (how could anyone leave their cats?!). But we moved in with 2 cats and 3 dogs and found 2 other cats already in residence.
Hamilton the Giant weighs fifteen pounds and it's all muscle. He is the biggest cat I have ever known, and the best-smelling one; he smells like cedar and outside and fresh air with just the tiniest hint of smokiness. He seems to have allergies and gets very asthmatically wheezy at times. He is also Death On Paws to birds, and we have a special morning regime because of him. I get up at 5:30 or so, before dawn, and read for a bit, till Ham and Fritz appear at the door to come inside for breakfast. Then Fritz (Mr Loud) is allowed to go back out, because though he chases after the occasional bird, he never seems to actually catch one (and also because he will sit at the door and endlessly, loudly meow if not let out; hence his nickname). Hamilton is kept inside, but put out of the bedroom, because otherwise he starts to eye Loretta's food and she gets very noisily growly at him. Usually this is about the time that dogs start deciding that they, too, must go out as well, and they don't usually coordinate with the cats, so there's a little bit more traffic through the bedroom till finally I manage to snooze for another hour or so before getting up to go to work. Ham is kept in until after noon, when the birds are done with their heavy morning activity and seem more alert to cats. So far this strategy has been successful.
Hamilton the Giant weighs fifteen pounds and it's all muscle. He is the biggest cat I have ever known, and the best-smelling one; he smells like cedar and outside and fresh air with just the tiniest hint of smokiness. He seems to have allergies and gets very asthmatically wheezy at times. He is also Death On Paws to birds, and we have a special morning regime because of him. I get up at 5:30 or so, before dawn, and read for a bit, till Ham and Fritz appear at the door to come inside for breakfast. Then Fritz (Mr Loud) is allowed to go back out, because though he chases after the occasional bird, he never seems to actually catch one (and also because he will sit at the door and endlessly, loudly meow if not let out; hence his nickname). Hamilton is kept inside, but put out of the bedroom, because otherwise he starts to eye Loretta's food and she gets very noisily growly at him. Usually this is about the time that dogs start deciding that they, too, must go out as well, and they don't usually coordinate with the cats, so there's a little bit more traffic through the bedroom till finally I manage to snooze for another hour or so before getting up to go to work. Ham is kept in until after noon, when the birds are done with their heavy morning activity and seem more alert to cats. So far this strategy has been successful.
All the Other Pretty Birds
Bird babies at the cabin this year other than the cardinal and woodpeckers:
- Two titmice
- Finches—hard to tell, because they're all so small, but I think there are many, as the ranks seem to have doubled lately
- Hummingbirds—ditto the above
- At least two scrub jays
- Possibly a Scott's oriole, but may be wishful thinking
- Two Zenaida doves
- A bluejay
Friday, June 16, 2006
Bunnies in the Meat Case
I felt weird and sad tonight, and thought of Bobby the Bunny, when I saw plastic bags in the meat case at Central Market that were labeled "Whole Rabbits." I had to look away.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Hamilton Pool Road is not a highway!
My bumper stickers came today! I am terribly excited even though H has revealed to me that he is not, because he thinks that Hamilton Pool Road IS a highway. My feeling is that it doesn't matter whether it really is or not....the sentiment is more about what we want it to be.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Baby Cardie is Alive!
I suppose it could be any baby cardinal, but we like to think it's ours, the one from the back porch who so mysteriously was not ever seen at the nest. But now he or she and Mr Cardie are flying around, sitting at the feeder together, Dad tenderly feeding him/her sunflower seeds, looking out for him/her, protecting him/her from the scrub jays and Zenaida doves and house finches. We're rather pleased that our weeks of aural agony when Mr Loud was imprisoned in the house were not for naught after all.
An Alternate Alternate Woodie and Where One of Them Sleeps
There are TWO Alternate Woodies! Saturday night as I gloamed alone on the patio, while H slaved away at his computer inside, as I watched Alternate Woodie who was shyly perched in his Woodie alternate tree, suddenly another Alternate Woodie—same darkish, unformed coloring—appeared beside me in the main Woodie tree. AW1 flew right over to the main tree too; AW2 flew away toward the back of the house; and AW1 then flew to tree #3 off to the right, which is pretty close and from which he could presumably still keep an eye on the main tree.
But presumably they are from the same nest—so who gets the tree? Do they share sometimes? And where have mum and dad gone? They seem to have disappeared, which is what happened last year when the first Young Woodie was born; for a while we'd see the little family group sitting together, then suddenly it was Young Woodie alone.
The tree, by the way, an arthritic old oak at the edge of our patio, is rife with holes. At dusk Alternate Woodie flies over, hops and peers around for a while to make sure it's safe, and then ducks down into this year's hole, where we think he beds down for the night, even though my Aunt Dorothy commented that birds don't live in nests when they're not having babies. Perhaps that doesn't apply to golden-fronted woodpeckers. It's quite sweet.
But presumably they are from the same nest—so who gets the tree? Do they share sometimes? And where have mum and dad gone? They seem to have disappeared, which is what happened last year when the first Young Woodie was born; for a while we'd see the little family group sitting together, then suddenly it was Young Woodie alone.
The tree, by the way, an arthritic old oak at the edge of our patio, is rife with holes. At dusk Alternate Woodie flies over, hops and peers around for a while to make sure it's safe, and then ducks down into this year's hole, where we think he beds down for the night, even though my Aunt Dorothy commented that birds don't live in nests when they're not having babies. Perhaps that doesn't apply to golden-fronted woodpeckers. It's quite sweet.
Friday, June 09, 2006
The Gorey Beetle
First seen and documented last year on the steps; last night we found him on the patio.
Later that evening: I just had the brilliant idea of digging up last year's photo to match up the dots. If they match exactly, is it the very same beetle, or do all of them have exactly the same pattern?
6.24.06: Finally, I've found the file of last year's bug, and he's not exactly the same. Also, just after composing an email query about him to What's That Bug? in which I stated that I've only ever seen these two, that very evening upon arriving home the first thing I saw was yet another (below), with a rather different zipper-style down his back. Very interesting!
Later that evening: I just had the brilliant idea of digging up last year's photo to match up the dots. If they match exactly, is it the very same beetle, or do all of them have exactly the same pattern?
6.24.06: Finally, I've found the file of last year's bug, and he's not exactly the same. Also, just after composing an email query about him to What's That Bug? in which I stated that I've only ever seen these two, that very evening upon arriving home the first thing I saw was yet another (below), with a rather different zipper-style down his back. Very interesting!
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
He is a He!
The alternate woodie came to the oriole feeder tonight. He's definitely a baby and he's definitely a male; I saw the red dot on the top of his head. He's adorable. I love him.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Scorpion #4, 2006
Ewwwww. I just learned that if you smash a scorpion and then sort of regret it because he was outside on your patio and not even in your house, even though the patio sort of counts as another room, and then in a sad attempt at saving grace you get a plastic tub to save the body because you remember that your friend Megan once asked you to save her a dead scorpion, and then you put the tub on the dining table and forget about it for many days until you want to photograph it for your blog and so you open up the tub again, that it smells just as bad as any dead mammal (only smaller). Who knew?!
The Alternate Woodie
We think our baby woodpecker has been born and is now out and about! I keep seeing a strangely darkish Woodie, who hangs out at the Woodie tree and stays pretty close to home, hanging out in the nearby other tree when we are on the patio too close to the Woodie tree. I am on a mission to capture him on film yet don't wish to scare him, being convinced that he is indeed the Woodie baby and is therefore new to this world and shy. Last night Hamilton the Giant was sitting under the Woodie tree, looking up way too interestedly at the holes therein; I squirted him with the hose and hope I've taught him a permanent lesson, though of course I haven't, as his brain is the size of a walnut and he will have forgotten his soaking about 5 minutes after receiving it. Bah.
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