Where the wild things are

I was staring out the window yesterday.  Contemplating.  A little movement in the bush caught my eye and out from the Salal bushes stepped four plump little quail.  The kind with the little hangy-down things on their heads.  Like decorations.  Pretty cute.   

They jigged and bobbed and zagged, feinting right and left but basically they headed right for me,  blindly oblivious to the huge Tyranosaurus-type (me) lurking behind the window.  I could see the whites of their eyes.  And I thought, “Geez, they are small.  I could eat all four of ’em and still go for some sweet-potato pie afterwards.  Maybe some chitlins, corn-pone and poke salad, too.”

No.  I didn’t really. 

Maybe for a sec’. 

I called up to Sal and she watched out the upstairs window while I kept my vigil downstairs.  Strange how fascinating little fat birds can be.  We were there for awhile.

Jack the Raven and Liz, his partner, are back for their regular ‘clean-up’ at the end of every day.  The eagles are back, too.  Making a nest.  Doing what they do.  Chum salmon are jumping all over the damn place.  A regular aquatic gymnastics show sometimes.  But, ya can’t catch ’em.  Need a license.  Plus they aren’t necessarily biting just ’cause they’re jumpin someone told me.  Doesn’t matter.  I couldn’t catch a salmon if there were six in my bathtub.  Just don’t have the ‘touch’.

The other day Sally heard something ‘scary’ in the bushes about a hundred yards from us. 

Megan was sitting down on the dock seemingly frozen in place and Sal called and called but she just wouldn’t budge.  So, ol’ Sal went to Meg.  She was gonna ‘hold a paw’ so that ‘Meg  felt safe and, in that way, the sweetie would come home for dinner.  Poor baby.’

We had no idea why she was ‘stuck’ on the dock, cowering in my boat.  

Sal got her and gently pulled her along until they drew near the aforementioned bushes.  Meg was resistant to say the least.  Then Sally heard it.  There was a screeching roar, a wild yowl of sorts, a sound of pain and threat and imminent danger.  It was also very,very loud.

Meg moved quickly then.  So did Sal.  They both got back to the house in jig time.


Probably nothing.  Maybe a cougar.  Possibly one of those ‘cougar ducks’, the kind that do perfect impressions of large feline predators.  You know the kind?  These are little wood-duck type fowl that can really screech like a cat.  Harmless.  But scary loud.  

That’s what we were thinking, anyway.  Just a duck.  No sense going to look for a duck, is there?  So we stayed home.  Had a cup of tea.  Killed some time over it, too.  Talked about the wonders of wildlife and all.  Meg and Fid were let in.  No sense in disturbing anything too wild, ya know?               

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