Everyone knows I've been feeding our feathered friends outside here in my back yard. So far, I have accrued many good experiences and memories; it seems I'm constantly pumping my fist and shouting, "Yeah!" They come swooping in from everywhere, all the cardinal directions. They stay a while, then they're off. Our feathered friends are a very skittish breed. I have my doubts that they're truly evolved from the dinosaurs, unless dinosaurs were the biggest cowards on four legs!
It's been a lot of fun. I mean, I feel like shouting "Yeah!" right now, because, if truth be told, I've really gotten off on watching them. The dinosaurs somehow got the gift of flight, and they're not afraid to use it. Seriously, they can make a hairpin turn in midair without batting an eye. And the ability to hover -- literally to hover -- in one spot near the feeder is nothing but phenomenal. I can barely stand next to it without getting tipsy and falling over!
I buy feed in 40 pound bags. When I'm carrying it home, necessitating many sit-down breaks on the way, I keep thinking the same awesome truth: What is so extraordinarily hard for me to carry a few miles will be nothing for them, because they're carrying only one grain at a time. They've really taught me an interesting lesson on carrying things. It takes me forever to carry 40 pounds of it, but they rip through it in no time (a month) only carrying the one grain.
Now, though, today, my fun is on a brief hiatus; I hope it's brief. And it's not through anything I did, or attempted to do; it's through the weather, or from the weather. The weather turned off bad. We got literally dumped on with snow. It's everywhere, clinging to the trees, scattered and piled up all over the yard, as far as the eye can see. The branches were drooping ponderously. It reminded me of that magazine Al Bundy used to read, Big-Uns. In fact, the branch that the feeder was hooked to was drooping so far down, thanks to the weight of the snow, that the feeder was literally on the ground! I have since disconnected it till I get it cleaned.
But obviously it hasn't made any difference to our feathered friends, because they have not made an appearance today. I have looked out probably six times and haven't seen hide nor hair of them. They've totally vacated. My first thought, They flew farther south. Then I thought, No, they're just staying cooped up in their nests. Perhaps in their little world all flights have been grounded. All feet on deck, to clean snow out of nests. We ate yesterday, today we work.
It's amazing how similar we are. I had to go out today and clear out the driveway of all this crap. So I know how much work it is. You haven't got time for flying. You haven't even got time for eating. But pretty soon I will get the feeder cleaned out and replenished, because I'm expecting they'll be doubly hungry tomorrow.
I really have this weird feeling, What did our feathered friends do before I started feeding them? How did they ever survive?
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