Snidely Whiplash

For the past weeks, I've been held captive in our house.

Extreme heat and gypsy moth caterpillars (I'm talking millions of the little beggars) have made it extremely unpleasant to be outside, never mind digging in the dirt. Gardening has become simply the ongoing plucking of caterpillars off my shrubs.

Hence, my preference for staying indoors. The time spent in the sunroom has turned my perspective to just what is visible from that room but what a world of life goes on out there.

Is it my imagination or are the squirrels healthier this year? Whatever has brought on this year of plenty makes their coats lustrous and created a visible playfulness amongst them. They aren't skittish this year, remaining above me on tree trunks or fences as I water, rather than running away. As I type, one is sitting on the fence looking me square in the eyes, as though he (she) would like to have a word with me.

In this heat, the bird bath plays a key role. All creatures visit throughout the day either stopping for a quick drink or standing right in for an all-out bath experience. I particularly like watching the robins bathing routine. They are thorough in their ablutions with feathers flapping in an orderly fashion until they deem themselves clean.

One day, as I watched, a starling appeared, bullying the robin from the bath. The starlings have also sent our finches elsewhere by their bullying behaviour at the feeders. 

Watching that black, shiny bird with its beady little eyes use whatever power it exerts (it is no larger than a robin) to send the robin off reminded me of a character from my childhood. The starling turned into Snidely Whiplash, pulling on his mustache below his beady eyes after kidnapping beautiful Nell for no other reason than to be evil.

Better watch out starlings. Dudley is on his way.

It's been a while.

I have to thank the garden for hours of joyous work throughout the past weeks. Everything else has been neglected in my desire to get my hands in the dirt each morning. My exercise routine has become spotty. Walks have all but disappeared from daily life. Housework? What's that? Meals are planned for their easy preparation. The gardens trump all. 

So, today, with the last of my seedlings now in the ground and the temperature cool, I was pretty pleased with myself with the decision to head down for my waterfront walk. As physical as my gardening has been, my muscles weren't overly happy to walk this distance.

When I arrived at the third pier, I decided to sit on the old iron post that ships would once have tied their lines to (I preferred to think of this as my reflection time instead of a rest). I assume I have the seagulls to thank for the mess on the top of the post but saw enough clear space for my toosh and settled down for my ruminations.

A random wipe of my rear as I rose again brought a rude awakening. I unwittingly sat on some of the poop.

My first thought was curiosity: 'Does sitting on it bring as much luck as we are said to receive when it lands on us directly from the sky?'

My next thought was 'Oh, no. Apparently, the old toosh takes up more space than it once did!' This walk had better be the first of many more.

I soon forgot my widening rear though as, returning along the path, I frightened a mother duck. Out of the corner of my eye, I sensed more than saw as she swept a smaller duck off the path back to the water. I watched as Mother led the way, swimming in and around a myriad of stones, steering a surprising seven babies through this circuitous route out to safety in the water. 

It was a delightful scene. Like all toddlers, they dipsy-doodled after Mother, around these same stones, butting into each other, eventually making it out to clear water. As I watched, the last baby, clearly impatient and fearless, took a different approach. It jumped onto a stone and twaddled atop each one until it reached the last  stone where it jumped into the water and joined the family.

What would a family be without a little rebellion?