An exhausting performance for the lady of his choice.

The feeding station has been in place almost a year now. Regulars are the typical visitors to backyard feeders: chickadees, dark-eyed juncos, California towhees, titmouse, and occasionally, wrens. The hummingbird feeder is dominated by Sparky, a fierce but somewhat friendly fellow. On the periphery are woodpeckers, crows, blue jays, robins, cedar waxwings (at berry time), sparrows and a couple of lovely but as yet unidentified visitors. They don’t partake from the feeder.

Back in the spring, there were lively young chickadees that took a keen interest whenever I watered the raised vegetable beds. I assumed they were juveniles from their lack of grace when landing on branches. They took to hanging out in either the plum tree or the pyracantha bush next to it. One day I aimed the hose spray upward.

They went crazy. Such a racket, and before I knew it, there were ten or so, all calling happily to each other, shaking out their wings, holding their heads upward. Clearly this was a great treat. After a few days, a wren or two would show up, and sometimes, a hummingbird. At this point, there was no hummingbird feeder, but they visited the fuchsia plants and Mexican sage regularly.

I wanted a video of this so that family members wouldn’t think I had gone off the deep end. But before I knew it, the young chickadees were gone. Vanished. On to greener territories perhaps. The whole summer went by without a single one noticing when I watered. If I pointed the spray at the remaining chickadees, they flew away.

Today, I went out to check on the green beans and the last tomato plants that are still producing. More on those another time. Was that a happy chickadee sound? Yes, and several were answering. There was the buzz of a giant bee, which I suspected was Sparky. I sprayed up into the pyracantha, which needs pruning very badly. One by one, they flew into the bush, which is more like a tree. Even the juncos were there, but more subdued than the rest, who had their wings out, heads up, shaking their feathers. Giant bee buzz again. There he was, in the middle, little wings out and chirping away, bobbing up and down, my resident hummer.

Will they do this for at least another week? Temps are warm, in the 70s. I must figure out the movie function on the camera. I’m thinking this is at least a 2-man project.

According to the Beeb, Nephila Komaci has a leg span of almost five inches.

Which makes my biggest garden/garage spider puny in comparison. I really don’t think I’ll be getting a ruler and stretching out its legs. For which we’re both grateful.

Yes, yes, I’m releasing it today. Not only does it seem to have an imploring gaze when I look at the photos, but yesterday found me searching the garden in vain for some live insect food to sustain it.

For a few seconds, I inverted the cup. This is one fast spider that I did not want loose in the house. Did I mention that it’s really, really big?

The lone ruby-throated hummingbird has been by more than a dozen times this morning, happy that I finally refreshed its nectar supply. Yesterday during the terrible storm, it refueled much more than usual.

Because we accidentally/on purpose manage to meet up at various places in the yard, I decided to give him a name. His bright magenta gorget is dazzling when the light is just right so that he sparkles. I’d like you to meet Sparky:

although you have probably seen him in earlier posts.

Sometime this morning, when I was deep in work, Sparky spotted a lady friend. When I say he’s the lone hummer, I merely mean he’s the only one that dines at the feeder. So far he has chased away everything else.

Thus began the curious courting behavior of head bobbing. The female sat quietly, but Sparky went beserk. Finally I got the camera and, sans tripod, tried to get a shot or two. He never stopped moving, and was all puffed up as well. Of course my hands weren’t steady, but then neither was he.

Next time I’ll just take movies.

It comes in blocks, a teal-ish color. On the cover of the box, a little mouse is taking little bites on a corner of a block. Last evening I put out three - one by the compost container, one by the raised bed where I have put all the cactuses my older son keeps bringing back) and another by the apricot tree.

This morning when I went to check, two of the blocks were gone. Not chewed or nibbled at, just completely disappeared.

Raccoons maybe? A swarm of mice or rats like the ones in Ratatouille or Despereaux?

To be continued.

So I got on the phone, taking care of some business which is a long series of automated questions, at the end of which a human would come on the line and save me a trip to some office downtown where I don’t particularly want to go today. I glance out the window into the remains of the vegetable garden.

Where a woodpecker, probably the one I’ve been stalking in the front oak tree, is flitting around. Chasing it is the male, bright red head gleaming in the noon sun. I’ve never seen him before. They cling to a couple of posts, one of which holds a small wood birdhouse. Then they make their way up the posts, stopping at the birdhouse. Some sort of courting behavior is going on, lots of flying back and forth, then they land on the pyracantha bush.

Throughout all of this highly photogenic action, I am glued to the phone, unable to take one shot.

Maybe this happens more often, it’s just that my desk faces the other way. However, when I do get around to taking any pictures, there are two very large spiders resting in their jars.

Was that a sparrow I just saw and banished from the feeder? The kind that forced me to remove the bird food for many weeks? I’ll know by the end of the day, when and if it brings back 153 of its friends. Fingers crossed.

The other night I spotted it over by the window while I was fixing supper. A family member immediately went into some kind of loop: How did that get in the house? How did that get in the house? How did that get in the house?

Somehow, the subject was cornered. This morning I released it on a piece of paper, but it was bent on a fast escape. The home jar was too distorted for a decent photo, so I used a plastic cup instead. It spent the entire session trying to leave the premises. Unlike the previous spider, it did not spin obscuring webs. Very soon now, it will be finding a new home out in the garden.

In which the poor beast is compared to Tom Cruise.

As most of my readers know, I have little patience for the suburban pests that seem to multiply in my yard. By now, you also know about the bird feeding table here right in front of the window where I work. On a normal day, the dark-eyed juncos appear around the time I’m having my oatmeal, 7:30ish, then the chickadees show up. Some days they fight with the juncos. Some days the juncos fight with each other. The occasional titmouse comes by with its mate. Ditto the towhee. There’s a wren or two, and over to the left is the hummingbird feeder. When I’m staring at the laptop screen, which is 99% of the time, any odd movement (such as a squirrel jumping on the table) registers immediately.

At lunchtime, there was a really strange shaking of the nandina bush next to the table. When I peered around the screen, there was a little mouse laboriously making its way up the branches. It looked like a small stuffed animal.

The roof rats, for which this area is famous, tend to come out just before dark, which is why I bring in the bird food around 8:00 p.m., even earlier now that the light is changing. From time to time we can see them scurrying along the tops of the fences. Nasty-looking, ratty things. Sometimes they leap up on the table right after sunset, completely creeping me out. But this doesn’t happen very often.

Now this tiny thing was struggling to get up the bush. It looked a little like a field mouse, but cuddlier. Could it have been someone’s pet, used to a human mealtime ? When I got outside, it took a good look at me before scrambling down the branches and away.

I should have gotten a photo.

Gmail can’t access my contacts. iStock has 60 staff members working on their problems, and their site is up and down. And the market is tumbling due to weak housing data. The squirrels sent an email saying they’ve eaten all the baby zucchinis off the plants, what else is on the menu. I expect a message from the ants pointing out the difficulties of ingesting the Terro granules, and could I please put out the liquid form instead.

This time of year it’s hard to check the garden without walking into spider webs. In the 95° temps this afternoon, I found this creature. A hot breeze came up, so I didn’t get the shot I wanted. I suspect it will still be there tomorrow.

A family member saw the feathers coming down from the oak tree. By the time I set up the tripod, the hawk was mostly finished, and sailed off across the rooftops. Although there are bigger birds, it seems to be after the little dark-eyed juncos lately. The junco breeding pairs in the yard are very successful. While not exactly in big flocks like the sparrows, they are still the dominant group. Stands to reason the younger ones are easier to catch.

I had to fight off the ants for the feathers.

Dear Mass of Teeming Insect Life,

My lone brain is obviously inferior to your collective genius. Despite my peppering the ground below with a potent ant poison, you have managed to sidestep this formidable obstacle, and once again reach the holy grail of hummingbird nectar. You have gathered those among you who have mastered the art of swimming, and breached the defenses of the double moats.

The grail of endless sweetness has been temporarily moved to its original position under the roof overhang. Where you will no doubt send your mighty armies in the stealth of night.

Meanwhile, the hummingbird and I are pondering possible solutions. It has nixed the vaseline. But is probably grateful for the protection of the overhang, although I don’t think the average hawk will go for a hummer. See next post.

A few posts back, I was gloating about ant-proofing the hummingbird feeder. Apparently, the ants keep up with the blog.

As I sit here eating toast, deep in work, the hummingbird shows up. Instead of landing, it hovers from one opening to another, then disappears. I peer at the liquid in the feeder about ten feet away. Hmmm, this calls for a closer inspection. I had just changed the nectar on Monday, and it was still clear. Except for a speck or two, which could have been some debris from the tip of the hummer’s beak. But no. Maybe half a dozen ants were hanging in little straight lines, back legs somehow attached to the sides, heads in the nectar. A few more elsewhere, floating.

Unlike before, there was no line of marching ants heading up and down the wire of the tomato cage to which the feeder is hanging. However, there was a parade and field show going on underneath where I’d forgotten to hose down the patio.

Out come the Terro granules. When I first bought this economy-sized bag, the smell was so pervasive that I hesitated using it. But about this time each year, war is declared, and I don’t have any of the little packets of liquid left. The key to the granules is that they have to be wet to be effective. No problem today.

Ideally, the feeder would be suspended over a small pond. Lacking that, this will have to do.

It has resided in the pimento jar on my desk for several days. I haven’t been anxious to take a photo, thank to the vivid memory of a family member’s experience as he leaned in to shoot one years ago. His subject made a sudden move, prompting him to drop his camera.

As I was setting up, there was a loud buzzing on the window. A crane fly had somehow gotten in, and for a moment, I contemplated the obvious. But I took the fly outside. Which is where I will put this jar. Right now. (Now if it had been a housefly, that would have been different.)

For over a month now, I’ve been trying to photograph the lone hummingbird that comes to the feeder. He and I are old friends now, and he has been quite patient with my efforts to get closer. Yesterday I did away with the tripod to see if I could do hand-held using my 75-300mm lens. Surprisingly, he was very tolerant as long as I didn’t move laterally.

Today, I assumed he was distracted by the missus, who dove in repeatedly as he tried to eat. But after a bit, I realized it was another male since both looked very much alike.

Now I find that whenever I go out to try for a shot, he darts away. Has this one chased the other away? Just as I got it tame enough to put up with my constant shooting? I won’t know for sure till I actually get a photo.

It used to be home to a number of salamanders living under a large, rotting stump. Not sure if they are still around, but the local raptors like to dine in the branches above. If the collections of feathers aren’t a giveaway, the whitewash on the blades of the clivia certainly are. Not much grows here, mostly because I forget to water. Due to a massive network of fine oak tree roots, if something is put in the ground, it had better be tough and low maintenance. Most everything is in pots.

This is where the monstrous fern bought earlier this summer resides. It is thriving, mostly because it is big enough to have established its own microclime. Smaller ferns are encouraged by this, and are coming around. There used to be hostas, but they gave up years ago. A few pots of bamboo, some steppingstones. And, apparently, a kajillion ants, all lined up on the hose, ready to climb up my arms and legs.

Actually, I was prepared this afternoon. Not only for them but for the strange gnats that fly into the eyes. But I didn’t see the remains of the small bird underfoot until too late.

And so a little later than usual this season, I had the swarming-ants-on-the-person moment. Once safely in the house, I saw a leaf on my shirt that I tried to flick off.

Except it was a reddish spider of a kind I’d not seen before. After I screamed, I managed to get it in a jar. It actually played dead, and was hard to move because it had spun an obstacle around itself. Perhaps I will get a photo later. But then again, maybe not. It is suspended in the jar, looking sinister.

I don’t know about you, but headlines like this make my morning a little more cheery.

I go to give the hummingbird feeder a close-up check for ants, as in ‘Is that an ant in there or a shadow of something’, and the hummingbird decides to fly in at the same time. Jeez.

As if the ants have that much of a chance. The feeder is still hanging from a tomato cage in a pot with a struggling tomato plant. However, I took the trouble to put the pot in the pot bottom that my giant fern arrived in. This is filled with water. There is this moat and the moat built into the feeder itself.

You know it’s going to be bad when the blue-belly lizards are basking on the patio right in front of the window where I work. I think they’re looking for shade.

Two of the younger members of the flock of dark-eyed juncos that empty the feeder on a twice/daily basis. They seem to make it their goal to deplete the supplies by nightfall.

A surefire method to get several of these is to move the feeder from its customary place, then arrange the camera, tripod and chair directly under the original feeder position. I didn’t do this on purpose.

Having gotten hundreds of shots of the bird from one side, I wanted it feeding from the other. In order to force it to eat from only one opening, I had to plug up the other holes. When it found short evergreen sprigs (closest things I could find that fit) emerging from these holes, it had a moment of surprise which I did not manage to film.

But the flybys, which sound like a giant bumblebee in your ear, might start up again as I get ready for some more shooting later in the afternoon when the light is not so harsh.

So how many things are wrong with this photo?

Yesterday afternoon he showed up and perched on a tomato cage. I haven’t been shooting hummingbirds very long, so this particular situation unnerved me. Usually, he bobs up and down at the feeder, then zooms away. That I can deal with.

He was distracted by his mate, I suspect, and looked as if he might raise that cap of iridescent feathers on top of his head any minute. And he kept on staying fairly still, showing me first one side, then the other, then straight on.

After a bit, I checked the camera display. Oops. Earlier, the feeder was in the shade, and all the settings were for that. By the time I corrected, he was deep into the feeder.

Overexposed. Dark shadow. The cage. The aphid at his feet. Not sharp enough.

I’m lucky he returns many times every day. For sure, I need the practice.

Nepenthes attenboroughii, named after Sir David, is capable of putting away rats. Not wee mousies now and then, but . . . well, there’s a photo. The accompanying video shows remarkable footage of how the plant produces the nectar-filled pitchers.

Less than a minute after I cleaned out the feeder and put fresh nectar in, he checked out the results.

We did make progress today. He allowed me to get within about two feet, and didn’t mind that I kept opening the screen door to go in and out. Still no sign of the missus today.

Friday, he was contorting his neck this way and that, fluffing up his body feathers, then lifted the ones on his head like a shiny cap. This seemed bizarre till I spotted the missus sitting primly off to the side. Aha! But so far, he is lord of the feeder, and nothing has tried to dispute his claim.

Part of the morning was spent moving the feeder around to get a better angle on the bird that comes by every 15 to 30 minutes. Most of the sites were in the sun, and I got a couple of good shots, so a few minutes ago, I hung it back in the shade, got my magazine and sat back to wait. Sure enough, here he comes. As I adjust the settings for shade and mess with the ISO, he buzzes by, inches away from my face and camera.

Scary, but very cool indeed.

Sporadically for the past few days, I’ve been trying to get closer to the hummingbirds at the feeder. It’s shady at the usual feeder spot, so from time to time, I would move it to the only conveniently sunny area, which is on the tomato cages.

As you can see, some of the underachieving tomatoes are nowhere near reaching the modest height of these cages, so they may as well be put to good use.

I set up the laptop, managed to get a power supply going, and got my Pepsi too since this was going to take some time. But I was not really prepared for this little fellow to pose for several minutes while I tried frantically to get the right settings for the camera. The shots showing the lovely ruby throat were too blurry. No worries, I plan to get out there again in just a few minutes.

It’s better without the sound (Whitney Houston singing I Will Always Love You), and the story is right below the video.

Oh, and the leopard and shark photos are pretty amazing too.

Some days I spend 8 - 10 hours tweaking my photos with PhotoShop. By the end of the day I have lots of floaters, and the eyes are on the dry side.

Several times a day I move to another room where the light is good for taking photos. Last week, I was shooting an old suitcase full of vintage clothing from my mom’s house. I thought my eye fatigue had at last produced blurry spots at the edge of my vision. I would reararrange things, set up the tripod and there they were again, big dark things. I blinked. And blinked again. Wait a minute.

They were moths. Somehow they had gotten into the suitcase, and were rapidly vacating the premises with surprising speed. I started killing the ones in the case, but they left such a mess that I gave up.

I seem to have a bigger moth problem than originally thought. But less of an eye problem.

They’re still coming by to check and peer in the window, wondering where all the food went. The sparrows are coming in too, and as soon as I know they’ve gone to greener pastures, the food will return to the table.

Meanwhile, I’m thinking I will get much better photos by simply moving my work gear outside. Many of the birds are half-tame by now. We have lots of time to mull this over since the sparrows know a good thing when they see one, and are probably not anxious to leave.

Originally, I set up the bird feeding area directly in front of my desk for one reason: to force me to look up from work occasionally. It definitely accomplished that, and for a few months, it has been absorbing to watch the antics of a group of regulars as they flew in daily.

Except for the odd squirrel now and then, the area has stayed free of annoyances. I get to rest my eyes frequently, the birds get unlimited food, I accumulate an endless series of bad bird photos. Until very recently when the sparrows arrived.

Everything negative you hear about house sparrows is true. I actually didn’t mind at first, but they overwhelm not only in numbers but in appetite as well. I thought the towhee was the champ in the chowdown area, but they don’t hold a candle to the sparrows.

Therefore, I have temporarily suspended the feeding. The towhees keep landing on the empty table, peering in at me in what can only be interpreted as supreme irritation. For a short time in the early morning, the sun creates a glare on the feeding table, so I turn the laptop to block it. The towhees crane their necks around the barrier of the monitor, and stare at me.

As soon as I’m convinced the sparrows are gone, I’ll set up again. I just don’t have the time to put up sparrow deterrents.

Some birders feel that house sparrows are pests, taking over whole feeder areas. One day I looked up, and there they were, five or six at a time, eating every grain of cornmeal in sight. Having large numbers all at once was such a novelty that I wasn’t bothered at all.

As far as bullying the regulars, no way. As soon as the towhee sweeps in, they all flee. The juncos are bullies themselves, and judging from the racket, have new nestlings to feed, so they’re not going to let a few sparrows stop them. Chickadees seem oblivious, taking what they need, then going to shower in the raised bed sprinklers.

However, a flock will eat quite a lot. In an effort to slow this down this morning, I didn’t replenish the cornmeal, but put out sunflower seeds instead. The towhees have to extract the kernels, which takes a lot of time, therefore, they’re not kicking up the food.

But when I left the room for a few minutes to shoot some photos, a squirrel saw an opening and scattered the seeds everywhere before taking off.

After supper, I was trying to get a little more work done. It was very quiet, the birds had, it appeared, gone to bed early. Usually, there’s a bout of feeding at this time.

Then some movement caught my eye. Truly, it looked like bubbles drifting down into the yard. I snapped out of my work mode, and realized that they were white feathers being plucked in the oak tree above the lawn.

Now, this sort of thing happens from time to time around here, but not right in front of me. All I could think was, it’s getting dark. I got my camera (zoom was somewhere out of reach), and went outside as furtively as possible.

The hawk was smallish, no more than 20 feet away, prepping its dinner. I could see its underpinnings and tail, plus the upturned feet and tail of the prey. After I got a few shots, I asked a family member to bring my tripod, and I moved to get a better angle.

Of course it saw me and took off to finish its meal in peace. The photos I got were really poor, and I can’t identify either bird.

Sure, he looks innocent here, but he’s merely taking a deep, cleansing breath before inhaling most of the food.

After he and his male peers finished flinging food around, I decided to take another approach. The towhees are the largest birds to come to the feeding table. Part of their food strategy is to scratch around, and I’ve tried to modify this behavior through the judicious use of a cowbell-like noisemaker.

This is a bird that jumps in fear when a big morsel of food (that it has just gotten and dropped) rolls on the table a bit. I thought maybe if I applied a loud noise when it started flinging, it would learn that this was inappropriate behavior. Silly me.

It took a couple of days. Soon, the towhee only turned around slightly when it heard the noise. Cornmeal flew everywhere.

Today, guess who was the first to line up at dawn. (I bring the food indoors at night.) But this time, I moved the cornmeal dish slightly under a flowering plant on the table. The smaller birds could reach the food easily. The towhee could too, but flinging would require some acrobatic maneuvering.

By late afternoon, it had figured things out. Tomorrow is another day.

I know it’s a terrible photo. See previous posts for reasons why. But I plan to sponsor an eating competition very soon between a few of the male towhees that frequent my feeding table.

But first, I need to go out and buy a 50-lb bag of cornmeal and two Costco-sized jars of peanut butter.

She appears to be undergoing the molting, although some sources say this doesn’t occur till later in the summer. The babies are resplendent, Mother needs some spa time.

I don’t know about you, but I’m not real fond of the rat crowd scenes in Ratatouille and The Tale of Despereaux. While there are many who feel that squirrels are very cutesy-poo, I beg to differ. Rather, I consider squirrels to be, very simply, rats with bushy tails, and there are others who agree wholeheartedly. Which is why I scream when one edges onto my birdfeeding table.

But back to rats. Here’s one that found its way into a hapless UK gentleman’s life in a manner most unusual.

I talk to this bird a lot. Sometimes I say, ‘Do you think you can get a little more in there?’ (It can. Because there’s peanut butter in the mix, it has learned that breadcrumbs and seed will adhere to the main gob.)

And yes, I know that little dish serves the small birds well, but is way tiny for the big guys. I’m working on it. To think that once upon a time, the towhees were too shy to come feed on the table. And I’m still trying to figure out how to take decent photos through the window, which has a fine coating of cornmeal from the multiple flingings of these same towhees, despite my constant windexing.

The California towhee’s normal foraging behavior consists of scratching the ground with both feet to uncover tasty bits under leaves and other debris. While this works well in its natural environment, it wreaks havoc in a feeding station.

Yesterday, I cleaned the whole area where I leave bird food. Turns out the raisin bread crumbs gave some of them the runs. As certain family members would put it, kinda like having to go to the restroom before even leaving the restaurant.

Then I ran errands. Upon my return, something had urinated on the table. I suspect the squirrels, which keep watch on my comings and goings. Then the towhees came, and sent the cornmeal flying in all directions. This irritates me no end.

When I started feeding the birds, only a few juncos showed up. Now it’s wildly successful, with accompanying problems. When I leave, I have to cover the food.

This morning when I got back from more errands, I got a glimpse of the departing squirrel, who had managed to remove the cover, which was weighed down with the ceramic seagull. No matter, I have figured out a solution. More later.

Next to the feeder table, which is full of seeds and other tasty fare, is another table where I put the seeds I’m getting ready to plant. Well, there’s other stuff there too, an old semi-broken tabletop fountain, assorted hose nozzles, the odd cactus. But right in the middle is a container full of hollyhock seed pods from last fall.

What keeps me from planting them? There were pink hollyhocks and white ones. I forgot which is which. But today, I noted the heavy bird traffic to this table, mostly juncos. They’re after the hollyhock seeds, maybe as a palate cleanser to all that peanut butter and cornmeal.

If I get those seeds planted, there should be plenty of extras to go around by late summer.

Last night, as usual, I went out to cover the bird feeding station. Faithful readers know that we have varmints of various sizes and kinds, all with voracious nocturnal appetites for birdseed and the cornmeal/peanut butter in a bowl.

I use a lid from some forgotten plastic container, and to make sure it stays where it should, I put one of two things on top. One is a heavy seagull ceramic thing that a relative gave me which was headed for the trash till I found a use for it. The other is a heavy rock. Sometimes I can’t face the seagull, even in the dark. I reached for the rock.

It was quite dark. It wasn’t the rock. It was the rock-sized cactus that I bought for a photo session last year. So there it was, stuck to my hand, and all I could do was shake it till it fell off.

My fingers were a little numb for hours after.

It slammed into a window one quiet Sunday morning a couple of weeks ago, dying instantly. As best as I can determine, it was a ladder-backed woodpecker. Other than a small wound on one side of its head, it was remarkably intact.

Of course, I got photos from every angle, and as you can see, its relation to a much larger (possible) predecessor is obvious.

Mr. Towhee is under the apple tree doing his mating dance. I’m not sure about the chickadees, but the juncos are starting to get territorial wherever there is enough groundcover to hide a nest, though you’d think they’d just reuse the old one. Meanwhile the chickadee fledglings are hanging out in the pyracantha, waiting to get a bath from the upturned hose.

If I’m not paying attention, and just aim the hose upward, they can topple off the limbs. Which doesn’t seem to really deter them. But if I get it just right, word gets out, and this afternoon, there were five or six making their happy sounds and getting a shower. As soon as I set up one of the old lawn sprinklers, maybe I can get a movie of them. Well, as soon as I figure out how to take movies with the new camera.

The grub? It defecated a tremendous amount in its container, and I released it this morning.

The hummers that live in my yard (I found a nest last week) love their showers, and as it turns out, a dip in the pool now and then. This is the water pump on my small pot with the deer scare that is not visible here.

I never do handheld photos well, but only had a few seconds to take the shot.

It was wriggling in the dish this morning. After a bit of cleanup, there was another photo session, during which I decided it must be some form of June bug, both due to its appearance and the remarkable ability to navigate on its back.

After taking the photos, I went into another room to see if these turned out better than the ones yesterday. When I returned a few minutes later, it was nowhere to be found. Oh no! A fat larva almost two inches long lost in the living room.

But happily, there it was on the carpet, some three feet from where I left it. For all its dormant appearance, it can really move when the need arises.

The pot had not been moved for at least a year. Underneath was quite a surprise. After a brief photo session, I put it in the bowl reserved for the cornmeal/peanut butter mix that the birds at the feeder are addicted to.

Usually, the grubs I find are perhaps 1/2″ long. Once a live thing is in the bowl, I turn around, and something has seized it. However, the birds came by for a look and shunned this offering. Why, they could cut it up into a few steaks, a couple of roasts and maybe some spareribs and a ham or two. (I only show a portion of this beast to stay within the constraints of decency.)

Curiously, it seemed the first chickadee that happened by buried it in the cornmeal. I pulled it back to the top. Later, a family member came home, noticed that it was once again covered, and excavated it. It took a while, but I finally realized that the grub was doing the burying.

By nighttime, it was still trying very hard to cover itself.

Tomorrow I will try to find out just what it is, or what it will become. Don’t worry, I will share.

Meanwhile, here are some similar-looking brethren. The ones on the top row appear to have been bathed, compared to my specimen in its unwashed glory.

Thanks to my continuing efforts to thwart the squirrels, today is the first day that a dove could feed relatively undisturbed. I had placed metal pie pans around the edges of the feeding table in hopes of splashing the occasional curious squirrel. Over the weekend, the water evaporated, and the poor dove kept upending the pans when it landed, terrifying itself with the racket.

Even more interesting, the sight of the dove didn’t intimidate the smaller birds. When the towhee eats, nothing else comes by, but the chickadees, juncos and titmice all shared at the same time, more or less. However, the dove was the champion eater.

Perhaps tomorrow I can bring out the 5D and get some decent shots without giving it a heart attack.

The baby was in the raised beds, enjoying a morning shower. The parents were frantic in the oaks above, screaming while trying to gain a foothold on the tips of the branches that didn’t really support their weight well.

I thought it was another photo op.

As soon as I got out there with the tripod, one dove at me. Then the other parent came from another direction. Meanwhile, the baby found the fence to be a formidable obstacle. When I say baby, I mean fledgling, and full-sized at that. I crept closer.

In the past, I’ve had parent crows swoop down before. One year, a fledgling was down somewhere in the neighborhood. To make sure no human would bother it, Mom and Pop attacked everyone out for a walk. This went on for several days.

The morning’s fledgling was unnerved by the sight of the tripod and camera plus moving human. Suddenly, it had the ‘Oh, right, I can fly’ moment, and took off for the top of the fence. The parents went beserk, unsure of whether to keep going after me or to encourage their baby.

Not a single shot did I manage to get. But I am wide awake.