The Cats Entertain Wildlife

Teasel stalks along the fence of the cat yard, intent on the progress of an insect.

Quickly, everyone!  Circle it!

The mole goes to earth in a clump of weeds while Teasel, Charlie and Mima are poised for it to pop back out.

The toad managed to escape unscathed from the attentions of the felines who were poking wary paws at it.

The toad, I believe is a female of the Eastern American Toad species.

The females are larger than the males and this is a big toad!

The house cats enjoy their little yard tremendously.

Every insect who zings by, bounces or crawls through the grass, each dragonfly or bird winging through the air is entertainment and interest for the cats.

Watching them I am reminded of films I've seen of their big cat cousins prowling the Serengeti.

We saw them yesterday morning as we finished breakfast--forking about in the drift of leaves that have already fallen from the maple that shades the yard.

Ever mindful of the possibility of a snake, I asked J. to investigate what creature had the cats so enthralled.

He announced the presence of the toad and shooed the cats away from it, where-upon it hopped through the fence.  I went out with the camera and hunkered down in front of Mrs. Toad.  She obliged by hop-bopping closer.  Wanting a slightly different angle for another photo I shifted slightly, causing the leaves to rustle.

I was amazed when the toad bounced closer and emitted a sound, "Phhttt!" Sort of a combination of a hiss and a spit. I left her to her own devices and turned to see the cats now intent on a mole who was humping about the yard.  The resident moles have been very busy.  The ground under the clothesline is spongey from their burrowings and heavings.

They have created  tunnels that cross the cat yard and have several times become an object of interest to be poked at.

Mima picked the mole up in her mouth and promptly spat it out. Cats seem to know that moles are indigestable.

I'm pleased to accomodate the resident toads--the moles are another matter!

Bluebirds

We were delighted to discover shortly after our move in late March that this is an area where the Eastern Bluebird thrives.

Bluebirds were seriously threatened during the years that DDT was in regular use.

Bluebirds were not rare during my Vermont childhood, but sightings of them were infrequent enough to be remarked upon.

A regular feature on our breakfast table when I was a child was a can of Bluebird Orange Juice.

The paper label had a chirpy line-up of cartoon bluebirds: Papa [with a necktie] Mama bird [apron] a Sister and Brother bird with appropriate props and Baby Bird with bonnet and bib.

Each morning I stared at the juice can birds, sounding out the words printed below each little picture.

I sipped at the orange juice, wishing that the taste could live up to the attractive packaging.

{Not that I could have articulated this thought at age 4, but I knew I was hoping for anything that would make the juice go down smoothly, since my Mother was determined that it was necessary for the health and well-being of her family.}

The fact is, orange juice, regardless of the brand or variety doesn't agree with me--nasty, burpy, acid stuff--and not improved by living on the refridgerator shelf overnite in the opened tin can!

Our dooryard bluebirds kept to themselves during the long hot summer.

It has been a pleasant surprise these past two weeks to find that a whole family of them is still very much a presence.  They have seemed interested in the birdhouse which J. installed in the unidentified tree in the front yard [the one occupied by a tree swallow during the summer.]

The birds have clear sweet voices and their trills follow me as I walk to the barn to visit the kittens, or work in the garden.

Bluebird sunning on the electric wire near the magnolia tree.

I don't know how long they will stay with us as cold weather comes.

A quick internet search suggests that bluebirds feed largely on insects, a diet which can be supplemented in winter with soaked and softened raisins, and "mealworms" available from on-line suppliers.

The variety of shrubs planted around our house suggests that the previous owner was a bird-lover who chose many plants producing winter berries and seeds.

Does it stand to reason that birds who accept plumped raisins might adapt to the fruits on offer?

We have rose hips, nandina berries, poke berries, grapes which dried on the vines---what more might a bluebird want?

Wildlife Photos From This Week's Travels

We drove to Casper last Monday by way of Muddy Gap. We saw many groups of antelope. These were near the highway.  When we pulled over and put the window down to attempt photos, they dashed away in a rush. They can put on incredible speed for short distances.

On Friday afternoon we saw these two moose in the dense shrubbery near a creek just outside of Boulder. WY. These were taken from the open window of the car, and the standing moose began to move off as I attempted to zoom in closer, so my other photo of them was a blur.

On the road that leads from Pinedale to Cora we slowed as we saw three deer ahead in the road.

The three were at the head of a group of perhaps 9 deer.  A magnificent buck was evidently herding his harem and offspring from one side of the road to the other.  You can see him at far left of the photo with his "rack" poked through the fence. In the distance are the "backside" of the Wind River Mountains--the opposite side of the peaks that are fore-shortened here by our closeness to the foothills. The road heads north and the late sun laid a cloth of pure gold from the west to the high snow covered peaks of the eastern horizon.

This pretty doe stood facing us with a fawn at her side.

A few miles before we turned onto Forty Rod Road [where Howard and Heidi live] we saw these two buck and a doe. The buck on the left was the bigger of the two and he seemed to be headed with malicious intent toward the smaller male.

The two buck met and faced each other a bit menacingly. I beleive they noticed that we had stopped to watch them and maybe were distracted from a confrontation.

On Saturday morning I saw this lone bird hopping about in front of the woodpile just outside H. and H.'s window which faces the drive. Heidi informed me that it is a Purple Finch.  A look through her bird book suggests that this is a variant coloring particular to the Northwest--a "grey-capped purple finch."

The Finch in silhouette on a chunk of firewood.

Driving home today, a fine, dry afternoon, J. took the Big Sandy cutoff.  There are several short cuts from the main road which follow trails carved out by wagons on the Oregon Trail. Much of the way is seasonal road and not maintained during the months of snow and spring mud. There were numerous groups of deer. At this time of year their coats are a dull grey-brown and they blend with the faded sagebrush and the strewing of dark boulders. Sometimes I don't spot the deer until I see the distinctive "muley" ears against the sky.  Note the deer in the top left of the photo, peering warily from behind a large hump of rock.

We saw several eagles on this trip---most either at a distance or at a point on the roadway where it wouldn't be wise to stop. We decided this was a golden eagle, then dithered, thinking it could be a vulture. Before I could adjust the camera's zoom or get out to try for a closer shot, the bird flapped off.  A short distance away four ravens sat in a row on a flat-topped rock, glistening black backs turned to the slanting sun.

Owl Watch

The female stares down at me.

I headed outside late this afternoon just as the sun was coloring the western sky over the foothills. I looked for the owls in the cottonwoods near the guest cabin. That spot, over-looking the pond, has been a favorite daytime roost for them at this time of year, but I've not seen them there often this fall.
I crossed the irrigation ditch, which is now dry, and walked slowly through the upper end of the small pasture. Raising my eyes to a large tree standing along the farther ditch, I spotted the familiar dumpy oval of a perching owl. I approached the tree, hoping for a vantage point to photograph the owl without too many branches in the way. As I stood under the tree, fiddling with the camera's zoom, a second owl, the female, whooshed from a higher branch and flew to another tree in back of the old barn. I have to see the owl pair together to discern the male from the female. These are great-horned owls and the female is the larger of the two.

Crossing another loop of the ditch and scrunching through dry leaves, I came to the backside of the tree where I had noticed the first owl. He had moved around and was now facing me as I approached. There began a process of trying to get a clear shot, while he cranked his head about in that familiar owlish way. Stooping under the tree to try for a better angle I found that the owl was now peeking at me from between the limbs.

The female silhouetted against the darkening sky.

By now, grandson D. had joined me and we stood on the edge of the ditch bank gazing up at the female owl. At one point she made a sound: "Acckkk!" and snapped her beak rather menacingly. I wondered if she was hacking up a "pellet" but didn't see anything fall. She may have been expressing distaste at being followed.

By now the flash was activating on the camera and there was "red eye" which didn't edit out as well as I would like. The fading western light was behind the owl and it was much darker where I stood under her tree. If you enlarge this, the pattern of her feathers is fascinating.

Fiery clouds linger as the sun disappears.

As I walked back along the hedgerow between the two owl perches, darkness moved in. The owls were keeping up a muted conversation of "whoo-whoo." Seconds after I snapped this, the female soared from her branch, flew low across the pasture and landed in the cottonwood near the cabin.

The female, viewed from across the pasture as the sky turned to an inky violet.

Her mate, meanwhile, had begun to shuffle his feet and shrug his wings. In a moment he too launched into heavy silent flight, coming to rest on top of the power pole just above the pond.

Looking across the pond as night moves in, bringing an instant chill to the air. The owls have soared off silently, beginning their nocturnal hunting.

My hands were thoroughly chilled from handling the camera. I made a mug of tea to warm my insides and for the comfort of clasping the hot china.

Hot Springs State Park

A runnel of hot water splashes into the river below the cliff.
Hot mineral water. Is the strange white feathery stuff some kind of moss or water plant which thrives in the heat, or a build up of minerals?

D., teeth clamped on a toothpick, considers whether he really wants to squeeze into the rock crevice behind him.

Layers of crusted minerals on the river bank look as though a giant had disgorged over the edge!

D. and J. stand in one of the odd mineral formations which looks somewhat like petrified rock.

Mallards preening.

D. and I have enlarged and squinted at duck photos, then compared to our bird book. We believe there were Widgeons as well as Mallards in the river.

Hundreds of ducks paddled in the river far below where we stood.

Mallards leaving their V-shaped wakes.

Buck and rail fence near the park road.

Fence in the red dirt area where the bison roamed.

Behind the fence is a large hollow. Maintenance sheds and hay storage in background.

Bison in a fenced area.

A bull bison snoozes in the warm sun.

Grazing is supplemented with a large hay bale in a metal rack.

A Small Excursion

Snow and slush from the road froze into this odd starburst formation on the trucks' hubcaps.

J.'s photo
Sand hill cranes and geese. Note the height of the cranes.

Approaching the Wind River Canyon, the mountains lost in snow clouds.


There are a series of three closely spaced tunnels blasted through the rock.

Our destination was a large second hand shop in Thermopolis, Wyoming. Bernie the Cat minds the shop and is bored by the blandishments of customers. Bernie has polydactyl paws, a trait more often seen in cats from the New England area.

This rock chimney stands at the edge of a high rock wall. [There was no hint of blue in the sky--that coloration is the tint on the top of the windshield.]

The Wind River flows through the narrow canyon. Outside the town of Thermopolis the same waterway becomes the Big Horn River.

A railroad track runs along the lower edge of the rock face. The small dark rectangle is the entrance to a tunnel.

Sand hill cranes and Canadian geese forage in a corn field outside Riverton.

The cranes were involved in flapping territorial confrontations.

Canadian geese in the snow covered field.

J. has decided that we should rent the guest cabin as a source of income. It will likely be on short-term lease. It is a rustic cabin and small, but has a kitchenette, bath with shower, a porch that looks out on the pond. It seems that renting it with furniture in place will give us the best options. We combed the storage shed for extra pieces, picked through the high-priced junk in a local second hand barn, and then remembered the shop in Thermopolis where we picked up some decent items several years ago.

It hardly seemed the day for a journey, even the 65 or 70 miles involved. [Trips in the interior west are more often measured in the hours to get there on a good day than by acutal miles.] Morning dawned with dirty grey skies and softly falling snow. J. did some errands and then announced that we needed to be on our way.

The Wind River Canyon is an interesting 14 mile stretch of road on the route to Thermopolis. The highway plunges and swoops between massive rock walls following the curve of the river. On a blue sky day the views are inspiring and there is the chance of seeing big-horned sheep, deer or antelope. Small black ducks swim year round in the swift boulder-strewn waterway. Today on the higher places snow coated the blacktop and clumped icily against the windshield wipers. As we drove into lower levels the snow changed to sleet, rain, then back to sticky flakes and the landscape was a blur of dirty woolen mist.

We stopped for a less than memorable lunch on the edge of town. [Tea made with water barely hot, fried chicken that was cold in the middle!] Later in the day, apparently mulling this, J. announced that eating out isn't always a treat!

We pulled up in front of the second hand emporium, glad to find that it hasn't closed up shop as so many places have recently. I had almost forgotten the cat who rules over the establishment and has the run of the store and its back rooms. The street level has furniture, old sewing machines, crocks, salvaged sinks, an interesting hodge-podge. The lower level has a corner for books, racks of clothing, shelves of china, toasters, crockpots, kitchen oddments.

I spotted an oak end table and claimed it to replace the "shabby-not-so-chic" one in front of our dining room picture window. J. found a nice set of hoop-backed chairs for our dining table, a small base cabinet which he can fit with a top for the cabin, a small desk. Bernie the Cat followed us from one cluster of furniture to another, stalked across a china hutch, bounded down and sat with twitching tail beneath a table when I attempted to make friends. [As J. said, perhaps his personality isn't suited to being chatty with customers all day!]

Our selections made, J. began to load the items into the truck, while I scooted across the street to a quilt shop. I make a quick reconnoiter of the shop--which has recently changed owners--then settled to choose gifts for my co-workers who all have birthdays at the end of the month.

It was a sloggy trip home and when he backed down to the cabin to unload our finds, J. discovered that the slush of the road had spun and frozen into an icy starburst. Coming into our house we were greeted by the cats, with the reminder that it was past their tea time. They sniffed suspiciously at the wet chairs which J. set on the kitchen floor, swished their tails as we wiped off the snow and then turned on the electric kettle.

Darkness came early, snow swirls, silent and unstoppable. The pair of great-horned owls perched briefly in the big cottonwood before floating off through the gloaming, ready to begin their night's hunt. We huddle, caught in this too early winter. This weekend we shall have to sand and paint furniture, give the cabin a final cleaning. I don't relish sharing the dooryard with a stranger, but who knows--maybe he won't be too bad.

Hmmm--wondered where that photo had landed. I am NOT going to mess with removing it at this hour of the night. Given my computer skills the whole post would disappear!