My Wild Life, Part XIII

It can't be all zombies and ghosts, can it? How about some other strange creatures, like hummingbirds? Two or three of them visit us on the patio at dinner--here's some photos:

Dinner Time

The Approach

Vampire Bird?


Drinking Deep

Bye, Kids!

Happy of the Day/ My Wild Life Part XXIV

And they will never know, for love I sold my soul

I went jogging through the woods today--why not? It was a balmy sixty degrees here in Southeastern Connecticut! Someone had decorated one of the dwarf pines that lined the path through the woods; a dozen or so shiny round ornaments hung from the still-wet branches.

I figured out that I pass approximately .25 people in the woods each day I go jogging, and I actually go pretty often. Every other day at least, except I was sort of bad for a week or two after NCTE (I did use the treadmill once when I was down there, and walked about 17 miles up and down the river walk). What this means to me is that whoever decorated that tree is an exceedingly cool human being.

My Wild Life, Part XCII: The Deadly Mantis

It's not love that left you standing

A few years ago, my son became a father at the ripe old age of six. He'd gotten a packet of praying mantis eggs at the Magic Wings butterfly conservatory and a couple hundred of the little buggers hatched, sending him running around in circles yelling "Dad! I'm a Dad! Daddy! I'm a Daddy!" It took some convincing that all of his "children" couldn't live with us permanently, but eventually he was persuaded to let them go, scattering them in the six or seven gardens we keep in the yard in the hopes that they wouldn't devour each other.

This summer and last we've been fortunate enough to find that the tribe of mantises that Cormac founded are still going strong, keeping our gardens free from nuisance bugs. My daughter found this healthy specimen outside the garden at the end of our driveway:



I think that that is a grasshopper or locust that the mantis is draining of it's sweet life nectar, but I didn't want to get too close in case it turned it's clacking, razor sharp mandibles on my own tender gut meat.



I have to admit, I'm nervous at the way my son whispers to these critters. He's been spending a lot more time with them since I limited his XBox time, and sometimes at night I think I can hear the ticking of a thousand stick-like feet at my bedroom window...

My Wild Life, Part XXXIII

We got a love between us that is like electricity

A week ago I saw a skunk so large it should have its own entry in the Dungeons and Dragons Monster Manual. It was at least two Bonnys in size, maybe three. I was at my desk writing and I saw the critter, whose head had so much long white-blond hair, or fur, that it looked not unlike that of C.C. DeVille, the guitarist from Poison (who must, come to think of it, be related to similarily-coifed Cruella DeVille). I watched as it loped beneath my window and went behind the garage, the same path that the giant woodchuck and the pheasant run down towards the apple trees.

Of course, I summoned my children, thinking they would be content to stay in the safety of my office and gaze out at the beast. Not so.

Still in their school uniforms, they ran out the house to get a closer look. They reached the corner of the garage. I could only see the bushy head of the skunk as it appeared, but it's mouth flopped open just like Muppet Beaker's whenever he was about to blow up the lab. My kids, screaming, turned around and ran back into the house. I haven't laughed that much in months.

The skunk must have been as terrified as they were, because it bailed on the scene without pausing to snatch one of the apples.

When I caught my breath I told the kids that that was without question the largest skunk I'd ever seen. My son, also catching his breath because of his rapid flight, made a beautiful comment that once again revealed to me that he has the soul of a poet.

"Yeah, Dad," he said, eyes wide. "He must be filled with stink!"

Thankfully, the skunk retained his stink without spraying my fleeing children.