Saturday, December 09, 2006
Hawk 1: Rat 0
Long-term readers will recall that my patio has been swamped with a Biblical plague of rats and mice for the past year and a half; they come to consume the seed and water meant for the many little birds that flock here every day, and like the birds probably enjoy how the patio area is enclosed by the cover, fence and landscaping, making it sheltered and safe. Because we're concerned for the safety of the tweeties during the day, and the raccoons, possums and skunks that periodically visit us at night, we can't do what most folks will when plagued with vermin; if we mined the feeding area with traps and/or poisoned baits, we'd kill some of our beloved visitors, which means that the UNbeloved ones have had free reign (as long as they stayed out of the shed, where we CAN safely put traps-we've gotten a few in there, but not many).
Rats are sneaky little brutes, and so normally come to feed under cover of darkness; in the past couple of months, though, I've been spoiling their fun with something my husband cooked up... a remote that turns on sprinklers that shoot water up into the foliage they hang out in and then drop it down onto the feeding area, scaring the rats out of their pestilential wits. Now, instead of sauntering in and hanging out as long as they want, stuffing their faces at their leisure, the rats spend their nights running up and down, up and down, up and down the bushes, with breaks to frantically groom their soggy fur; this has led to them getting progressively more hungry, but rather than just finding somewhere less challenging to swarm they've started coming while it's still light, climbing down to the feeder (which we remove after sunset every day to keep them out of it, and re-hang once the sun's up for the birds to use), and gorging themselves while the poor hungry tweeties chirp agitatedly from the landscaping. My husband and I have expressed puzzlement to each other several times as to how the rats dare leap around during daylight hours when we've got so many hawks in this area; I don't know what, if anything, the latter have done previously, but today I saw proof that the local birds of prey have NOT failed to notice the change in the rats' behavior.
I was at my laptop in the family room just as it was starting to get dark, and was interrupted by a ruckus on the patio; the thumping and crashing noises made me start dragging myself up to, I assumed, chase away one of the rotten stray cats that periodically show up to stalk the birds and knock over my husband's junk piles, but a barrage of screeches kick-started my adrenal glands and sent me rocketing to the window knowing what I'd see... a hawk. The sturdy raptor wasn't perched on the fence, or up on a branch, as one would reasonably expect; he was standing on the patio tiles... with something struggling in his talons. Although a hawk can do real damage to a person, and would certainly attempt do so if he felt like he, or his dinner, was at risk, my mind immediately swam with ideas about how I'd separate him from the precious tweetie that I assumed he was holding; the 1st step was to pound on the window and scream at him, which had worked when a hawk had tried to snatch a bird that had flown into a window and was laying stunned and helpless beneath it (see my post of 10-20-05)... but before my fist hit the glass I realized that the predator's prospective meal had too many legs to be a bird, and therefore was a filthy RAT.
Relief that an innocent tweet hadn't been caught mixed with exhilaration that a loathsome creature was about to get its just desserts for its arrogance in stealing food before nightfall and for being destructive to my patio area... and amazement at seeing this scene out of a nature show in real life, only a few feet away. The hawk had obviously seen me, but showed no fear, which is typical of them; he barely spared me a glance as he pecked and squeezed the still-twitching rodent until it lay still (I never saw blood or wounds, so he must not have wanted to pierce the skin until he had the rat in his nest). He took a grip on it, shifted his wings, and... nothing. He looked around, his sleek head bobbing and twisting, got a new grip, and... nothing. It took me a minute, but I finally realized what the problem was; from where he was standing, the only way he could see where he could be sure he'd be able to fly out was a narrow slit between the patio cover and the fence that was mostly screened by branches and wind chimes... fine for little birds, but not for one with a 6-foot wingspan and a huge rat hanging from his claws. (I'm guessing from the noise I'd heard earlier that he crashed through some branches to get into the patio enclosure, probably after a dive to grab the rat while it was on the edge of the patio cover preparing to swing underneath it to get to the feeder, so he couldn't leave the way he'd gotten in.)
For about 10 minutes I watched the hawk looking all around, sometimes shuffling his feet on the rat, sometimes dragging it a little ways, and sometimes hopping a short distance away from it, obviously trying to figure out the best way out. It was getting darker, and I agonized over whether or not to turn on a light; it'd help him see his potential exits better, but it might also startle him enough in his agitated state that he'd abandon the carcass in favor of getting home before it got too dark to fly... and under no circumstances did I want him to miss out on discovering how plump and juicy that rat was, because I wanted him to come back every day and hunt the evil rodents, ideally killing them ALL. Luckily, birds of prey are SMART; as I saw last year when a smaller one invented several non-instinctive strategies to try to reach the tweeties (see my post of 8-17-05), given enough time they can figure their way out of even those situations that their hunting instincts didn't prepare them for... and this bold specimen was no exception, because he eventually took a lunge upwards to the only space that was nearly wide enough, made it to the fence with his prize, rotated a bit to fit around the branches, jumped off, flapped his enormous wings and was gone.
As always, I was awed to see such a spectacular bit of the wild world in action in my own suburban yard; this time, though, my primary emotion was delight at the thought that, now that the hawk had found where to come to get the biggest, best prey in his territory, the rat population was FINALLY going to take a beating.
BWAH-HA-HA-HA-HA!!
Rats are sneaky little brutes, and so normally come to feed under cover of darkness; in the past couple of months, though, I've been spoiling their fun with something my husband cooked up... a remote that turns on sprinklers that shoot water up into the foliage they hang out in and then drop it down onto the feeding area, scaring the rats out of their pestilential wits. Now, instead of sauntering in and hanging out as long as they want, stuffing their faces at their leisure, the rats spend their nights running up and down, up and down, up and down the bushes, with breaks to frantically groom their soggy fur; this has led to them getting progressively more hungry, but rather than just finding somewhere less challenging to swarm they've started coming while it's still light, climbing down to the feeder (which we remove after sunset every day to keep them out of it, and re-hang once the sun's up for the birds to use), and gorging themselves while the poor hungry tweeties chirp agitatedly from the landscaping. My husband and I have expressed puzzlement to each other several times as to how the rats dare leap around during daylight hours when we've got so many hawks in this area; I don't know what, if anything, the latter have done previously, but today I saw proof that the local birds of prey have NOT failed to notice the change in the rats' behavior.
I was at my laptop in the family room just as it was starting to get dark, and was interrupted by a ruckus on the patio; the thumping and crashing noises made me start dragging myself up to, I assumed, chase away one of the rotten stray cats that periodically show up to stalk the birds and knock over my husband's junk piles, but a barrage of screeches kick-started my adrenal glands and sent me rocketing to the window knowing what I'd see... a hawk. The sturdy raptor wasn't perched on the fence, or up on a branch, as one would reasonably expect; he was standing on the patio tiles... with something struggling in his talons. Although a hawk can do real damage to a person, and would certainly attempt do so if he felt like he, or his dinner, was at risk, my mind immediately swam with ideas about how I'd separate him from the precious tweetie that I assumed he was holding; the 1st step was to pound on the window and scream at him, which had worked when a hawk had tried to snatch a bird that had flown into a window and was laying stunned and helpless beneath it (see my post of 10-20-05)... but before my fist hit the glass I realized that the predator's prospective meal had too many legs to be a bird, and therefore was a filthy RAT.
Relief that an innocent tweet hadn't been caught mixed with exhilaration that a loathsome creature was about to get its just desserts for its arrogance in stealing food before nightfall and for being destructive to my patio area... and amazement at seeing this scene out of a nature show in real life, only a few feet away. The hawk had obviously seen me, but showed no fear, which is typical of them; he barely spared me a glance as he pecked and squeezed the still-twitching rodent until it lay still (I never saw blood or wounds, so he must not have wanted to pierce the skin until he had the rat in his nest). He took a grip on it, shifted his wings, and... nothing. He looked around, his sleek head bobbing and twisting, got a new grip, and... nothing. It took me a minute, but I finally realized what the problem was; from where he was standing, the only way he could see where he could be sure he'd be able to fly out was a narrow slit between the patio cover and the fence that was mostly screened by branches and wind chimes... fine for little birds, but not for one with a 6-foot wingspan and a huge rat hanging from his claws. (I'm guessing from the noise I'd heard earlier that he crashed through some branches to get into the patio enclosure, probably after a dive to grab the rat while it was on the edge of the patio cover preparing to swing underneath it to get to the feeder, so he couldn't leave the way he'd gotten in.)
For about 10 minutes I watched the hawk looking all around, sometimes shuffling his feet on the rat, sometimes dragging it a little ways, and sometimes hopping a short distance away from it, obviously trying to figure out the best way out. It was getting darker, and I agonized over whether or not to turn on a light; it'd help him see his potential exits better, but it might also startle him enough in his agitated state that he'd abandon the carcass in favor of getting home before it got too dark to fly... and under no circumstances did I want him to miss out on discovering how plump and juicy that rat was, because I wanted him to come back every day and hunt the evil rodents, ideally killing them ALL. Luckily, birds of prey are SMART; as I saw last year when a smaller one invented several non-instinctive strategies to try to reach the tweeties (see my post of 8-17-05), given enough time they can figure their way out of even those situations that their hunting instincts didn't prepare them for... and this bold specimen was no exception, because he eventually took a lunge upwards to the only space that was nearly wide enough, made it to the fence with his prize, rotated a bit to fit around the branches, jumped off, flapped his enormous wings and was gone.
As always, I was awed to see such a spectacular bit of the wild world in action in my own suburban yard; this time, though, my primary emotion was delight at the thought that, now that the hawk had found where to come to get the biggest, best prey in his territory, the rat population was FINALLY going to take a beating.
BWAH-HA-HA-HA-HA!!
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Husband humor
My husband and I have had the flu for the past week or so; can you believe we're both sick AGAIN? Between this flu, the prior one (see my post of 9-8-06), and the food poisoning (see my post of 11-11-06), we've been sick more in the last 3 months than in the last 5 YEARS... him especially, since it's usually just me who gets sick (he says that germs can't approach him because they don't have gas masks, lol). The really grim thing is that we'd just gotten back to normal eating and excretory functions a week before the flu hit (yes, the food poisoning knocked us out for 2 WEEKS), so it was with GREAT dismay that we faced having to switch back to "sick food" again. We didn't have much left, so we wearily started putting together a list of what we'd need from the grocery store before we got too sick to go out; this shouldn't have been a big deal, but my husband is legendary for slurping up most or all of a bunch of food items and then developing amnesia about it... which doesn't stop him from claiming that he didn't consume the stuff, and that he "knows" how much we have of everything, with such certainty that he'll resist checking it out, or even letting ME check it out. Luckily, I've learned over the years that he's only sure about things that are totally UNsure (and vice versa), so:
Him: We have enough bread for us and 3-4 other people to have the eggs on toast meal, so we don't need to get more.
Me: We didn't have that much the last time I saw the loaf, so how could we have that much NOW?
Him: Yes, we did, you're just not remembering correctly.
Me: Oh yeah, THAT'S likely. Even if I WAS misremembering, I know you've eaten some in the interim, so we STILL wouldn't have enough.
Him: Yes we do!! I told you that we have...
Me: Yes, and if I didn't KNOW you I might believe that. Check the loaf and see how many slices we've got left.
Him: No!! I know we've got...
Me: Then I'LL check. {getting wearily up from the floor}
Him: NO!! I'll look!! {lunging for the fridge, since, inexplicably, he'd always rather do things he's refused to do than have ME do them for him}
Me: Well?
Him: I don't understand... there's only a couple of slices left!!
Me: Told ya.
Him: But I could have sworn...
Me: Same as always, yes. How were you envisioning us and 3-4 other people making a meal out of that?
Him: Er...
Me: And if I'd been foolish enough to trust your assertions, what would we have done at dinnertime when it turned out we only had 2 slices of bread instead of the 6 we need?
Him: Um...
Me: {sighing} Just put it on the list. How are we doing on saltines?
Him: Oh, I'm sure we've got plenty.
Me: grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
That's not the only thing I've been irritated with him about; he got sick several days before I did, so HE did this to me... he must have coughed around my computer or failed to wash his hands often enough or some such thing, because I wouldn't let him anywhere near me in an attempt to not catch this flu. Since he prefers to isolate himself when he's sick, he had no objections to being banished to sleep in his study, but he clearly wasn't taking "Operation Protect Omni" seriously, because when I went to the study to say goodnight:
Me: Do you need the nose spray or anything else from the medicine cabinet?
Him: Nope, I'm all set... what are you looking around for?
Me: The dirty clothes are piling up...
Him: Well, if you come in here tomorrow in your incarnation as "Laundry Girl," remember not to touch any socks.
Me: HUH? Why would I not... oh no, are you blowing your nose on your SOCKS again?!!
Him: Uh-huh, lol.
Me: You disgusting creature!! Just put a box of tissues in the room!!
Him: No, I like the socks better-they're softer.
Me: You're REPULSIVE!!
Him: Yeah, so watch out, or you'll find a crusty sock stuck under your door when you wake up.
Me: EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!! That's GROSS!! You stay in this room and don't come out until you're healthy... and maybe not even THEN!!
He wasn't quite done with his mucous-related "humor," as it turned out; a few days later, when I was having to blow my nose every 5 minutes, and was cursing HIM even more frequently, he came into the room while I was blowing, and blowing, and checking to make sure a LUNG hadn't come out, and blowing, and blowing:
Me: All this blowing and wiping is making my nose sore.
Him: Would you like a sock?
Me: NO, I WOULD *NOT* LIKE A SOCK!!!!!!!!
Him: lol
Imagine how much I must love him to let him LIVE.
On a less revolting note, he really tried to pull a fast one on me a couple of days ago: He was going out to run some errands, and we'd laboriously compiled a list of things for him to get (this is necessary because if he's sent out to get even TWO things he'll only remember ONE); given the frequency with which he's traditionally been able to mislay lists in the 5 minutes between their completion and his departure, before he went out the door I demanded visual verification that he had the list:
Him: I've GOT it.
Me: Good, then let me see it.
Him: No, really, I've GOT it, and it's getting late, and...
Me: And you're not leaving this house without showing me that you've got the list.
Him: {sighing and pawing ostentatiously through his pockets} Ok, ok, see, there it is. {flashing the edge of a crumpled bit of paper}
Me: Oh no you don't!! That's NOT the list!! The list is on white paper, and THAT paper has colors-it looks like the coupons on the back of the grocery store receipt!!
Him: Well, it was worth a try, lol.
Me: WHERE'S THE LIST?
Him: I've got it, I've got it.
Me: WHERE?
Him: It's all in my head, it's...
Me: Do I LOOK like an idiot? Go find that list!!
He went off, grumbling, and after several minutes of banging around returned with the list, which, once I'd verified that that's what it was (as opposed to a random piece of white paper), got stowed safely away. Then:
Me: Ok; have you got $ on you?
Him: Yes.
Me: Let's see it.
Him: {fumbling through his pockets again} Yes, here it is.
Me: Let's SEE it.
Him: sigh {starting to pull his hand out of the pocket}
Me: And DON'T show me that same receipt.
Him: SIGH!! {goes stomping off to find his $}
Whoever it was that said "you never really know another person" needs to come spend some time at MY house.
Him: We have enough bread for us and 3-4 other people to have the eggs on toast meal, so we don't need to get more.
Me: We didn't have that much the last time I saw the loaf, so how could we have that much NOW?
Him: Yes, we did, you're just not remembering correctly.
Me: Oh yeah, THAT'S likely. Even if I WAS misremembering, I know you've eaten some in the interim, so we STILL wouldn't have enough.
Him: Yes we do!! I told you that we have...
Me: Yes, and if I didn't KNOW you I might believe that. Check the loaf and see how many slices we've got left.
Him: No!! I know we've got...
Me: Then I'LL check. {getting wearily up from the floor}
Him: NO!! I'll look!! {lunging for the fridge, since, inexplicably, he'd always rather do things he's refused to do than have ME do them for him}
Me: Well?
Him: I don't understand... there's only a couple of slices left!!
Me: Told ya.
Him: But I could have sworn...
Me: Same as always, yes. How were you envisioning us and 3-4 other people making a meal out of that?
Him: Er...
Me: And if I'd been foolish enough to trust your assertions, what would we have done at dinnertime when it turned out we only had 2 slices of bread instead of the 6 we need?
Him: Um...
Me: {sighing} Just put it on the list. How are we doing on saltines?
Him: Oh, I'm sure we've got plenty.
Me: grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
That's not the only thing I've been irritated with him about; he got sick several days before I did, so HE did this to me... he must have coughed around my computer or failed to wash his hands often enough or some such thing, because I wouldn't let him anywhere near me in an attempt to not catch this flu. Since he prefers to isolate himself when he's sick, he had no objections to being banished to sleep in his study, but he clearly wasn't taking "Operation Protect Omni" seriously, because when I went to the study to say goodnight:
Me: Do you need the nose spray or anything else from the medicine cabinet?
Him: Nope, I'm all set... what are you looking around for?
Me: The dirty clothes are piling up...
Him: Well, if you come in here tomorrow in your incarnation as "Laundry Girl," remember not to touch any socks.
Me: HUH? Why would I not... oh no, are you blowing your nose on your SOCKS again?!!
Him: Uh-huh, lol.
Me: You disgusting creature!! Just put a box of tissues in the room!!
Him: No, I like the socks better-they're softer.
Me: You're REPULSIVE!!
Him: Yeah, so watch out, or you'll find a crusty sock stuck under your door when you wake up.
Me: EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!! That's GROSS!! You stay in this room and don't come out until you're healthy... and maybe not even THEN!!
He wasn't quite done with his mucous-related "humor," as it turned out; a few days later, when I was having to blow my nose every 5 minutes, and was cursing HIM even more frequently, he came into the room while I was blowing, and blowing, and checking to make sure a LUNG hadn't come out, and blowing, and blowing:
Me: All this blowing and wiping is making my nose sore.
Him: Would you like a sock?
Me: NO, I WOULD *NOT* LIKE A SOCK!!!!!!!!
Him: lol
Imagine how much I must love him to let him LIVE.
On a less revolting note, he really tried to pull a fast one on me a couple of days ago: He was going out to run some errands, and we'd laboriously compiled a list of things for him to get (this is necessary because if he's sent out to get even TWO things he'll only remember ONE); given the frequency with which he's traditionally been able to mislay lists in the 5 minutes between their completion and his departure, before he went out the door I demanded visual verification that he had the list:
Him: I've GOT it.
Me: Good, then let me see it.
Him: No, really, I've GOT it, and it's getting late, and...
Me: And you're not leaving this house without showing me that you've got the list.
Him: {sighing and pawing ostentatiously through his pockets} Ok, ok, see, there it is. {flashing the edge of a crumpled bit of paper}
Me: Oh no you don't!! That's NOT the list!! The list is on white paper, and THAT paper has colors-it looks like the coupons on the back of the grocery store receipt!!
Him: Well, it was worth a try, lol.
Me: WHERE'S THE LIST?
Him: I've got it, I've got it.
Me: WHERE?
Him: It's all in my head, it's...
Me: Do I LOOK like an idiot? Go find that list!!
He went off, grumbling, and after several minutes of banging around returned with the list, which, once I'd verified that that's what it was (as opposed to a random piece of white paper), got stowed safely away. Then:
Me: Ok; have you got $ on you?
Him: Yes.
Me: Let's see it.
Him: {fumbling through his pockets again} Yes, here it is.
Me: Let's SEE it.
Him: sigh {starting to pull his hand out of the pocket}
Me: And DON'T show me that same receipt.
Him: SIGH!! {goes stomping off to find his $}
Whoever it was that said "you never really know another person" needs to come spend some time at MY house.
