Little Guy

Last spring I wrote about drama in the flock of geese that lives in my backyard. One of the baby geese was killed. At the time I thought Milo, the flock's leader, killed the baby; now I think it was a group of crows. Milo just wouldn't do that. Crows, on the other hand, would.

The dead baby had only one sibling, who was alone after the murder. Over the months that followed I made sure to give that baby extra food because I felt sorry for him. All the other babies had siblings to play with. Not Little Guy. He was all alone, poor thing.

Look! Up in the sky!

This evening just before darkness fell I took my moths outside to set them free. I stood in the fierce winds from the hurricane, opened the top of the Bugzooka and they flew into the wind currents. It seemed marvelous.

The air was so wild and the fading night so inviting, that I stood there for a bit. Soon I heard my flock of geese but I couldn't tell where they were. It was almost dark and I couldn't see them anywhere. I tried to localize their honking. Where was it coming from? Ahead -- that was as far as I could pin it down. I stood still and listened. The honking was getting louder.

Suddenly the flock streamed across the sky, right over me. Their black silhouettes stood out clearly against the lighter background of the fading night sky. They called loudly to each other as they flew -- and I knew I was hearing Milo, calling out to his flock and directing their flight. And the others called back to him, sounding joyful to follow his lead.

These adult geese flying through the night sky were, in large part, the babies I helped raise this summer. They've grown up and are as powerful and large as the other geese. Last week I noticed that Milo had begun to take the flock on day trips. They're gone for most of the day now, where before they'd just lounge around in the yard. Milo is literally training them, taking them on longer and longer flights to get them ready for the coming migration. Some nights they don't return at all. (And yes, I worry when they don't come home at night. It's just the way I am.)

But in that brief, wild moment as they passed overhead, as I stood in the wind, already feeling the power of nature all around me, their appearance in the night sky seemed so perfect. I will always remember this experience. (And it's very cool to have friends who can fly.)

The squirrels may have found the bird feeder

(The original version of this post is accompanied by photos. To see them, visit the graphics version of this blog.)

Yup, there he is, sitting pretty in a bunch of food. This is one happy squirrel. This feeder hangs on one of my windows and even if I tap on the glass, he just goes on eating. This behavior is new. I saw it for the first time today.

I'm feeding a ton of birds now. The word has gotten out and the crowd grows by the day. There's always change out there. For instance, the baby geese are almost adults already. Their feathers are taking on typical geese patterning. It's sweet to see.

There are also two new, tiny babies. This is a fuzzy photo but you get the idea: little balls of fluff walking around. Plus I've got ducks now, six of them. I swear, the menagerie grows and grows.

What's most interesting is how each bird has its own perceptions and species-specific tools. For instance, some birds throw caution to the wind. They don't worry about their own safety. They just hop on a feeder and munch away.

Others are cagey. Some sit backwards in the feeder so they can keep an eye out and fly away in an emergency. They have to bend their necks back to eat. Others bring a friend so one can eat while the other perches backwards to watch for predators. One species (the common grackle) even stands on top of the feeder and puts its head close to the window to see if I'm there before he'll eat. It's fascinating to observe these differences in behavior.

By the way, geese are smart. They understand what I say in the same way the dog understands what I say. They get what I mean, and do so easily. I find this beyond amazing. I can literally call them to me and they come. And they won't come unless I call. If they start to come and I don't want them to, all I have to do is say "no" and put my hands up -- and they stop! They actually understand -- and it's not like I've been out there training them. Bizarre.

It's a lift to wake up and see them out there waiting for me each morning. That is so cool.