Bringing Up Birdy

Raising a bird is quite the community project. All members of the family pool their resources to keep track of the rapidly growing Peep. And I don't just mean children.

By today, Peep didn't even need the cell phone to signal him to eat. He now thinks that tweezers make a dandy herald of food, and has even started asking to be fed. Whenever he wakes up, he lets out a single (LOUD) peep, and waits for the Tweezers of Destiny.

When I was a freshman in high school, I raised a sparrow to adulthood, the only success up to that time, and for many years after. I named him Hoover, because he was like a vacuum. Mom barely remembers Hoover. That could be because he spent most of his time at school with me. My wonderful teachers were very patient for the 2 weeks or more when their classes were regularly interrupted by a bass "PEEP! PEEP! PEEP!" Peep is quite dainty in comparison with Hoover.

He's eating a mix of soggy cat food and berries. We'll give him bugs if we catch any. He didn't much care for the tuna shreds, so we gave up on that one. And he's started flirting - fluffing his feathers now that he has more of them, fluttering his wings, and trying to look adorable so I'll give him all the goodies instead of the other birds in the nest. (There are no other birds in the nest, but that doesn't hinder his efforts in the slightest.)

Now that I'm getting my voice back a little, I can make peeping noises, and he'll respond. Or Jack will text me so my phone beeps, and Peep thinks someone is calling him. Or a car will honk in the distance...beep...and Peep will think I was calling him to dinner. 

No matter when or what, his slightest move is watched with deathless, unblinking interest.

Laila

Wannabe kept purring this rusty purr
that sounded more like a growl.
Trust me, though, it was a purr.
It sounded terrifying, putting Peep off
his feed for more than 3 seconds.

If you would just come out, then we could
get to know each other better.

Expensia takes the night shift.

Day and night, someone always stands guard. It reminds me of the verse, "He that keepeth Israel slumbers not, nor sleeps." Peep seems to take his furry fans in stride, as long as he can stay safely in the kitty carrier. And as long as they don't rattle the bars too loudly trying to get in. With adventure all around, Noni Beth

Peep of the Prairie

I'm still way behind in my blogging. I mean, we haven't even gone through Yellowstone yet in blogland, and that was in June. But there is breaking news, which must blast through all the posts that aren't there yet, and take its place at the head of the line.

Yesterday, a customer noticed a tiny baby sparrow lying on the asphalt near the fire station, which is next door to the office. The air temperature was in the high 90's, so I can only imagine how hot the poor little thing was with no protection for its feet and belly. He (she?) lay writhing in agony, fluttering and scooting, too small to walk, too small to make it across the ten feet or more to the grass. A distressed parent bird watched helplessly.

Of course I couldn't leave the poor thing there, even though I need a baby bird like I need....well, there is no simile grim enough and still polite enough. I do NOT need a baby bird.  I figured I could at least give it a more comfortable place to die.

It wouldn't eat at first. Maybe it was too weak, or maybe tweezers didn't look enough like Mommy's beak. Or maybe soggy cat food didn't look enough like flies. Then Tiggy had the bright idea to play the birdsong on her cell phone, and voila! An Eating Monster was born. It's like Pavlov's dinner bell - he hears it, and he must eat.

Below is a video clip of Peep. There are some cute shots of him, but in large parts the camera is swinging wildly and out of focus. Six cats were very interested in all the Peeping, not to mention the smell of cat food and hard-boiled egg. Every time the camera shakes off Peep, it's because I'm shoving away one of his ardent fans. It was like trying to hold back a crowd at a Beatles concert. It's going to be a looooooooooong time till he's ready to fly away. Sigh.

So here is Peep, still alive after more than 24 hours in custody.

Pocket Smokejumpers

These funny-looking trucktanks are how people really get around in Yellowstone in the winter. 

We had promised to go camping.We'll know better next time, most likely. But a promise is a promise. So we turned south instead of northeast, and headed for West Yellowstone. The special pavilion tent came in real handy at the KOA. I just don't know how we all had managed to cram into the other tent for so long, though when we first got it, the kids didn't take up NEARLY as much space as they do now.

Devon "helps" set up camp. 

After a feast of more Boca Burgers,
plus spectacular grilled corn on the cob,and a nice, long night's sleep,
 it was time to take the kiddos to the
junior smokejumper training in West Yellowstone. 

Tiggy tried (successfully) to save the
little cabin from the forest fire,
blown in by Devon. When it
went out, he begged, "Please, just
one more match! I can burn it if you
just light it one more time!"

The kids practiced getting Mr. Smokey (sounds
catchier than Mr. Jumpy), out of his
entanglement in the tree. I'll lay odds
that after Devon got through with him,
he decided to be more careful
next time.

Usually Damon is the one who gives the long-winded scientific lectures to whichever hapless employee has the misfortune to ask an open-ended question. This time, though, he kindly allowed Devon to take lead.

Volunteer, smiling sweetly: "So, do any of you know what makes a pine cone release its seeds?"

Devon, clearing throat ostentatiously: "The heat of the fire combines with the gases from the flames to trigger the release mechanism in the pine cone. The cone opens part-way, and when the fire cools, the cone curls the rest of the way open and the seeds fall out of their compartments."

Volunteer, eyes glazed over: "Yes, little boy. That's right."

Devon burns down the forest.

A retired smokejumper in charge of
our class taught the kids how
to cut line. Oh, look! We have a
future supervisor on our hands!

Next they practiced throwing dirt at a tree.
Had there been a fire, the dirt would
have cooled things down enough
for a sawyer to take out the tree.

Damon was fiercely competitive, and
highly accurate.

At least Tiggy is beautiful.

On to the physical fitness portion. One of the
requirements to enter smokejumper
training is to be able to complete
seven pullups. Uber-competitive Damon
accomplished them with ease.

Devon accomplished all seven with
difficulty, but he did them. Go Devon!

Tiggy stood and jumped to do one.
But at least she's beautiful.

45 situps? Piece of cake.

Fifteen pushups...or something. 

"Listen closely. When you jump out of the airplane,
go feet first. As soon as you land on your feet,
tuck and roll."
So naturally Devon went headfirst.

For their own protection, they brought
out the Junior Smokejumper Helmet
and Coat of Destiny.

Tiggy makes that suit look good.

Damon shows them how it's done,
with a perfectly executed jump,

landing,

and roll.

Before getting out the real parachute,
they practice steering. (Mom thought they were saying ,
"YAAAAAAAAYYYYYY!!!) The harsh truth
began to sink in that even the hottest smokejumper
needs to know
MATH!

I took a number of photos of Devon
from the back. There was just something
about his bulky coat, bright blue
helmet, and scrawny little legs
that I found irresistible.

Our intrepid instructor got out his own personal
parachute to show us how the steering mechanism
worked. It was a very windy day, and it took
lots of cooperation to hold it back. 

Here comes Devon to save the day!

Their efforts come together, and the parachute soars aloft...

...while Tiggy supervises. Beautifully. 

Picture perfect! It was so nice to see the boys cooperating
for a change.

Devon and a parachute. What could possibly go wrong?

It was just like a zombie movie, not that I've every seen one.
A shapeless outline staggering along, arms held out menacingly,
uttering weird, unearthly grunts and groans.

Uuuuuuuuuuuunnnnnnnhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!Uuuuuuuuuuuunnnnnnnhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!! 

Uuuuuuuuuuuunnnnnnnhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!! 

And then it was time for the test. They all must have passed. Either
that, or the workers just pretended they did so they
would leave faster.
Oops, did I say that out loud?

In the end, the kids got their Junior Smokejumper certifications,
and the instructor managed to pry the helmet and
coat off Devon. I think I saw his eye twitch
just a little when Devon promised to visit him again.
Real soon.