Robin Number Two

It was only a few days after that first robin moved on (see Front Door Bird, 5-6-09 and Front Door Bird: The Final Chapter, 5-27-09) that another robin moved in to the abandoned nest on the front porch. We think it might have been the same mama bird as it wasn't a nest that was easy to see unless you knew it was there, tucked at the inside top of that column, and she did look a lot like the first bird by way of her markings, so for argument's sake, let's just assume that robin number one came back for another round of motherhood.

This time she laid four eggs and all four babies hatched and grew robust with mama's endless meals. It seemed like every time we came or went from the house she was up there shoving food into their screaming faces. The novelty of it was pretty much lost on all of us this time around as we made no attempt to either use another entrance nor to tiptoe around so as not to disturb the birds, and the mama robin barely gave us a glance as we came and went, let alone attempt to lure us away from her babies by flying off in a nervous tizzy twenty times a day. We quite peacefully co-existed for several weeks, with my only complaint the growing pile of bird poop on the porch beneath the nest as well as the need to get across the porch as quickly as possible to avoid being covered in tiny bird mites that our porch had now become infested with, courtesy of our endless feathered houseguests.

The babies grew quite large, to the point where the mother, when sitting on them, appeared to be levitating out of the nest as she floated above the rim and up into space. And then one sunny morning Griffin was heading out to check the mailbox when he spied what he thought was the mother, dead on the porch. It turned out to be one of the babies and it was still alive, though in shock from his fall. All the other babies had clearly successfully flown off, but this little guy just didn't have the horsepower. We got out the gloves and the tall ladder and I held the silent baby while Griffin climbed up to the nest. As I handed the baby up to him it began to scream like a maniac and out of nowhere mama appeared and was noisily freaking out above our heads. The baby was carefully placed back in the nest and we moved back into the house to watch if the mother would reject the baby.

It took some time before she made an appearance, but when she did, she brought food and comfort, climbing into the nest with her little one. And then we all got busy with our lives and didn't pay much attention to the robins until later that afternoon when we were heading out to do some errands and Griffin and I discovered the baby had fallen from the nest again. We took a few moments before leaving to place the baby back in the nest, but after this second fall from such a high place onto a hard, wooden porch, the baby wasn't looking so good and we figured it was just a matter of time before the baby passed away.

Whether mama came back again while we were gone I have no idea, but when came home we couldn't see the baby's head poking up out of the nest so Griffin climbed back up to see if the baby had somehow miraculously successfully flown off on his third attempt, but alas it was not to be. The baby had died while we were away. Griffin took the nest and baby down, we placed it in a little bag and after saying a prayer for the poor little bird whose life was so short, disposed of his body.

The nest is now gone and this will hopefully put an end (for this season at any rate) to the life cycle that keeps repeating itself just outside our front door. All that's left is a small patch of mold behind where the nest was built, a persistent poo stain that no amount of water seems to wash away, and all those irritating little mites that haven't yet figured out that there is nothing out there to sustain them anymore.

Life is almost back to normal out there just beyond our front door, and it's a good thing because my heart simply cannot take watching more baby birds struggle and suffer and die, wheel of life or not.

Two Little Monkeys

Two perfect little boys, best friends with one another and adored by me. Is there anything cuter than a chihuahua?

Neurotic Pets

I can't figure out why all my pets (including the fowl outside in the barn) are nuts. Seriously, every last one of them is not normal. I've given this some serious thought and have even discussed it with various people, and frankly I'm stumped. Just about everyone though seems to agree that it's me who makes them loony as they all seem like perfectly normal animals when they leave their breeders' homes and only become odd once they settle in here, but I'm just not sure.

The other day Edison and Bram were happily munching their lunches in the kitchen and I was buzzing about doing little chores and after having had my back to them for a few minutes turned around to find Edison limping horribly out of the kitchen and into the foyer. I rushed out after him as he hobbled away with a look of utter anguish on his tiny face, his right front leg held out away from his body stiffly and at a very odd angle. I was instantly terrified, yet couldn't figure out how he had hurt himself so badly and so quickly, when all he was doing was quietly eating. The look on his face was heartbreaking.

I gently picked him up and touched his leg. He didn't cry out, yet still held it stiffly away from his body. I couldn't figure out what could possibly be wrong and with each passing second was losing years off of my life from the terror of his obviously seriously damaged leg. He continued to watch me with that sad little face and as I felt his leg from body to toes I discovered a large chunk of kibbles, wet and sticky with canned food, stuck halfway down his leg. As soon as I picked it off of him, he squirmed to get down and immediately ran back to his bowl to finish his lunch before Bram did it for him.

All this because he was dirty? A normal dog would have bent over and eaten the juicy morsel right from their own leg, but not Edison. My dog is clearly horrified at the thought of having something icky on him and he continued to freak out until it was removed. Talk about OCD. If he had just stood still for a moment Bram would have happily eaten the offending bit of lunch right off of his leg. And with that I could have been saved some serious anxiety. And everyone would be happy. Crazy, but happy.

Seagulls

Seagulls and I have a history that extends from my early childhood to today.

When I was a little girl I went to a seaside restaurant with my family and after dinner while out walking amongst the breakers I found a seagull that was tightly tangled in a fishing line. One leg was horribly bent and the poor bird's mouth was held shut with multiple layers of the thin plastic line wrapped around its beak. The bird was dirty and thin, but still struggling to free itself and I cried when I saw it. I refused to leave until my mother went to call for help and animal rescue came and saved the bird. Only when I was sure the bird would be nursed back to health and then released did I get in the car and go home.

A few years ago, David had business on the Vineyard and I gladly went with him for the day, accompanied by Griffin and a friend. After lunch we took a walk on an empty, quiet stretch of beach and as there were a couple of seagulls circling above me, I pulled the remains of my lunch from my doggie bag and began to share it with them. (I'm the person who will always stop to feed the birds wherever I am when out and about in the world, with whatever species of bird is in front of me. I've even been known to quickly find a store to buy some food with which to feed them when I'm caught empty-handed). So back on that beach, the gulls multiplied rapidly until I had utterly lost control of the situation and could no longer be seen in the middle of the swirling mass of white and gray feathers flying low around and right above me. My three companions stood there, stunned and speechless, by the surreal scene before them. Rather quickly I ran out of food and the birds gradually took off for a better opportunity. While it was thrilling to be completely engulfed by so many big, beautiful birds, I must admit that it was nicer when they had gone. And considerably quieter.

At the end of the day we walked along the pier, killing time until the ferry was ready to leave for the mainland. It had been such a beautiful day: the autumn air was a bit chill but the sun was warm, the trees were turning a rich red and orange, and the sunset on the boat was going to be spectacular. There at the end of the dock, sitting on a piling, was a lone seagull. As I had an apple and some crackers left from a mid-afternoon snack, I thought I'd share my food with this one last seagull before getting onto the boat as for me it would be the perfect ending to my already perfect day on the island. Moments later I once again found myself covered in hungry birds. And more hungry birds. And still more birds. The number was staggering, and this group was not nearly as polite as the group on the other side of the island earlier in the day. Needless to say, it wasn't long before I ran out of food and the birds became really agitated. As exciting as it was, I have to admit that visions of Alfred Hitchcock were running through my brain and while I wasn't exactly calm anymore, I did manage to get myself safely out of the melee around me. And as I walked over to my horrified companions, David asked me (actually shouted to me over the near-deafening screeching) if I was done feeding the birds for the day? When he found that I had no more food, he and the others were all visibly and palpably relieved.

There are always a handful of seagulls at our local home improvement store, ambling about the parking lot and perching atop the lampposts. And while there is a doughnut shop just inside the front door, as a courtesy to David who is always with me there as I am generally tagging along with him on an errand, I have resisted the urge to rush in and buy a doughnut or two to share with the birds. But I think of doing it every single time I go. And one of these times I just might.

Dog Mail

It really is very strange when your dog gets mail. It's completely unexpected. You're going through the mail and sorting it for each family member as you're walking back indoors from the mailbox and there in the pile is a letter for your dog. It's not a reminder from the vet to let him know he has an upcoming visit (as some vets think it's cute to send the reminder to the pet itself), nor is it for your older dog who has long been registered with the town. No, it's for the puppy who won't be "official" until January of next year, which makes it all the more puzzling how anyone got his name and address.

So Bram gets this letter and upon opening it I discover that he's been personally invited to participate in a town event known as "Dog Daze" where licensed dogs can enter any or all of three events: costume, agility and talent. As I'm not sure Bram can enter as he isn't yet licensed and Edison sadly- and most rudely- was overlooked by whoever was sending these things out (we're outraged, I tell you!), it appears we won't be participating, but I did give this some thought before deciding to toss the invitation.

The costume event would be ideal for us, as I love dressing my dogs up whenever I have an excuse to do it, and being an artist I can really rock the whole costume thing. With time short as this gala is happening in just two weeks, I thought I could get away with making just one new costume by recycling Edison's first Halloween costume as it would fit Bram who is still tiny: a bee suit complete with gossamer wings, antennae and a tiny stinger on the bum. Edison, were he able to compete, would go as a little Sherlock Holmes with a tweed cape, starched collar and a deerstalker hat with a small pipe attached to the side near his cheek. Of course, this would not be at all inhumane: forcing my dogs to wear layers of fleece and wool from head to toe in the heat of late June.

As to agility, the boys' talents extend to running in circles around the house at top speed and ducking under the couch while only occasionally smacking their foreheads against its front, fighting over choice toys in a frequently vicious game of tug of war, and chasing the cat up and down the stairs until she attacks their faces in a feral rage.

Talent? One of my dogs will sit on command, but only if he is sure you have a treat for him. There's no way he'd lower himself to do something so base without it being worth his while so if he doesn't see the food, he won't bother, and the other dog hasn't even once attempted to sit, but simply leaps into the air, steals the snack and runs like hell into the next room with it, inhaling it before anyone tries to get it away from him. One snores very loudly and the other never stops barking, but since I have absolutely no control over stopping or starting either of these behaviors, I suppose neither could be considered the trick of "speaking". Are they talented dogs? They can't paint or sing or do any little dances, but one boy is exceptionally gassy and the other will bite your ankles if you're a stranger who has come too close to him, his brother, or anyone else he feels especially protective of. This is all good enough for me, but I doubt it will win either of them any trophies.

So even if we were able to compete, I wouldn't want to stress my poor boys out by dolling them up on a very hot day and I seriously doubt we'd win anything more than a lot of odd and sadly condescending looks from all those folks who came to watch the spectacle of so many dogs put through their various paces. But what I would like to know is, why haven't either of my dogs yet received a letter from the attorney of a recently passed, long-lost relation informing them that they have just inherited an enormous sum of money or an estate in the English countryside? Because that's the kind of mail my dogs should be receiving.

Bram Takes a Small Look

Bram the Man doing what he does best: getting involved in whatever is going on around him. And he's damn cute while doing it, too!

Little Angel

Edison Jack. I couldn't ask for a more wonderful dog. And he poses beautifully.

Front Door Bird: The Final Chapter

Early on Saturday afternoon, I peeked out the front door and noticed that the mama bird, who had been gone for some time, still wasn't around and so decided that it might be a good time to get some quick photos of the two fast-growing baby robins that we discovered in the nest about two weeks ago. I got Griffin to get the camera and take some photos of their little heads, but from the ground it was really difficult to make out their features, so I asked him to climb up on a ladder and take a few from a closer distance so I could post them here. He was convinced that the mother bird was going to come back and peck his eyes out, but I assured him that everything was going to be fine as I hadn't seen her for some time. When he snapped the first shot, one of the birds freaked out, flew out of the nest and careened over to the next door neighbor's front porch. It was nearly adult-sized and fully feathered and could fly pretty well, but clearly had little in the way of effective steering capabilities as it smacked its head on the railing as it landed. Griffin was furious with me for making the bird go mental just to give myself something to write about. I told him that at least he still had his eyes and that the bird would be just fine.

We kept watch over the baby for a little while and when we realized that it wasn't going to return to the nest on its own and that the mother was still nowhere to be seen, we went next door and while Griffin blocked its path, I picked up the baby and we returned it back to the nest and its sibling. I have to confess that in spite of returning the baby safely to the nest, it was pretty freaked out by its sudden unplanned trip, standing bolt upright on top of the other baby with a wild look in its eyes for quite some time. Eventually the second bird grew weary of the little traveler crushing it, and pulled itself up and out of the nest. The two waited for mommy to return and when she didn't, they both left the nest which has now sat sadly empty for several days.

I was terrified that I had caused the mother to abandon her babies because I had touched one of them, but she was gone before my lapse in judgment. And given the size of her children, I believe it was time for her to leave them so they would become hungry and thus be compelled to leave the nest and face their new lives out in the world. My only regret is that I gave one of them a really nasty start to its first day of freedom. Sorry little bird and the neurotic life you will now probably lead...

The Story of Hachiko

Hachiko

November 10, 1923 - March 8, 1935

Hachiko was an Akita born in the Akita prefecture in 1923 and brought to Tokyo in 1924 by his owner, Mr. Hidesaburo Ueno, a professor in the agriculture department of the University of Tokyo, then known as the Imperial University. Professor Ueno walked to the Shibuya train station each day to catch the train to the school and Hachiko (whose full name was Chu-ken Hachiko, which literally translates to "the faithful dog Hachiko") would walk with him each day. They would leave their house together and then Hachiko would return to the professor's home once his master was on the train. Later he would walk back to the station at the end of the day and wait patiently on the platform for his owner to step off the train. The two would then once again walk back home together. They did this each and every day for nearly two years.

One day in May of 1925, the professor suffered a fatal stroke while at the university but Hachiko was there waiting on the platform that evening not knowing his master would never again come home to him. The professor's family came to take the dog home with them, but each day Hachiko would run away from the family's home and walk back and forth between the professor's old house and the train station looking for his master. Sometimes he would be away for days, repeatedly walking the route he and Mr. Ueno took each day. Each morning Hachiko would walk from the house he shared with his former master to the train and would be waiting at the station once again in the evening, tail wagging, waiting for his master to step off the train. He was less than two years old when his beloved master passed away, yet Hachiko continued his vigil each and every day at Shibuya Station for over ten more years. Those commuters who had seen Hachiko and his master before the man had passed and knew the dog's enduring loyalty, brought food and water to the devoted pet as he sat on his endless vigil for his master.

On March 8, 1935 Hachiko died on the very platform where he last saw his master, while waiting to meet his train just as he had each day since the man had passed. A bronze statue now stands on the platform where Hachiko waited each day so long ago, and morning and night he greets each and every person who comes through the station by train. His stuffed remains can be seen in the National Science Museum of Japan, located in Ueno, Tokyo.

To this day Hachiko remains an enduring symbol of loyalty and love between dog and owner. And if anyone says that animals don't or can't feel emotions (like love) because they're just lowly animals, then I would like you to offer me a plausible explanation as to what poor Hachiko was feeling that kept him there for more than a decade waiting for the man he so painfully never saw again. If that wasn't unconditional love, then I don't know what it was. To have a dog that loves that purely is a gift from the Divine, pure and simple.

Front Door Bird

About a month ago a mourning dove and her mate built a lovely nest on the inside top of one of the columns on my front porch. They worked very hard on it and then the mama bird took it for a test run. None of us noticed that they had been nest-building right outside the front door and so kept up our usual comings and goings, much to the dismay of mama dove who clearly grew weary of flying to the nearest wire every time the front door opened. She abandoned her nest for a quieter location. It sat empty for only a few short days.

Then last week another, clearly enterprising or merely lazy, bird took up residence in the nest and happily laid her eggs in it (much to my dismay as I was going to climb up and steal it for the antique bird cage in my studio). For the first few days we used only the back door to spare the new mama the need to lure us away from her future babies fifty times a day, but that fast grew old, especially for those of us with regular baggage. So now we come and go through the front door as we always do, and when we linger a bit too long beneath the nest, rather than fly off in a tizzy, Mrs. Bird simply turns her head up and pretends we aren't standing right below her and watching her from just a few feet away.

At first we thought she was a cat bird as we've been hearing one meowing in that funny way they do very near to the front of the house, but closer inspection has revealed the mama bird to be a robin. That's okay with me as I'd love to collect the remains of her babies' egg shells once they hatch to replace the ones I used to have that were eaten by Maia Louise in a typical fit of bad behavior.

I can't wait until I hear the teensy tweets of tiny robins from my front porch and even teenier heads peeping out of the nest at us as we walk by. It will be so exciting when they finally arrive!