The Birds

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Albino Ruby-throated Hummingbird

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 Editor's Comments:

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Dear Readers,

You may wonder how it is that this bird is identified as a ruby-throated hummingbird when it doesn't have a ruby throat.

Then again, you may not wonder at all. But dollars to pesos, you more than likely have no idea about this vexing anomaly so I am going to tell you anyway.

This particular bird, photographed in Staunton,Virginia, is definitely a ruby-throated hummingbird because in the U.S. of A. they are the only hummingbirds found in the wild east of the Mississippi river.

Now you know.  Aren't you simply thrilled to the core?

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Lately The Editor has become quite the expert on birds.  Living in what was but recently rural Georgia, there are still lots of different types flying around the house at any given time.

Cardinals, finches, robins, hummingbirds, blue jays, catbirds, hawks, blackbirds, meadowlarks, woodpeckers, bluebirds and of course common nuisance birds, sparrows, pigeons, and crows.

I've even seen a couple of hoot owls.  Owls and crows are mortal enemies since there is nothing tastier to a big predator owl than a plump, young and tender, juicy, crow right out of the nest.

While I've eaten crow a couple of times, it wasn't the "down the hatch, lick your chops" kind of crow, so I wouldn't know if a real live crow was tender and juicy or tough as an old combat boot. But owls seem to be quite knowledgeable in this area.

Up here in Deliverance country I've seen flocks of crows protecting their own, circling and harassing lone-wolf owls to death.  Poor old owl...

But I digress...

Sitting out on my deck, I saw so many different kinds of birds that I decided to put up a couple of bird feeders... at least for awhile.

So I trotted off to Lowe's and bought a contraption that looked like a little Japanese castle with sitting pegs sticking out all over. I also bought a plain old Bb hummingbird feeder. A sack of bird seed and a bit of red nectar for the hummers finished off the show and I was in business, ...or so it seemed.

But it wasn't a done deal. Not yet.

I quickly found that I had to put the bird feeder in a place where squirrels couldn't get to it, but hanging it from the soffit over thin air did the trick.

Delighted when my hummingbird feeder attracted several ruby-throated hummingbirds (like I was thinking it'd attract a bald eagle or a chicken hawk or maybe a turkey vulture), I took it down after a gang of Mafia type hummers began guarding the chow hall 24/7 for their own, refusing all other hummingbirds their turn at the feeding trough. This, I could not allow.

I took the bird feeder down too when, try as I may, I couldn't keep red wasps from nesting inside, as they seemed ecstatic at the protection from the elements that they'd just conveniently discovered.

Wasps do good things in the garden, but invading my bird feeder was way out of line. They like to nest under my second-story deck too, but a can of wasp spray that shoots a 20-foot stream of high-powered venom takes care of that problem in short order.

I'll tolerate wasps as long as they stay away from me. One time I got stung when I was going inside from the deck. That wasp quickly became history as did a good number of others when they tried to have their way with The Editor.

The bird feeders down, I was lonely... I was depressed...

What to do?

To be continued...

Stay tuned to see what The Editor did in... The Rocks

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The Rocks

... continued from The Birds as promised.

The bird feeders down, I was lonely... I was depressed... 

What to do?

I thought briefly about getting some fish, but decided that fish were out too.

Back in the 60's I experienced sharing problems with my aquarium in Korea. Things got quite ugly.

I had many different kinds of fish, but the angel fish would guard the tubifex worms from all the other fish after the boss angel fish decided that only angel fish were allowed to graze.

The angel fish MP's even killed my Siamese fighting fish whenever they would try to sneak in for a quick and harmless midnight snack.

The kissing gouramis, tetras, oscars, and goldfish were pushovers for the angels, but the bullies had their share of trouble any time they tried to tangle with the big Jack Dempsys.  Still, they prevailed.

I guess the mistake I made was putting three types of aggressive fish together.  But I was an amateur and didn't know any better.

I should have asked an expert or Googl'ed some information but I couldn't find any experts that spoke English and in 1968 the luxury of the internet wasn't yet available to the general public. Besides, back then Google wasn't even a dream. Even PC's (personal computers) hadn't been invented.

As we all know when Mr. Jobs finally did his thing, Forrest Gump and Lt. Dan made a killing when the good Lieutenant bought a gazillion shares of Apple Computers with profits from Bubba Gump Shrimp Inc.

Having given up on birds and aquariums, I searched in vain for a pet that was practical for me. After a good number of failures, at last I emerged victorious having found the perfect companion.

... a pet rock! 

Stop laffin'!  This is my very own rock and it loves me!!

I became quite sure of this when every time that I walked around in the back yard it always managed to trip me up no matter how careful I was.

Seemingly an accident, this occurred frequently enough to discount as chance, so I decided that in its own way this rock was trying to bond with me!

Touched beyond words, I adopted it as my very own. I did this on the sly since I wasn't sure if there were applications, procedures for adoption, or fees to pay and I didn't want to get into any of that bureaucratic nonsense.

I felt that my first obligation as a pet owner was to find a name for my rock.

I thought about Ralph, Phaedeux, Spot... the possibilities were endless.

After several sleepless nights I'd pared my names list down to two. I was inclined to choose Iggy, but after thinking about it, settled on the perfect choice - Rocky!!  Eureka!!

Rocky was simple, to the point, self-explaining, and I wouldn't have to clarify that Iggy was short for igneous to everyone under the sun.

Besides, Iggy would be wrong since Rocky is clearly sedimentary.

Since I've had my pet, I've found that it's very even tempered which allows for  unlimited potential and options in the area of Master/pet involvement.

When I travel it's always right there in the same place I left it when I get home.  Even if I should ignore this amazing rock for days on end, it never complains.

Rocky never interrupts when I'm talking either which is unusual, but still... how refreshing is that??

Note: Certain unnamed people could take a valuable lesson from this.

It also listens patiently as I try to teach it tricks or bring in the newspaper.

Note: With a little help, Rocky has learned to sit up and roll over quite nicely but so far I haven't had any luck at all with the newspaper thing.

Maybe I should teach it to read the funny papers to pique its interest. I don't know. I'm quite stubborn, so I'll keep trying.

Rocky is very tolerant and forgiving. I can leave it plain gray, paint it purple with white polka dots, or decorate it for Christmas.

I can even use it for target practice when I take a break from the yard work and need to whiz. It doesn't seem to mind any of these indignities.

Paint a blue-tick coonhound purple, tie little pink ribbons on its fur and hang ridiculous rhinestone jewelry all over it the way some silly people do to their pet poodles in California.

Then whiz on it for good measure and see what happens. I'll tell you what happens; It gets real nasty, real fast!

Caution: Don't you dare ask how I know about this!!

While my new pet rock has many virtues, the one I really love is that it's very very low-maintenance.

I don't have to feed Rocky, water it, clean up after it, give it shots, buy it a license, or board it when I travel.

My pet is also exempt from Bartow County's leash law and will protect me if I am in danger... depending of course on the accuracy of my throwing arm.

Isn't that more than wonderful?

Even though I've heard that under some circumstances big rocks turn into little rocks, I'm very protective of Rocky and don't have to have it fixed, so this oft worrisome problem conveniently turns into a non-issue.

It may seem like I'm trying to be politically correct by calling Rocky an it but even Google hasn't been able to tell me how to tell a man rock from a woman rock. Until I find out, it will have to do.

Curious, I took Rocky to a local vet with the idea of asking about man and woman rocks.  But for some odd reason when I told the receptionist my problem I was laughed out of the office, not only by her, but everyone in the waiting room.  Even the dogs and cats and pet gerbils were hoo-hah-ing and rolling around on the floor kicking their legs up in the air with tears running down their faces.

The whole thing was quite embarrassing.

Discouraged, I took Rocky back to the protection of our own yard then gave up trying to find out about him and her rocks. As it stands, even if it became necessary I wouldn't know how to go about the fixing part anyway.

After all, the fixing process is quite different for he and she pets.

I'll never be quite sure if Rocky is the right name either.

If he's a she, I should have named my new pet Rockette. We'll probably never know for sure, so no harm done... I guess... I hope...

Now I've saved the best part about owning a pet rock for last.

I've heard it said around town that the common rock is very long-lived and I believe it because there seems to be part of an ancient inscription crudely chiseled on Rocky's back.

Something about Thou Shalt Not...

There are also faint etchings of small leaves and a freshwater snail imbedded in Rocky's surface.

This tells me that my best friend has already been around for quite awhile.

Hooray!!

If Rocky doesn't meet with an unforeseen accident some way, I'm hoping that I now have a pet for life. Managing to survive for eons, even avoiding all of the big trucks, sledgehammers, shovels and whatnot that was laying around when my place was being built, it's seemingly led a charmed life.

This makes a lot of sense because the Arapaho Indians have an old saying:

Only the rocks live forever!

Under my watchful eye I think that my newfound pet is completely out of danger... at least for the immediate future. We'll have to wait and see.

Wish us luck and hope for a happy ending.

I have to go outside and play now.

Heeere Rocky, Rocky, Rocky...

Come on boy, ahhh girl, ahhh... hmmm! [sigh]

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