Mulling things on my morning ramble
with Storm, the family's mixed Lab.
A gray squirrel bolted and a mourning dove fluttered off from under the bird feeder as the meathead and I walked down the front steps.
It was one of those lively mornings.
As we neared downtown, I heard odd whistling wing beats overhead. I found the white swan. I think it was one of the mute swans on the lake to the west. I did not wander off on one of my quests to see if it was a trumpeter swan.
I have done that wild goose chase before.
Out of curiosity, I looked up a wild-goose chase in idioms.thefreedictionary.com and found this:
a situation where you waste time looking for something that you are not going to find, either because that thing does not exist or because you have been given wrong information about it
Robins were everywhere. I think with all the rain last week, they are in feeding heaven. The cooing of mourning doves came from all sides, in town and out.
I needed an extended ramble and Storm was only too happy to come along. Even after days since the rains, the sloppy conditions on the outer edge appealed to his inner Lab.
I thought on a frosty morning more of the mushy ground would be frozen. But it was wasn't, just big patches of frost whitening the ever-greening landscape.
One thing very obvious on extended ramblings is the trilling of what seems like an excessive number of red-winged blackbirds on the north old clay pit.
Two grebes and one American coot were on the south pit.
Two Canada geese were on the north pit. Half a dozen geese, including a pair that flew in as we crossed the bridge over the neckdown between the two pits.
Still no goslings. The geese abandoned their nest on the island on the south pit a week ago.
I am guessing a predator either got the goslings or the eggs.
Back home, Storm flushed something like eight doves from around the front porch. Normally, doves didn't excite him much. But when they flush from under his nose, it is another matter.