Mulling things on my morning ramble
with Storm, the family's mixed Lab.
In the dark, as I drove the second oldest boy to meet the bus for the high school band's contest trip, I thought snow flurries were spitting.
But as dawn lightened the morning--rather sullenly slow, much like a teenager doing a chore--I realized it was just the miserable mists of April on a morning with temperatures in the 30s.
I may have found the morning miserable, but boy did the waterfowl and the meathead love it.
Mornings like this appeal to the inner Lab of the meathead. I think his joy in a morning like this help to lift my mental health. That's one reason pets can be good for you.
The miserable morning appealed to robins, too. They were everywhere on the grass. As much as I hoped, I did not see one actually tugging a worm from the ground.
The usual cooing of mourning doves came on all sides. And, as we reached the town pond, the usual trilling of red-winged blackbirds came from the edges of the north old clay pit.
American coots, all nine of them again, were close enough to the south shore of the north pit that I positively could ID them.
Two mallards jumped with much quacking from the south shore of the north pit. But they didn't go far, just to the north shore.
One Canada goose was on the nest on the island on the south pit. Another goose floated nearby. A pair coasted in as we crossed the bridge over the neckdown between the two pits.
Divers were out: four on the north pit, two on the south. I think they were lesser scaup (bluebills), but I wouldn't call that a postive ID in any form.
Two great blue herons, for the second morning in a row, lifted off from the shores of the south pit.
For the second morning in a row, a northern flicker flitted off as we reached the edge of the brush on the old rail, now a trail, just before town.
Back downtown, I watched a sparrow lug a long strrand of dried brown weed to a tiny nest in a sapling by the front of the bank.
It was that kind spring morning, abundant in a miserable way.