I love the mornings, as long as they don’t start too early. Enjoying my quiet space, looking out my windows, opening the door to let dog out, cat in, dog in, cat out, dogs out, dogs in. It’s a revolving door routine. In the warm weather, the inside door can stay open and the animals can go in and out as they please, through the hanging screen that keeps bugs out – or at least most of them – and allows easy access for the four girls. Am I beginning to sound like a broken record? Perhaps I should show more and speak less.
Sometimes photos through my windows come out less sharp than I like, but I have been watching this little one and its partner fly in and out of this house for a few days now. I think they’re calling it home.
They are telling me that this is a finch feeder, and they are members of the finch family. A bit larger than I had in mind, with a bit more of a voracious appetite than I had in mind, but we do not discriminate. Much. We do cut back on food other than the thistle seed during the influx of blackbirds, who arrive in such large groups and eat so very much. Many days I have considered making pie – you know, the kind that is made with four and twenty of those guys.
The food has dwindled, so the grosbeak have moved on to better hunting grounds for now, allowing the little guys to scratch the bottom of the barrel. There’s a bit of a variety here – the Pine Siskin on the left feeder, with the addition of a Red Crossbill and an American Goldfinch on the right.
This young lady likes her warmer spot and always blooms before her kin who are not as protected. She has a happy face, and a very pleasant disposition, offending no one. That cannot always be said about everything that grows in my gardens. Or everything that visits our yard. I suppose that is true of all kinds of visitors; some are pleasant and inoffensive, others a little less pleasant and occasionally offensive. It is the variety in this life and in its people, that are the spice.
There is the Shasta girl, the one who spends most of the morning in the chair next to me, sometimes (as in this photo) resting her head on the table that sits between the chairs. The part of the morning that she is not in the chair is spent going in and out aforementioned door. Or harassing the Twiggy cat. Or checking to make sure her food dish has not magically refilled itself. This Shasta girl, however, seems to have decided get-up time for us should be between the hours of 5:30 and 6:00 a.m. rather than 6:00 and 6:30 a.m. She is pushing her luck, and my patience. Especially since once we are up and I have fed her, she then takes naps. I think that is unfair. We have little discussions about who it is that is really in charge. Rarely do I win in those discussions.