Dead Deer, Live Deer, Vulture, 'Possum, Coy-wolf

In less than a week, the scavengers had reduced a deer carcass in our field to a torso and attached bones. They started at the haunch and kept going. A gray fox opened the haunch, eating most of one, and the vultures, who'd been waiting for an opening, gladly went ahead and finished the job.

Snow fell on the carcass, and this buck came by to investigate.

Everything in his mien said revulsion and apprehension--the pinned-back ears, the hunched back, the tentative steps. 

I figure he knew this young button buck.

He circled the carcass, kept coming back.

Finally he walked off, shaking his foot as if to rid himself of the feeling of coming upon one of his own, dead.

Others were much happier to discover the carcass.

I was elated to have a chance to finally get some decent vulture shots. I needed them for my new talk.

When the coy-wolves found the carcass, it went from food to bones overnight. 

At dawn, I found a fat opossum gnawing on it. And opossums being who they are, I was able to walk slowly out in the meadow, shooting as I approached. When he looked up at me I stopped, took a last photo, and walked back the way I came. He never left, just went back to his stanky breakfast.

What a gift this carcass was to so many animals. 

The next morning it was gone! But it wasn't hard to find...see the white dot in the woods border? And the trail of white belly hair leading all the way to it? Coy-wolves, dragging it into cover, not wanting to be spotted feeding. They're strong animals. I'm teaching myself not to call them coyotes any more. 

They're part eastern wolf. Just wrote an article for The Marietta Times called Coy-Wolves: Evolution in Action. 

This photo taken in our meadow a few winters back. Visually inseparable from an eastern (red) wolf. That's because he's got a big dose of those Canis rufus genes, from the interbreeding that went on between western coyotes and eastern wolves in northern Ontario. What we've got in the East is a genetically stable hybrid. Not a coy-dog. A coy-wolf. A new canid, longer of leg, bigger of foot, shorter and deeper of muzzle, smaller of ear and heavier of body and fur than the scrawny pale western coyote.

 And they live and feast and yammer and howl on our land every night. They den on the north-facing slope. So far, they have chosen not to kill Chet Baker, though I know they could in a heartbeat. And I'm grateful they have kept it to deer and rabbits, turkeys and woodchucks, voles and feral cats. I think about it every time I let him out to do his nightly business. And I think he does, too. He hurries back, flaps his ears, shivers. I spank him as he runs by, hug him, thankful each time that he comes back to crawl under the covers with me. Life in the country.

When I hear them howl I tuck what tail I have and run for the house!

The stash.

Every morning, a surprise. The turkey vulture's namesake, partying in the dawn light.

I'll miss my vultures. Must see if we can rustle up some more grub for them. 

You've heard the word catharsis. It refers to the relief, the cleansing collapse you feel after a big emotional event. 

Cathartes aura. The Golden Cleanser. 

Hard-working Sod Poodle

Prairie dogs are eminently edible. Hawks, eagles, badgers, black-footed ferrets, foxes and coyotes all call them dinner. Being social animals, they freely warn each other of approaching predators with high, poodle-like barks. When they bark, they fling themselves upright, adding a visual cue to the auditory warning. It sounds like someone suddenly squeezed a rubber toy. Pfew!

Well might they bark. Though we missed seeing the pursuit, this coyote had just nabbed itself a sod poodle when I saw it.

You can imagine the salvo of barks that accompanied its passage along the fringe of the dog town with a young prairie dog dangling from its jaws.

You lookin' at me?

The dogs repaired to their burrows, their only defense against predators. I love this shot, by the way--absolutely impossible to get unless you are in a situation with tame prairie dogs. No wild sod poodle is going to let you see it in its burrow, no way nohow. You're lucky to be able to set up a spotting scope within sight of a wild prairie dog.

I wondered briefly what the little tamp marks were around the burrow mouth. Decided to watch the dogs until I figured out what they were. I had a notion they were noseprints.

This dog was building up the rim around his burrow. The rim serves a dual function. It keeps rainwater from pooling and running into the burrow, and it serves as a lookout seat for the watchful dog.
First, he threw a mound of soil through his hind legs, as a digging dog might.

He bulldozed the soil to where he wanted it.

He pushed it up onto the top of the mound.

Unnnh! Unnh!


More soil.


Gee, how'd your nose get so muddy?
Ah, I see. They do use that round nose to tamp the soil.

And thus is the dogtown built and maintained
with hideyholes to dive into when the coyotes prowl.

Also noted at the town: a lovely lark sparrow

with a penchant for almonds


and the loveliest of songs and cheek patches.


And a black crow, keeping watch.

Hello from New Mexico

Bosque del Apache NWR has to be one of the most spectacular places on earth. A perfect conjunction of vegetation, water, mountain backdrops, and migratory birds; every vista a painting. I almost overload with exhilaration and joy, coming here. I understand how people come down to volunteer and never leave. There's a changing palette of waterfowl and cranes and passerines, and it's all backed by golden cottonwoods and purple mountains. Aggggh. I come down here and think of all the people I love who would just eat it up (and you know who you are, so get your butts down here!!)

We're here to lead field trips and play a little music. My kind of job. I have to admit that the 4:09 AM wakeup is a little tough, but it's made easier by the fact that we're on Ohio time, mostly, so it isn't quite so cruel. Phoebe and Liam are along, and they're big enough to come with us and be troopers about it. This is greatly aided by the fact that it's incredibly mild and sunny and nice, so they aren't suffering. I pack gobs and gobs of fruit and snacks and water and everyone has been so kind to us. We're staying in a sweet little adobe house, courtesy of some of the Friends of the Bosque del Apache NWR, and we even have wireless in one little corner of said house...which goes miles and miles to making our babies happy on the occasions when they have to stay home and wait for us to do our birdly duties.

It is ravishingly beautiful here. Possibly the most beautiful fall on record. The cottonwoods are glowing gold, the smartweed is the color of wine, the coyote willow is sage green and pink, and the dreaded exotic tamarisk is peach colored. Put it all against a purple mountain backdrop and you get this:

I am in rapture most of the time. It's amazing how a day flies by when you're in rapture. I mean, you'd hardly have to have fantastic migratory birds by the bucketload to make me happy. The landscapes would be enough.

I don't know where to start. There are roadrunners. Stop for a moment, and consider the miracle of the roadrunner. This is a large ground cuckoo. It is our only ground cuckoo. There are some tropical forest ground cuckoos, but they're freaking impossible to see--I've seen one in Brazil, and it was a lousy look and I was 20. Here, roadrunners are common and tame and ridiculously appealing birds, with their expressive crests and tails and their fluid, dinosaur-like gait. Love them. Sorry about the Planter's jar. What're you gonna do? I would wager a guess that almost all good roadrunner shots are made from automobiles, because they really do run along roads. And there's junk along roads, because there are people along roads.

There are coyotes here. Coyotes you can see. Beautiful coyotes, full-furred, fat, glossy, duck-and-goose fed babies. Yummm. I'm thankful any time I see a wild canid. Just for the record: Chet's in puppy prison back in Marietta, where he's being well cared for but doubtless bored and missing Mether. Shila is hatching a plan to spring him for a hike in our woods. Don't know if they'll let her, but we'll see... So I am almost at the point of going up to coyotes and asking for kisses, but I settle for fawn-colored pugs named Magoo. He obliged, and gave me the best dog fix of the day (I also knelt before a mutt and a whippet, who somewhat sheepishly agreed to give me a little dog love).It is worth noting here that a fawn-colored pug was one of the canines who planted the seed in my slow-to-awaken brain that having a little dog might be a nice thing. I saw three little girls leading a pug on Bestor Plaza at Chautauqua about four years ago, and a light went off in my brain. Smashy-faced smallish dog. Could do that. Must look into it. Three months later I was on the phone with Jane of Pups will Travel. And the rest is dogstar history. Ohhh, I miss him.

Sorry to ramble, but my festival brain is a little scrambled. By my count, we led six field trips, played music for one dinner, and I gave a talk...all in four frantic days. Most of the time, we had the kids with us, so we were on full parent alert while tending to the birdseeking needs of dozens of people. Phewwww. We had exactly one afternoon together alone, and we used it well, shooting pictures of snow geese in the golden light. I'm looking forward to posting those.