I have cat scratches across my chin and lips. I was on the phone trying to decide which radio-transmitters to try on the quail and the cat, wanting love, attention, or to mess with my computer, jumped up onto the table. I grabbed him without thinking, and moved to drop him to the floor–he is heavy and my one handed grip was not particularly effective. He raked the bottom half of my face with his back claws.
As Ms. Day says, que sera sera.
But not really–because the laceration felt appropriate to me. Not that I was happy as I tried to finish the conversation while wiping the blood off my face but, because, I am not at all comfortable putting these necklaces on the quail and forcing them to run around with antenna sticking up.
I’m sure you think I am worried about piddling things. That I am much to inclined to overthink. And I am. But at the same time, it is about paying attention to these little things. Or really not so little, because what about that individual bird with the transmitter. Really. It is not so little, it is that bird’s life.
I will be back in the field in a couple of weeks…just for a short time, but I cannot wait. I want to try the transmitters because I want a better sense of where the birds are going. But, of course, it will be late March early April which means they are nesting.
I can barely believe it–we’ve finally hit 50 degree F temperatures and the quail are likely incubating. Though I should say, it is clear that the birds around here are also nesting or preparing to nest. I saw a flicker with its head sticking out of a big new box recently…which is fitting given the number of flickers I have heard drumming.
At any rate–the quail will be following a very different pattern right now than they were during the fall and winter. They will appear to be paired off and these pairs will come out to feed in dribs and drabs, after laying the egg or during a break in incubation. These pairs are not necessarily the parents of the chicks in the eggs–certainly the males cannot count on fathering all of the chicks. At least that is what I found…
I think things are more complicated…or perhaps a better word is different…
Anyway. I might find a nest if I track the quail. And that would be really lovely. (except, of course for the quail who, I am sure, would prefer not to.).
Do you think the scratches on my face are just retribution?
Should I apologize to you?
My older cockatiel, Wonker, died last week. She was 13+ years old. She was very sweet and Mr. P. misses her. My daughter filled an abalone shell with soil and stood a crow feather up inside it. This is a memorial.
I do not want to say anything else.
This is a memorial.
Now I have to walk around with cat scratches on my already weathered face. My hands are rough from working in the yard and my glasses are loose. I feel like a stranger at times.
someone told me once I was transparent.
Me and my cat scratches.