Cinderella November 9, 2020

While wildlife encounters here at Pi offer a near-steady source of wonder, the past few months have been a bit of dry spell metaphorically and physically.   By the end of July, my little bobcat and my large heron had ceased to stop by.  The badgers seem to have finally vacated their long-term squat in my septic system.  June had the first-time sighting of a quail couple, but never any offspring.  No coyotes visited this summer or fall; not even the sound of their howls pierced the night.  

On the other hand, I’ve had a few little mice to keep me company, as it were.  More than just droppings, in fact far too frequent sightings of the critters themselves. One was kind of plump, another very tiny with a bent tail.  They flash by me and disappear so quickly into who-knows-what crevice that I can’t really get to know them.  After failing to redirect them outside with the threat of a terrifying broom, I reluctantly lured them to their doom with old-fashioned Victor traps baited in almond butter.  My friends Kevin and Yang happened to be out here at the peak of their unfortunate extermination, and we three were astonished to catch two small mice in single trap.  

And then there are the birds – not the raptors or the shorebirds – but the little “backyard” birds that flit about my garden and pasture to delight.  Whether it’s real or just my perception, there seem to be many more birds this year than in the past.  Despite owning several local bird guides, I am nearly hopeless when it comes to wrapping my head around their names.  Some I can easily identify, like barn swallows, red-winged blackbirds, robins, goldfinches, and swifts.  But the little guys like sparrows, wrens, vireos and who know what else – they all just blend together in my mind as “little brown and white birds that occasionally sing”.  

The birds seem to take no notice of my ignorance, or at least they don’t begrudge it.  Every day they greet me. In fact, I’m beginning to feel like the Disney version of Cinderella, encircled by affectionate little mice and birds just hoping to play with me.  I knew it was getting bad when I started to envision making little jackets for my mice, as Cinderella did for Gus and Jaq.  Or when I imagine that the birds are really out there to keep me company, to help me with my chores, or even to inspire me to hope with a chorus of “A Dream is a Wish your Heart Makes.”