I can’t even imagine how long this took to train and put together.

He’s just so damned…earnest.

One thing that was good about the big freeze this winter is that I now have an excellent view of the tree the Quakers like so much:

The bad news is that it’s really apparent their tree is dead and isn’t coming back. I wonder how long it’ll be before somebody cuts it down. Better enjoy my perch view while I can:

Since Pratchett was a mere hatchling I’ve struggled to get him to clean up his act. He’s never tried to clean himself in his bowl, as far as I know. I’ve taken him in the shower and bought misters, both of which made him scream like it was acid he was being spritzed with.

But I accidentally came up with a way to trick him into cleaning himself (a little) the other day. His current bit of bamboo was gnawed into bits and it was time for another, but it’s practically been monsoon season and everything’s soaked. I cut a stalk bigger than any he’s ever had before…but I put it on top of the cage instead of inside:

He even opened his wings a little and shook himself so maybe his little ‘pits got a little damp. It’s not much, but it’s a start.

A few things have changed- now we have some jays and cardinals around, which makes for a more interesting viewing experience for my seed-purchasing dollar, but also, and maybe more importantly, the cats are older and more sedentary, so I don’t feel guilty, as if I’m stuffing them like mini-turkeys.

But Bianca decided she wanted to relive her kittenhood and started searching for a vantage point. He’s a bit of a porker herself these days, and the birds saw her coming a mile off. She happened upon the brilliant idea of climbing the trellis, I suppose with the plan that she’d drop on them from above.

This greatly alarmed the dogs:

Initially she was proud of herself, and basked in her queen-of-the-hillness:

But shortly thereafter, she got worried, too, and hoped for a helping hand:

Eventually Bianca made her way down, and peace was restored to the kingdom:

Well, Pratch got interested, alright- but not in the big contraption:

He just likes getting up high, and standing on top of the hanger was pretty cool…until he started worrying about how he was going to get down:

He did finally manage it. And, although these were taken about a month and a half ago and he’s had plenty of time to explore the exciting options the perch offers him (everything moves! jingles! twirlly fun!) he still prefers the stupid hanger.

He seems just like a kid who prefers the box to the toy inside. Sigh.

The yearly vet visit is a little different for the birds than the dogs. Puppies get leashed, widdle a little on the doc’s floor and get over it. They know there’s a treat at the end and the bonus of a car ride, so they go along with the program without much fuss.

Birds? Oh boy. Typically Jack’s the troublemaker, but he went without much of a production. Pratchett led me on a not-so-merry, squawking, growling, 20 minute long miserable chase around the kitchen. You would have thought I was trying to kill him.

Never heard a CAG growl? Oh, how you’ve been missing out…






I think Linda Blair took acting lessons from these birds, and Pratch did it for several hours straight.

Check out these fluffled up feathers and glare:

So he had to be toweled twice in one day, once just to get him in the crate, once for his exam, and it was not pretty. I thought the wing clip was going to give him a heart attack, and let’s not even talk about the nail clipping…

Note that Jack is way over in his crate, trying to see what the hell could be so different over in Pratchett’s world to cause all that noise…

The whole time all I could think about what the prediction of a “very active” hurricane season and what a barrel of laughs it’ll be if we actually have to evacuate with our own growling, freaked out and above all LOUD parrot soundtrack.

But it’s been a couple of weeks now since Jen and I found him by the side of the road in the Hoffman Triangle, a particularly rough part of Central City. He looked like a large cat, so dirty and tangled that Jen started calling him Marley for his matted dreads. He came running over, though, which is not typical street behavior.

The boy can recognize a couple of saps, what can I say? Jen let the little filthball happily roll all over her while I drove to the vet. They’re a non-profit rescue group and I was hoping they’d be able to keep the bugger. No such luck, and although there were several people who oohed and ahhed over the cleaned up puppy nobody was able to adopt him. So he’s stashed here. And the clock’s ticking. And people are getting attached.

He’s not going to look anything like that in a few months- the vet said he’s a Schnauzer/poodle, about 18 months old and 9lbs. Thick, inches long fur was shaved from him- there was so much of it that we had no idea he was a boy despite his…uh… well endowed and amorous nature (a situation what’s also been ‘fixed’).

Look, I don’t deny he’s cute. But there are already three dogs in my house and I’m in trouble here- outnumbered 2 to 1. Alison wants to keep him because, theoretically, she’ll be taking Bruiser at some point when she gets an apartment and says he’ll be lonely without company. Charlie wants to keep him because he’s a cute little bastard and the same size as Bruiser. When I tell him that Crazyland lives in the gap between having 3 dogs and having 4, he’s pointed out that that’s really only 2 dogs per household. Which is nice, except he lives, eats and poops at my house, not his.

I suspect this is a fight I’m going to lose. But if you know of anybody looking for a cute, affectionate puppy, drop me a line. Please. I’m begging you.

Here’s hoping they and their brethren stay safe. The brown pelican was only recently removed from the endangered list and many are worried that they’re headed right back onto it.