I like buzzards.
They can't help it that their Momma and Daddy were ugly. It's like assuming women with big tits are dumb and want bige ones. They had nothing to do with it, it's just the DNA code they ended up with. Obviously buzzards aren't aware that they aren't cute, and that rotting meat isn't yummy.
We have a very tall TVA tower on a back corner of our property. In the summer, during the day, hawks perch there. We planted lots of pine trees, and some day we won't be able to see it at all. But I've grown fond of watching the huge flock of buzzards that use it for a roost. Every year the flock seems to double in size. When all the space on the scaffolding is full, the late-comers line up on the power lines. I've never seen a nest anywhere, so I looked up their nesting habits. Our buzzards have black heads and their nests are on the ground or on tree stumps or in a hollow in a tree. This year there are well over 100 birds there. The winter winds must be very cold up there. They gather in the evening, spend the night and head out when the sun starts shining. I'm glad they like our tower. I just want to put little sweaters, hats and boots on them.
One year we had an ice storm. When I woke up and went to the kitchen to make coffee, I realized that the ground in between the house and the woods was covered with ice clad buzzards. They had ice on their heads, backs and wings with little icicles hanging off of them. They were standing around on the snow waiting to thaw out. Some of them could open their wings. Some of them picked at the ice. One couple picked ice off of each other. When the sun came up, more of them stood with their backs to the sun and opened their wings. As each of them thawed they flew away. I wish I had pictures, but I still haven't learned how to operate my new camera.
I thought they were ugly and creepy when I was younger. We all see their road crews at work and recoil at the thought of what they are eating. It is hard to imagine salivating at the smell of bloated carcass. I thought the name of a road we traveled frequently, should be changed to "Dead Bunny Drive". Another rural road out here has a beautiful name, "Snow Bird Hollow Road", but you are likely to see more flat 'possums, bunnies, little birds, turkeys, squirrels, turtles and dead deer, per foot, on that road, than any other road out here. And cleaning all that up is the buzzard's job.
Road kill turtles are the ones that freak me out the most. There is no excuse for running over a turtle. You can't get away with saying, "He just ran out in front of me before I had time to react!" You hit a turtle, your only excuse is you just weren't paying attention. I have moved lots of turtles, big and small, out of the road. Around here we have box turtles and snapping turtles. The snapping turtles can get very large, much bigger than a dinner plate, but smaller than the tire on your car.
Box turtles are easy to pick up. I used to bring them home and put them in our creek. The first few I put in would sink to the bottom and not move. I would stand on the bank searching my brain for any box turtle knowledge that might be hiding in there. I'd be getting very nervous, worrying that I had just drowned them. With the first couple, I just hoped for the best and left, but I hated not knowing how things turned out for them, so with the next one or two, when I couldn't stand the suspense any longer, I'd retrieve them and put them on a rock at the edge of the creek, so they could decide whether to head for land or water on their own. Now I skip the dunking and just put them on the rock.
My best intentions sometimes go horribly wrong, like the time I picked up a box turtle that was near a parking lot and dropped it over a wire fence, into a wooded area behind the place I worked, an old log cabin that had been turned into offices. The next day a lady from the office that had windows on that side, asked me what I had dropped over the fence. She was curious anyway, but mainly because she saw a coyote walk over to it right after I left.
The big snapping turtles are a whole 'nother problem. First, they can be huge and have very long necks. Making a bite from that strong beak easier than you would expect from a turtle. Second, they make a point of shitting inside your car. Big and messy. I know these guys like the water. I was more cautious with the last couple that I took off the road. I tried to shove them into an empty gym bag that was in the car and put them in the trunk. No way I'm fishing a foul smelling snapper out from under the car seat again.
A lady pulled over to help me with the last one. It was really big. She wanted to know why I was doing it. Did it have anything to do with soup? I drove to a river and carried it in the bag to the bank. I dumped it out, but the bank was steep and it slid to a stop, upside down, wedged between various sized tree trunks and brush. I couldn't leave it like that, so I made my way down to it and moved it with my foot until it toppled into the river and swam off.
The most horrible turtle story was when I was stopped at a light and saw one in the right hand lane up ahead. I had every intention of doing my thing, when the driver of a mini van that had made it through the light saw the turtle as it passed it. The van stopped, began backing up, ran over the turtle and sped away! I freaked out, screaming at what I had just seen. It was outrageous! I was too shocked even, to chase them down and flip them the bird or ram their mini van or force them off the road and beat the driver to a pulp. I may be a girl, but I can get one hell of a bitch on with assholes like that. Bring it on turtle killers!
!@#$%&*(x+!@#$%&*!
My cat died in November. That morning, before I woke up, I was dreaming that Sox had changed into a bird and flown away. I was not worried about him. I knew he would be happy to be so free, to fly as a bird and would no longer need us. I told my son about the dream when I woke up. Around noon, I started looking for him, to feed him. My husband usually feeds him breakfast while I'm still sleeping.
I saw him "sleeping" in the grass near the back porch and tapped on the window to get his attention. No response. I opened the window and called to him. No response. Then I knew. He was in his comfortable, napping-in-the-yard position, so I guess he went in his sleep. He was a beautiful cat, 11 or 12 years old.
I haven't told my daughter yet. She won a goldfish at a school carnival when she was little and after it spent most of the day in a plastic bag, it didn't look too perky. She named it Skippy and it died within a day or two. When she discovered him dead, she became inconsolable. She mourned for Skippy so deeply, after only having him for such a short time, that I was really moved by her pain. We had a little funeral, not the toilet kind, and she kept sobbing, Skippy, Skippy. So I want to break the news of Sox' death to her in person, maybe when we get back to the U.S.
I made a deep grave for him and lined it with a layer of pine needles, and covered him with a layer of pine needles before filling it with the dirt. I covered it with flat stones because I didn't want anything digging him up. I found a really nice flat stone and wrote his name, etc. on it with magic marker and sprayed a clear finish over that, so it wouldn't fade.
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