Dressed Down

Scrub jays may not have the brilliant plumage or flashy crest of their cousins, the Steller's jays, but they take the prize for chutzpah.  Scrubs are among the variety of sparrows, etc., that I clump together as "barn birds."  The barn is really a noisy place on any given morning as the birds gather for a klatch, but it is the jays that fly into the milking room and help themselves from the feed bucket; the sparrows have better manners.  Tending to business, I was cleaning one of the back stalls yesterday when a young scrub landed on the wire grate covering the window opening and proceeded to give me "what for."  I've not had such a dressing down in ages.  I'm not sure if my offense was my simple presence on his turf or he was complaining because I was slow laying down breakfast, but it was clear he was not happy with me.  His harangue was loud and long, lasting the entire while I was in the stall.  I tried to explain I'd be done and out of his way in a minute, but he wasn't having any of it and continued to screech at me until I took bucket, shovel and rake and left.  You've not been scolded until you've been scolded by a scrub jay.

While not ready to put on a parka, the ten-degree drop in temperature to 93 yesterday felt almost cool.  It was quite wonderful not to drip sweat while milking, although the humidity was higher because of the cloud cover and caused a film of clinging moisture on the body.  (I don't know which is worse.)  With the change in weather, I summoned enough ambition to hunt for Ralph's missing hamster toy.  I discovered his catnip mouse halfway down the stairwell.  While crawling around the rooms, looking under and behind furniture, I realized that Ralph was creeping alongside, joining the search.  I found several of my pigs he'd knocked off shelves while he was redecorating, but we never did find his hamster.