Guests

This is my view in the mornings as I walk down to the barn these days.  There had been more vultures in the tree, but some had flown at my approach.  I have to admit, a gathering of these funereal birds in a dead tree looks like something out of an Edgar Allen Poe story.

I'm used to the irritating yip from Shaddup, but this was something different and even closer and much louder.  It went on and on until finally I went to look.  A squirrel was in the wagon on the front porch just yelling cuss words at nothing I could see.  It saw me, but didn't stop and didn't run.  What the heck?  Worried that there might be a snake in the wood pile, I opened the screen door.  Squirrel didn't leave, but jumped onto a log, looked at me, ripped off a piece of bark, and kept cussing with its mouth full.  "Go home!"  It finally zipped around the corner and down into its burrow under the house.  I'd had it with these noisy neighbors.  I went in, got the cats' litter box and dumped it into the hole; the ultimate revenge.

Cam stopped by in early afternoon with this bounty of tomatoes from Beau's garden.  I said I saw marinara sauce in our future and Cam said she'd hoped for salsa.  Okay, I can do salsa.  I know what I'll be doing today.

Later, Arden came for a visit.  We've been trying to get together for weeks.  Sitting out on the deck, I pointed out the squirrel who is on duty every afternoon in the same spot down toward the woods.  This one doesn't say anything.  It stands upright and, like the guards at Buckingham Palace, doesn't move.  It's been there nearly every day for maybe a month or more.  Its shift is over toward sundown and it goes home.  Since it could be mistaken for a small tree branch, its name is Stump.

There was a changing of the guard in the house as Arden left and soon thereafter Camille, through with her chores for the day, came back.  She'd hoped to catch Arden here for a chat.

Feathered, furred, and friends, it was my day for guests.