Night's Little Marauders
Nice, both of us sufficiently recovered to be able to manage a ravine walk today. Button and Riley were both very itchy to get out. They missed their lack of walk yesterday, but the big guy was just too ill to move much, nursing that dreadful virus. Button kept bugging to go out to the back. It's the presence of the sun that does it, primarily. Riley is happier awaiting our decision. The thermometer at the front of the house told us it was minus-5 degrees, but the one at the back of the house, where the temperature is generally more genial, said minus-7. We'd try them, we decided, without their boots, they're such a bloody nuisance.
That means our ravine walk preparations are kept to a minimum, but they still need their collars, sweaters, coats. Button makes herself scarce, she's really conflicted, wants to get out there into the ravine, but detests having to wear a nice thick sweater to maintain her body temperature. So I have to kind of tackle her; the collar isn't bad, but the sweater, don't ask, she isn't amenable to being reasonable about the inevitable. I remember to turn her turtleneck collar down really low, hoping that will placate her, somewhat.
Riley? different story, he doesn't much care, and helps on cue, lifting his little legs to be fitted into their slots, first in the long blue fleecy, then the patchwork overcoat; two coverings because he's smaller and gets cold faster than her. There's a really mean wind out, and coupled with the lower temperature it'll be cold, so Irving pulls on his complete down-filled suit, pants and jacket. I go lighter, because that's my way, and I'm not really suffering the way he is, from the virus.
We're prepared to pick them up from time to time if they indicate that their feet are freezing, but surprisingly, they don't, throughout the entire walk. It's cold enough that I pull my own turtleneck sweater up through the top of my jacket to cover the lower part of my face, for warmth. Yesterday's light snowfall was enough to cover and adhere to the overall ice covering that resulted from the previous few days' rain. So we're not doing much slipping. We do engage in enough evading, though, as there are many slopes which are comprised of thick ice, caramel-coloured from their melt, with a texture similar to moulten lava. These areas are to be avoided, even Button knows that, although Riley occasionally will try to tread them and in the process offer us the absurd spectacle of funny walks-and-slithers.
More twigs and branches have come down overnight, dislodged from their perches by the high winds. Overhead we see those wonderful tiny chickadees flit from branch to branch, intoning their inimitable rubber-ducky calls. Button and Riley sniff about everywhere, sometimes falling back, then when they realize we've outdistanced them, they gallop to close the gap. When we're halfway through the walk, they become alert and expectant, because this is roughly where I'm wont to haul out their favourite treat, and so I do, feeding them little bits of it at a time, until the soft strip is completely depleted.
As we turn the corner onto another trail, we meet up with an unfamiliar man walking a tiny grey-haired dog, and I swoop Riley up, not wanting to risk the potential of his attacking this little apparition, hardly deserving of his ire, but who knows? The tiny dog is silent, at the end of his master's leash, wearing a nice blanket-coat, and I put Riley down while the two sniff one another, and there's no aggression, so I'm relieved. Small as Riley is, this little guy must weigh half what he does, likely 5 pounds, no more.
As we proceed, we hear the rat-tat of a woodpecker, loud and close by, and soon see the red-capped Pileated woodpecker giving a pine trunk the business, large slivers flying everywhere. He's large, really beautiful, wholly dedicated to the task at hand, seemingly oblivious to our close presence. Maybe he knows how much we admire him, and he's just mugging for us?
Later, we espie a large dark form moving swiftly through the trees to the left of us. The large red-coloured dog moves closer, as we half-turn our backs to her, recognizing that it's Babe, the rescue dog who always lurks behind unwary trekkers to give vent to her ear-splitting, spine-chilling snarl-and-bark, when it's least expected. We greet her by name and she slinks off to find more unaware victims. Some people are just no fun at all.
The newfallen snow renders its night-time secrets for us, and we stop often to look closer at the tracks going off in every direction. Tiny, light tracks, those of a vole or a mouse. And many others telling us that there are a lot of rabbits in this particular portion of the woods, large and small ones, a real congregation. I regret not having brought along those seeds which I'd had to toss out last week; they likely wouldn't have minded that they were infested with maggots and eggs, I reason, but likely they would have got "lost" in the snow, in any event.
So what do these little guys do during the night? Have parties? Gossip like hell? Talk politics? Discuss the latest neighbourhood scandals? While on the lookout for owls, one would hope. They'd leave no tracks, just swoop down silently to cruelly clasp their little victims. It's a long time since we've seen any owls around, who knows whether they're still here. Might explain the proliferation of all these rabbits. And the squirrels....
posted by Pieface @ Tuesday, February 07, 2006
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