Some diversion, delight in a world gone mad
In a world gone mad, nature offers welcomed diversion and delight.
And some scolding on my part.
I never would have imagined myself yelling at a chipmunk that was too close to the highway, oblivious to cars and trucks whizzing by, intent instead upon munching on whatever it was that this chipmunk was chewing.
It must have been chocolate-covered something, in my fine-dining experience.
“Alvinnnnnn!!!!!!” I hollered, figuring I’d capture its attention, a mission successful, given I apparently startled the chipmunk. Better Half, too.
“Get away from that road!!!” I warned like any good chipmunk mother-wannabe keeping her young ones safe and sound.
“Who are you yelling at?” asked Better Half, (not the chipmunk.)
“That chipmunk over there!” I pointed, adding a “duhhh” for clarity.
The road we live near has some fast-moving traffic not fit for wildlife with a will to enjoy extended years of living.
I waved my arms for good measure, enough to scare it to safer territory.
Chipmunks have a lot of nerve, I’ve noticed.
So do squirrels.
There are a lot of them hanging around this summer, and they, too, dance around in the yard, flirting with the road well traveled.
“Herald” the Cat keeps busy, meanwhile, sizing them all up, creeping up on them for a sneak attack until I employ cat-squirrel-chipmunk intervention and yell, “Run, Forrest, run!!!!”
And they do, up the nearest tree.
Those chipmunks and squirrels don’t realize how lucky they are.
Neither do the deer. They are forever approaching the road, taking their good old time strolling across it without not one look to the left or to the right.
Now I’m on deer-crossing guard duty.
What I do for wildlife!
The other day this little toad thought it wanted to enter our garage via a breezeway. It was contemplating this move from a very dangerous spot, parked in the crack of the door that was destined to close on it at some point if the toad still hadn’t made up its mind.
More scolding on my part. And a relocation to boot. I put Teddy the Toad in the barn, inviting him to a fly fest. When I opened the door to the barn, it sounded like the Richmond Aviary with all the nesting baby birds anticipating their mothers bringing breakfast.
The raccoon I didn’t have the heart to yell at, and he wasn’t anywhere near the highway.
Better Half and I sat on the back porch and watched Ralph the Raccoon climb up the bird bath and plunk right down in the middle of it, help himself to the birdseed I had put there instead of water.
So it’s not the birds eating all the birdseed — it’s the masked bandit!
The raccoon ate at his leisure.
I figured he was entitled to one meal in peace.
And besides, I’d yelled enough for one wildlife watch.
The evening ended with a rainbow, diversion and delight from a world gone mad.
(Kiaski, a resident of Richmond, is a staff columnist and community editor for the Herald-Star and The Weirton Daily Times. She can be contacted at firstname.lastname@example.org.)