It’s Saturday and these days we try not to stray too far from home at weekends because all the nice trails are cluttered up with the “sort of people” who work from Monday to Friday … yes, we confess, we were once amongst them. We are pretty anti-social to be honest and if we can spend a day out with the wild things and never see another specimen of Homo sapiens then that is just fine and dandy with us. A pair of party poopers and proud of it.
And so – we headed off to fill up the feeders at the MBO. Yesterday was more than somewhat snowy – the Great St-Valentines Day Storm in fact (well, it was for the wimps and pussies that live in the US going by the media panics, up here it was simply quite snowy) – and on arriving at the entry to the site we found that even our huge, state-of-the-art, snowshoes were sinking a foot or eighteen inches into the powdery snow. Lord, it as a hard slog getting from the car into the site.
Once there, however, all was nice and peaceful and after topping up the feeders we were able to retreat to the viewing seats and enjoy that action. Once again our friend the Tufted Titmouse made an appearance, starting with a wheezy call from the hawthorns and gradually getting closer and closer until he decided all was safe and he could settle in to enjoy the peanut stock. Half a dozen Mourning Doves (the “dopes” of this post’s title) lined up on the cross-bar from which several feeders depend … quite unaware of the fact that on the snow immediately below them were the feathery remains of one of their brothers or sisters. A dozen species in all, nothing new for the year list but a pleasant hour in the snow for that.
Then we had to wade back and the legs are aching … note to self: get fit.