Chloe has started coming back in every so often. She slept on our bed a couple of times last weekend. She finds a nice, comfortable spot on the bedspread at the foot of the bed on my side. Mark is so long that his feet interfere, so she likes my side. Plus, she seems to like my underthings more than his.
That seems to fit pretty well
If you read our last post on the fox situation, you might remember that our attempt to help a crippled fox has had unintended consequences. We had thought to try to solve two problems. The first was that a fox was eating the food Leah puts out for the outside cats. Her practice has been to put some food in the garage, where Sylvester and Smokey eat, and some outside in the driveway for Chloe, Dusty and Rusty. Sylvester and Smokey chase the other three away, especially Dusty, and keep them from having free access to the food in the garage. That’s why Leah started feeding the three cats out in the drive.
Unfortunately, that also attracted a fox. Leah got into the habit of feeding the cats fairly often during the day, so the cats didn’t feel any need to eat their fill at any given time. So, Leah left the food out, and the fox ate it.
The second problem involved a female fox who suffered an injury to one of its front legs. It seems to be permanently crippled. So we decided to put dog food further out in the driveway, hoping to keep the fox from eating the cat food, and at the same time, hoping to keep the crippled fox alive.
We had reservations about this in the first place, but now we have had serious second thoughts about feeding the fox. Or, as it turns out, the foxes. The one crippled fox has turned into a family of at least three, possibly more. They eat the dog food, and then they eat the cat food. So we have decided to stop feeding the foxes and let nature take its course.
Things are never as easy as they seem at first. Feeding the fox seemed like a simple solution to two problems, but it didn’t work out as we expected. And now not putting out food specifically for the fox isn’t working out all that well either. We still have the problem of the foxes eating the cat food. We have to try to come up with a way to feed the cats but prevent the foxes from eating all their food. So far the foxes don’t come into the garage, but Sylvester and Smokey also keep Chloe, Dusty and Rusty out. I suggested putting their food out twice a day for a set, short period and then taking it up. Leah worries that they will get hungry because they’re used to grazing all day. I say that they will quickly learn to eat when the food is out. We haven’t decided exactly what to do, but it’s obvious that leaving cat food out in the driveway all the time isn’t working.
But what about the title of this post, The fox’s tip? Well, over the past few weeks we have noticed an odd behavior of the foxes. They poop in their feed bowl.
Still life with dog food bowl and fox poop.
Is this what a fox considers an appropriate tip for services rendered?
I assume there is a reasonable explanation for this behavior, but I don’t know what it is. Territory marking? Preventing another animal from feeding at their site? Convenience? Watching Zoe’s bathroom habits?
Sleepy, but not quite sleepy enough to actually lie down.
Comfy?
Lying down would be too much trouble. And that pillow is softer than the sofa.
This was taken not long after we got Smokey’s summer cut. You can see the pink wound on his side. We think it might have been a razor burn. But maybe not.
Leah and I got married in 2005, but I’ve known her for a long time. Leah’s brother Dan was my best friend in high school, and I can remember having my mother drive me over to his house when I was 15. I probably caught a glimpse of her then, when she would have been 11.
Over the years I caught more glimpses. In the summer when I drove over to Dan’s, if Leah was sunbathing in her two-piece swimsuit, she would jump up and run for the house when I pulled up. I always thought she was cute. And she had great legs.
Here she is with that great new Beatles album, Abbey Road. She’s probably telling her cousin about it.
Leah and the Beatles
Abbey Road was released in 1969, when I was 19 and Leah was 15. Isn’t she cute? Darn right she is!
Although I always liked Leah, we never connected. It turned out that when I went to graduate school at Georgia Tech in Atlanta, she was working there. This is what she drove.
Sharp car! Nice girl!
That’s a Fiat 124 roadster. A lot of people think old Fiats were unreliable, but I disagree. I got a 1971 Fiat 124 Sport Coupe just before I graduated from Georgia State University in 1973 and drove it for a long time with no problems. It had nearly 100,000 miles on it when I sold it, including a cross-country trip to California and back.
Leah did have some problems with hers, and her mother suggested that she call me and see if I could help. I wonder, was there an ulterior motive there? I regret that I couldn’t really fix the problem.
Leah offered to make dinner for me, but that just never seemed to happen.
Not long after, the poor Fiat met its doom in a close encounter with a telephone pole.
And I went on at Tech, and then later in Huntsville. Sometime in 1998 or 1999, Leah and I got in touch with each other again. And the rest is history
But boy would I like to have that car.
Our garage is a hummingbird trap. On at least four occasions hummingbirds have flown into the garage and then been unable to find their way out. The problem is that the garage ceiling is four or five feet higher than the top of the garage door. The birds fly in and then up. Even with both garage doors open and bright sunlight outside, they never try to get out any other way than by flying up towards the ceiling, where they bump and skitter along the surface.
On three previous occasions we were able to help them escape. One time I turned the ceiling light on so it would fly near it; they are attracted to the light like a moth. I climbed our eight-foot ladder and stood with a towel ready right next to the light, and when the hummer lit on the towel, I gently folded it around the bird. Another time I held a broom up and it lit there. I lowered the broom slowly and brought it to the open the garage door. The hummer flew out.
The third time was distressing. This little bird flew around so frantically that it exhausted itself and fluttered slowly to the floor, where it lay there panting. I scooped it up with a towel and put it on a branch of one of our shrubs next to the drive. It sat there for a while and then flew up into a nearby tree.
Today was the fourth time, at least that we know of. Here it is perched on one of the garage door supports.
The trapped hummingbird
Our hummers are ruby throated. The ruby throat is not present on this one, so it must be a female. Here is a shot taken at the same time but zoomed out. You can see how high the ceiling is here.
Taking a rest
The arrow points to the bird taking a rest. This one would fly a circuit around the ceiling a few times and then perch where she is now or on the corresponding point on the other side of the brace. When it lit, it would look up and around like it was trying to figure out why it couldn’t get to the sky.
We tried for a long time to help this bird escape, but every attempt failed. I tried closing the garage doors and turning on the light so it would fly close to it. But it was skittish and wouldn’t come close enough for me to get it. It ignored the broom I held up. I put a feeder on a tall pole and offered it to it, but it wouldn’t light on it.
It’s funny to think about it, but even birds are individuals. One of the hummingbirds that became trapped didn’t seem afraid of me, so it flew close enough for me to grab it. One obligingly lit on a broom so I could take it outside. Another never perched anywhere, so it eventually exhausted itself. Today, the hummingbird avoided me. There seemed to be no way to save this little bird.
I had work to do in the yard, so I came and went through the garage, checking every time I went through. Finally, one time when I looked, it was gone. I looked around on the floor to see if it had tired out and dropped to the floor, but I didn’t see it. I also looked for feathers, since the cats were never far away, but I didn’t see feathers either. We hope it finally flew low enough to notice the open doors and flew out. But we really have no idea what happened to this little bird.
If she made it out OK, I hope she tells here friends to avoid the big open spaces on the front of the house.