I loved all of them, except the latter. Trying not to use the word Hate again, but I really dislike the prehistoric creatures. Their appearance is Jurassic-Park horrifying, with their large size, orange color, and spiked back. They sleep in the trees, and we hear them scritch-scratching, nails on bark, their way down every morning about 9-ish. We watch the males become territorial with each other (sometimes even fight), and we also see them attempt to attract the females by wagging their heads and shaking the throat gullet in their direction.
For the last month, when we were going regularly to the pool (before the condo association closed it down), my husband and I joyfully watched a family of mockingbirds build a nest just outside the fence. To and fro, delivering bits and pieces of who-knows-what and, as we entered or departed the gate, they would squawk at us, and we would smile.
Now that the pool area is unpeopled, the iguanas have gotten bold, venturing closer, and it seems they have set their sights on the nest (which we don't know has eggs, or babies, yet). Last Friday, we watched two of them climb inside the bush, setting off a racket from the birds, who flew about and above with great agitation. My husband threw down his newspaper, jumped out of his lounge chair, bolted down three flights of stairs, and ran toward the bush, scaring the iguanas away. We witnessed it again that day, and he repeated his rescue mission. Nothing happened (that we saw) over the weekend, and it all started up again this morning. I had always thought iguanas were herbivores but, upon Googling, I found that they do indeed eat eggs.
Honestly, we know we are only postponing the inevitable. Ahem, Nature: Cruel, The Circle of Life, Survival of the Fittest, and all that. We'd just taken such pleasure in watching the nest-building process and, in these days of uncertainty, we've thought of ourselves as First Responders (at least to the mockingbirds). thankyoujesus the porch is screened, but this is one time I wish it weren't, as I would stockpile a bowl of stones, and throw them at the iguana every time it encroached. Reminding myself of previous Things We Can (and Can't) Control post.
Ugh. Sigh. Sob.
SONG: Mockingbird by James Taylor and Carly Simon
BOOK: The Crows of Pearblossom by Aldous Huxley, Sophie Blackall (Illustrator)
POEM: Mockingbird by Louis Jenkins
I remember when I was a child I had a pair of canaries
in a cage in my bedroom. I had the idea that I would
raise and sell canaries. I asked one of my sisters if she
remembered them. She remembered that they were
parakeets, not canaries. I asked another sister. She said
she didn't remember any canaries but she remembered
how mean I was to her. My youngest sister doesn't
remember having birds but thinks that we had a pet
rabbit. I don't remember that. My brother thinks we
had a pet crow that talked. I don't remember a crow
but I remember we had a myna bird for a while that
said, "Hello sweetie pie," but he belonged to someone
else. My mother says that she would never have
allowed birds or any other animals in the house. I
remember how the female canary ignored the male
but chirped plaintively to a mockingbird that sang
outside my window all summer long.
QUOTE: "No; we have been as usual asking the wrong question. It does not matter a hoot what the mockingbird on the chimney is singing. The real and proper question is: Why is it beautiful?" ~ Bertrand Russell
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