Our little Wild Kingdom scenes continued to unfold this weekend as Lizzy and I watched Mommy and Daddy bluejay teaching their wee jays how to fly yesterday. It was pretty darned cute. I could spot two of the five – we weren’t really ‘allowed’ to go anywhere near the nest, so I couldn’t tell if the other three chickies were still up there, but I suspect they were because Mom and Dad were intent on only two spots in the yard. There, the little still-fuzzy birdies sat. They’re only two weeks old! I can’t believe they’re already at the ‘learning to fly’ stage. They grow so fast… Sniff… But it’s just as well, because Lizzy was out on the trampoline with her Grandma Connie on Saturday, and the daddy dive-bombed her, as we were warned he would if we allowed the jays to nest on her playground equipment. In the ‘egg’ phase, the parents would grudgingly depart the nest to let us see what was going on. Even after the birdies hatched, we could scare them away for a look. But the parental instinct kicked in hard-core after a couple of days. They wouldn’t leave for anything. I could be close enough to reach out and stroke the parent on the nest (but didn’t dare, because I value my fingers), and they would glare and give us a warning croak. And now, they won’t let us off of the deck without an attack.
As the slower of the birds sat, not looking very willing to learn, a squirrel happened by, looking for nuts, we think. Both Mommy and Daddy bird swooped and dived and drove the poor thing under the deck. That little baby bird wouldn’t do anything until one of the parents flew in to sit next to him. Then he’d strain his little neck and flap his little wings piteously, as if to say, “I’m TRYING, can’t you see! But I just don’t think I can move from this spot, actually!” They would cluck encouragingly at him, and go back across the yard (about 30 or so feet away) to the fence, where I think they were trying to get him to follow. “If you want to be with us, you’re going to have to figure out how to get over here!” The other little birdie seemed to be having more success. He was taking short hops and getting those wings going, if not quite flying yet.
I was giving Lizzy a running narration of the events. “Mommy is saying, ‘c’mon, honey! You can do it! Just flap your wings like this!’” Lizzy said, “But how do you KNOW they’re saying that?” “Isn’t it obvious?” I said. Wow. She’s a fact-checker, that one. My little skeptic.
We also saw a little chipmunk scurrying around at one point, and a robin family feeding their nest of babies up high – we can’t see into it, but we can tell that’s what they’re doing. The bluejays and the robins seemed to have an understanding. That’s all I can figure. But the squirrels clearly weren’t in on the deal.
On Friday, I stayed home with Lizzy (the usual day care closure the Friday before Memorial Day), and we took a long walk and then hung out with our friends down the street. Lizzy and Ethan and Keenan donned swimsuits and played in the kiddie pool and sprinklers. The play somehow morphed into plant watering, and then full-on car washing. Dee just shrugged and got them a bucket and some sponges. Hey – who are WE to stand in the way of a couple of clean cars? From the bottom of the windows down, anyway. As they washed, they sang a short refrain from a song Ethan picked up somewhere – “We will, we will, ROCK YOU.” “We will, we will, ROCK YOU.” Lizzy joined right in – at times, Ethan would do the ‘we will’ part, and Lizzy chimed in on the ‘ROCK YOU’s.
I said to Dee, “at least it’s not ‘Fat Bottomed Girls’.”
Dee and I were joking about the discrepancies between the various, er, wildlife experiences at her house and mine. Granted, a bluejay divebombing is no treat, but for the most part, it’s all Snow White-ish cute little animal time up at the end of Sovereign. We have our wee bunnies, our nesting bluejays and robins, our chipmunk, our fuzzy wuzzy caterpillars. Somewhat of a fantasyland of friendly animals.
Dee and Sam apparently live in Adventureland. Or perhaps Frontierland. I think they probably think I’m a total nature wimp, at this point. Whatever brave front I had put up thus far came crumbling down this past week. First, Dee and I went running through the woods adjacent to their property. We had a good little workout. When we got back, Sam or Dee said merrily, “Don’t forget to check for ticks!” Um. Then there’s the copperhead snake that lives in their crawlspace.
But the Big Momma of Kate Willies came when I went into their backyard to toss an apple core into their too-cool compost bin. For reasons too boring to explain, I was by myself – Keenan was asleep upstairs. Lizzy was with Dee, in their van, picking up Ethan from preschool. I marveled at the awesomeness of the compost bin, flipped up the lid, and … just about freaking lost it when I saw the size of the spider that stared back at me (they have eight eyes, you know. Or is it more…). Okay, I don’t know if it was staring back at me, but it probably was! Dude. No one will EVER believe me when I describe this monstrosity. No one apparently has seen it but Sam, who would probably meet up with Bigfoot himself with mild curiosity and zero fear. “Oh, yeah. The Big Guy’s been living back there for decades, I hear. I’ve only seen him a few times, but he’s a smelly one.” Because, when I say, “spider,” what I mean is, “tarantula.” “sentient being that might well eat rodents.” So help me, so help me. The abdomen was flatter, but THAT WAS THE ONLY DIFFERENCE between it and a tarantula. Big ol’ hairy thick legs, big ol’ stripey body, big ol’ … geez, I’m creeping myself out again, just thinking about it. And it was sitting next to a big ol’ nest, as well.
Mothra spiders attack D.C. suburb! Residents flee in terror!
Naturally, when Dee returned a few minutes later, the stupid spider was gone. As was the last of my credibility.
When Sam came home a few hours later, he said, “Oh, yeah. It’s a wolf spider. A little smaller than my hand, I guess. That’s about as big as they get. Its bite is mildly poisonous, but it won’t kill you or anything.” Dude, I’m not worried about its BITE. It’s just … why does the size matter? I don’t know, but I keep hearing that it does. And in this case… Let’s just say, I’ve been face to face with black widows before, and yeah, they’re freaky. But this one will remain in the memory for a long time. The photos of wolf spiders I later Googled were nothing compared to this monster. Those were merely spiders. This thing ... words just don't do it justice.
Copperhead snake vs. freakazoid wolf spider. Cage match! I honestly do not know which would win.
