It’s a reasonable question to ask: Why do groundhogs [a native American animal] love a tropical fruit, bananas? [Trust me, they do.]
Why do monarch butterflies [the only winged non-birds to migrate] set forth on a trip which lasts longer than their lifespan? [They begin the journey, their off-spring finish it.] And never having made the first part of the trip, the off-spring nevertheless know precisely where to fly next year.
Flying fish quiver their tales seventy times a second and can soar over two hundred yards. Why? How?
Migratory birds fly to many places, guided – we are told – by magnetic lines of force around the earth. How does each species know – often without their parents to instruct them – which of these lines to follow? Why do some birds mate only for a season, others, for life. [They never say, ‘I do,’ but they do.]
Sabrina and I have two house finches who set up housekeeping in a little nest in our garage one story down. One day, she and I looked out the patio door and saw these two flying madly, crazed, making a frantic sound we’d never heard before.
Sabrina took one look, sized up the situation immediately, and went running down to the garage. A huge black snake was about to swallow their babies and there was nothing the parents could do.
The parents raced back into the garage in time to see us hook the snake and drop him safely over a far-distant fence. The two parents had come to Sabrina for help.
Another time, we were told a story of a Bluebird nest with babies attacked by a hawk. Without hesitation, the mom and dad flew out to contest this threat. Was it a suicide mission or an attempt to ‘mob’ [confuse] the predator into flight? We’ll never know.
But the worst case scenario is this: had the parents sacrificed themselves their young would have survived as Bluebirds raise several broods each season, and the first brood, now grown, would have stepped in and raisied the newly born.
It is commonplace here for curmudgeonly Bluebirds to peck on the window of our animal room when their mealworms run out. “Hey! How about a little service!”
But how about this: my office sits on the second floor, far from their feeders. But the other day, Bluebirds started showing up outside my office window. They would scowl in at me and peck impatiently on my window.
Funny thing is: I have no feeders up there. So why were they there? I called Sabrina on the intercom. She said, “They’re there to tell you they’re out of mealworms down here.”
I said, “No way!”
She said, “I’ll go check their bowls and refill them if empty.”
Within five minutes, all the blues were gone, down eating the worms she had laid out for them. I tell you, son, never in my life have I met a person with instincts for animals like that woman!
You think you’ve got problems?! Sabrina and I have problems.
I guess I should give you some background. We have a bird that makes a nest in my toolbox twice each year. The toolbox is in the garage. In order to allow the bird access to its nest without leaving the garage door open twenty-four-seven, I cut a small hole in the top of the door.
A while back, one of our cars started acting up. Off to the garage for a diagnostic survey. Sabrina left the car with the mechanic. She returned some time later to find the entire staff in an uproar. Laughing. At us.
“This is a first,” the mechanic said. “A motor failure due to peanuts.”
My wife stood there shaking her head. “Peanuts.”
The mechanic, still laughing, bent down, picked up a cardboard box which was full of unshelled nuts. “Peanuts.” There were about 6 pounds of them in the box.
We went home and checked the other cars. In one, we found approximately six more pounds stacked neatly on the little shelves within the motor. Interestingly, the peanuts were found in the Land Rover and the Range Rover, not in the old jeep or even more ancient pick-up truck.
Now, we don’t store nuts in the garage, so the squirrel or squirrels are taking nuts from the other side of the house where we feed our wildlife, bringing them – lots of them – around the house, climbing the garage door to the bird hole and caching them in our cars. For winter. But only into the expensive cars… Leave it to us to have snobby squirrels!
Like I said, you think you’ve got problems?! Oh well, two good things came of it: the car now runs like it used to, and we’ve recovered twelve pounds of peanuts. Sheesh!
I often think God must sit, His jaw cradled in His hand, smiling at us trying to unravel the immensities and intricacies of His creation.
Every now and then, He must smile and acknowledge, “Well done” knowing full well, that our most insightful discoveries but scratch the surface. As for me, I know a lot about wildlife, but just enough to know that I know nothing.
There’s magic all around us, but you’ve got to look for it. Even more than that, you must truly believe you’ll find it.
By Lucky Garvin [email protected]