It's
a savage wilderness, here in my city yard. From a distance, it looks
like a Victorian postcard -- a pastoral scene of sweet flowers,
sun-kissed vegetables and trilling birds. The reality is considerably
rougher. Hang around, and one sees a Darwinian jungle of predators and
prey. The Animal Planet's "Untamed & Uncut" program has nothing on
my backyard. There are lots of birds this year, but for a brutal
reason. At least one coyote had apparently been killing and dragging
off neighborhood cats. Fewer cats, more birds. I know a coyote was
around last year because I saw him (or was it a "her"?). He was
trotting down the middle of my tree-lined street baring that trademark
creepy smile. (Coyotes are not a friend to humans, either. They
recently attacked small children in a New York suburb.) Shortly after,
signs were power-stapled on the telephone polls reporting cats gone
missing. Sadly, we know what probably happened to those beloved
felines. But such tragedies -- plus the decision by some cat owners to
keep their pets indoors -- have enabled the bird population to recover.
Thus, cardinals, blue jays and other Major League mascots are now
blessing the trees and power lines with song. The exploding bird
population, however, has led to some rather violent scenes at the
birdbath. For example, every morning several fat robins do their
ablutions. When sparrows try to join them, the robins run them off. That
doesn't bother me much, because as cute as sparrows can seem, they are
an invading species (native to England). They run around in packs and
kill the American blue bird. I don't care to encourage sparrows. Of
course, bird proliferation has unleashed mass panic in the worm world.
Worms are precious little helpers in the garden, and I do all I can to
make them feel welcome. But the moment dawn touches the dewy lettuce
leaves, a robin crashes to the earth and takes off with a squirming
worm in its beak. Nothing is free in this world. As for mammal
traffic, my backyard might as well be the African Serengeti. Squirrels
leap about, burying nuts, unburying nuts, drinking from the birdbath
and, in winter, trying to break into the bird feeders. I've also
spotted skunks, raccoons, opossums and bats, among other warm-blooded
creatures. I once picked up a big zucchini plant leaf and found a whole
rabbit family living under it. No, I will not chase away the
bunnies, except when they munch on a prized hosta. But I have at times
put down Critter Ridder to discourage the squirrels. If that also sends
the rabbits elsewhere, I can live with myself. Pandemonium broke out
a few weeks ago when a tree service came by to top some scraggly pines.
In addition to making a racket, the men threatened some nests. The
ensuing animal panic resembled the fire scene from "Bambi." Some fled,
but others fought back. The squirrels ran off into the yard next door.
But the robins dive-bombed the tree cutters holding onto their ladders.
Some humans in the area called the police about the noise. (Sorry,
neighbors.) A falling limb luckily just missed a doves' nest in a
roof gutter. A dove pair comes back every year (I like to (SET ITAL)
think (END ITAL) that they're the same doves). As penance to the bird
god, I put up a hummingbird feeder and scrubbed the bath. Not long
after the men drove off in their wood-chipper truck, the creatures --
avian, mammal, invertebrate and human -- all settled down. The
Peaceable Kingdom seemed to return, but only if you don't look too
closely.
To
find out more about Froma Harrop, and read features by other Creators
Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate web
page at www.creators.com. COPYRIGHT 2010 THE PROVIDENCE JOURNAL CO. DISTRIBUTED BY CREATORS.COM
