Interspecies Connections
Interspecies Connections
The sky was hazy with smoke from the Canadian wildfires. Perspiration dripped down my face as I sat on the back deck with all three dogs. I’d been shuffling back and forth between my office and the deck for the past two hours, unable to decide where I was sweating worse: inside, where there were only fans, or outside, where hardly a breeze was stirring.
As I sat on the deck, I heard a whoosh, whoosh. At the same time, the dogs bolted upright. A shadow passed over the lawn as the dogs and I looked in awe. Then we saw it: a gorgeous blue heron, its wingspan wider than Louisa the pig’s length as it passed over her and landed without a sound in the creek—in the midst of my flock of ducks and geese!
What?!
The dogs raced down the deck stairs, barking madly. Luckily they couldn’t get near her, but their barking was enough to make her want to move on. Up she went, long wings pumping to lift her off the ground.
I sat for a long time, thinking how odd it was that she landed among the ducks and geese, and they had accepted her like their long-lost friend.
Later, when Ruben and I walked down to the Hidey Hole, there she was again—but again Ruben’s barking scared her off.
This summer, she (or he) has been a frequent guest. I’ve often seen her in the creek, but this was the first flyover complete with a perfect landing among my flock. How interesting that they didn’t even startle. Maybe they already knew her and were used to seeing her.
The blue heron hasn’t been our only summer visitor. A yearling doe has made herself a second home with the donkeys in their back pasture.
The first morning that I came out and saw three heads, I stopped in my tracks. Having just woken up, I had to shake my head and look carefully. Sure enough, there was Diego, a deer, and Carlos!
We noticed the deer has been enjoying the salt block, and I wonder if that’s what draws her here. Or perhaps the yearling's mom was busy with this year's fawn and this gal was lonely. Either way, these interspecies connections are a pure delight.
It makes me wonder why we humans can’t get along with each other when all these different species seem to do so effortlessly.
One morning, years ago, Téte was running back and forth in the road along the fence line, and a coyote was following her every move in the pasture beyond the barbed-wire fence. When the coyote was parallel with our mailbox, she’d turn and run back the other way, and so would Téte. I called Dane, who ran out to watch. Once we knew Téte was in no danger, I hurried back in and got my camera. The coyote looked healthy, likely pregnant, and Téte was having a blast.
Another time I walked out the front door and couldn’t believe my eyes. Needing a witness, I went back in and got Dane to come see: Maurice, my small, shy, gray cat, was playing with a deer in the front yard. Maurice followed the deer's moves as if in a choreographed dance.
In these situations, the wildlife seems not to care what the other looks like, as long as they can play together, share their salt lick, or hang out for the day, floating in the creek.
As I headed back into the sweat box of my office, I paused to watch two ruby-throated hummingbirds take turns drinking from the feeder. About eight feet behind them were two large feeders full of sunflower seeds, where goldfinches, rose-breasted grosbeaks, blue jays, wrens, a cardinal, and even two mourning doves were taking turns filling their bellies, then flying off briefly, only to return again.
The different colors, sizes, and shapes delighted my eye as I watched. Occasionally there was a scuffle between two birds, but they seemed to work it out, and no one seemed to get hurt.
Sitting back down in my office to type, I wished again that it were that way for the human species: more friendly interaction between different cultures. Maybe we could learn from each other and be comfortable sitting together in a creek on a sweltering hot summer day!
