“Where’s my blueberry buttermilk pancake PapaRATzo?”
Breaker, our 29-year-old Gold Cap Conure, goes nuts over blueberry buttermilk pancakes. He also loves Susan’s blueberry pound cake. I’m thinking that Beaker has genetic memory of his feathered forefathers going out to treetop IHOPs for Sunday breakfast or Sunday Brunch where they enjoyed blueberry buttermilk pancakes. Beaker also loves coffee, donuts, hamburgers, French fries, pizza, huevos rancheros, and similar fare, all of which he rarely gets. But still, the fact that he likes those various types of foods so much leads me to believe he has a genetic memory of a whole feathered fast food industry high in the tops of rainforest canopies.
Beaker’s pancake is the little one on the lower left side of the griddle.
“I’m still waiting!”
“About time you got my order off the griddle.”
“Yum! Yum! Yum! Yum!”
It’s been a few years since Laurie made blueberry buttermilk pancakes. Beaker thoroughly enjoyed his pancake as I did mine. The pancakes were delicious.
Glenda and Gwendolyn were not impressed with blueberry buttermilk pancakes. They were more interested in lying around and looking cute.
Whirlybird with a game warden looking for a coyote that attacked a runner.
Daddy Owl: “¡No me gustan los whirlybirds! ¡A mí tampoco me gustan los coyotes!“
Flicker: “Whirlybird? Is that what that thing is called?”
Mama Owl: “Stupid coyotes! Stupid whirlybird!”
I thought the doves flew up out of the cottonwood because of the helicopter.
But a second look revealed a Cooper’s Hawk had flown up in the tree where the doves were perched.
“It’s a bird! It’s a plane! IT’S a WHIRLYBIRD! Stupid coyotes!”
Blow up of Mr. Cooper.
Whirlybird hovering before flying south. A crane flying north.
Mr. Cooper flew north to another tree.
Mama Owl: “That’s better now that the whirlybird has flown south!”
Clouds at dawn looking north.
Daddy Owl: “Mucho mejor sin el whirlybird.”
Like a sunset at sunrise looking southwest.
Mama Owl poked her ear tufts up.
I didn’t see Daddy Owl at all yesterday, and I still couldn’t see Mama Owl in the hole in the tree, but tonight, Mama Owl poked her head up just enough for me to see her ear tufts and the top of her head. We should be seeing owlets in about six weeks.
Daddy Owl looking pensive before he flew off to find a meal for Mama Owl.
Daddy owl was by himself this morning.
When I went out this evening, Daddy Owl was still alone. I heard another owl hoot not too far away, but I could not see it. Daddy owl hooted back and then flew to a tree a few hundred feet or so from where he was perched. He answered another hoot and flew over to the hole in the tree where the nest has been. He looked down into the hole hooted, looked at me, looked back into the hole, looked up behind him, and then flew off. I assume Mama Owl has started sitting on her nest in the tree, but if she is in the hole, she is laying low so I couldn’t see her.
He was still by himself this evening answering hoots.
The hole where the nest is looked empty.
After answering hoots, he flew to a tree a little south of where Mama Owl has nested in the past.
He flew over to where Mama Owl nests, looked into the hole, and hooted.
Looked at the paparazzo.
Looked in the hole again.
Checked out what was behind him before he flew off.
Clouds blowing over the Sandias before sunset.
The sun’s last attempt to shine through the clouds before slipping below the horizon.
Mama Owl and Daddy Owl looking gray back to their favorite spot.
“I’m Silver, not Gray” You’re really quite gray Silver.
Black and white of snow under dawn’s dark light turns to snow black and white under a dark street light.
Cranes fly into darkness in the sun’s waning light.
Clouds break up over the Rio Grande and the snow-covered Sandias.
Mama Owl and Daddy Owl perched in a different tree.
Crows fly in the final light of dusk.
The pTerodactyl reflects in the darkness.
We got about an inch of snow last night, and while the sun tried to peek through the clouds, the temperature never got about 25ºF (-3.9ºC). A couple of walks in the bosque and out on the beaches along the Rio Grande resulted in new birds and some exciting owl news.
Sandias and the Rio Grande from North Beach.
These Thrushes looked really iridescent in the snow on the riverbank under the cold, filtered sun.
Red-Tailed Hawk way off in the distance.
Sparrow up north scavaging in the snow and pebbles.
Red-Tailed Hawk in profile.
This poor calf has lost its herd. It’s all alone and has been sadly mooing for someone to keep it company.
Can you spot the northern mama owl sitting on her eggs?
She didn’t use this nest last year because the raccoons had ransacked it. She is in it again this year. The year before, 2018, she had Virginia in this nest: https://wp.me/p1yQyy-4dG
Blondy the blonde porcupine sleeping way up in a cottonwood.
Thrush getting a drink.
The acequia madre
Mama Owl and Daddy Owl in their usual spot with snow all around.
The pTerodactyl posed perfectly in the Tangle Heart Tree for Valentine’s Day.
Miss Stripy Sparrow
Daddy Owl snoozing at sunrise.
A congregation of cranes at dawn.
Cranes celebrating the frosty sunrise.
The other side of Miss Stripy Sparrow.
A pTerodactyl takeoff.
A silly duck on takeoff.
“¡Hasta la huego you silly goose!”
As a thunderstorm blew in this evening lots of crows were flying all around us.
Yesterday we had clouds running amok through the skies with our painter scrambling to keep her colors from blowing away with the winds. Today ¡Nada! Not a cloud in the sky. However, our ever clever painter brushed the Sandias with pink, then she threw a spray of ocher that turned into lavender, purples, and blues as it spread from the horizon into the sky.
Our painter picks her colors from sunbursts.
Mama Owl watches as our painter makes her magic.