I witnessed something this week that stirred in me many different emotions.  While I was enjoying an afternoon of fishing at Wallace State Park, a van pulled into the parking area.  As hikers, picnickers and fishermen (and women) frequently use the park I didn’t think much about it.  After hearing car doors slam, a man cursing and the plaintive cries of cats or kittens, three cats were hurled unceremoniously down the bank into the woods.  I’m not sure if the villain’s goal was to heave them into the lake but if so, thankfully his aim was short.  Stunned for a moment, I didn’t think to get the license off the vehicle before it exited the lot in a spray of gravel.  The cats were terrified and wouldn’t let me approach them.  They appeared unharmed – only terrified as they ran from me further into underbrush.  I think they were teenagers.  Older than kittens but definitely not long-in-the-tooth.  I notified the Park Rangers but without more information about the culprit there wasn’t much they could do.

I was first angered that the rogue most likely was causing the death of these animals.  I will never know the reason for these actions.  Was it financially motivated?  Difficulty affording pet food and veterinary care?  A family member with allergies?  Or was it ‘mistakes’ on the living room carpet?  Regardless of the reason there are more humane options.  As pet owners we take on a responsibility for the care of these creatures.  We were the ones who chose to let them into our houses.

Next a heartbreaking realization that these cats possibly would suffer a long death of starvation or fall victim as prey to the wild animals of the forest.  Would they be able to survive the snow and freezing temperatures of the upcoming winter?  Hopefully they will calm down enough and somehow regain their trust of people to allow some family camping to be able to give them the home they deserve.

Then my thoughts brought me to my four cats waiting at home for me.  Each one has his or her own personality.  Greeting me at the front door when I arrive home.  Curled up in my lap while I read or watch television.  Purring softly beside me as we nap.  Toby is a gray male and is the oldest followed by Max, an orange tabby.  The girls are Miss Kitty, a calico and Lucy a white cat with some oriental in her.

Remember to be responsible and spay and neuter your pets.

HOPE IS THE THING WITH FEATHERS

Hope is the thing with feathers            That perches in the soul,                     And sings the tune without the words,  And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;        And sore must be the storm                That could abash the little bird            That kept so many warm.

I’ve heard it in the chillest land,           And on the strangest sea;                   Yet, never, in extremity,                         It asked a crumb of me.

Emily Dickenson

In reviewing the pictures I’ve taken lately, there has been a recurring theme…BIRDS. I’ve always been drawn to them. Constantly scanning the treetops or sitting quietly on my deck watching the activity at the feeders.  I especially enjoy the antics of hummingbirds.  Dive-bombing each other to protect the precious nectar so necessary to maintain their almost constant motion.  Their wings almost imperceptible in their vibration. Or the formal Chic-chic-chic-o-dee in its black coat and starched white shirt.  Staying only the briefest moment to grab a black-oil sunflower seed before retreating to the protection of the trees.  The gray faced tit-mouse with its mouseketeer ears cocking its head sideways and selecting the perfect morsel or the patient golden finch introducing the fledgling to the feeder and the proper etiquette in maneuvering the black thistle seed from the tiny opening while perched on shaky legs, wings aflutter to maintain balance.

Even at work I have feathered friends. In the outdoor eating area is a pond with many different creatures. The pond is planted with diverse vegetation and teaming with goldfish. Ducks and Canadian geese are permanent citizens here constantly begging for that last scrap of crust from your lunch while the occasional heron secrets itself on twigs for legs and snatches an unsuspecting dinner of goldfish before flying over the top of the building to some unknown nest to feed its young.

….and where it will lead me only time will tell.  This blog will consist of pictures I have taken.  As it will be readily apparent I am an amateur photographer with the emphasis on amateur.  I mostly use a Fujifilm Finepix S2000HD but occasionally use pictures taken with an iPhone 4.

On this Labor Day I spent the afternoon at the deserted Shoal Creek Living History Museum.  The only inhabitants were the resident animals and a young family struggling to push two baby carriages up a gravel path.  The babies were fussy in the afternoon heat while the parents enjoyed the family outing.

One of the locals coming out of the shade for their afternoon meal.

Overlooking the mill, jail and church of the village.

One of the many farming instruments standing vigil in the fields.

I wonder where the upcoming week will take me?