Are We Annoying the Dog? Creatures Coping COVID
So I was on a roll with this whole blog thing commitment. I set every Monday night as my personal, arbitrary deadline and was for the most part hitting it. It wasn’t perfect, mind you, but for a string of months I had a pretty good at-bat percentage.
Then, as you well know, Corona changed everything.
Initially, I thought all this extra time would at least be brilliant for catching up on my blog. I had madcap dreams of getting a dozen little gems in the can and then kicking back and relishing my bank account of blogs—a new one withdrawn easily and conveniently at the time of my choosing, giving me more time to enjoy this unexpected abundance of time.
Turns out that even a “numbers-challenged” person like me (we’re in a pandemic, folks, so I’m giving myself some slack here; in normal times the word is “moron”), someone who barely passed basic math back in school, figures out pretty quickly that nothing equals nothing.
With nothing much going on, there doesn’t feel like there’s much to write about.
But as they say, nature abhors a vacuum. And so, most everything in and around my house feels suddenly worth pondering for some deeper, bloggy-musings.
For example, I’ve been wondering a lot if our dog knows we’re always home. Like, all the time.
I wonder if he digs it, or like so many right now, if he’s annoyed or distressed navigating this new routine. I’m thinking he (unlike most of us) is probably craving alone time and wishing he could self-isolate. I can tell he’s sick of us being in his face 24-7 telling him how awesome he is and constantly reassuring him he’s the BEST. DOG. GOD. EVER. CREATED! (Like he didn’t already know.)
It’s gotta get old, I’m thinking.
I’ve also spent too many moments talking to the mama bird that has built the most beautiful nest for her youngins’ on our back deck. It sits just outside the glass door where I’ve fashioned my home office so it makes for easy mind-wandering. At first the whole nest thing made me crazy because mom constructed her condo right on one of the blades of our ceiling fan.
You know what that means?
Bird poop next to the barbeque.
I don’t like that. It’s a problem. (A few times, I confess, the thought had crossed my mind that if I accidentally flicked my light switch on I could launch my problem off my deck and into orbit with the quick whirl of the fan, but those sinister thoughts were only a flash, and we deactivated the fan from the light switch in an abundance of caution.)
But all that and poop aside, I’ve become fascinated by this little bird and her big-time nerve to perch her perfectly crafted nest on such a precarious post.
When wind and rain blow her round a bit, she seems merely to enjoy the ride. She does a drive-by past our kitchen window as she comes and goes as she pleases, all the while trusting her little eggs are safe. As I watch her, I think, Jesus knows this little mama, too. As a friend reminded me recently, He takes care of the birds. No worries. Save, of course, for having to dodge droppings and sanitize dirty decks.
I’ve come to appreciate this is a good problem to have, especially as we wait on her birdie babies. There are four eggs in her nest. I have named them COVID-19, Loner, Mask, and Zoom in a bow to the times.
We also have chickens, and I now wonder if they, too, sense something is amiss.
More than us, do they really, really, really, really want this quarantine thing over? We treat them with loving care and appreciate them for their eggs. They’ve never been on our menu like their brethren that come with barcodes. Even still, are they thinking if things get really bad they could be totally stewed?
Like the dog, they’re just not used to having us around all the time. It’s obvious we have ruffled their feathers.
That’s why we don’t let our chickens watch TV. We want to keep them calm. There’s no cable in their coop, but if there was, most of cable news would for sure be off-limits.
There’s only so much bull chickens can take.