Relative Something

While I was pushing the hand mower in front of the house, I noticed a lot of chirpy bird activity. Eventually, I spotted a momma bird with something in her mouth, coaxing a youngster that had wings to flop, but not to fly. I figured she was trying to draw her away from the danger zone, which was a good thing, so I just kept right on mowing.

Suddenly, to my temporary horror, a pair of those floppy wings emerged from the back of the mower. I had just rolled over another one. Luckily, it must have kept its head down, and the mower height was set high enough to clear the little one. I suspect it was just as surprised as I was. I decided to leave it alone, intending to check on it later.

When I came out after lunch to finish mowing, the little bird was nowhere to be found. I took that as a good sign.

After a little more mowing, I again began to hear more of that urgent chirping. This time I knew to look around for one of those flightless flappers. It showed up a few passes away in the longer grass, snuggled in contentedly, chirping as if to tell the momma it was just fine. Mom showed little in the way of agreement.

As I closed the distance on it with two more passes, the little bird showed no sign of wanting to move. I stopped the mower and walked over to pick it up if I had to. I didn’t have to. When I bent over with my gloved hands cupped to scoop it up, it suddenly found its legs, and with those stubby little wings flopping, it hopped and scooted far enough out of the danger zone that I was able to finish mowing.

At least I didn’t have to worry about Asher showing predatory interest in the flightless babies. He was in the house this whole time. Why would I make him stay indoors on such a beautiful day? He was serving his penalty minutes for misconduct. Conduct unbecoming of a good dog. Beyond-property roaming.

While I was tending to the piles in the compost area, he was on his best behavior. He followed me as I pushed a filled wheelbarrow up to our strawberry patch, where Cyndie asked me to leave a few loads for her to distribute later. He followed me back again and sat up tall, watching the horses as I worked.

When he didn’t show up on my last run to the garden and back, I called for him. I walked around the house and rechecked the barn and looked in all his favorite spots to recline. I begrudgingly made my way to the end of the driveway, pushing the beep tone on his collar. When I reached the road, I found him just cresting the hill, trotting toward me as a pickup truck approached from the other direction.

The truck slowed, Asher looked at it, and it passed without incident. I made him march directly to the front door of the house, no distractions allowed.

A smart person might stick to their guns and live up to the plan of leashing him when distracted with a task. Obviously, my hope springs eternal.

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