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A Ride in the Desert

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We spend three hours on horseback, enjoying perfect weather.

Mike and I have two quarter horses. Jake, a retired ranch horse, is now about 24 years old and is starting to show his age. He’s sorrel (that’s brown) with some white on his feet. He’s also swayback — that means that the place you put his saddle is way lower than it should be on a normal horse —  and has very high withers. Mike bought a special saddle pad for him and then had his saddle custom made to fit the horse. I got Jake for a good price and I think I know why. He’s an alpha male and likes to boss around the other horses he lives with. He’ll bite them and chase them and generally annoy them. That must have really been a nuisance for his previous owners, so they sold him off. But he’s an excellent horse, serious about work, and can be ridden by almost anyone at all. As far as I’m concerned, he was a bargain.

Cherokee, is another story. Cherokee’s main problem is that he’s beautiful. He’s a paint horse, brown and white, and his face is just so pretty, with big gentle eyes and a forelock that’s just the right length. He was 11 when I bought him six or so years ago, and he’d already had at least three previous owners. They evidently spoiled the hell out of him because when I got him, he was lazy, poorly trained, and extremely spooky. That horse taught me more about staying in the saddle during a Cherokee-style rodeo than any other horse I’ve ridden (or fallen off of). To add insult to injury, he cost more than I should have paid. But like his previous owners, I was suckered in by his good looks.

Jake and Cherokee have completely opposite personalities. Jake was always very standoffish — he didn’t really want anything to do with people on his time off. His definition of time off was any time there wasn’t a lead rope or saddle on him. Cherokee is incredibly friendly and curious and loves to be petted. When Jake is ready for work, he works. He’ll do anything you tell him to. When Cherokee is saddled up and ready for work, he’ll do everything he can to get out of doing it. While they both like to be fed treats, Cherokee will actually beg for them. At least that’s what it looks like to me. And if you’ve been reading these blogs for a while, you’ve probably seen the photo of him eating dropped bird food out of the bottom of Alex’s cage.

Cherokee is a big eater and it shows. He’s fat. Jake’s thin. Now if you recall what I said about Jake being the alpha male and consider that they both share the same space, you might wonder how it is that Jake can’t scare Cherokee away from the food. It isn’t like he doesn’t try. He puts his ears back (a horse’s way of saying “f*ck off”) and chases Cherokee. He even bites Cherokee once in a while, putting three or four rows of parallel teeth marks on that beautiful coat. But Cherokee is accustomed to his place at the bottom of the pecking order and is very stubborn. He also eats very fast. So as Jake ages and seems to get thinner and thinner, we’ve taken to separating them at dinner time and overnight, giving Jake more food than he can eat and plenty of time to eat it. Cherokee, of course, doesn’t like this, and after he gobbles up his food, spends the rest of the night pacing around outside the gate to Jake’s enclosure. Over the years, they’ve both changed a bit. Jake is now more friendly. Although his previous owners probably hit him in the face (he was very hand shy when we first got him), he now lets us pet him, even around his head. Cherokee has calmed down and isn’t afraid of rabbits anymore, so I haven’t had any rodeo practice lately. He’s also been trained to walk when I tell him to — without the use of a riding crop! — and to let me position him so I can open and close gates while on horseback. And a few years back, they both posed for a Christmas photo, wearing antlers on their heads.

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Christmas Horses

Anyway, yesterday Mike and I went for a long horseback ride out in the desert. The horses seemed very pleased about going. Of course, when we got to the top of the hill, Cherokee thought we were going to Uncle Pete’s house. That’s where they stay while we’re away and I think he spoils them. When he realized we were turning left instead of right, heading down the trail instead of down the road, he did some Cherokee dancing. In the end, he just followed Jake, like I knew he would.

We live on the edge of town, about two lots from state land. So we normally saddle up and ride out from our house. We have two choices for a ride in the desert: turn down Cemetery Wash, which runs through our property, and take that or any of the trails that go into it or ride up the easement road from our house just past our neighbor’s house on 328th Avenue to a trail that goes right into the state land. We usually follow the second route, since there are far more trails closer to our house when we go that way. That’s also the same trails that the wranglers at Rancho de los Caballeros use for rides, so most of the trails are well worn in — perhaps too worn in in some cases — and easy to follow.

Jack the Dog came with us, of course. Jack likes to go horseback riding. He doesn’t ride a horse. He just runs along on the trail in front of us, chasing rabbits and birds. We realized that he liked horseback riding more than us when we sent two of our friends out for a ride on our horses and he went with them instead of coming back up to the house with us.

We went through the gate in the fence that separates state land from private property. The fence is there more to keep cattle out of people’s back yards than to prevent people from coming in or out of the state land. It also helps keep quads off the horse trails, although it doesn’t help enough. Every once in a while, a couple of quads will get in there and tear up the narrow trails with their wide wheels. There are so many places the quad riders can ride in town — hell, the hills are just criss-crossed with old mining roads and surrounded by sandy washes. Why do they insist on ruining the horse trails and going through people’s private property?We took the “golf course trail” west along the edge of the state land to Los Cab’s golf course, then we turned south to go around Los Cab’s property. We passed through another gate and followed a trail we’d followed a hundred times toward the west again. Spotting a new trail, we took that toward the east, climbing a small ridge that offered nice views of Los Cab. Then back down onto familiar trails, heading west again.

We spent three hours mixing old trails that we knew well with new trails. More than once, we were on trails I’d never been on before. And we wound up going a lot further southwest than we thought we were. I won’t say we were lost — that’s too strong a word — but at one point we were definitely not where we thought we were.

The ride was wonderful. Cherokee had settled down into a good pace and wasn’t the least bit jumpy. Jack chased rabbits and even a few deer. The temperature was perfect: warm enough that a long-sleeved shirt was fine without a jacket. There was some wind on the hills, but the air was quite still near the ground. We found one trail that took us high up onto a mountain, with incredible views of the town far below us, to the northeast. And we didn’t pass another soul.

It was the first time I’d been out for a good, long ride in a while. I’ve been so busy lately with work on my books, building up the helicopter business, and doing flights that I just haven’t had time to ride. And I seem too good at making excuses: it’s too hot, too cold, too windy, too early, too late. Sheesh. I’m an excuse machine when it comes to riding. I think that the truth of the matter is that I’m just too lazy to saddle up. But the reality is that it really isn’t that much work and it’s worth every minute once you get out into the desert on a nice trail.

I’d like to find a riding partner here in town who’d be willing to ride one day a week for about 2 hours. Sometime around noon or early afternoon. But it seems that few of the new people coming into town have horses and many of the ones who do prefer riding with big groups, so they can show off their riding clothes, saddles, and horse’s grooming. I like to ride in small groups, with people who don’t fuss about the terrain being too steep or rocky, with people who know how to control their horses, with people who have enough sense to wear the right clothes and bring enough water for the ride.

Anyway, there are two things about yesterday’s ride that I regret: 1) I didn’t bring my camera. How stupid is that? There were lots of photo ops and I think this entry would have been a lot more interesting with photos. 2) I didn’t bring my GPS. A few years back, I’d started a trail mapping project. Now I’m determined to finish it. And with 3 hours worth of riding yesterday, I could have mapped a lot of trails.

Anyone out there want to go riding on Wednesday afternoons? Get in touch. Experienced riders only, please. And don’t worry; I have a spare horse if you need one.

131 Passengers

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Maria Speaks Episode 16: 131 Passengers.

This episode is straight from my blog, Maria’s WebLog. It discusses how I spent the last weekend in October. It wasn’t a typical weekend.

Transcript:

It all started during a conversation with Tom at Gold Coast Helicopters in Glendale about 10 days ago. He mentioned that they were going to be giving helicopter rides at the Thunderbird Balloon and Air Classic. That’s a huge annual event that includes balloons, warbirds, aerobatics, rides for the kids, and all kind of vendors. The event usually draws over 100,000 people and it lasts from Friday afternoon through Sunday afternoon.

“You flying the JetRanger?” I asked.

“No, just the R22.”

An R22, as you may know, is a 2-place helicopter. I owned one for about four years. It’s a great little helicopter, but it has one big drawback: it can only accommodate one passenger. That’s the main reason I sold mine and bought an R44, which can accommodate three passengers.

“You’re going to lose a lot of business to couples and families who want to ride together,” I warned, knowing this firsthand. It was a frustration I used to deal with regularly.

What followed was me suggesting that I bring my R44 down and fly with them to take groups of 2 or 3 passengers. I had already tentatively planned to spend Saturday of that weekend in Congress, doing rides at the Trading Post there. But that was tentative and could be easily changed. Tom and I talked money and decided on a reasonable number. Then he told me he’d ask Bill (the owner) and get back to me.

He called the next day. I was up at Howard Mesa, waiting for the gas guys to arrive, and my cell phone battery was getting low. So we kept it short. Bill had said yes. I should come down and meet with them Thursday before the show.

I flew down to Glendale on Thursday and met Tom face to face for the first time. He let me fly their R22 to the other side of the ramp to reposition it — the first time I was at the controls of an R22 in nearly a year. (I didn’t embarrass myself.) We talked business. We talked people in the business. We knew a lot of the same people and a lot of the same stories that went with them.

He told me to come back on Friday for a meeting at 1 PM. The air show was starting that afternoon. I should tell the controller I was with the show. Otherwise, he probably wouldn’t let me land on the ramp.

I was back the next day with my banners and signs and scale. I wasn’t sure what the GC guys had, so I brought along some of my gear. I had two yellow banners that said “Helicopter Rides” in big letters and some plastic signs that said “Helicopter Rides Today.” I also had my original A-frame sign that said “Helicopter Rides” with an arrow on both sides. I didn’t bring the flags.

I didn’t need the flags. GC had an excellent location for selling tickets. Their JetRanger and their other R22 was parked right in front of the terminal on the ramp. They had an EZ-Up set up between them with a table. My yellow banners decorated two sides of the EZ-UP and my A-frame sign went out in the aisle between booths, pointing in. It was a nice setup.

The airport was packed with other static displays of aircraft, as well as booths for food, aviation-related items, and a few simple rides for the kids. On the north end of the ramp was a parking area for the warbirds that would be participating in the air show. Beyond that was a ramp where 2 F-16s waited for their turn to fly.

There was some confusion, at first, over where we would base the helicopters. The place we thought we’d use was inside “the box” — the area set aside for aerobatics use. But we hopped in Tom’s car and drove around the airport, looking for another place. We found four. The best of the possibilities was right next to the F-16s. We went back and asked all the necessary people — five of them, I think — if it was okay to operate there. Then we talked to the Air Boss, who would be running the show while the airport was closed to traffic, and told him what we’d do. He assigned us call signs of Ride-Hopper-One (me) and Ride-Hopper-Two (the R22) and told us all he wanted to know was when we were departing and when we were returning. “Otherwise, I don’t want to hear anything from you.”

F-16sWe had no problem with that. I repositioned my helicopter to the north end of the ramp and set it down beside the two F-16s.

Heritage FlightThe airport closed at 3 PM and the Air Boss took over. A bunch of the performers took turns practicing their routines. It was mostly aerobatic stuff. The kind of flying that makes you wonder why people think helicopter pilots are crazy. These guys, purposely inverting their aircraft and letting it go out of control in tumbling dives are the ones who are crazy. But it was pretty cool to watch, as long as you didn’t try to think yourself into the cockpit. There was also a bunch of tight formation flying, including a flight with the F-16 and two other fighters: the Heritage Flight. (Not a bad shot with my new camera, huh?)

The gates opened to the public at 4 PM.

I did two flights that afternoon with 2 passengers each. The route was about 12 miles round trip. I’d take off from the ramp and follow the power lines between the Glendale and Luke airspaces. Then I’d either go northwest along Grand Avenue to Bell Road or continue north toward Sun City (which is laid out in a bunch of circles that look pretty cool from the air). Then I’d loop around to the right or left and come back pretty much the same way I’d left. The ride ranged from 8 to 12 minutes. GC helicopters was selling them for $45 per person, which I thought was a little high. (I was eventually proved wrong.)

We did rides while the air show was going on. Since we never crossed into the performance area, there was no danger. It was really weird to see a performer’s smoke trail on the return flight to the airport. We also did rides during the brief period when they reopened the airport to regular traffic. One time, on the second day, the Spitfire, which had to make a right traffic pattern during performances, flew over us. My passengers loved it. Late that afternoon, the GC guys brought their R22 over and I think they did a bunch of rides, too.

Balloon GlowThen the sun set and the balloon pilots started setting up for the big evening event: the desert glow. By 6:30, 19 balloons were floating right over the taxiway, using their burners to light up the night. The ramp was open to the public and thousands of people were wandering around right beneath the massive envelopes. It was magic.

I flew home in the dark, disappointed by the amount of work I’d done. Four passengers was not enough to even cover my transportation costs.

The next day — Saturday, October 29 — was distinctly different. Mike and I blew out of Wickenburg at 5:30 AM to arrive at the airport by 6 AM. It was dark in Wickenburg — especially dark since a power outage had affected the airport and none of the lights there worked. But I took off into the dark and soon saw the glow of Phoenix ahead. At 6 AM, I was three miles outside of Glendale. I made a radio call, which was answered by airport management. They told me the airport was closed. I told them I was part of the show. They told me to use caution when I landed.

I set down between the R22 and 2 F-16s again. The rent-a-cop the Air Force had hired to watch their birds overnight was standing exactly where he’d been the night before.

The balloons were already inflating for their morning flights. This was when the balloon owners actually made money — they sold hour-long rides as part of the show. Mike and I had taken a balloon ride back in New Jersey at an event like this years ago. It was expensive but something everyone should experience at least once.

Balloon ClassicI started flying at 7 AM, when the balloons were just lifting off. They drifted to the west-northwest, toward Luke Air Force Base. My pattern was a bit more north, so although I flew between a few of them, most of them were to my south. The view on the return part of our loop was incredible — dozens of balloons hanging in the early morning sky.

I flew on and off throughout the morning. The R22 did, too. Then somewhere around the middle of the day, things got busy. I flew nonstop for several hours, taking a break for fuel and another break when the F-16s flew. (For some reason, they didn’t want us in the air while the F-16 were flying.) Just after sunset, after finishing my last ride for the day, I consulted the tiny notebook where I’d been ticking off the passengers. 84 passengers. Wow.

I had a little excitement just after that last ride. The show had included a pair of rocket powered cars that sped down the runway, drag-strip style. I was still in the helicopter, listening to the radio, when someone told the Air Boss that one of the rocket cars had gone off the runway. The Air Boss acknowledged his words, but said nothing else. The other guy came back and said, “Well, can’t you send someone down there to make sure he’s alright?”

“I have no one to send,” the Air Boss replied.

“Ride-Hopper-One is spinning with no passengers,” I said. “Do you want me to go down and take a look?”

“Could you do that?” the Air Boss replied.

“Will do.”

I took off and sped down the taxiway while thousands of spectators watched me. It was dark and my navigation lights and landing lights were on. I probably looked like a blur of lights to them. I got down to the end of the runway around the same time as a pickup truck. The rocket car was pointed on an angle to the extended centerline, about 100 feet past the end of the runway. It was upright. Someone who looked like he could have been the driver was walking around. I reported all this to the Air Boss, along with the information that the pickup truck was there to help.

“We’re sending a fire truck down there,” the Air Boss said over the radio.

I started back along the runway. “The car is upright and there’s no smoke or flames,” I added.

I came back to my parking space on the ramp, set down, and shut down.

Mike and I watched the balloon glow together, walking among the balloons. It was still going on when we climbed back into Zero-Mike-Lima and went home. The next day, we arrived at the airport at 7 AM. Some of the balloons were already lifting off. The day got off to a slow start for us. But by 11 AM, we were cranking. I flew nonstop for several hours, then sent in the word that I was getting seriously tired and that they should stop selling tickets. By the time I finished at about 2 PM, I’d flown another 43 passengers.

I should say here that two things really amazed me. One was that folks thought nothing of spending $45 per person to take every member of the family for a ride. Mike thinks at least a dozen of the people I flew were kids under the age of 5. How many of those kids will remember the ride? A bunch of them were really excited and happy. One little red-headed boy had a smile bigger than the Cheshire Cat’s. I’m so accustomed to people balking at $30 or $32 per person for a flight that the idea of them lining up to spend $45 on multiple family members really surprised me.

The other thing that amazed me is how good kids are at buckling their seat belts. I don’t have kids and never had. I don’t spend much time at all with kids. But every once in a while, Mike would sit a kid in the front seat beside me for a flight. I’d tell him (they were mostly boys) to reach over and get his seat belt. He’d immediately locate the buckle (not just the strap), adjust it in the strap, and fasten it. Kids did this better than adults! I even watched one sharp 6-year-old untwist the belt before buckling it. Mike says it’s because kids that age are geniuses. They absorb everything they’re taught. I wish they could stay that way.

We managed to escape from Glendale right before one of the F-16s fired up for its part of the show. I called the Air Boss as I hovered into position for departure. “Ride-Hopper-One departing to the northwest.”

“Ride-Hopper-One, proceed as requested. This will probably be your last flight until the F-16 lands.”

“This is my last flight for the day,” I told him. “I’m going home. You guys have been great. Thanks.”

“My pleasure,” the Air Boss replied.

On my way back to Wickenburg, I pointed out the small herd of bison I’d spotted in a pasture less than a mile from Glendale Airport.

Gone to the Birds

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A little bit about the birds in my life.

This morning, my rooster started crowing at 4:03 AM. I know this because I heard him. We’re getting on to the time of year when you can leave windows open all night. I think one of the bedroom windows must be open a crack because I heard him quite clearly this morning. I was already awake, of course, so it didn’t really bother me. It just reminded me that I have a rooster. And it made me wonder whether my new neighbors — the folks that moved into the pink house on 328th Avenue — could hear him. And whether he bothered them.

My closest neighbors must hear him pretty good. I asked them once if he bothered them and they assured me that he didn’t. They like the sound. That’s good to know. But when you consider that he does most of his crowing before sunrise, it makes you wonder how early they get up.

One of my other neighbors had a rooster for a while. I could tell because I’d hear crowing far off sometimes, when it wasn’t my rooster. Then the crowing stopped and I knew the coyotes had paid Mr. Rooster a visit.

The coyotes have paid my chickens numerous visits. The first time was way back with my first batch of 8 chickens, all hens, which I used to let out during the day. They’d come down the driveway to where the horses live and spend the morning scratching around in the sand for bugs and other chicken delicacies. One afternoon, when they all came back to roost, there were only five of them. Three had disappeared without a trace. You’d think the horses would protect them, but no. Horses have no interest in chickens.

A funny story here. Every night during the summer’s monsoon season, we have to move our horses out of their lower corral, because it’s in a flood zone, to spend the night in their much smaller upper corral. The upper corral has fence-hung feeders. I’d go to the upper corral in the evening and prepare it by adding hay and a grain mixture we call “bucket” to each feeder before bringing up the horses. The chickens were usually out and about and even though they don’t have enough brains to fill a shot glass, they figured out that there was grain in the feeders. So once in a while, they’d hop up there and scratch around a bit. One day, when I brought the horses up, Jake, our unflappable Quarter Horse, stuck his head in his feeder to get at the grain and immediately pulled it out. A chicken popped out, onto the ground, and ran away. Jake seemed to let out a deep sigh before he stuck his head back in for dinner.

I currently have three hens and a rooster. Over the years, I’ve lost lots of chickens to coyotes, which is why a coyote tail hangs from my Honda’s rearview mirror. More recently, however, the problem has been my neighbor’s dogs. I like my neighbors and I like their dogs. We live outside the town limits, at the end of a dead-end road. There are only three houses out here and we all have dogs. Although leashes are technically required — this is Maricopa County — none of us pay much attention to that. Instead, we’ve trained our dogs to stay nearby. Dogs don’t necessarily understand property lines, so our dogs occasionally stray onto each others’ property. No big deal there. My neighbor’s dogs, Bo and Trixie, often come up to my house to visit my dog, Jack. Sometimes they go down to the wash and play together. They play rough — too rough for my brother’s dog, who came to visit for Thanksgiving. But they have fun and they don’t really bother anyone.

That is, until Bo and Trixie discovered that if they dug under the fence, they could get at the chickens. The fence was my effort to contain the chickens so the coyotes would stop getting them. Coyotes are evidently lazy and are not interested in the hard labor of digging under a fence. Bo and Trixie, on the other hand, like to dig. The chickens gave them a reward for good digging. So one day, they dug under the fence, got in, and had a good chicken dinner, leaving only two live chickens behind as mute witnesses.

At first, I thought the coyotes had done the dirty deed. But then I realized that whoever had done it had left parts. Coyotes don’t leave parts. They take the whole chicken in their mouth and trot off with it. I’ve seen them do this. But I wasn’t putting two and two together yet so I figured it was the coyotes. So we reinforced the bottom of the fence with stakes and filled in the holes and got some more chickens, including the current rooster.

One day around Thanksgiving, I’m lounging around the house with my house guests and there’s a knock on the door. That in itself is amazing; no one ever knocks on our door. No one can ever find our house. If you know where our house is, it’s likely that you know us well enough to just open the door and holler “Hello?” I opened the door and found my neighbor’s three little kids standing there. They’re aged 4 to 8 or something like that. Two boys and their older sister. “Our dogs are eating your chickens,” they reported.

I threw on my shoes and ran down the driveway, followed closely by my brother and whoever else was around. Sure enough, the dogs were in the chicken yard. But these chickens had some survival skills — quite impressive for chickens — and had retreated into the upper part of the coop. The dogs were unable to catch them.

We got the dogs out and secured the chickens in the upper coop, where I knew they’d be safe. We patched up the hole Bo and Trixie had made. And a few weeks later, we installed an electric fence around the outside bottom edge of the fenced-in yard. I was there one day when Bo touched it. He went yelping back home and didn’t return for over a week. Needless to say, they don’t try getting into the chicken coop anymore.

The chickens, however, must be traumatized by all these close calls. Only one of the three hens lays eggs. I get about 5 eggs a week from her. The other two are freeloaders. They don’t know how lucky they are. My chicken-raising book advises you to eat the chickens that stop laying.

PhotoI also have a bird in the house. Alex the Bird is an African Grey parrot. As I type this at my kitchen table, Alex is practicing his vocabulary. “Jack, no! You’re bad! Are you cranky? Hello Mikey. Are you a duck? Gimme that thing. Jack, no! Alex! Hey goober. Fatso. Come on Jack. Wanna go upside down? Are you a chicken? Are you a cow? Are you a cranky bird? Ricky bird. Alex, are you cranky? Alex is a maniac. Okay, Alex the Bird. Hello. Hey, you goober. See you later alligator.” You get the idea. He’s 2-1/2 years old and he says a ton of stuff. In fact, he’s forgotten half of what he used to know. It’s pretty amazing considering that he’ll live to be about 50. By the time I’m dead and gone, he’ll be talking better than most people I know.

Alex also does sound effects, like the dog whining, my cell phone, and the squeal of the back screen door (which no longer squeals, but Alex squeals anyway every time we open it). He whistles pretty darn good, too. Right now, I’m teaching him the theme for the “Andy Griffith Show,” which I downloaded from the Internet. Every once in a while, I play it a few times for him. He practices in the morning — like right now — and I repeat back the part he’s trying to do to reinforce the correct stuff.

African Grey parrots are incredible companion pets. They thrive on attention and will learn to say whatever you take the time to teach them. Like all other birds, they’re messy, but if you have a dog that likes bird food, a lot of the mess is cleaned up as it happens. Every morning, in fact, when Alex has his breakfast (scrambled eggs), he drops half of it on the floor where Jack is waiting to gobble it up. Sometimes I think he drops the food on purpose just to watch Jack.

Unlike the typical African Grey (at least according to most books and articles I’ve read), Alex is extremely affectionate and likes to be cuddled. I hug him every morning before I put him back in his cage for the day and every night before I put him back in his cage for bed. He also likes to play rough. I hold him upside down by his feet and tickle his belly. Although he makes some fussy noises sometimes — his way of saying, “Cut that out!” — I know he likes it. It’s the attention, I think. He trusts me and knows I won’t hurt him. So although our rough play should be scary to him, it isn’t.

There are a lot of wild birds around Wickenburg, too. Hummingbirds abound. I used to keep feeders filled for them, but I’ve been slacking off. I don’t spend enough time at home to watch them. There are also quail, doves, Gila woodpeckers, thrushes, orioles, and more others than I know. When I had my office in the house, I recall looking up out the window one morning to see a Gambels quail dad leading his six or seven baby chicks to a shady spot in my flower garden. I watched them lounge for quite a while, transfixed. The babies were so cute! Then dad decided to move the troop on and they hopped out of sight.

We also have roadrunners here, although I don’t see them very often. Roadrunners are most often found in sandy washes and places where they can find lizards and snakes, which they eat. I was in Lake Havasu City the other day, chatting with some folks at the Nautical Inn when we spotted a roadrunner standing on the deck of a building less than 50 feet away. One of the men told us a story about an exchange between a roadrunner and a coyote that he had witnessed. The two animals faced off with a long chain-link fence between them. The roadrunner made cackling noises, and walked back and forth on his side of the fence, teasing the coyote. The coyote walked back and forth. Little by little, the roadrunner and coyote got closer and closer to the end of the fence. Finally, the coyote seized his chance. He took off, darting around the edge of the fence. But the roadrunner was quicker. He took off (they do know how to fly) and sailed over the fence, landing on the other side. Then they faced off again, on opposite sides of the fence, and the roadrunner started cackling all over again. It was quite clear who was smarter (in case those cartoons didn’t convince you) and the roadrunner was definitely having some fun at the coyote’s expense.

We don’t get many birds in the yard anymore, probably because of Jack the Dog. He chases all animals out of the yard. That’s okay, though. There are plenty of other places for them to go. I’m sure I could get some back if I put out seed for them, but Jack is actually quite good at catching doves and I really don’t want to see any more dead doves on my doorstep. (And they say cats are bad.)There are three red tailed hawks in the area. They live near the golf course on Steinway Road. I often see them together on the power lines there. The are also turkey vultures in town. They just got back from wherever it is that they go for the winter. They look wonderful in flight and many observers mistake them for hawks. But there’s no mistaking them when they’re on the ground around a dead cow. They’re downright ugly!We have owls, too. There was one that lived in the state land out behind my house. Every evening, just after sunset, he’d fly out for his nighttime hunt. He’d land on a tree behind our house and hoot for a bit, then soar past our house and land on the top of a power pole on 328th Avenue. We saw him nearly every day for weeks. And we often saw or heard him coming in early in the morning. But one day, he misjudged his landing on the power pole. His wings evidently touched the power lines in just the wrong way. Fried. We found him on the ground near the power pole. The next day, his body was gone.

That’s the way things are here in the desert. Every animal — dead or alive — is a meal for another animal. Nature keeps a delicate balance here that really isn’t a balance at all. For example, because of all the rain we’re having, there’s a lot of grass. That means there’s plenty of food for the rabbits. That means there will be plenty of rabbits this spring and summer. Rabbits are good food for coyotes. So next year, there will be lots of coyotes. It happened the last time we had an El Niño year, so I know what to expect.

That’s all for now; I need my second cup of coffee. And my rooster is crowing again.

Alex’s New Cage

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I buy Alex a new cage and he won’t move in.

I had a feeling there would be a problem, but Janet made my worries seem ridiculous. So I bought the cage.

The idea was to buy Alex, my 18-month-old African Grey parrot, a new cage. This would be one I could leave outside so he could spend nice days outdoors without me having to wheel his cage in and out. Moving the cage is a royal pain in the butt, and I only do it when it’s time to hose it out. A second cage would make life easier and get Alex some fresh air while I was at work.

Janet and I took Mike’s pickup down to Phoenix to Bird Expo West (or some similar name), a one-day bird show where we were sure to find great bird deals. Janet’s significant other, Steve, has a scarlet macaw named Calypso. He’s a monstrously huge bird with a beak large enough to break bones and a scream loud enough to wake the dead. While Alex may chew on toilet paper rolls and small pieces of wood, Calypso can tear through two-by-fours. Janet was looking for something to keep him occupied so he’d stop chewing the blinds.

The show was very big and very good. There was a little of everything: toys, food, cages, and birds for sale. The place was filled with bird noise, as if we were walking through an aviary. At one point, Janet missed a cell phone call because she never heard the phone ring over the din.

We bought toys. I didn’t buy many — I think I spent about $15 total. They were all brightly colored wood and wicker toys. Small toys that Alex could chew up within a few days each. They were cheap and would last Alex about two months. Janet bought bigger toys that she carried around in heavy bags. She also bought a few smaller toys for her Budgie, who’d lost his partner over the summer.

There were all kinds of cages, from the smallest carry box for a finch to huge, walk-in aviaries. And the prices on cages were incredible. Cages that would cost $500 in PetSmart were $200 or less. At my top budget price of $200, there was plenty to choose from. Including the corner cage with the rounded front.

Take a moment to imagine this. Alex lives in a rectangular cage in the corner of my dining room/kitchen. The cage is about 26″ deep and about 34″ wide. Add to that about 4″ on each side for the “seed catchers” that do a so-so job of keeping dropped food and toys from falling on the floor. As a result, a big corner of my kitchen is taken up by Alex’s living space.

I’d seen corner cages before, but had never seen one quite as spacious as the one at the show. (Mind you, there were other less spacious ones there, too.) This one would give Alex all the room he needed to live quite comfortably. Best of all, its two flat sides, which would be tucked into the corner, measured only 26″ wide. With the rounded front, the cage would take up much less space than Alex’s current cage. It was even green, almost the same color as the cage he already had, which matched my kitchen.

It all makes sense, right? Buy the corner cage, move Alex into it, and use his current cage for outdoors.

But there was a little voice inside my head that told me it wasn’t such a good idea. You see, Alex likes his cage. He likes to hang out in it. He likes to climb all over it — even upside down from its roof. Sometimes, in the morning, I can’t get him to come out. He spends the day in there, and he sleeps in there. It’s his room, his personal space.

I told this to Janet and she looked at me like I was nuts. He’ll get used to it, she told me. He got used to the one he’s in, didn’t he?

She was right — or at least she sounded right to me. So I bought the cage.

You know what comes next. I brought the cage home and wheeled it into the kitchen to show Alex. He was on top of his cage, just hanging around, and when he saw the new cage, he took a dive to the floor. He was shaking like a leaf when I showed him the new cage. He jumped off my hand several times. Over the next two days, every time I brought him close to the cage, he’d climb on my shoulder so he could be as far away from it as possible. Any time I’d try to get him to step onto the cage, he’d dive onto the floor. Obviously, not only did he dislike the cage, he was terrified of it.

Well the cage is installed in the opposite corner of the dining area, where Alex can look at it all day. I’ve installed some perches and toys in it. I lined the top with paper — not an easy task, given the quarter circle shape. And I keep trying to get Alex to take an interest in it.

The sad part is, I bought the cage to save room in my kitchen, and so far, I’ve just lost more space.