I am not an avian landlord

In a frenzy on Saturday, I organized my record albums for the first time in well over a decade. Mostly in alphabetical order, spread out among some wood, plastic and cardboard crates in the back room. I counted them yesterday. 473. There used to be more, but I got rid of some to goodwill, sold some others and lost quite a few in a basement flood about six years ago. I was looking for some yesterday. Where's my copy of U2's War? Where Procol Harum's Greatest Hits? What was Born to Laugh at Tornadoes by Was (Not Was)?

All gone. I do not think I had the opportunity to mourn the loss.

We all got together and met the young women who will be my son's caregiver this summer. She's a junior at OSU, a special education student who came recommended by my son's teacher. I think this is going to work out for everyone, she promised not to bite him. He was bitten, twice, last year at day camp.

Tonight I got the lawn mower back from the shop. It needed servicing, a blade sharpening and other fixes. After I wrote the check and handed it to the guy I mowed the back lawn and will finish the front tomorrow.

There may be birds living in the underside of the gutter on the back of the house. Not cool with this. They knock out the siding under the gutter and set up shop. I cleared out some nesting materials out of there earlier and sealed it up (though they keep opening it) and noticed some birds looking a bit stressed out. God, I hope there are no eggs in there.

They're Growing Up

A few weeks back I wrote about a couple of mourning doves who were hanging out in our backyard.

They're still here. Living in a pile of leaves and things.





I've seen them outside our bathroom window, on the roof of the backroom. They're rarely apart for long. I did not think their Mother was still feeding them, but my wife said she saw her doing so very recently.





I want to name them, but I'm sure once that attachment happens they'll be eaten by a cat, or disappear. My wife already calls them Harold and Maude, because one of them dies. So I'm calling them Sonny and Cher, because, you know.

Nature, yeah

My wife noticed them on our recycling bin this morning. A bit later in the day the baby Mourning Doves were nestling in our compost heap.

A couple of minutes later they fluttered back to the recycling bin.

Then Mom showed up and I switched over to video.