It was quite the weekend for animal encounters in my neighborhood. Fauna isn't uncommon; our homes are clustered cozily among patches of woods and wetlands (a.k.a. "swamps" in the parlance of not-so-polite company). Birds are everywhere, the frogs are deafening-loud in the spring, and some rather cottontail large rabbits hop across my patio from time to time. All of these are delightful. Who knew there was still wildlife in the manicured suburbs?
I have tried my hand at photographing some of these critters, with below-average-to-poor results...as you'll see in a moment. But first...
The wildlife "encounters" of the spring began with the robins in April. As I was yanking my Christmas lights out of the pine tree near my front door, orange feathers and flapping wings exploded out of the spruce's midsection. (If you're wondering...yes, they are environmentally friendly LED lights. If I'm going to go through the three-hour hassle of untangling them next fall while cursing like a sailor, they might as well work.)
I leaped back, but curiosity got the better of me. A peek through the branches revealed, a nest, with several robins-egg-blue eggs. A few weeks later these eggs hatched and there were large, hungry mouths poking out of the nest. My frequent checking seemed more along the lines of suspicious prowling to the robins, which flew low-level reconnaissance missions overhead while chirping bloody murder: "Danger! Level III bird molester within sight of the nest!" They left several reminders of their feelings on the sidewalk, patio, and living room window.
Thankfully the babies grew fast. Last time I saw them - last week - the speckled fledglings were hopping about the yard and learning to fly. Mom and pop robin were relaxing a bit. My yard was my domain again.
Strolling back from the bus Friday afternoon, I was witness to a most curious scene. Three people - one of them a law enforcement officer - were lugging a large dog carrier across the street toward a wooded area a half block from my house. The carrier was obviously heavy. Reaching the far side of the street, they hefted it toward the woods, pulled the top off, and attempted to empty the contents. No one wanted to get too close to whatever was inside, and the "it" made some sort of aggressive move toward the man who was not the cop, causing him to jump back. It seemed likely it was not a raccoon at this point. A skunk, I hoped.
That would be exciting.
Playing the curious gawker, with my tucked-in shirt and briefcase, I wandered over. By this time the thing in the dog carrier had been coaxed (well, dumped, really) into the woods. So I inquired as to what it was. The answer: a monster
snapping turtle. It had landed or crawled into some brush so that its head was nearly hidden. Its time-worn shell, jagged around the edges and stained green with algae and swamp filth, was
larger than a dinner platter. A leathery six-inch tail prehistorically reptilian tail protruded from the rear of the shell. The turtle lay quietly, unmoving...waiting for something. Fortunately he was not in much of a hurry - so I had time to run home, change into shorts, a t-shirt and sandals (really, in hindsight, the sandals were not a prudent thing to wear in the vicinity of a snapping turtle), and grab my camera my camera to return from some photos.
Here's the turtle's shell (yes, in the center; the thing that looks like a shell).
Turtle tail. (Call the Science Museum; dinosaur spotted in Maple Grove.)
The turtle seemed to enjoy having a stare-down with my camera. This reminds me of a TV commercial: "I see you're in my daughter's Five. I'm in there too. In fact, my picture's right next to yours. It's kind of like I'm watching you...all the time."
These are lousy photos. But cut me some slack: I was working with an ornery, dangerous subject that had just been through capture-and-release hell, half obscured by brush, in a tick-infested woods. And my toes were exposed.
When I returned home, the neighbors were out on their deck. I waved and mentioned the monster turtle. Big exciting news, after all! My neighbor Rocky said with a bemused tone, "Oh, he comes through here every year. We think he's old and a little confused."
Confused? Mr. Monster Turtle may be older than the city of Maple Grove. Is it his fault someone came along and put up a whole slew of townhomes around among his domain of sloughs?
While I was ruminating over this and what I might have for dinner, I noticed my yard had a visitor. This was the rabbit's second munch-fest in my yard in as many days; he made his first mysterious appearance the previous evening, emerging out of the shrubs adjacent to my driveway. He was a head-turner for one obvious reason:
Not a skunk, but the right colors. I puzzled over his appearance with a couple of neighbors. Obviously, he wasn't wild...or else we were coming face-to-face with the reality that we were surrounded by toxic, genetically altering swamp gas. More probably, he escaped or was "let go" by an owner. In either case, he seemed to enjoy our corner of the neighborhood. Perhaps we have the tastiest shrubs.
Jenni, too, was witness to the bunny on Saturday morning. She left out a few pieces of lettuce and carrots on the patio - for "Flopsy," she said. (This set off wild alarm bells on my internal About-To-Have-Another-Pet-Alert-O-Meter.) The rabbit has not appeared since, but I then I haven't been home much. Maybe he had an unfortunate chance meeting with Mr. Monster Turtle.
