Scratcher of heads, rubber of bellies
A sleepy master blister beetle isn’t quite ready to shake off its slumber and rise to meet the world. From the heavily chewed flower petals you can see why the brittlebush is both bedroom and dining room for the lovely little ones, at least on the one and only time I saw them this spring.
While he has his favorites Boo enjoys trying out new sleeping spots so you can never quite be sure where you’ll find him. Yesterday morning when I got back from my hike he was under my wife’s desk, serenaded by the birds on the other side of the wall. Thankfully he has bounced back from Ellie’s death, he took to her from the start and especially enjoyed sneaking under her when she got up from a dog bed, reveling in the warmth left behind. I don’t know how we made it six years with him never getting squished as sometimes she wasn’t getting up but rather shifting positions, but thankfully it was never an issue.
I hope he impressed the other lizards as much as he impressed me. Always puts a spring in my step to see these little lizards doing pushups and displaying their blue bellies! From June on the Chuckwagon Trail.
At the end of every rainbow lies a heart of gold. But also a cat waiting to bite your face off.
Watching the verdin eating from fruit almost as large as themselves, I wondered how it would look if I tried to wring every drop of sustenance from a five foot watermelon using only my face. This one had to fly precisely onto a cactus with thorns as long as its legs while missing many of its tail feathers but it did it with aplomb. Given their short beaks I don’t know if they open up the fruit themselves or if they leave the honors to something like a woodpecker with a longer beak and a head designed for hammering.
The verdin were looking a bit ragged, some unlike this one didn’t have much of the normal yellow coloring in the face. They were all wearing damp maroon neckties, a temporary adornment not because they had been bathing in the blood of their enemies but because they had been eating the fruit of the prickly pear. When I got home I found a nice paper online that confirmed my suspicion that this is the time of the year when they molt.
Sunday morning instead of going for a hike I took a long walk through the neighborhood. It was my first time doing it alone since we moved here, my wife and I took a short one a few months ago, but this time I walked much farther. Natural landscaping abounds so I was greeted with many of the same creatures I’d see on the trails, but many communities are gated so I was limited in where I could wander. The hardest part was walking without Ellie, my constant companion for a decade, so I was delighted when on the way back a 3 year old pup named Jackson strained at the leash to meet me and then showered me with kisses when I crossed over to meet him. As I neared the house I saw familiar faces flitting about a patch of prickly pear, dining on fruit almost as large as themselves.
From November at the rental house.
A simple portrait from 2007 of Scout, the most perfect creature who ever lived (that’s objective fact, I’m not biased in any way).
