The Canine Deer-Alert Corps

There are 4-5 deer that wander around our neighborhood (including two adorable fawns), and every time they appear near the house, Violet and Gus give them what-for, barkwise. From a canine point of view, it’s just not OK for large, reddish-tan ungulates to be out there. Ever. The other dogs in the neighborhood all have pretty much the same attitude, but the barking isn’t a problem in terms of noise, because all the homes here are on 5 acres at least, so the dogs are distributed over a fairly wide area.

Violet ever watchful

I’m convinced, though, that you could track the movements of our deer band by plotting the barking as it comes drifting through the trees throughout the day.  At 11 a.m., barking from north northwest indicates the deer are over at so-and-so’s house; an hour later, barking from west southwest reveals the deer have crossed the road and are at such-and-such’s. The next morning, the deer are obviously over at a third neighbor’s because his dogs are barking like crazy.

Maybe such a study would reveal some heretofore unknown insight into the movements of deer. Maybe some natural history student should do a dissertation on the subject. On the other hand, maybe it’s just useless information provided by bored dogs who should be minding their own business.

Ohio Skies

Clear, sunny days are great, but you know exactly what to expect from them. That’s their beauty.

In contrast, cloudy days are full of portent. That’s their beauty. Is it going to rain? Is it going to clear up? Will the wind pick up? You never know.

A continuously changing panorama

Unlike Southern California, there’s a lot of rain and moisture here, which leads to a lot of clouds.

Sometimes they look like distant mountain ranges. Other times they look like smoke drifting against a wide, endless sky. I’ve also seen towering thunderheads, and from time to time, ominous clouds that look like a gray wall approaching (often these mean tornadoes could be forming).

Still other times the clouds literally look like cotton balls; big, fleecy pillows; steam billowing from an undersea volcanic vent; an armada of ships approaching; and ripples of sand in the ocean shallows.

It’s interesting. And often beautiful.

Fireflies

Every evening now we see more and more of these amazing little bioluminescent bugs flashing against the dark treeline that runs along the back of our yard.

For those who haven’t seen fireflies, it’s difficult to describe the spectacle they put on each night. In Mexico, some people refer to the bugs as cigarros volante, flying cigarettes. That’s because they look like someone drawing on a cigarette in the dark nearby, causing the end to glow. (The New York Times recently had a great article on fireflies in Tennessee.)

A spectacle that's hard to describe

Apparently larval fireflies flash as a warning to predators that the glowing insects contain chemicals that are toxic or distasteful. Adults flash as a way of attracting mates. Still other fireflies mimic the flashes of their fellow bioluminescent bugs as a means of predation — males are attracted to what appears to be a suitable mate, and are eaten.

But all that seems beside the point when you are watching thousands of these tiny creatures glowing and flashing in the darkness. The effect is part Fourth of July, part Christmas as the forest wall dances with thousands of twinkling lights. The peak season for fireflies seems to more or less coincide with the summer solstice. It’s a special time.

Critter Season

With our wet spring this year has come an amazing profusion of wildlife, large and small. I previously posted about the black racer snake that made our yard home for a few days, but we’ve also seen a scraggly raccoon (who ate the dead worms off our driveway apron one morning), a couple of box turtles (that get around surprisingly fast) and what was likely a fox loping along the forest wall behind the house.

Several box turtles have visited

There also have been rabbits and squirrels, of course. And I got quite a start in the forest one day when a fawn the size of Violet exploded out of a hiding place not six feet away from me and raced off.

Meanwhile, our neighbor’s donkey has been in fine fettle, and when we sit on our screened porch in the evenings, the breeze carries the sounds of neighing horses and mooing cows.