Roger's Roughneck Wisdom

Visiting Friends

Written for friends May 2007

Roger Wilson

When they arrive, they come in like a Fighter Squadron—wings flashing, darting, dodging and in for a pinpoint landing. They have a strut and a hop; their glistening feathers shine as they have their free breakfast. A table spread on the front lawn. They leave many unanswered questions after they fly off.

For example: Who taught them that onions and green peppers are bad for their digestive systems? They can separate out what is good for them. How do they know? While they are eating breakfast, the Great White Knights (sea gulls) arrive. There is sizeable pushing, squaring, and duding over a choice piece. When the table is cleared, they regroup and are gone for the day.

My bushy tailed friend will let me know he has arrived by running up and down the tree outside my window until I see him. When I open the front door, he is watching—brown eyes sparkle to see which way I’ll throw his treat. What a lovely friend, so sleek, bushy tail that never stops, able to climb up or head down quick as a wink.

What a pecking order: I have a wild black cat who lives under the shed in the backyard. He rules the entire group. When he shows up, they are gone. He can take his pick of whatever is being served. I love this cat. He is as wild as the wind. If I step out, he is gone. A flat out burst of fur in action, headed for his hole under the shed. We haven’t seen a mouse since he arrived. Three years now. I’m sure happy he is a Tom, as one like this one is enough.

When we had geese in the back yard, the wild ducks would fly in for a free meal. One duck tried landing on the back fence. His feet were not designed to sit on a fence, but he tried real hard. I laughed so hard I cried.

I once bought a goat. Brought her home, put her in the backyard, and two a.m., my dog Shane wanted to check her out. The goat jumped seven feet straight up and landed on the wood pile. She took off through the neighbors’ yards—me in hot pursuit, in and out of neighbors’ yards too. It was a wonder I didn’t get shot. Finally, I roped her and brought her home. Put Shane in the house and went to bed.

 

The next morning, I couldn’t find her. While mowing the backyard, I heard her bleat. We had a tree climbing goat! She spent more time in the trees in the backyard than on the ground. Her time was short lived here. She caught me bending over, working on the lawn mower and butted my rear end with enough force to send me over the lawn mower. A lady from Snohomish picked her up that day.

Goodbye, Goat!

Attention all beloved readers!

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