Tumbleweeds and Cormorants.
A rescue dog, a bird, and a debate that neither of them watched.
Egrets are the answer to everything.
That’s what I was thinking early last Friday morning when I saw one at Whitaker Ponds. I was birding with my friend Christine, former zookeeper and current co-owner of Green Dog Pet Supply, a.k.a. Petey’s Favorite Place, when a break in the trail revealed a pond and an elegant white bird stretching her neck. Classic egret. Make that classic Great Egret, a name she totally earned. And since things weren’t impressive enough, a blue heron flew in and strutted around, too. Cue the binoculars!
We rambled down the trail, a slow ramble since I hadn’t had coffee, and my shoulders instantly relaxed. There were song sparrows and lesser goldfinches, spotted towhees and dark-eyed juncos, every song a balm. There’s nothing like hanging out with birds to make you forget about a certain presidential debate. I highly recommend it.
The best part about birding is that it’s like a treasure hunt; the second best part is that it lets you slip into another world for a while. Ten years ago, while researching a book, I got into birding. I’ve taken years off, birding only in the backyard or the neighborhood, but I’ve never stopped. Once you know how to find treasure, why would you give it up?
We kept walking until we saw the pond, again. When the trail opened, Christine went first. I peered under the trees and squealed. There, perched on a log in the middle of the pond sat two of my favorite birds: the double-breasted cormorant. They’re not the most popular birds; people say they’re messy and take all the fish; some even call them “crows of the sea.” But I adore them. These large, funny birds with big black bodies, hooked beaks, yellow necks, and eyes like aquamarines make me laugh. They have an expression that seems to say “Who, me?” and a wing-drying behavior that’s like vogueing, mannequin-style.
Christine walked ahead to take photos and I crouched down with my binoculars and watched. The cormorants held their wings out and froze. I felt like I was watching a staring contest. Who would blink first? But they just stood there, still as statues until one of them eventually lowered her wings and turned toward me. She opened her beak just enough so that I could see the bright blue inside of her mouth and then closed it. She looked like she was smiling. “Hi!” I thought. I’d been working on a story with a cormorant in it for years, and it was nice to see her, again. “Thank you,” I said. She didn’t squawk or anything, but I know she heard me. We hit the trail again and saw mallards with babies and wood ducks, Bewick’s wrens, robins, and a turtle, sunning himself on a log. Birdsong was all around us. Aaaaah. No matter what’s happening in the world, animals will be your friends if you let them.
Later that day I was finishing work when my next-door neighbor texted me. “Do you know this dog? She just showed up in my backyard.” The photo was of a black and white cattle dog I’d never seen before. “Give me ten minutes,” I said. “I’ll be right out.”
We walked around looking for the owner, asking if anyone knew her, but no one did. She pulled like crazy so my neighbor walked her, and then we sat on her steps to call the Humane Society. It was the only tag on her collar. That’s when we learned she’d been adopted a few months ago – and her name was Tumbleweed.
It was 6:00 on a Friday Night. The Humane Society wouldn’t take her, but they left her parents a message. Since she had nowhere to go, and since my neighbor already had a dog and a cat, I did what anyone would do – I took her home for a doggie slumber party. After she cooled off, maybe we’d play Twister. Watch a movie! Stay up late eating popcorn and gossiping! Tumbleweed came in, drank a ton of water, and went right to Petey’s bed, laid on her back, and showed me her belly. It was a good sign! I posted on Nextdoor while telling her what was up. “You’re just visiting,” I said. “Your parents will call soon!” And then I went to the bathroom, came back, and she was gone.
”Tumbleweed!” I called. “Where’s that good girl?” I looked under tables and couches, loungers, and benches. Nothing. And then I saw the closet door cracked open. She was inside, wedged between a vacuum cleaner and a box of books. “Hi, girl,” I said. “It’s okay.” I put treats in my hand and tried to lure her out, but she wasn’t interested. She had her paws on an open book like she was reading. “I get it,” I said, leaving the treats and a bowl of water. “You just need some alone time.” Here’s hoping that book was a rom-com.
While my neighbor did all the online “found dog” stuff I texted her photo to other neighbors, but no one knew her. My friends who have a cattle dog came over to meet her and help me set up the pop-up crate. Thanks, friends! Since that closet situation looked really unstable, they helped me clear it, get her out, and take her outside. She instantly perked up, rolling on her back, jumping up to say hello, and smiling. But when we tried to take her back inside again, she looked sad. She wanted to go home! But until we knew where that was, it was my job to keep her calm, cool, and safe until her parents called.
Instead of playing Twister, we played hide and seek because Tumble couldn’t stop the rumble. Every time something loud happened outside, she bolted. Car with loud music? Under the bench. Ringing phone? Run to the crate. Early fireworks? Hide under Petey’s lounger with her tail sticking out. By 10:30 p.m., I knew she was sleeping over. I also knew that, like any good slumber party, we wouldn’t be sleeping. I camped out on the couch, hoping she’d settle in her crate. But when she did — and I tried to zip it closed – she clawed at it and panicked. I stayed up with her, waiting for her to settle. At some point, I fell asleep but woke up when she pawed me at 2:00 a..m. I had to get some sleep, so I lured her into her crate with treats, told her goodnight, and closed my door. She had the run of the living room and dining room. She had a crate! She’d be fine, and I’d sleep more safely.
At 3:00 a.m., she started barking. I went to check on her and she leaped on me, almost knocking me down, barking and growling. “Are you hungry?” I said, guessing as she herded me into the kitchen. “Okay!” I said. “You’ve got it!” She gobbled food, drank water, and sat by the door. I tried to take her out, and she almost pulled me down the street. She didn’t need to go out, she needed to go home. Poor girl! But I got her inside. We played for a while before she bolted under the lounge, again. I tossed some treats in her crate. “Goodnight, girl,” I said. It was 4:00 a.m. She had to be tired, too. “You’re okay! Let’s sleep.”
When she woke me up two hours later, barking and then growl-talking, pushing me into the kitchen, I knew. “Breakfast!” I said, giving her more food and water. “How’d you sleep?” I said. “Did you have any dreams?” I sat at the dining table, hoping she’d join me on the dog bed, but she sat by the door, instead. I made green tea and checked my messages, Nextdoor, and the other places we posted. When a loud truck drove by, she bolted under the lounger, again. I sat on top of it and petted the part of her that was sticking out and talked to her. “I know,” I said. “It’s not a slumber party without donuts. I forgot!” I was hoping she’d wag her tail, but it just stuck out from under the lounger.
I called the Humane Society for advice. Tumbleweed didn’t want to be here, and her fear was escalating. She jumped on me more, now, and harder. She wouldn’t go outside anymore and I couldn’t drag her. She was too strong! But she’d have to go out and relieve herself, eventually, even though I learned that rescue dogs can hold it for up to 24 hours. But I didn’t want that for her. I texted my neighbor and we were making plans for what to do next when she called me. “Her dad called!” she said. I could hear the tears in both of our voices. I went by the lounger and looked under it.
“Tumbleweed,” I said, quietly. “Your dad’s coming to get you. You’re going home!” I held out treats, trying to lure her out, but she wasn’t into it. Maybe she didn’t believe me.
When her dad came, he put on her leash and pulled her out from under the lounger. “She does this sometimes,” he said. “Sometimes she’ll come out, but sometimes you have to help her.” Once she was out, though, she trotted by his side through the house and out the door. He stopped and thanked me, and I knelt beside her. “Bye, Tumbleweed!” I said. “It was so nice to meet you.” She looked at me and then pulled him to the car. As they drove away, I thought about her name. At first, it didn’t fit, but then I got it. Tumbleweed was a nomad, a wanderer, a dog who wanted to roll away. I was just glad she rolled in our direction and we could help her before she rolled back home.
As I’m writing this in my journal, it’s Sunday morning and birds are singing in my backyard. I open my Merlin bird ID app and it confirms what I already know. I’m being serenaded by song sparrows and lesser goldfinches, dark-eyed juncos, and a red-winged blackbird. Election year or not, wildfires and extreme heat or not, one crisis after another or not, animals are there for us. Hopefully, we’re there for them, too. This week, a backyard and a bird, a respite and a rescue, a Tumbleweed and a cormorant helped me find center, again. Thanks, animals! Because from that place, I fly.
Shout Out:
Action over anxiety! The States Project is doing great things! I learned about this group after the 2016 election and when Melissa Walker went from writing KidLit to working for this great organization. On Thursday, I watched Attorney General Eric H. Holder Jr., Pennsylvania House Speaker Joanna McClinton, Daniel Squadron, and Melissa speak about action over anxiety. And that was pre-debate! Watch the top clips and follow the link above for more information.
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