The top search engine term for this site is “naughty voyeur pics.” It leads to a post about sparrows’ mating dances, and the reproductive shenanigans of gulls. I can’t help but wonder why anyone looking for dirty snaps goes so far as to click in. I mean, Google provides a little excerpt, along with the link — which, in this case, reads “First of all, let it be noted that the bird of prey in my last entry is not, as I’d imagined, a gyrfalcon. With the help of several more pairs of eyes …“. It would be abundantly clear, to even the most distracted observer, that the page in question’s about birds. Has it something to do with the mention of birds of prey? Is there some predatory instinct that drives both the urge towards covert fleshly peepings, and the urge to watch a falcon tear something to bits? Is one as good as the other, when the mood strikes? Is the sad fate of Prometheus a common bedroom fantasy? Fortunately for anyone reading, I don’t know, and must therefore end this ghastly line of speculation, here.
The most common search engine term for my other site is (in keeping with the tone of this post, so far!) “scary things.” But the most memorable one, which pops up only once in a while, is this question: “Do weeds feel it, when you pull them up?” Sadly, seekers after weedly sensations meet with the same disappointment as dirty birdies: I don’t provide an answer to that, either. (But, should the same seekers after botanical truth begin to arrive here, instead, here’s a spot of satisfaction: no. No, I can’t imagine they do. Weeds don’t have any nervous system, or comparable structure; they’ve nothing that would allow them to feel — not in any way we’d find familiar, anyhow. I think I can quite safely promise that, by yanking a pesky weed, one brings no extra suffering into the world.)
Speaking of suffering, I was almost bitten by a bird, today. I was filling up the feeder, and an overeager sparrow jumped on my hand. I could FEEL it getting ready to peck me. It was looking up at me, with this malevolent birdy twinkle in its eye…and then I twitched my hand away, all quick-like, and the sparrow fell off the balcony. (Good thing they can fly!) I’d actually expected it to plop neatly into the feeder — you know, like when a magician pulls the tablecloth from under a dinner service, and inertia keeps everything in place. But I think I startled the poor mite; fright and inertia don’t quite mesh.
A sparrow. The sparrow?
An unfamiliar crow
Proof of having been outdoors