Bear sign

August 30, 2026August 30, 2026 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 20 Comments

A witty response to an unnecessary shooting.

Here on this mountain top, oh-oh-oh
I got some wild, wild life — “Wild Wild Life,” Talking Heads

“Wild wild life.” You ain’t alone, David old scout.

Herself recently took off for a few days of thrifting with a gal pal, leaving me and Miss Mia Sopaipilla to hold down the fort.

She didn’t get back in time to see the bear in our back yard.

Miss Mia and I were sound asleep when the bear dropped by to see if we had anything to eat. Which, of course, we did — two bird feeders and three hummingbird feeders.

The racket at the buffet woke me — but not Miss Mia, who’s as deaf as a stump — and as I tumbled out of bed I figured we were dealing with a raccoon, maybe a skunk.

Nope. Bear. Small to medium, and in the early stages of deciding that getting any breakfast out of those polycarbonate tubes would burn more calories than s/he could hope to consume.

“Did you get any pictures?” Herself asked when I texted her the news. Yeah, right, I’m stumbling outside at oh-dark-thirty to snap a selfie with a famished bear. I’ve seen how fast they can run, and how fast I can run. No, thank you, please.

Anyway, social media is full of snaps of hungry, thirsty bears staggering down from the Sandias to plop into water features, snack on unsecured garbage, and in at least one incident, get shot by a knucklehead. The bear survived, though one of her two cubs did not, and the shootist seems short of friends (see a neighbor’s protest sign up top).

Our little bear problem was on me. I’d seen bear scat on a section of trail we run once or twice a week, and we’ve been avoiding that stretch because, hey, that scat doesn’t get there without the bear, amirite?

But I didn’t think to start bringing the feeders in at night. Now I am.

Didn’t keep the skunk out, though.

I heard something cough at stupid-thirty yesterday morning. Wasn’t me. Wasn’t Herself. Miss Mia was sacked out in the half-bath sink on the other side of the house, and she wouldn’t have heard a cough if it was her doing the coughing.

So up I get, grab a light, and crack the vertical blinds. Holy hell. Big ol’ skunk, butt aimed at our bedroom window.

Nope, sorry, not going out for a pic of that, either.

“Bear? Where?” asks our furry little pig in a blanket.

Snakes abound. Definitely a snake year. A dog walker recently told us she’d seen three buzzworms just that morning. One of them was in her yard.

The deer are back too, rolling up and down the arroyos like streetcars working the hills in San Francisco. Bucks with harems, does with speckled fawns.

Quail. Herself and I quit counting after seeing 50 on one recent ride.

And the hummingbirds? Off the charts. It looks like the Battle of Britain out there. We’re burning through sugar faster than three kindergartens and a Dunkin’ next to a cop shop.

Hey … it just occurred to me. Do you think they’re visiting us the way we visit zoos?

“Just look at the poor hairless apes, kids. Nearly extinct. I’d like to say we’ll miss them when they’re gone, but I’d be lying. They’ve certainly had a wild, wild life.”

Tea by the pool

June 3, 2026June 3, 2026 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 12 Comments

It’s not summer yet, but that doesn’t mean I can’t crank out my little bit of bullshit on the patio instead of in the office. I mean, it’s 64°, just past 8 a.m., and there are a lot more hummingbirds out here than there are in there.

Birds of another sort abound elsewhere. Buzzards, mostly. The Benighted States have been at the polls again, hoping to find a few that shit gold instead of what we’re wading through at the moment.

It might help if we focused on finding a species that isn’t focused on eating our entrails.

A robin, maybe. One’s busily plucking bugs from the back yard as I type. Good, useful work, that. Many insects infest the American lawn; many, many of them. A hungry robin might be just the ticket.

Aw, hell, who am I kidding here? We don’t need a robin. We need a Batman.*

* Or a Batwoman, Batperson, someone who identifies as a bat, is transitioning to a bat, I don’t give a shit. As long as s/he/they kick ass.

Mother’s Day +1

May 11, 2026 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 8 Comments

We’re generally light on mothers around here come the second Sunday in May. Herself isn’t one, and neither is Miss Mia Sopaipilla.

But for this Mother’s Day we have a robin sitting on a clutch of eggs in a fine, strong nest built in the Chinese pistache outside the dining room.

We’ve had doves cobble together some half-assed homes under the front overhang that mostly turn into fly-thru eateries for the neighborhood raptors. Hummingbirds tuck their teensy little bide-a-wees into the pines out front. And a variety of little cheepers have grown up in a dead limb of the backyard maple, holed at top and bottom by a ladder-backed woodpecker. A tree dude accidentally sawed it off while pruning the maple a while back, but he reinstalled it and it’s been home to at least one more family since then, so, winning, etc.

None of these little mothers ever pays any rent, but we don’t care. We even provide free feeds at our BB&B (Bird Bed & Breakfast). From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs, as the fella says.

Coyotes 1, hummingbirds 0

April 9, 2026April 9, 2026 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 6 Comments

The hummingbirds are scarce so far this April. But Herself reported seeing a coyote just down the street as she drove to work this morning.

Ain’t that just the way it is? God’s Dog is on the job while Her colorful little buzzbombs are off screwing the pooch somewhere.

Hope the ICEholes haven’t scooped ’em all up. That would be the cutest detention center ever.

No golden escalators here

October 14, 2025 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 10 Comments

Herself and I slipped out for a short trail run before lunch yesterday, hoping to dodge the predicted rain.

She was taking a break from work, which continues although the feddle-gummint mostly doesn’t. I was taking a break from being indoors, the Monday Geezer Ride having been canceled due to the weather forecast. We are not Portlanders, ready and eager to ride nekkid in fair weather and foul, aiming wisecracks and buttcracks at Beelzebozo’s buttheads.

Our short-run loop is only a couple miles, and mostly flat — just 268 feet of vertical gain, with one lump going out and another coming back — and we were back at the ranch before the clouds opened for business.

And business was booming. Nothing like the Durango area, where Tropical Storm Priscilla really brung it and then some. The official tally here was 0.21 inch. But it felt like a lot compared with the usual nothing at all.

Just ask the lone bedraggled hummingbird who spent about 15 minutes camped at one of our feeders, which hang out of the weather beneath the back patio cover. Every so often s/he would glance skyward as though thinking: “Jaysis! Where is everybody? I knew I shoulda taken that left turn at Albuquerque.”