Springtime means babies

We’ve had an extra dinner guest for several nights this week. The Minnesota Bound Bald Eagle Cam has found its way to our dining room table and Logan loves it. I know he’s not supposed to get too much screen time, but I make exceptions for real nature by way of digital magic. He wants to know what the momma and daddy eagles are eating and when the eggs will hatch. Then, after dinner, we have to pretend that we are all sitting on our eggs, which “hatch” with a great deal less fuss and work than the real deal. He’s convinced, though, that momma’s eggs turn into momma eagles, Logan’s eggs become boy eagles, and Rory’s eggs become baby eagles. We’re still working out the kinks.

A shot of the eggs today - no pips yet!

This is no easy spring to raise a brood. It’s been snowing and sleeting most of the week and there’s been talk that these eggs might have been laid too early, with the potential to freeze. To compound the trouble, momma eagle only has one talon, but she’s well cared for by a truly devoted mate. The chicks are due any day now and it’s truly exciting to watch.

In other amazing survivor news, Philip recently went mano a mano with a wily squirrel determined to make our screened porch his new home. He was digging through our recycling, ripping apart boxes, and creating general mayhem. Philip would stomp out every time and scare him away, but only far enough to be out of reach, chittering and tail twitching. They kept this up for a week, Philip scowling out the windows, squirrel dancing just out of reach.

“He’s nesting!” Philip complained. “He’s bringing the shredded cardboard up into the eaves!”

One day Philip read the key to squirrel banishment online–a cocktail of hot sauce and vinegar in a spray bottle. He got the stuff ready and waited until the squirrel appeared, then ran out, spraying as quickly as he could. Once the squirrel ran into the yard, Philip sprayed its den in the eaves–and started in horror when the nest started squeaking.

“There’s babies!” He ran back inside, practically in tears, and we watched what we realized was the momma squirrel cautiously return to her family.

After a day or so, we were reassured that the squirrel babies hadn’t suffered any ill effects and we began reluctantly tossing old bread crumbs and trail mix on to the porch. Somehow we’ve adopted this family of squirrels, although I keep pointing out to Philip that they’re our marinated babies.