Zoe and Charlie have a new little friend whom I am calling Godot. So far, I have not gotten a good picture of him. In contrast to the play, it’s Godot’s arrival that causes the waiting. He comes up on the deck, peers into the window and/or grabs some fallen seeds from the bird feeder, then dances up on the rail and away. Then the waiting commences.
By the large thud I just heard, I surmise that Godot has made an effort to get on the bird feeder and acquire his seeds first hand.
Squirrels and birds do not appear to like flour tortillas, in case you were wondering. I miss my raccoons and possums and skunks. What does one do with chicken bones in suburbia?
Today has been a gray day, feeling much colder than it really is. It has been one of those days that would be greatly improved by a fire, a good book and a nap. Instead, I made attempt #2 at peanut butter granola, listened to Stephen Frye talk about his life and edited a paper by a friend of mine to help with his French to English translation issues. The day is closing and I have no further observations for this week.