Backyard Brief: Bird Picnic in Florida

Last week, I was in south Florida with my husband visiting his parents at their Naples condo. They’ve been snow birds for the past five years now. Given the harsh winter we’ve been having, I’m starting to think they have the right idea. It was the perfect break from a senselessly cold March in Ohio, and we had a great time.

One day, we took a trip to Big Cypress National Preserve, just north of the Everglades, to go “alligator hunting,” as my father-in-law put it. He and I share the shutter bug. We made a single stop at the H.P. Williams Roadside Park, near Ochopee. Along with some great reptilian shots and plenty of bird pics, I managed to get close-ups of a butterfly hanging out with a napping gator. The birds included herons, cormorants, and anhingas. I’ll share those photos soon.

After walking the boardwalk, perusing along the river, and snatching our alligators and birds, we snacked at a picnic table in the clearing. With granola bars, Cara Cara oranges, red seedless grapes, and my Weight Watchers snack bars, we observed two smaller birds I could not readily identify. I took several close-ups.

As it turns out, I could not identify them less readily later on either. First, back at the condo, I used Cornell Lab of Ornithology’s bird ID tool at Allaboutbirds.org, starting with categories and silhouettes, comparing the flycatchers, sparrows, warblers, and finches (though I knew that was less likely based on beak shape) to my photos. I’m less skilled at identifying birds by call, and I couldn’t be sure any sounds I heard came from the birds observed.

From a clear silhouette in the branches, my first instinct said this was a kind of flycatcher, but my initial search produced nothing definitive. The question hovered, niggling.

It took coming home and browsing through both my Sibley guide and the Kaufman, looking again at my shots, to narrow it down and draw some conclusions.

Now I’m pretty sure I’ve got them right. After finding them in the print field guides, I went back to Cornell’s site and looked them up directly.

A male eastern phoebe

and a male palm warbler.

The phoebe, sure enough a kind of flycatcher, preferred the branches of the tree we sat under. The warbler’s stay was briefer and solely on the ground, resulting in fewer, more difficult shots and blurrier images.

The distinctive parts of the phoebe I knew to look for in the books were the smooth black eye and dark cap/face, lighter undersides and throat, relatively small size, and thin, short beak. It took some sifting, as the bird is rather plain looking overall, but experience and an understanding of field guide maps got me there. Looking closer with the guide, it seems this one was also a juvenile, due to the yellowish undercarriage. The Sibley guide uses call-out labels on their illustration of the bird to emphasize the gray “smudge on sides of breast,” the “yellow belly,” “dark head,” and “dark tail.”

The other bird I suspected was a warbler of some kind from the start, as I’d studied those through our local park’s program on warbler identification a few years ago. The key pieces were rusty cap, yellow facial streaks, yellowish rump, and larger size. The palm warbler, like most warblers, has quite a unique set of features, a little more striking than the phoebe’s. Among other features I observed, Kaufman notes the “well-defined pale eyebrow” and the fact that the palm is among those “warblers that stay low.” His low profile and brief stay account for my not seeing the “yellow undertail coverts” and “tail-bobbing action.”

Both guides indicate two types of palm warbler, brown western and yellow eastern. This specimen fit both descriptions in some respects and neither in others. Its position in southern Florida, though it is a rarity in general, would have assure me it’s the eastern type, had the maps not shown a greater prevalence of westerns in the region. Perhaps by “eastern” they simply mean exclusively so. Most likely, due to a duller overall yellow than the very golden illustrations and photos in the guides for the eastern, this was a brown, or western, palm warbler male. The white sides are tell tale.

Birds I’d never seen before up close from my own perch in Ohio, though phoebes and palm warblers are both possible to find here, just sort of hung out with us at this southern Florida park in the preserve. Nice to make new discoveries.

Speaking of new discoveries, in the next post, I’ll share the most dramatic one, which occurred at the condo community, on the other side of the pond from our unit.

And, out of curiosity, I looked up poems involving the phoebe. My first result was this fun audio reading by poet Valerie Gillies comparing Scottish species to their American cousins, emphasizing movements and calls. Delightful Scottish trilling.

Sources Consulted

Big Cypress National Preserve

Cornell Lab of Ornithology: All About Birds

H.P. Williams Roadside Park

Kaufman, Kenn. (2000). Kaufman field guide to birds of North America. New York: Hillstar Editions L.C., Houghton Mifflin.

Sibley, David Allen. (2000). The Sibley guide to birds. National Audubon Society (Ed.). New York: Chanticleer Press, Inc., Knopf. 

A Dog’s DNA, Part 1

Ourselves, Our Dogs

Who are we? What are we made of? And why should we care?

With the advent of DNA kit testing, the question takes on new complexity, but as with many new inventions, we may end up putting far too much stock in the science of self-identification.

I’m annoyed by the ancestry.com commercials showing people discovering their heritage and then drawing immediate conclusions about behavior, temperament, or what traditions they should celebrate, ignoring other possibilities DNA cannot explain.

For example, the guy who trades in his lederhosen for a kilt because he discovers he’s more Scottish than German. Ridiculous. If you have celebrated an existing ethnic tradition for years, you don’t need to change it because of blood line discoveries. And the woman who discovers her Nigerian heritage, though it’s one of the smallest fractions of her genetic make-up (the rest being white European), and automatically concludes that her inherent courage must have come from the Nigerian element.

Yes, white Europeans have a history of being selfish, imperialistic bastards and, yes, your Nigerian heritage may have been underrepresented and, thus, underappreciated, but I think behavioral characteristics and personality traits are less genetically driven than those profiting from genetic testing would like us to believe. Moreover, statistically, I don’t believe your courage is more likely to have come from the 17% component than from the 55%, to paraphrase the commercial’s numerical details.

As the age of social media has proven yet again, people are notorious for getting stupid about “smart” technology.

However, the fact that many DNA kits also test for health concerns helps to offset some of the folly in a process that involves and sometimes encourages faulty reasoning and false conclusions.

But what about DNA in dogs? Little boys may be made of snails and puppy dog tails, but what are puppy dog tails made of? And why should we pay to have the double helix of our dog’s genetic identity unwrapped?

Health and healthcare are a factor, but curiosity is probably the main driver. So, after receiving a coupon in the mail for one dog DNA service, we found ourselves investigating our dog’s ancestry. We know he’s a mutt, but many of his traits suggest, to me at least, that there’s a greater chance of high percentages of only a few breeds rather than lower percentages of a longer list. However, I base this belief on assumptions that are, in all likelihood, wrong.

Breed Standards, Rescue Ethics, and My Dogs

Four years ago, I wrote a post as the mom of our first family dog. In a critique of the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show, then in its 139th year, I confessed to the event’s power to draw dog lovers to the screen, but I was less than enthusiastic about the program’s style, approach, and canine eugenics-oriented purpose.

“A sucker for the mixed breed, I can’t help cringing inside at the sight of enthroned purity, even as I’m drawn to watching the Westminster Kennel Club 139th Annual Dog Show (2/16 on CNBC, 2/17 on USA). The more dog shows I watch, the more I want to watch, and yet, as each event wears on, so grows the sense that I’m watching a travelling circus freak show.”

From “The Perfect-Pooch Parade”

Neither my tone nor my comments improved much from there.

“I detest the way animal health and well-being seem to have been compromised long ago for the sake of handicapping aesthetics. Such tailoring has made Dachshunds and corgis prone to back problems, Shar Peis more likely to develop skin irritations, toys and some terriers so tiny and fragile as to break bones easily, and very large dogs subject to shortened lifespans.

Not to mention all the breed-specific genetic diseases of the organs and other inner workings. . . .”

From “The Perfect-Pooch Parade”

Looking back, though, I realize some of my views were unfounded and some comments unfair, that I didn’t understand the seriousness with which recognized professionals in the dog breeding industry preserve pedigrees and safeguard canine health. Genetic diseases derived from all the original cross-breeding, while still a problem in dogs, are largely perpetuated outside the spotlight of the show dog community, who hates those practices as much as I do: profiting from pure breed popularity using impure pedigrees, puppy mill facilities, designer breeds blended from the same, and so on.

It’s not all about perfection in the American Kennel Club (AKC), Westminster Kennel Club (WKC), and similar organizations. It’s also about perfect sustainability, which necessarily means ensuring really good health to perpetuate generations of good quality dogs, inside and out.

So, it is true that one of the purposes of dog shows in America and around the world is preservation of breed standard characteristics. But while this is similar to the goal of conservation of species in the wild, it is not quite the same. The domestic dog breeding ecosystem is almost entirely human generated, the benefits of registration are focused more on breeds than on the dog species as a whole, and the system is highly controlled by humans.

Excluding thoughts on my personal aesthetic preferences among dog breeds based on appearance and movement, other criticisms from the earlier post were equally valid.

“. . . As with any collector society turned obsessive, there is much to satirize.

“The meticulous, yet highly subjective nature of the judging of these animals as the best of the best in their breeds, groups, and shows not only flies in the face of common dog-owner instincts and preferences (for instance, the golden retriever has never won a best in show) but also, due to breed stereotypes, [overly] restricts people’s sense of the quality and value of any given dog as a pet.

“These factors combine both to weaken the genetic hardiness of dogs through excessive, subsidized, and poorly managed and imitated pure-breeding, and to warp pet industry, dog owner, and service provider perspectives of what constitutes a dog worth having.”

From “The Perfect-Pooch Parade”

In a word, it’s the snobbery that galls me most. This is not to say, as I suggested in the original post, that dog shows and breed preservation are a waste of time, and at least there is no cash prize for the handler, owner, or breeder winners of best in show. That would mar their purity of purpose. However, many rescue organizations hold exactly that view and worse in their distaste for the breeder community. The rationale of this kind of rescuer? “Why breed when there are already so many dogs that need good homes?” “Rescuing saves a life; breeding does not.”

As I’ve said, this view is a bit short sighted in terms of breed longevity and preservation, but it is the very specializing nature of the breed type that lies at the heart of what I see as an elitist mentality. Despite their deep love of dogs, breeders who might otherwise have rescued mutts, which are referred to, granted with some dignity, as “all-American” dogs at the dog show (agility only), won’t touch rescued animals with a ten-foot pole.

The peer and internal pressure of perfecting show performance, reproducing superior pedigrees, and gaining the reputation of owning the perfect dog for its breed leaves little room in house, heart, budget, or calendar for adopted dogs.

Pride and vanity in handlers, breeders, and owners whose dogs excel in competition also shift the focus away from breed preservation and onto the use of individual dogs to give humans status among their peers and fame in the televised show ring. As I said in the previous post, the competition becomes “more about the show-ers than the shown.”

One could argue that using dogs as athletes, workers, and even companions is just as selfish of humans as using them in conformation competition is. It’s true that we crossed long ago the line of exploitation with dogs, but some people push farther beyond it than others. And now, who knows all the system-focused uses dog breeders, both reputable and suspect, are making out of dog DNA testing?

Rescue organizations aren’t perfect either. In their desperation to save every animal in their chosen breed, variety, or circumstance, in hard economic times in particular, some rescuers can prove less than honest and straight dealing with prospective adopters. You think you’re getting one thing, and you end up with the likes of Elyse, our first family dog whose health and pain problems accompanied what we only later learned was a more advanced age than the rescue organization had portrayed.

In our case, the family of the rescue coordinator wanted to keep a puppy we had our eyes on for themselves as well, leaving us with fewer, more complicated options among adoptees. For breeders and pure breed seekers, the main issue with rescuing is that you do not know the history or family heritage of the dog you’re getting, which carries with it higher risk of behavioral and medical problems.

We believed we owned a rescued, presumably pure-bred Brittany a few years back, but given all her health problems, her miniature size, and other factors in our adoption, I would be much more curious to learn the truth of that assumption than I am to learn my new dog’s data. Elyse is buried in the backyard, and I’m not digging her up just to satisfy a curiosity that will likely result in greater anger at the situations that created her.

Now, with more joy and a lighter heart, I go in search of the pedigree of our current dog, Ethan. We did get our wish for a better situation with this second dog than we received with our first. After a rough first year of adjustment for all of us, Ethan has come through happy and confident. He is smart, healthy, mellow, young, athletic, just as beautiful as Elyse was, and also a rescue.

We have wondered about his make-up since we got him, sometimes going up to him and playfully asking, “What are you, Mister?” but he never answered. So we’ll get to scratch the itch with science. With help from family, we ordered a DNA kit, which was actually more expensive than the human kit some relatives ordered. Any day now the results will arrive.

Meanwhile, the dog show offers a chance to make some educated guesses as to his breed make-up. My current hypothesis follows.

“What are you, Mister?”: The Guessing Game

Ethan was advertised as a Vizsla/Labrador retriever mix, and the Vizsla characteristics are demonstrable. However, I’m not as convinced of the Lab content. He does have the oilier, coarser short-haired coat of a Lab on his back and tail, he sheds like a Lab, his skull shape bears some resemblance to a Lab’s, and his tail is Lab like when he’s relaxed.

But he’s also wirier, more aerodynamic, uninterested in retrieving, and less water friendly than a Lab or any retriever. Instead, he likes to sprint, climb, tear the stuffing out of animal toys, destroy rope toys, and rip cardboard boxes to shreds. He naturally scent-tracks very well, and he likes to sunbathe, avoiding water at every turn.

So, some of those facts changed, for me at least, Ethan’s advertised type from “Vizsla/Lab” to “Vizsla/??”. But I assume nothing at this point, not even the Vizsla content, seeing as I have recently how wrong owners can be about the heritage of their mutts.

First, Ethan came from the U.S. Virgin Islands, not known for its Vizsla strays. The islands tend to be much more rife with pit bull mixes, as one would expect. Ethan’s an anomaly in that sense. Based on the smidgeon of what we know of his background and the tiny bit that we can guess, it seems unlikely that he would also contain hound, though some characteristics suggest it.

Therefore, if he does have Vizsla in him, setting aside the Lab question for now, the most likely additional higher percentage group present in Ethan’s blood would be terrier, based on the more common incidence of terriers compared to hounds. In order to narrow that down further, I’ve been studying the appearance and movement of the sporting, working, and terrier groups prior to the best in show round of the Westminster competition this week. Admittedly, despite my prejudice against Ethan’s having Lab in him (too boring?), it is still possible that Lab or some kind of retriever or other sporting breed is present.

Second, if he does NOT have Vizsla in him, the mixture could be quite substantial and surprising. Behaviorally, Ethan’s actions say “hound” to me more than they say “terrier.” Keen scenting, lower energy, slightly less mischief, and legginess are strikes against the terrier group. On the flip side, smaller stature, slender limbs, and a curly tail together work against the hound group. Independent thinking/disobedience or orneriness is a characteristic of many terrier breeds as well as hound breeds, and although he is not bad in this regard, there is some stubbornness in Ethan.

All from the lay perspective, having no knowledge of minute genetics, and now that I’ve looked at them more carefully, I’ve ruled out the following previously considered possibilities as of this week:

  • among hounds: beagle (too thick boned), foxhounds (too stocky), redbone coonhound and other coonhounds (too stocky and tall)
  • among non-sporting: shiba inu (entirely wrong shape and coat despite similar coloring and tail curl), spitz breeds (entirely wrong shape, coloring, and coat despite tail curl)
  • among herding: most herding breeds, including the Canaan dog, despite its curly tail, except border collie and similar shaped medium-sized shepherd breeds
  • among terriers: most terriers, including the more common bull, staffordshire bull, pit bull (too powerful, wrong face shape, build), and all the large-headed, small-bodied terriers of the British Isles (too confident)
  • toy group: highly unlikely, hardly worth mentioning?

Still in the running to be part of Ethan’s DNA for me are the following.

Sporting breeds:

  • Vizsla – body shape, coloring, wiry build, narrow chest, deep-set chest, high pelvic tuck, ear shape, forehead/cheek wrinkles, crown shape, eye position and almond shape, pink/liver nose, sitting shape, tail thickness, musculature, cat-like paws, muzzle length/shape, athleticism, shyness/softness. Ethan’s traits NOT typically seen in the Vizsla: curly tail (usually docked), ample shedding, dark brown eye color (light, yellowish), oily medium-short coat (extremely short, sleek).
  • Labrador retriever – coat length/quality, tail, head shape, brown eyes
  • other sporting breeds such as Weimaraner (very similar to Vizsla), pointers (but half of the build is quite different), spaniels, though the coat is wrong (springers, Brittanys, but probably not cockers), and some retrievers, such as Nova Scotia Duck Toller, but due to its rarity that’s less likely; less so setters

Hounds:

  • Basenji – facial wrinkles, curly tail, overall size, sometimes similar coloring
  • Dachshund – more of an honorable mention since I have strong doubts; likely only a sliver (such as some part of his size and coat) if anything; shape is way off
  • less likely: sight hounds – too delicate and with much pointier, more slender heads and tapered noses with bulging side-set eyes, though Ethan has similar build and high stepping trot to some
  • even less likely due to rarity, despite physical similiarities: Ibizan hound, Pharaoh hound, Cirneco dell’Etna

Working, Herding:

  • Rhodesian ridgeback – mainly for their wrinkled forehead and squared crown in relation to the muzzle, along with short hair
  • Doberman and German Pinschers – eye position, sleekness, overall shape, face shape
  • German shepherd – coat only
  • some shepherds and border collie – actually rather unlikely the more I think about it . . . but I know genetics can be sneaky.

Terriers:

  • Manchester – similar to a Doberman in appearance but small
  • Parson Russell – face shape and he jumps rather high
  • maybe a bit of border terrier for face shape

Best guess from analysis assisted by WKC dog show and AKC website:

If I were to pick the largest number of possible ingredients going into the oven that made my dog, it would include but perhaps not be limited to:

  • Vizsla
  • Labrador retriever
  • German shepherd
  • springer spaniel or Brittany
  • Doberman
  • Dachshund
  • and some terrier blend

If I were to pick the smallest number of possible ingredients, it would include one of the following:

  • Vizsla, German shepherd
  • Vizsla, Labrador retriever or
  • Vizsla, retriever (non-Lab)

I told my husband we should take bets before the results arrive, but he declined. He knows I’d win, or at least come closest. (Spoil sport.)

Stay tuned for Ethan’s DNA results and our reactions to his pedigree!

Below: Ethan is less excited to solve the puzzle.

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This Tree Had Many Mourners

I just discovered earlier this month the devastation of the famous Pioneer Cabin Tree, or Tunnel Tree, a sequoia in the North Grove of Calaveras Big Trees State Park in the Sierra Nevada mountain range of central California. My husband and I were visiting my brother and his family for the first time in several years and visited the park on October 6. The last time I was there was in 2015 with my mother, when we both walked under the tunnel of the now-fallen icon.

I thought I had pictures of it still standing, certainly, but I am unable to find them as of this post. The photos below of its erect status are borrowed as indicated. I took the other pictures.

There is a handful of other iconic sequoias in California and elsewhere, but this one was pretty famous. In the 1920s, cars used to drive under it after lightning strikes hollowed out the base, which was then squared off. About a year ago, heavy rains followed by a storm washed out the base, and the tree’s descent downed a nearby cedar tree.

These trees are incredibly tall and impossibly old, and they grow only in certain areas, including the west slope of the Sierra Nevada and in a portion of Yosemite National Park.

Fallen-Pioneer-Cabin-Tree-placard-2018-10-06_edits-IMG_6335

Unidentifiable from a distance, the pile of wood attracted us by the signs before it. It wasn’t until I read them that I realized what I was looking at. Aided by the shock, I was so sad to learn of this special tree’s falling, I almost teared up at the sight of it, especially since my husband had not seen it in person while it was still intact.

While all things end, and the tree’s condition made its position more precarious, it is no less poignant to see it flattened. As with a recognizable mountain, the traveler expects such a tree to be standing as it first existed, long after the visitor has sunk through the earth. It marks the land in a unique way, suggests a whiff of permanence in the world, enlarges our experience with its largeness, its resilience, and connects our lives in shared familiarity.

A New Yorker and World War I soldier, poet and journalist Joyce Kilmer likely never met the Pioneer Cabin Tree. The simple celebration of his famous if sentimental poem “Trees” effectively thanks God for making them. If the poem described any particular tree, there could hardly be a worthier candidate than the Pioneer Cabin Tree at Calaveras Big Trees State Park. Sentiment, if genuine, has its place where the tree once stood.

Farewell, old timer.


To learn more about the Pioneer Cabin Tree, or Tunnel Tree, at Calaveras, and other sequoias, the California parks department posted a brief, informative official release at the time of its falling.

Backyard Birds: Cleveland National Air Show

From pain comes artistic gain.

I haven’t been blogging lately. Instead, I’ve been recovering from neck and back pain after combing the sky over Lake Erie for the “birds.” The 2018 Cleveland National Air Show brought packed crowds to Burke Lakefront Airport over Labor Day weekend. In 90+ degree weather on September 1, I tried to capture the four final acts of the day. My videos were a wash, but some photos came out. Was it worth it?

IMG_6081-Sean-Oracle-vert-climb-side-smoke

Swan song for a seasoned stunt pilot, Sean D. Tucker – Power Aerobatics Oracle Challenger III

IMG_6082-Sean-Oracle-inverted-L-away-top-visible-smokeIMG_6109-Sean-Oracle-Am-flag-heads-hats-rising-LIMG_6115-Sean-Oracle-vert-climb-belly-visible-no-smoke-angl-slt-RIMG_6074-Sean-Oracle-corkscrew-dive

IMG_6124-tiger-dive-smoke-cloud-frame

IMG_6135-tiger-caught-in-smoke-ring

A tiger caught in the ring – Twin Tiger Aerobatic Team

IMG_6197-Blue-Angels-diamond-stacked-landing-gear-R-bellies-visible

U.S. Navy Blue Angels – FA-18 Hornets

IMG_6205-Blue-Angels-diamond-upper-L-climb-pre-break-angles-smokeIMG_6191-Blue-Angels-5-inverted-6-straight-single-file-levelIMG_6217-Blue-Angels-delta-inverted-dive-lower-R-smokeIMG_6203-Blue-Angels-diamond-stair-steps-R-glint-no-smokeIMG_6219-Blue-Angels-delta-away-straight-from-R-dark-smokeIMG_6224-Blue-Angels-delta-upper-R-level-6-visible-2-tails-dark-smoke-6-trails-R-bleedIMG_6216-Blue-Angels-delta-upper-R-climb-smoke-closeup

IMG_6239-Wright-Patt-tail-backlit

On the ground, a huge “bird” out of Wright-Patterson Air Force Base in Dayton, Ohio

A jet expert and flight simulation & training engineer, my spouse would have liked to see more, but we got a late start on that hot Saturday. So much the better for me and my spine. When the people dispersed, the seagulls swooped in to reclaim their backyard and scavenge the smorgasbord of leftovers. For our part, we headed to the Cheesecake Factory at Legacy Village, east of downtown Cleveland and the airport. The highlight there for me was the pumpkin cheesecake, just come on the menu for the fall season.

As I soldiered on through the spinal dis-ease of Sunday morning, we met with friends for brunch and the afternoon, followed by dinner at a Hungarian family restaurant in Shaker Square called Balaton. Their food was so disturbingly good I forgot to hurt.

With a first night separated from my co-dependent dog (with his co-dependent Ma), whom we left with my husband’s parents over Saturday and Sunday, it was an all-around very good weekend getaway. Two weeks, a massage, and a chiropractic adjustment later, and I’m on the mend at last. It’s good to be back.

 

Argyll with Àdhamh, Part 1 of 4

Ask anyone who knows me well. They might say I’m a magician at turning small units of time into much larger ones. Or, they might just say, as I have said, that I operate on a geologic time scale, at a glacial pace. I tend to drag out projects and procrastinate. Because of this and possibly an underlying difficulty letting go of the past, plus genuine interest, I have managed to explode a fortnight’s Scottish vacation from September 2016 into a series of blog posts spread across nearly two years since this trip.

To illustrate the span of time, here are a few examples:

Scottish Color: A Photo Essay – overview of sensory highlights (posted Oct 12, 2016)

An Outlander Tourist in Scotland, Part 1 – my take on Outlander tourism, presenting filming sites in Central Scotland (posted December 1, 2016)

An Outlander Tourist in Scotland, Part 4 – the story of my trip planning process, snapshots of planned vs. actual itinerary, summary of our experience, and reflections on improvements (posted March 11, 2017)

An Outlander Tourist in Scotland, Part 6, the final post in the OL tourism series, focused on Scottish and more general travel tips and resources, based on our Scotland trip experiences (posted June 15, 2017)

With several in between, but then nothing derived directly from the trip, until now.

This one has been a long time coming for several reasons, or excuses. I’ll spare you those. Suffice it to say I’ve been writing and thinking about this day ever since my husband and I experienced it, and I wanted its expression to do the moment justice in every way possible. And, I suppose I wanted to keep experiencing it for as long as possible, too, without having to labor over representing it.

All things end, but with those endings, other things begin. While it is in our power to effect that transition, to allow new things to happen, we can also prevent it. But the world and we are the poorer for that stagnation. As Mr. Willoughby says in Outlander STARZ ep309, “The Doldrums,” once I tell my story, I have to let it go. So, it is with bitter sweetness that I let go and share, and smile with hope and wonder to think where it might lead.

Road to Argyll

The Outlander Connection

On a mild Tuesday in mid-September 2016, my love for the Outlander book and TV series gave my husband and me our best day of a two-week Scotland vacation. We attended no conference with actors from the STARZ show. No Outlander filming or book sites came into play, as we had taken an Outlander tour on the first day. We did not meet Diana Gabaldon, author of the book series and consultant for the show.

Naturally, Outlander fans might wonder what would be the point of such a day, unless you’re also captivated by Scotland, whether just its romanticized image or its complex realities as well. Scotland fans just becoming familiar with the country, however, can anticipate from this post series new insights, revealed secrets, intimate portraits, and enticing destinations for future travel.

What we did was simply take a car ride through the inimitable region of Argyll & Bute with Àdhamh Ó Broin (AH ghuv o BROYN), a friendly Scot who just happens to be the Gaelic Language Consultant for Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander book series and its TV adaptation. It felt like a new neighbor was showing us his backyard, but it was much more because the backyard was very, very large.

I’ve been a fan of Gabaldon’s Outlander series since I first read book one in 2011, after two friends from different circles of mine recommended it. Once I discovered the STARZ show’s existence and high quality, I fell in love with it, fascinated by spoken Scottish Gaelic and inspired to learn what the Highlander characters say, in both Scots and Gaelic, in the Season 1 episodes.

It was perhaps the simple genius of the STARZ production’s decision not to provide English subtitles for most of their scripts’ Gaelic lines—had Àdhamh suggested this?—that paved the way for our wonderful day with Mr. Ó Broin. In watching scenes involving Gaelic speech, the viewer feels the outsider narrator Claire’s confusion, alienation, and suspense.

The lack of subtitles also allowed me to focus on and enjoy the words for their sounds and the shapes made by characters’ mouths. Sharing time traveller Claire’s “Sassenach” (“outlander” or “Englishwoman”) perspective on the unknown Scottish Gaelic language fosters a sense of mystery and curiosity, and, for some like me, a real need to know more than could be gleaned from gestures, facial expressions, music, or interactions.

In a handful of fan blogs devoted to translating the Gaelic from the show into English, I’ve found translations of some of those early lines that inspired me to learn more words and phrases of this beautiful language, threatened, like so many, by obsolescence.

Evolution

As a result, I was one of many thousands of visitors in 2015 who began studying this unlikely tongue through free, self-guided lessons and the two-way Gaelic-English dictionary on the LearnGaelic.scot website (founded 2011). A project newly updated in 2015 with the support of series actors Gary Lewis, who plays Colum MacKenzie, and Gillebride MacMillan, who plays Gwyllyn the Bard, along with Àdhamh Ó Broin, its popularity has greatly increased since the show began.

Soon after I started watching the show, my obsessive re-watching gave rise to posts such as my top-viewed “Adapted Bawdy Lyrics,” a translation from Scots into standard English of the song Claire sings in ep114, “The Search.” Then, on Twitter I began following not just the actors but also the producers, crew and consultants, including my favorite contemporary novelist Diana Gabaldon and, of course, Mr. Àdhamh Ó Broin.

For his social media followers, Àdhamh shares Gaelic words, phrases, and sentences, often translating them. In August 2016, after having passed 20 or so lessons on LearnGaelic.scot, and reviewing some of them, I replied to his tweet of a translated caption about a picture he received of a sunny Scottish day.

In my first reply, I wrote:

Or, literally, “Sky blue ‘n’ leaves plenty for the stroll of the morning”? Showing syntax, word matchup.

Then, I thanked him for adding “sky” (speur), “leaves” (duilleagan), and “stroll” (sràid) to my Gaelic vocabulary. His liking my tweets assured me I had it right. At the time, I tried not to take my study too seriously, since I’m not a Scottish or Canadian resident–where most fluent Gaelic speakers live in certain community pockets–who can practice and become conversational. After that brief lesson, I had no illusions of greater significance in our exchange, or of further contact afterwards.

Although Àdhamh “liked” both replies, he had not remembered them when I later emailed him our Scotland trip itinerary as an informal request for recommendations. I expected neither that he would recall nor that he would reply to my email, but that reply came! And more swiftly and positively than I had dared to hope.

From Whim to Intention

It was a bona fide wonder that he should be available when we’d be in the region, and I was truly thrilled by the chance to meet him and share the day. At first, I assumed, albeit in amazement, that he must have remembered me from Twitter. Otherwise, why would a semi-renowned Scottish Gaelic language expert be so trusting and kind to a stranger as to offer his company and expertise for the Argyll-area portion of our trip? Surely, he wouldn’t just open himself up like that out of the blue to just anybody.

True enough. When I asked him about it later, he told me that it was the detail and earnestness in my planning (perhaps showing an underlying passion for seeing the country) that helped convince him to pitch his services. It’s amazing where a little encouragement and curiosity can lead when the opportunity arises.

We took our unexpected journey through Argyll & Bute with Àdhamh Ó Broin on 20 September 2016. I waited much longer than intended to finish writing about it because I wanted to make sure I did it justice. Sin mi a-nis agus seo agad ciamar.

Sin mi a-nis / agus seo agad ciamar Now is my chance / and this/here is how

Getting from Edinburgh to Argyll

That morning, I had dry eyes partly from growing fatigue and, I suspect, partly from dehydration. Besides, there was no sorrow or vexation to well up, no aspect of the first phase that had gone horribly wrong or had been even mildly disappointing. In fact, we had seen many marvelous sights, eaten well, heard great stories, and slept comfortably. Wide eyed and alert, we faced an exciting time as we began the second leg of our Scotland adventure earlier into its first day than we’d begun any day up to that point.

Having packed up from our Edinburgh base at the Residence Inn, newly ensconced in our rental car, and taking a 2-hour, week-day drive to Arrochar in the Trossachs National Park, I was the most nervous I had been so far during the trip. With my husband driving, we were carving our path to Argyll, waving toward Glasgow along the way, to meet and spend the day with the Gaelic language consultant for the Outlander STARZ TV series.

Àdhamh Ó Broin

Psst, a little advice: When an Outlander STARZ / Diana Gabaldon consultant and upbeat native of a country you’re about to visit for the first time offers to show you around for a day, you find a way to make it happen! Àdhamh Ó Broin, like Gabaldon (though herself a Sassenach), faithfully represents the ageless beauty of Scotland and Scottish culture.

When we first met Àdhamh at our B&B in Arrochar, bagpipes case in hand, he greeted my husband with a handshake and half man-hug, half pat on the back, and me with a kiss on the cheek. Of moderate height, his figure betrayed only trace evidence of a whisky belly beneath a baggy, dark grey T-shirt and black zip-up jacket.

Although Àdhamh sported his usual high-cut straight bangs thin and flat against his forehead, his hair suggested no baldness for pushing 40 years of wear. His robust but uniform beard ran a half-shade darker than the natural red with a touch of strawberry blond haze on his crown. Àdhamh wore well-loved brown hiking boots and saggy-hipped jeans in a medium blue that matched his eye color. He fit the part of the humble, fun-loving person who values substance over style. Our kind of people.

Originally from Argyll & Bute, Àdhamh voices a softened (as in, intelligible to Sassenachs) Glaswegian accent. At the time of our jaunt together, Glasgow was his city of residence. The location is convenient for meeting with the cast and crew of the Outlander TV show, which houses its studios just outside the city, on the way to Edinburgh from Glasgow.

Unplanned Plan

My husband and I hired Àdhamh as a guide to help us explore Argyll. After I devised a basic travel plan prior to communicating with Àdhamh, he then upended my original itinerary. I had thought maybe we’d go to Inveraray Castle, Auchindrain Museum, and perhaps the Crarae Gardens. All of these are probably lovely, but I didn’t feel their lack as Àdhamh steered us to more unusual treasures. The schedule may have been out of our hands, but Àdhamh skillfully shaped the journey around our interests. He had places in mind to show us, but he adapted that rough plan to our interests in scenic vistas, wilderness, and ancient sites.

For my husband’s first-ever UK driving experience, he drove from our hotel in Edinburgh past Glasgow through the Trossachs to Loch Long in Arrochar. Then, for the next 7 hours, over 200 miles of winding, hilly, and many single-track roads, in both daylight and darkness, Àdhamh navigated while my husband bravely pressed on. Despite describing the experience as “terrifying,” hubby remained our DD the whole way. There was never a dull moment, in or out of that little black rented Vauxhall Corsa.

From having perused Àdhamh’s website and the Twitterverse, I had only a vague notion of what to expect. But over the course of the day, we enjoyed 5 hours of visits to chapels, a parish church and graveyard, 19th-century croft ruins, farmland, canals, an ancient kingdom’s fort, standing stones, cairns, wild landscapes, seascapes, and loch-scapes, a canal-side coffee shop, and lunch at a little inn off a boat-filled cove. It was a personalized, story-driven portrait of life in Argyll & Bute, past and present.

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Loch a’ Bhealaich / inlet of Taigh a’ Bhealaich (village of Tayvallich) viewed from restaurant window during lunch. Images © C. L. Tangenberg unless otherwise indicated

Argyll & Bute

A conglomeration of land bridges, peninsulas, and islands, with diverse waterways among them, the modern council area of Argyll & Bute (A & B), sometimes alternatively styled as Argyll and the Isles, can appear fragmented and, thus, arbitrarily collected. It’s a part of Scotland where it’s hard to tell whether loch, sea, or land is more pinched off at its edges.

But imagine Scotland, and the outline of its map, as the figure of a bagpiper in full regalia from severed knee at the English border to tasselled pipe tops reaching through the Arctic Circle, much like the frame of the constellation Orion.

If the country’s shape resembles a kilted Scottish warrior—with the Borders and Southwest comprising the pleats below the waist, the Grampian Mountains bearing the shoulder-draped section of plaid, and Northwest Scotland the slanted beret atop a bushy beard—then Argyll & Bute might be either the bottoms of those bagpipes or the fringed sporran swinging from the Highlander’s belt as he marches proudly across the face of the blue-and-white Saltire sky.

And the region is just as full of singular secret treasures as the sporran of Outlander’s Jamie Fraser is.

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Scotland map from booklet Top 10 Scotland, published by DK

The range of Argyll & Bute extends from roughly northeast—beyond where sea-sourced Loch Linnhe replaces the land spread of the Great Glen (at Fort William)—to south and southwest.

The Great Glen is the seam that divides the Northwest and West Highlands from the Grampian Mountains of the Highlands. Though scattered by the sea, Argyll comprises the southern-most wedge of the Grampian Mountains.

East of Argyll, the traveller encounters the Central Lowlands, with its famed cities of Glasgow and Edinburgh, south of which the Southern Uplands border England.

Enfolding the isles of Mull, Jura, Islay, Oronsay, Colonsay, Iona, Tiree, Coll, Gigha, and Arran among the Inner Hebrides within its borders, the A & B council area also claims the western shore of Loch Lomond, the Isle of Bute, and the Mull of Kintyre, headland area of the Kintyre Peninsula.

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Argyll section of Scotland map from booklet Top 10 Scotland, published by DK

Argyll & Bute also borders the Firth of Clyde, a bay connected to the river of the same name coursing through Glasgow.

The main peninsulas of A & B stretch south-southwest toward a foreign shore. The extension of the longer, the Kintyre, peninsula halts only 13 miles across the North Channel from Northern Ireland. The Republic of Ireland shares its island with Northern Ireland beginning at the same latitude but farther west from Scotland.

The Path

To help my family with context for our Argyll slide show, I traced our circuit on a map of the area from a page in Fodor’s Travel: Essential Great Britain. The path is shown below.

The Journey

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In dark black ink, the path we drove from Arrochar and Loch Long through Argyll and back. Label “Dunadd Fort” is obscured by criss-cross marks. Map: (2015) Fodor’s Travel Essential Great Britain guide book.

Morning in Argyll

September 20th, just after 10 am

In the southernmost of the Southern Highlands, close enough to Glasgow to encourage frequent visits by hill walkers and climbers, the Arrochar Alps punctuate the base of Argyll’s Cowal Peninsula like a primitive stone necklace. West of Loch Lomond, and north and west of Arrochar where we lodged, these mountains cut a majestic gateway to the west coast of Argyll. Here we spent a whole day with Àdhamh Ó Broin.

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View from Seabank B&B, 9/21/16. Morning fog over Loch Long, with the tip of Ben Arthur “The Cobbler” (upper left) just visible behind the ridge. Image © C. L. Tangenberg

First Foray

Draped in morning fog, ruddy tidal plains rim the northern arcs of long sea inlets, where up sprout the sharp mountain ridges of Argyll. Some of their bright green flanks shoulder darker tree lines. Whether seen as attractive patchwork or ugly open wounds (Àdhamh saw them as the latter), the swaths are signs of more recent conifer forestry. In a borderland between sea and loch, some waters are fresh and some brackish, and Argyll’s complex web nets incredibly diverse and abundant wildlife.

We launched our day in Argyll from accommodations in the town of Arrochar, near the heart of the Loch Lomond and Trossachs National Park. Along with the Cairngorms, it is one of only two national parks in Scotland. Here, freshwater and sea loch fingertips reach up from the heart of Argyll through the southern parts of the park. Our lodging, Seabank B&B, sits on the northeast edge of Loch Long, a sea loch, just a stone’s throw seaward from the large, freshwater, and famous Loch Lomond. The A83 motorway led us to the west coast.

Curling first around Loch Long’s northern tip, we passed Beinn Ime to the northeast, between fingertips, and then began our ride around Loch Fyne. From the north, we cleaved to Fyne’s western bank as we drove southwest toward the Atlantic. The shortest path by car between points in Argyll is never a straight line, and never on level ground.

“It’s in the folds and twists of the countryside, the interplay of land and water and the views out to the islands that the strengths and beauties of mainland Argyll lie” – Rough Guides – Scotland, Argyll

As we drove the glens, Àdhamh told us the eerie story of a woman named Mary whose neighbor’s premonition saved her from being washed away by a rainstorm’s flood in Gleann Cinn Ghlais (Glen Kinglas), meaning “valley of the greenish-grey (or grey-green) head,” describing the color of the hills.

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view of Inveraray Castle from inside the moving car on a bridge crossing the river

Past the town of Inveraray, stronghold of Clan Campbell, with a glimpse of its castle from a bridge, we continued south, where the A83 pulls to the southwest, leaving Loch Fyne’s shores. Eventually, we waved to the Auchindrain Township Museum on the left as we kept driving, drawn back again to Loch Fyne’s western bank on the same A83.

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from the car, near Glen Kinglas

At this point, my husband’s terror had not yet begun since first climbing into the driver’s seat of the rental car in Edinburgh; although hills, curves, turns, narrow single tracks, and stonewall bridges greeted us, it was still daylight, the sun shining. On our way to the coast, we made a pit stop at the Crinan Coffee Shop for a sip and a view of the Crinan Canal, along with some lively conversation where my husband could relax and fully participate.

In the next posts, Part 2 and Part 3, look for the wonder and intrigue of new and deeper mysteries surrounding key moments in Scottish history. We’ll start it off with a cup of joe and some details of our conversation.

Argyll with Àdhamh, Part 2 of 4

Argyll with Àdhamh, Part 3 of 4


Sources Consulted for Argyll & Bute and the Isles

Argyll and the Isles Tourism Co-operative Ltd (AITC) http://www.exploreargyll.co.uk/about.php since 2012

Walking and climbing in Argyll and the Isles: Come to Argyll and the Isles for unbeatable walking and climbing. Enjoy epic long-distance routes, magnificent munros, loch-side strolls and coastal treks – all amid stunning Scottish scenery.

The Rough Guides – Scotland, Argyll: https://www.roughguides.com/destinations/europe/scotland/argyll/

LearnGaelic.scot: a resource for free, self-guided lessons and a two-way Gaelic-English dictionary on the LearnGaelic.scot website (founded 2011). A project newly updated in 2015 with the support of actors Gary Lewis, who plays Colum MacKenzie, and Gillebride MacMillan, who plays Gwyllyn the Bard, along with Àdhamh Ó Broin

Walk Highlands – Argyll, Bute and Oban: https://www.walkhighlands.co.uk/argyll/

Loch Fyne and the Coast

Inveraray Castle Visitor Information: An iconic Scottish castle in Argyll, Scotland.

Auchindrain Township, Inveraray. The last surviving example of a Highland farm…

Sources Consulted for Loch Lomond and the Trossachs National Park

Elizabeth Forest Park: Trossachs – The Lodge Forest Visitor Centre – Forestry Commission Scotland

Loch Lomond – Day Trip Loch Lomond Waterfalls: Guided Walking and Sightseeing Highland Day Tours for independent travellers wanting to experience Scotand beyond the major tourist attractions and the confines of a bus.


Gáidhlig Dhail Riada. If you are interested in the rich Gaelic heritage of Dalriada and would like to find out more…

Àdhamh Ó Broin – Gáidhlig Dhail Riada

Backyard Brief: Unearthed, Part 2

As I noted in Part 1 of this brief, it was in my vigilance following Ethan’s excursion under the deck that something peculiar came to light.

May 18, 2018, the following day

Ethan was lying down in the grass near the lacecap hydrangea, tether at full length, looking off to the next-door neighbor’s yard, when a small bullet of gray and brown fur shot under the deck from that direction. His eyes followed intently, head turning like a panning camera, but he made no attempt to pursue the creature. Our previous dog Elyse had had more prey drive than he, another thing to be thankful for.

Carrying the bowl of my mostly eaten cereal sprinkled with strawberries, I walked down the deck steps and around past the dog, still lying calmly by the lacecap. I scanned the deck base and beneath its edges for movement or sound. Unsurprisingly, I found neither. Dark shade and critter quickness had thwarted me again.

But while I stood there pondering the great unknown at my feet, I noticed a length of black corrugated pipe peeking out between the steps from under the deck. Not belonging there inherently, the pipe had once sprawled, cascading down the steps, set aside to serve as a tire for Ethan to practice jumping through for agility training. The construction project yet to begin, the pipe found its way under the deck some time last fall.

Now that agility is again in full swing after our winter break, I decided it was time at least to remove the pipe and ready it for use. Out of sight, out of mind. In sight, less out of mind. That’s my motto.

As I drew the middle of the plastic pipe between the steps, I heard minute rattling, as of dirt and debris, trickling across the ridges. As I dragged it out onto the grass, I shook it a little, producing clusters of pebbles, sunflower seed shells, and what looked like grass. I shook harder, and the rattling became knocking against the pipe. Shaking it even more, I soon became captivated by what fell out. Bones.

I had found a dead body.

Bones, sunflower seed shells, some acorn shells, apparently dead grass used for nesting, and more bones rattled their way to the thick spring grass. The largest intact bone among these was a skull.

I bent down to identify the species and determined by its size and shape that the head had once been that of a rabbit. A broad, flat crown, long sloping snout, large side eye sockets, and ear holes oriented vertically very close behind the eyes all pointed to the Eastern cottontail. Months and months ago.

The color was a ruddy brownish mottled with tanned bony surfaces that had once been whiter with life. On close inspection, the skull proved porous, especially along the crown behind the eye socket.

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After further shaking, one of the jaw bones greeted me. Alive and in one piece, the cottontail rabbit has a wedge-shaped head with an angular jaw. Just visible in the image above, to the left of the skull in profile and attached to a jaw bone off left, you can see the sharp, white tip of a lower incisor partially obscured by criss-crossing blades of grass.

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During this whole process, most parts I had successfully ejected with the first violent banging, hand to pipe, then pipe to ground. Along with a complete set of bones on a very hairy-looking foot, out flopped a posse of a hip/pelvic bone, the other jaw bone, its tiny row of teeth visible on one side, and some leg bones bound up in a conglomeration with several spider egg sacks, seed and acorn shells, and invisible webbing. All of the earliest results.

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Nothing alive. Nothing but spiders, possibly insects, bacteria, seemed to be living there now. The bunny, yes, still a young rabbit, I thought, might have become injured and crawled in there to die, or crawled in to escape the elements and died of hypothermia, or became stuck, terrified and confused, and died of fear and starvation.

I saw no great ecosystem tragedy in it. Although they have a high mortality rate, rabbits are plentiful, as the live brood of tiny, nestling bunnies in the base of our front yard’s ornamental grasses–and all the hopping, white-tailed life in this neighborhood–attest. It’s simply life and death, in the wilderness that is wildness to these animals.

But clearly, it seemed to me, something else had used the bones, and the seeds and dried nesting grass, to make itself a home. I suspected a chipmunk, perhaps more than one generation’s worth, for the bones have been picked clean and dry for a while now. Perhaps one or more creatures had eaten some of the flesh before one made a home there.

I recalled last fall, seeing a chipmunk dart out from under the deck to the bird feeder’s base, gather bulging cheekfuls of seeds and seed shells and dart back under again. I’m sure it happened much more often than I saw. Could that have been the chipmunk and this its home?

I suppose it’s possible some clever critters besides spiders had clung for dear life to the ridges of the corrugation while I gave them the ride of their lives, and perhaps slipped away once peace returned for a time, both the dog and myself in our own home again.

The weight and the noise tell me some remains, and who knows what else?, remain inside the pipe. Tomorrow, I will flush out the rest with the garden hose. I don’t anticipate any further surprises, now that I know what to expect. I’ll be sure to let you know if the unexpected awaited us.

Several days later . . .

The garden hose. Such a useful tool.

On the same side of the yard where the living rabbit had shot under the deck, I took the corrugated pipe in hand and inserted the nozzle end of the hose into one end, setting it to “jet.” A few stray bones—two leg bones joined at the knee, perhaps a lone clavicle—made their way out, along with the brown fuzz I thought was grass.

Remembering the bulk of materials must lodge somewhere off center inside the pipe, I flipped it around and ran the water through again, the other end aimed roughly toward our Pagoda dogwood flowerbed.

Success. Out clumped a huge brown mat that flattened, now laden with water, into a raft-like shape, ridged with impressions from the corrugation. A bit startled, I emitted something like “Whoa” and proceeded to blast away at the brown mass. It disintegrated easily, revealing among other pieces a most striking spinal column. This was a moment of definite awe.

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I continued flushing, spreading some of the brown stuff into a pool the flood had formed in the round flowerbed. Ribs, a rib cage, another shoulder blade, and shards of other bones all made themselves visible.

After extracting them from the mess, I carefully rinsed the bones and then returned for stragglers. Pushing at the brown stuff with my fingers, I realized it wasn’t grass or other plant material at all. It was fur. Of course. Rabbit fur. Where would it have gone? So perhaps no rodent had made a home in the lagomorph carcass, though the seed and acorn shells suggest at least temporary refuge.

After I allowed the bones from this second extraction to dry on our deck table, I inspected them again, taking some pictures, and found what I believe to be evidence of the cause of death. The spine was somewhat flexible but more flexible in the middle than across the whole. Looking closer, I saw two total breaks in a set of adjacent vertebrae—a broken back, most likely from either a car strike or animal attack. The rabbit had gone into the pipe to die, then, after all.

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After assembling the bones neatly in different arrangements on the table, I was cursing myself for not having saved the skull and other first bones discovered, so that I could try to reassemble the nearly complete skeleton.

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I made the most of the three separate spinal sections and hip and leg portions, putting the rib cage back together. The result is shown below.

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The spine measures a full nine and a half inches with all three parts, from coccyx to the top of the available rib cage. An adult rabbit, I think.

I relished the opportunity to play biologist, quickly overcoming the mild squeamishness I felt initially. It helped that there was no flesh or blood. Still, after freeing the parts from inside the pipe, rinsing them, and laying them out in the sun, an unpleasant odor became apparent.

“Easy Ethan,” as our dog trainer calls him, lounged beneath the table while I worked to examine and arrange the bones. His faint curiosity melted before his overwhelming inclination to relax. He’s a relentless sunbather. Perhaps his nonchalance also benefited from a long-time familiarity with these odors as a natural part of his backyard domain.

Either way, despite his unstoppable appetite for grass, that alarming under-deck excursion, some clumsy, mouthy playfulness, a tendency to destroy new toys, and a little minor digging, as dogs go, Ethan is truly a keeper.

Further Afield

Another animal, this time fully clothed, lay in our path on a dog walk through that channel of power lines that cuts through the middle of the neighborhood. In March, we saw a mostly intact wood duck lying dead in the clearing.

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It saddened and puzzled me in particular for two reasons: First, these distinctive, beautiful ducks seem fairly uncommon in our area—I had never seen one in the metro parks, for instance. And second, if the power lines were the culprit, it seemed odd that the bird hadn’t disintegrated more. Practically every last feather remained on board.

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I briefly considered that it could be an abandoned hunting decoy that had been used for practice in the field, but the bird was real. Just not alive. Now reduced or elevated to another artifact for my experiential collection, the body was cleared away by someone or something within days of our encounter.


For the first half of my rabbit bones discovery adventure, visit Backyard Brief: Unearthed, Part 1.

For more bunny blood and gore, see:

Happier rabbit- and bird-related posts: