MiniMe is MIA. After its near fatal traumatic swimming experience crossing the creek on Wednesday, Marsh 26th, Mm spent almost all night in the nest tree.

Scott found it early the next morning in our neighbor’s yard on the opposite side of our house from the neighbors near The ISLAND. As we look out to the marsh from our house, MiniMe is to the far right.

MiniMe looks good. Parent was observed feeding it on the ground. We watch from a distance and our neighbors are keeping tabs too.

 

 

MiniMe stays on the ground in the general area all day Thursday. At dusk we hear three owl voices. One adult. Two owlets. The owlets are being fed. One in a tree and one on the ground. Then our neighbors, watching from inside their house, see MiniMe trying to climb up a tree. Great news! It appears as if a parent is trying to encourage it to climb up.

Scott has tied me to the porch so I don’t go out to investigate, interrupt or scare off the parent. We watch and listen but it is getting very dark and then we can only listen. All pretty normal. We go to bed hoping for the best.

Then I get a text from our neighbors. MiniMe is getting too close to their pond! You have got to be kidding me. I text back that I am coming over with flashlight.

So it is about 11 PM on Thursday night and my two neighbors and I are out there with flashlights checking on MiniMe. There it is, just sitting next to the pond looking innocent. Obviously the climbing lesson was not successful.   What is it with this owl? Now it wants to be a duck?

We discuss. Earlier, a parent was trying to teach it to climb up. MiniMe does not look distressed. We could try to put it in a tree, but so far it always jumps out as soon as we turn our backs. If I try to get it, it might jump in the pond. (It jumped around me the other day when I was trying to head it off from the marsh.)

This is what this adorable, fuzzy, vulnerable little owlet looks like when it does not want to comply. (Photo taken a few days earlier).

After weighing the risks, benefits and play out the ‘What ifs” we decide the best thing to do is to do nothing.

Friday morning, MiniMe is missing in action. Everyone is looking for it and listening. Nothing. I find Big Sib high up in a tree.

Between looking for MiniMe and observing where Big Sib is, I wash all the muddy towels, blankets and clothes. I also, finally, vacuum. Scott and I go out to an early dinner so we can be home by dusk to watch and listen. The owlets do a lot of squawking at feeding time.

The tide is full, prime hunting time. We hear squawking. One voice? Or two? At full high tide with moisture in the air and rain showers, your ears can play tricks on you. We see flapping silhouetted in the trees. But only one owlet visual. Big Sib does not usually flap around. Could that be MiniMe? Finally, in a tree, learning how to maneuver to get into a feeding position without sky diving?

Saturday morning, I am up at dawn. Do I hear two owlets squawking or only one? They are ventriloquists. If there are two, they are close together. I cannot see through the trees and Spanish moss in the early light. There is insistent squawking. I want to believe it is MiniMe. The much more vocal of the two. But I cannot verify.

I have taken photos of one owlet high up in the tree tops at various times in the past several days. I enlarge and compare. The owlets are almost full grown now but are still fluffy with down on their chests and with the ‘horned’ feathers just starting to show. From the back and sides they look more like adults. They are clumsy when flying and hopping from tree to tree. One owlet or two?

Until we can see two owlets at the same time, we consider MiniMe to be MIA. We have hope.

To be continued…

 

There are times when you have to decide, sometimes rather quickly, if you want to be the observer, the uninvolved documentarian of life around you. Or are you going to jump in to try to change the inevitable. And sometimes, it is not a choice at all. It is inherent. A part of your DNA.

You already know what is true about me. I come from a long line of lifeguards. Literally and figuratively. My Dad lied about his age to become the youngest, and best, lifeguard in Mantoloking, NJ. Or just ask a soldier my Mom rescued when he was a youngster in dire straights on our backyard Tarzan swing.

I have tried to make this blog informative, interesting, entertaining, positive and most of all, true – with a generous dose of ‘tongue in cheek’ humor. It has not always been fun and/or easy.

Life has a way of grabbing you by the heartstrings. We do not take lightly our stewardship of life on the marsh. The debate is ongoing regarding intervention to help nature along or interference with the natural order.

OK. Enough philosophy, back to the owlets!

I get a text from Nancy early Wednesday morning, March 26th. MiniMe is by the sea wall across from The ISLAND. Just sitting on the freshly mowed lawn.

Why is MiniMe sitting on the lawn across from The ISLAND? Guess Hoo?

MiniMe sits here, close to the sea wall, in the sun, seemingly without a care in the world about anything that is going on around it. ALL DAY. I repeat: ALL DAY.

We worry that it is going to make a move to go back to The ISLAND. The tide is going out. We set up a neighborhood  schedule of watch and see.

The tide goes out. Mm does not make a move. The tide starts coming in. Still just sitting in the sun. I am on watch now and am talking on the phone with my sister. I see a parent in one of the pine trees on The ISLAND.

And then…Why is there always a “and then...” with MiniMe?

I’m guessing MiniMe is getting hungry and there wasn’t any delivery or wait staff service on the lawn. Please, please MiniMe, do not try to go to The ISLAND! Pleeeease…..!!!!

MiniMe jumps!

I hang up on my sister, drop phone, glasses, take off jacket and then hold my breath to see if it can make it. Use your wings MiniMe!

I put down the camera. There is a long bamboo pole floating in the water near the floating dock. This is a very small floating dock, if I jump on it, it will make a wave that will wash over MiniMe. I am on my belly and still cannot reach the pole from the sea wall. The tide is moving fast now. MiniMe is trying to walk on water.

I run over to my neighbor’s boat shed and grab a net. Not for Mm but for the pole. I snag the bamboo pole, then gently climb  on the floating dock and throw the pole next to her. Grab on MiniMe!

Now what?

The creek is about three feet wide. It is mid tide so moving fast. MiniMe is grasping the pole with both talons. I want it to go to The ISLAND at this point. If it will just move along the pole away from me, it will reach thicker spartina grass and could make it to high ground, especially if it will use its wings! And it needs to go NOW. The situation is only going to get worse with the rising tide.

MiniMe and I discuss. Please MiniMe, go to The ISLAND. Your Big Sib is there. Your parents are there. You can do it. 

I watch MiniMe trying to collect itself. It makes small moves towards The ISLAND. I am thinking about what to do. I am by myself. It is a beautiful sunny day. I am a good swimmer. I know the marsh. I do not have gloves with me. Could I jump in and get a firm enough footing in the pluff mud and manage to grab MiniMe in my bare hands? It weighs nothing but has huge talons, a sharp, strong beak and a wing span now of almost four feet. Pluff mud is not quick sand. But you can sink in pretty deep. Could I control the owl? In the water? In the pluff mud? Without grievously hurting it or myself?

Please MiniMe. Go to The ISLAND. Please, please, please.

She does not go to The ISLAND.

Sometime during this internal debate I am having with myself, I pick up my camera. I take the shot above and the one at the top of the page. Here again:

OMG! What am I going to do?

Swim MiniMe! Swim!

Owls can’t swim. I run to my neighbor’s boat shed, again, this time for a paddle. If I can just get it to the same neighbor’s boat ramp. MiniMe tries to grab on with its beak, talons. It is sinking. The tide is moving it in the right direction. Don’t give up MiniMe!

I use the paddle to hold it up and carefully push Mm to the boat ramp. I do not want to break a wing or damage tail feathers. It is not moving. I run down the ramp and gather it up in my arms, tucking in the wings. It is breathing… barely.

My neighbor comes out and he helps me rinse MiniMe off with fresh water. I don’t think it will make it but it swallowed salt water and I am thinking that a quick rinse might help – if it survives at all.

This is bad. Really, really bad. Of all the things that have happened to MiniMe, this is the worst. By far.

I take one photo then run home to get towels and the box. I don’t even think about the red gloves. I run back. Still breathing, barely standing. I wrap it up in a towel and hold it like the baby it still is.

Yes, I am in tears. I have no idea of what to do. I cradle it to my chest. I talk in low tones, trying to achieve a calm voice, trying to convey that I care. That I will it to live. I do not put it in the box. I carry MiniMe back to my house and find the warmest, sunniest spot I can. We sit. I hold it dear. I think it will die in my arms.

Just when I am about to give up, I feel a slight wriggle. MiniMe is coming back! Fighting for life. I place it gently in the box, in the sun, and cover it like the Center for Birds of Prey advised. I retrieve my camera and assorted paraphernalia that my wonderful neighbor, Nancy, has already collected for me.

It is touch and go for Mm. When Scott gets home, he puts up the ladder to the nest tree.

We don’t know what is best for MiniMe. She has touched our hearts and we are pulling mightily for it. Scott lobbies hard that the only chance it has is for MiniMe to reconnect with the parents. Me? I am searching how late Pet Smart will be open so I can buy frozen baby mice. Once again reason prevails. 

As gently as we can, we place MiniMe once again in the nest tree.

Where, oh where, will MiniMe be in the morning?

This is how I find MiniMe the morning after the kayak rescue. Tuesday morning, March 25th. After it recuperated. After it got all dried out. After it jumped out of the tree trying to get fed, in the cold, pouring rain. After checking on Mm until 2:30 am and finally going to bed.

I am as beside myself as surely as MiniMe is. I find a window in my house, from which kneeling on a stool, I can observe it to see if a parent will come to feed MiniMe. They only feed the other, stronger owlet. The one that is in a tree, can fly from branch to branch and can climb.

This is nature. The survival of the fittest. Darwin. Adapt or die.

MiniMe does not move for over three hours. It is shivering. Shaking. It does nothing to help itself. Not even a weak peep.

This is it. Every time I look, I expect the worst.  Keeled over. I consider grief counseling. You know, the kind when a beloved pet dies. Then I finally come to my senses and get the electric heater.

Since it is raining, I am terrified that I am going to fry it, or electrocute it or myself. Now it is late afternoon. MiniMe has stopped shaking and is drying out. It hears a parent’s call.

MiniMe picks itself up and walks into the garden to the sound of its Mom’s voice, squawking all the way. Tears of joy. Just maybe…I won’t need that grief counseling after all.

Scott came home not knowing if he would find me in tears, under the covers or building an aviary out of our back porch.

MiniMe manages to get through the garden behind the azaleas. Mom eventually drops in. I am afraid to even move inside the house. Mm desperately needs to be fed. Some of the photos are fuzzy, shot through glass or screens.

I try to head Mm off. I explain that it is not well enough to travel, especially by foot (or talon). I am persuasive, calm but firm in my arguments but it is having none of it!

Does one of her pupils look dilated? Concussion? Owl drugs? Delusional? Mental health issues?

Once again, there is no stopping MiniMe. So once again, I go to sleep wondering where in the world I will find Mm in the morning….

I am not making this up. Not any of it. Not one single bit.

I would like to take a moment to explain that we have a whole group of neighbors along the marsh that have been on owl and owlet watch at all times of the day and night. We text each other, call, confer, commiserate, debate, search each others yards, walk and stalk the docks, borrow rescue tools from garden and boat sheds, lend support and binoculars and share experiences. And so far they have not called the folks in the white coats to come get me. Thank you. Thank you for your support, help, blog ideas, and humor – especially when things seem dire, your trust, your caring – for me and for the owlets.

No matter what happens, it has been an amazing, awesome experience. Every night for the past week or more, the question of the night is “Where will MiniMe be in the morning?”

I wonder….

 

 

A summary: I HAVE to get off THE ISLAND! Drowning in marsh. Kayak rescue. Big orange thing that swims. The blue blanket, the box and the red gloves. Boat ride. Back in a tree. Jump out of tree for dinner since still can’t fly and my Big Sib is getting all the rats. Screeching all evening. Parents trying to get me to climb up. Dale trying to get me to climb up. I prefer the ground. I am so tired of screeching. I identify as a marsh owl not a wood owl. No one gets me. I am so hungry. No one will feed me. Dale can’t sleep. Gutted. It is very cold and raining. My parents are fed up. Dale keeps checking on me. My parents keep feeding my big sibling!  But nobody is feeding me! I have to learn to climb……Dale is offering a nice warm box in the outside shower but no rats…Nobody understands me….I…am…really…really…hungry…

After an uneventful Sunday on The ISLAND,  and an early Monday morning check on MiniMe, I (Dale) am feeling more confident that MiniMe is truly doing OK on The ISLAND…BUT.

But I am not totally convinced. I just have this weird feeling. So I decide on a mid afternoon break and take a walk through the garden, along the marsh, check out the island, looking, listening. Something is not right.

I walk out my neighbor’s dock a bit further. OMG! This cannot be happening.

 

 

I am stunned. MiniMe for some mysterious reason has decided to abandon The ISLAND. It is caught between the creek and high tide flooded spartina grass. It is too deep, the marsh grass too flimsy and its wings are too wet and too heavy. Talk about up the creek without a paddle….

But wait…I have a paddle! I call my husband, Scott. I don’t even know if he is home. He answers. He tries to reason with me. Intervention v Interference. Please, please come here quick. He does. He takes one look at MiniMe’s predicament and one look at my face and St. Scott goes home for the kayak. I run for the box, the blanket, the red gloves and a towel. Seems like a towel might be necessary.

I have no idea how this is going to work. My kayak is the float on top variety. Scott is taking  photos.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is hard to see but if you look closely, St. Scott and I have placed MiniMe just below its big sibling. Lately we have been calling it Big Foot. (?)

 

But, well, I don’t stay in the tree….

PS This is why Dale never gets a chance to catch up on her blog, or cook dinner, or do laundry (and she has a ton of muddy clothes), or go get her hair cut and colored, or do her real, paying job, or vacuum. I think there’s lots of marsh grass and stuff on her floors….Her human mother even asked if Dale was deliberately letting her hair go gray!?!

It’s all my fault….

To be continued…

 

This is the rest of the story of what happened on March 20th. It was a very long journey. It was quite a distance on foot (er, talons) for an owlet and it took a really long time.

We left off with MiniMe jumping out the back door of the nest tree, just hours after The Examination.

This would be the third attempt within two hours to get MiniMe off the ground and into a safer place. (Since The Examination). If I had not been observing it the whole time there is no way I would believe this is the same little owlet I found completely spent and bedraggled in the marsh in the early morning, defenseless with a rising tide.

Below is MiniMe immediately after jumping out of third tree into a pile of leaves. I am sitting nearby and hear this big whumph! I don’t even have to look to know what happened.

I laugh! There is no stopping this little owlet from trekking across the marsh. Where is it going? It’s destination? THE ISLAND. (I know, this is beginning to sound like the owlet version of the sequel to Lost!)

But of course I do! I sit on the out back deck in our garden with camera and binoculars. I have given up on the red gloves. I keep track of MiniMe’s progress, first through the needle grass and then across the open marsh. It takes long rests every 20 to 30 yards. The rests last from 45 minutes to an hour or more.

 

Pop the Champagne! 

BTW Big Sib has been in the Live Oak tree, in approximately the same place since its rescue from the marsh over a week ago, Saturday, March 15, 2014. The bigger owlet learned its high tide marsh lesson the first time. And it has been on especially good behavior since witnessing MiniMe’s Examination!

Not so much with MiniMe. To be continued…..

It is not as bad as it first looks. It is a live examination. MiniMe just has its eyes closed for this part. We left off last Thursday, waiting for expert help to arrive. MiniMe and me.  Debbie Mauney, the  Medical Clinic Director for the Center for Birds of Prey, arrived and donned gloves with long sleeves. This was particularly interesting to me.They were a dull gray, not fashionably bright red but much more practical.

We have set up a card table to make it easier to do an examination. A kind of mash unit.  MiniMe looks terrible. Soaking wet, feathers covered in pluff mud and sort of whimpering. It is in bad shape. Debbie patiently demonstrates how I can help with gently securing the little one so she can safely examine its wings.

First you need to take control of those talons. Good to know. Especially since that is the opposite of the situation earlier when the talons had control of me. See earlier post.

Debbie carefully extended the owlet’s wings, one side at a time,  to examine for fractures. None were detected. Good news.

Exam over, we tried to get MiniMe to climb the tree that the other owlet was in. It was watching all this time wide-eyed. Mom also flew in when the  owlet was whimpering. I don’t even know how to describe that sound. All I can say is that it sounded like a baby owlet crying. The mother owl did not fuss at us, simply observed.

We could not get MiniMe to grab onto the same tree as Big Sib, too vertical. So we placed her in the lichen covered Live Oak in our neighbor’s garden that is at about a 45 degree angle. MiniMe has been in this tree before. See an earlier post, she has been rescued so many times, I don’t know which post…)

The owlet is exhausted and pretty stressed out. It has been through a lot, not all of which we even know about. Debbie tried to gently coax it to climb a little higher. MiniMe tried. Mom owl communicated encouragement and MM tried again. Then.

This is really sort of embarrassing for a Great Horned Owlet to admit to happening, but it’s true. A squirrel, yes a squirrel, was protecting its nest and harassed MiniMe into jumping out of the tree!!!

Please look at the length of this little owlet’s wing span! Very impressive. As you can see, it has started to dry out, feathers puffing up and getting feisty. This is a good sign. Also impressive is how Debbie handles the bird – with authority and gentleness.

Now where to put it? We discuss. Not safe to leave on ground. Debbie likes the nest tree as best option. With the help of friends that stopped over, we set up the ladder to the nest tree. (yeah, I know, we thought we were done with ladder work too.)

Debbie climbs up and places MiniMe in the nest, a familiar and safe environment.

MiniMe appears a little chagrined, but see how good she looks in just a few hours. The warmth of the sun is helping, as well as owl communications from Mom.

Debbie cautions me that sometimes chicks just don’t make it, despite all our efforts to help them along. We discuss intervention versus interference. It can be a very fine line. Her expertise, patience and moral support have been invaluable to me. And continues to be.

Thirty minutes after she left, MiniMe jumped out the back door of the nest tree!

This is one determined little owlet. And I warned you last post that this is a very long story. Remember that this is how I found her (below) just about 5 hours earlier.

It is hard to believe this is the same bird. But it is. And we are only half way through the story of what happened last Thursday, March 20th.

There was a ruckus in the marsh very early Thursday morning. Not the “I’m hungry” squawking.  It was frantic. Crows were mobbing. And then there was a kind of scream.

Really? Am I just having a nightmare? It has been pretty intense and maybe I am delusional. (Some would say, more than usual!)

Scott leaves for work and I put on my muddy jeans and boots and head out to the marsh to investigate. MiniMe is hard to find but I follow its weak, distressed squawk.

I am by myself. I have the red gloves and blanket but not the box. I think it is injured. It cannot lift its wings in a defensive stance. It is not even fussing at me. The parent on watch from the tall pines is not making the hoot growl. Plus I had watched a video last night of a Bald Eagle killing a Great Horned Owl adult, which did not add anything good to my anxiety. I just can’t leave it here. I just can’t.

I wish I had photos of what happened. But I could not take photos and get the owlet. The blanket didn’t work, got tangled in the marsh grass and I had to get a grip fast to reduce the chance of injury to the owlet or to me. MiniMe grabbed onto my left red glove with both talons and would not let go.

We walked all the way back to my house like that. I left my camera in the marsh. I tried to get MiniMe to cling to a tree several times on our journey. It would not let go. And it was biting me!

I am trying to be calm, use a soothing voice, try not to yell out OUCH! (not too loud, anyway).

I tried to get it to let loose on my lawn near my garage. Will not let go. I need the box. It is in the garage. I am afraid to go in the garage with MiniMe attached to me. What if she let go? In the garage? It could be chaos. We discuss. MiniMe and me. I politely ask her to please stop biting me, to settle down and we will get the box together and call the Center for Birds of Prey for assistance. MM agrees.

This a very long story. I call my contact at the Center for Birds of Prey, Debbie Mauney, the  Medical Clinic Director. She listens carefully, asks specific questions and I am grateful that she will come over to examine MiniMe.

I retrieve my camera and binoculars from the marsh. (I left them there on high ground). I cancel my lunch meeting downtown. Get a cup of coffee and wait for help – expert help – to arrive.

I started to write this yesterday. It is Saturday morning now. I have house guests for the weekend and a neighborhood event in a few hours. I am not deliberately trying to leave you in suspense, I just can’t keep up!

My husband, Scott, suggested I say that due to technical difficulties, the photographer and writer are in hospital recovering from an owl/owlet attack. Funny, but not true. He is Scottish and has a, …well, Scottish sense of humor.

I am fine, so far.  And (spoiler alert) so is MiniMe, so far….

The parting shot until I can finish the story: Help did arrive. I am sure MiniMe was thinking, “Finally, someone that knows what they are doing!”

To be continued….

PS To Mom, my real, human, mother: Stop emailing me about what happened next. I am doing the best I can. Yes, Scott finished the job and no, the vacuuming is still not done 😉   Dalet

We left off on Tuesday, taking my parents to the airport. Then back tracked to Monday, search and rescue of little one from rising tide in marsh.

MiniMe spent the rest of the day Monday, that night and most of the day Tuesday in the lichen Live Oak, seemingly getting itself clean of pluff mud and recovering its dignity. MM climbed higher into the tree, looking cold, miserable and lonely. Tuesday night we could hear the usual sounds of hunting, all four voices. Two owls, two owlets.

Wednesday morning I could hear MiniMe back in the marsh.  I walk the docks and easement, listening and looking. It is softly squawking, communicating with its parents. The bigger owlet is still high up in the Live Oak tree on our eastern property line.  It is as if Big Foot was told to stay there and be quiet. And it did. Not so much with MiniMe.

Where is MiniMe?

As I get closer to the cedar tree on the easement, the parent makes a low guttural hoot. And MiniMe goes silent. Was that to warn me? Or the owlet? It is a low toned hoot growl.  I am not sure if it is directed at me or the little one and maybe, (probably?) even at both of us. But now I know where MM is.

Yes. It is about 1/3 of the way up the cedar tree interior. Hiding. Not making a peep. I don’t know how it made its way there, a distance of about 180 yards.

In the afternoon, I take a stroll down our dock. I see the larger owlet high up in the Live Oak Tree where it has been roosting since Monday. And then I spot MiniMe, enjoying a marsh view from the Cedar tree, no longer hiding in the tree. It makes me laugh.

My husband and I take a walk over to the easement in the evening to check on MiniMe. It is back in the marsh again.

It looks a little worse for wear but clearly does not want to go ‘home’. It is not far from the cedar tree and is close enough to high ground that it should be safe when the tide comes in. I hesitate.

Me? Worry?

Scott and I hear the usual owl hunting communications later that night after our dinner. Two owls, two owlets.

But…I did worry. (Of course I worried! You knew that already.) And as it turns out, I had good reason.

Monday morning. Do you remember that on Sunday night I said I was done? …But?

I open the back door and listen. I hear one voice squawking in the distance. One voice not two. Squawking.  Sounds like it is coming from the marsh towards the tall pines island. My interpretation? Little one in the marsh. I said last night I would not intervene anymore. This morning? Tide coming in…

Does the squawk sound distressed or just hungry? Vulnerable?  Not going to do it. NOT going out there again, in the rain, at dawn. Not going. Not. Going. The tide is coming in. OK, I’ll just put my rain coat on over my pajamas,  and walk out our dock to check the accuracy of our tide clock. Yep, tide still rushing in, two hours to full high tide.

Walking back to the house, listening, looking, – something seems out of place near the easement marsh border. What is that? Go get binoculars and camera (Duh. Should have taken them in the first place. )

Yes.

Scott is at work already, trying to earn enough money to support the owlets. (See earlier post: Owlets are Expensive!) Dad and I discuss. Our conclusion: Can’t leave it in marsh. Not safe.

Research on whether owls can swim is inconclusive. I am pretty sure this is MiniMe. No sign or squawk from Happy Feet or as Nancy is now calling him, Big Foot. The smaller of the two owlets is about three days behind in development from its larger sibling. In the earlier photos, MiniMe is always the one tucked in behind HF (aka Twinkle Toes).

Besides, there was a long thought process, gut check and discussion of the pros and cons of more human intervention. Plus, I needed coffee. After all,  we had two hours before the tide would overtake the log MM was standing on. Why rush?

So Dad and I head out with rain gear, boots, the box, the blanket, and the gloves. And yes, this is in fact MiniMe. Closer inspection of the situation confirmed our decision that another rescue was warranted or justified or just seemed like the right thing to do really.

Parent on call can’t even watch this time!

MiniMe knows the drill:  Blue blanket over head. Red gloves tuck in wings, talons scramble, try to find purchase, loud clacking with occasional hissing and soft human cooing voice, walking, held out in space, not going in box this time. I have a firm grip and reason that it will be better for all of us if I carry it to a safer location in a tree.

Dad and I have already selected a slanted, reachable without a ladder, Live Oak tree in Don Juan’s yard which is between the tall pines island and our garden. Take photos.

Retrieve blanket. Walk back to house. Mobbing in tree on border of our property on the other side, high up. Owl. Take photo. Enlarge.

It’s BIG FOOT!!!! So, so happy he made it through the night and did not drown in the marsh. I go back to get MiniMe. She is not happy that I have the blanket and gloves again. I am convinced she will be better off next to Big Sib, or at least closer.

MiniMe clearly sees her Big Sib higher up in the next tree over. MM is now in a neighboring Live Oak tree next to the one Happy Feet is in.  HF can obviously fly/climb/walk to MM’s tree; we are not sure about the vice versa. We have no idea how or when Happy Feet, alias Big Sib, aka Big Foot, got there. But there it was. Watching and not saying anything about MM’s big adventure.

Everyday I think it is the last time for the red gloves.

Stay tuned…..