Fowl weather

This morning when I stepped out of my door to go to work, I was startled to see, in the vacant lot next door, this bird:

I figured it was some kind of heron, and it was -- which I thought was pretty astute of me since I really don't know that much about birds at all.

So, searching online, I finally decided it was a yellow-crowned night heron. I thought it was odd to see it in my Old Town Beaumont neighborhood, though I had seen several of them in a neighbor's yard several months ago.

Not sure what brings them to Old Town. They are water birds, for crying out loud. Don't get me wrong -- it was a thrill to see this guy practically in my own backyard -- but he just seemed a little out of place.

This is what I found out about the bird from the Web site http://www.natureworks.com/:




"The yellow-crowned night heron forages for food both in the day and at night. Most of the yellow-crowned night heron's diet is made up of crustaceans like crabs and crayfish. It sometimes eats fish, eels, mussels, frogs, tadpoles, aquatic insects, snails, and small snakes. It either stands and waits for its prey to swim by or wades in the shallow water and slowly stalks its prey."

I figure he was hunting crawfish -- of which I have seen signs in that lot. And maybe all the rain we've been having fooled him into thinking Old Town is a wetlands (lets get a move on with the Calder drainage project, pronto, Beaumont!)

The world is my...

All hail the illustrious oyster.

Okay… maybe that’s going a bit far.

But for a blobby creature that just sits around most of its life waiting for plankton to float its way, the oyster is quite remarkable.

In pursuit of the aforementioned plankton, an average adult oyster will filter 60 gallons of water per day.

So waterways containing oyster reefs are cleaner and clearer than they would be without the mollusk.

Oysters can also change gender from season to season.

If the population is down, more females might emerge to pump out eggs so more spats will set up housekeeping on the reef.

Or if the oyster needs to conserve its strength, it can stay male – it takes more energy to produce eggs.

In a year, one female oyster can spawn 100 million eggs.

Oysters start out life as a free swimming larva, after the egg is released and fertilized. They spend two to three weeks in this state before sinking to find a hard surface to which to attach.

When I was a child and first started eating oysters on the half shell, I always longed to find a pearl. But while reporting a story about oyster reefs, I learned that the beautiful pearls used in making jewelry come from another kind of mollusk – not the ones we eat.

While the oysters we eat produce a sort of pearl, it is not the beautiful, valuable gem most people associate with the word.

Feline kismet

It was meant to be.
I’m sure of it.
The first time I saw her, she was a skinny, barely-grown cat running straight toward me from across the street.
But I should back up.
I hadn’t had a cat for more than six months.
When I’d moved to Beaumont from San Marcos, I had left my cat in the home that had been caring for him for the past few months while I’d been staying with a friend and looking for a job.
They’d grown attached to him and he to them, and I didn’t know where I would be living in Beaumont.
When I moved into my Old Town apartment, I found it came with a cat – the folks that had the apartment before me had left behind the cat, who understandably believed it was his home as much as mine.
He convinced me, and I quickly grew attached to the cat, which I named Burt.
I hadn’t even been there three months when he disappeared. I was crushed.
A friend kept trying to persuade me to get another cat, but for some reason I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
That fall, I visited my mother in Sacramento. She always has a good assortment of dogs and cats and being there, I realized how much I missed being around animals.
So I resolved that when I returned to Beaumont, I would go to the shelter and pick out a cat.
An orange one.
My family had had a couple of orange cats when I was growing up, but I’d never had one of my own — and I think they’re pretty.
When I got home, I went out front to check on a car I’d left parked on the street in front of the building.
That’s when it happened.
The stray came running across the street toward me, meowing loudly.
I still had a bag of food leftover from Burt, so I put a bowl out on the back porch and left the door opened.
She could come in if she wanted to – or if she just wanted a bite to eat before going on her way, she could do that too.
Later I stepped out to check and didn’t see her anywhere around. I was disappointed.
I went back in and shut the door.
Later, I walked into the living room and there she was, sacked out on the couch.
She’s been with me every since – almost six years now.
I named her Mango for her orange coloring.

Doggie death row

From the first moment, it was an emotional roller coaster.

I applied to volunteer at the Southeast Texas Humane Society a couple of months ago because, as a dog lover living in a small apartment, I thought it would be a good way to get a little canine companionship at the same time I provided some diversion for the poor pooches in doggie jail.

Of course I knew that sometimes shelters can’t keep dogs they can’t find homes for -- but I didn’t want to dwell on that too much.

I was confronted with the reality almost immediately.

After I filled out the application, a worker told me to go talk to a couple who was out in the backyard walking one of the dogs.

Almost the first thing they said to me was that the dog they were walking was on the “short list” for euthanasia. If he didn’t find a home soon, his number was up.

I thought to myself, “I’m not sure I’m cut out for this.”

We sat for a time and petted the dead dog walking, who seemed oblivious to the danger.

As we walked him back into the kennel, we were met by a shelter worker who was bringing out a family to look at the dog.

I was pleased when the friendly mixed-breed greeted them politely. But when his attention wandered and he trotted off to inspect the smells of the fenced in run, I was concerned.

“Get back over there and look cute!” I mentally chided him. “Your life depends on it.”

Later, when I saw him back in his kennel, I asked a worker what had happened with the prospective adopters.

They were thinking it over, I was told.

I held my breath the rest of the time I was there.

Then word came.

They decided to take him.

Thank God.

I took it as a good sign.

Since then, I’ve gone back several times. Although it is always emotional, I try to focus on the happy endings, and not dwell on the sad.

Because not all the stories have happy endings.

That first day, I also spent some time with a female pit bull called Surrey.

Timid and fearful, she had obviously suffered terrible abuse.

She’d been dumped in an outside kennel at the shelter one cold November night.

Surrey flinched at sudden movements or sounds, but after some quiet stroking and soothing murmurs, she relaxed somewhat and seemed to enjoy the attention.

I was told that her chances of adoption were poor. Besides her fearful disposition, her breed was against her. People hesitate to adopt pit bulls because of their reputation for aggression.

But this dog clearly had no fight in her.

I imagined her belonging to an elderly lady with a soft voice and a gentle manner. Someone who would have the time to sit with her and pet her.

After having suffered the kind of abuse that would so completely break a dog’s normally boisterous spirits, it seemed unlikely that Surrey would ever make a complete recovery.

But I still wished for her some kind of healing grace – a life that would afford some solace to her broken heart.

It was not to be.

The next time I went, a few weeks later, she had been put down.

I accepted it, because I knew her prospects were dim. And at last her suffering was over.

Rest in peace, Surrey.

Welcome to Animal Tracks

This blog is dedicated to a woman and a dog, without either of whom, it might not have been conceived.
I began volunteering at the Humane Society of Southeast Texas inspired by slain Beaumont cop, Officer Lisa Beaulieu.
Before she was killed by a drunk driver at a late-night accident scene, Beaulieu gave generously of her time on weekends, walking and playing with the dogs at the Humane Society Shelter. She wanted to make sure those dogs had some happiness and love in their lives, even if they were eventually to be euthanized.
I thought it sounded like a good thing. I love animals and because I live in an apartment (with a very territorial cat), I can’t have a dog.
The first day I was there, I met a number of very special dogs.
One was a female pit bull called Surrey.
Surrey’s days were numbered.
As a pit pull, a breed with a reputation for aggression, her chances of adoption were already slim. And because her personality was timid and excessively fearful (the result of serious abuse), she was not selling herself very well.
I’d have taken her home if I could have.
Surrey ended up being euthanized.
I understood why. There are already more unwanted dogs than homes. Her chances were not good.
But her story haunted me.
I first conceived of this blog as a vehicle for bringing attention to the plight of unwanted dogs (and other animals) like Surrey.
Loving all sorts of animals, I decided to make it more inclusive.
It’s my greatest wish that this blog will educate, amuse, illuminate and advocate for animals both wild and domestic.
Because what would our lives be like without our animal friends?