A few days ago there was an amaryllis knocked off the picnic table on the patio, smashed on the ground. Who did that? When did–I didn’t do that, did I? I’m certainly not that deaf, I’d have heard it. Huh. I picked the plant up and repotted it.
A few minutes ago I went out to water the tomatoes at a nice dusky time of day, and there were two more on the ground, one with a smashed pot and one simply in Amaryllis Down mode. Curious. Michelle? No, not me, Mom.
And then I saw it. The birdseed trashcan. The lid over thataway.  But…but… Raccoons don’t eat that stuff, do they? Do possums? In my experiences growing up in a house in the woods, the ‘coons were good at prying open the cans, the possums at falling in after them and getting stuck. Dad would brave the teeth on those things, take a broom, tip the metal can over, go THWAP on the bottom, then go back inside the house and wait for them to stop playing possum and leave.
But this was a very small trashcan and easy to climb back out of at their size.
Some animal had apparently been climbing up on the table to divebomb the thing trying to get the lid off. And it had succeeded. How did I not notice that earlier? I packaging-taped it back on in two places, moved the can further away and moved the more fragile amaryllis pots away from the edge of the table, and hoped that would do it.
Meantime, if you’re interested, here is a marvelous collection of falcon pictures taken by one of the fledge watchers, and here’s a few more. Veer bellyflopped yesterday off the nestbox ledge onto the louver just below and right onto his sister. They were all practicing their flying and landing skills today: one they will eventually master is being able to fly backwards below another one in order for prey to be passed between them.
Those juveniles need a baby peregrine theme song: “Fifty Ways to Leave Your Louver.”