I’ve mentioned the West Walnut Manor Critter Diner over the last several years. It’s the spot where I put out seeds, crumbs and other edibles for the many different critters who drop in to dine in my back yard. Recently, I’ve added vegetable trimmings to the menu, and as a result the cliental has changed somewhat. The squirrel family stile drops in, but now they’re a family of five.DSCF0132_2


The doves still drop in all the time … and the starling still hasn’t learned not to sit where you eat.OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAThe blue jay sits in the tree until the other birds have their fill.DSCF0141

And the Eurasian tree sparrows still share with their English house sparrows.OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

But we’ve had a new visitor recently …DSC09864

Just a bit of a bunny who discovered I’ve added carrot tops to the food box.DSC09866

Today he showed up with Rusty the cardinal.DSC09867

And they too shared the food box as the other critters do.

In West Walnut Manor all the critters LOVE their neighbors. Wonder if we could get humans to come together like that.



About Robert Edler

... a somewhat unknown and/or imaginary actor, writer, director, producer, photographer, friend, brother, uncle and all round good fellow that you really should get to know because he lives with that most glamorous fourpaw Mademoiselle Renee. (Mlle. Renee for short)

Posted on May 12, 2014, in Uncategorized and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink. 12 Comments.

  1. now I am going to have to get a picture of my birds

  2. OH! A bunny and a cardinal. LOVE. =)

  3. I haven’t seen our cardinal couple this year. I miss them.

  4. Although… I have heard Mark Doty read this poem aloud–inspired by the grackles of my neighborhood. And it gave me a better appreciation of them. (My friend Denece despises the grackles, too.) You might be able to identify the sounds he describes in their conversations.

    “Grackles on Montrose” by Mark Doty

    Eight o’clock, warm Houston night, and in the parking lot
    the grackles hold forth royally, in thick trees on the lip of traffic,

    and either they’re oblivious to the street-rush
    and come-and-go at the Kroger or else they actually like it,

    our hurry a useful counter to their tintinnabulation.

    Now one’s doing the Really Creaky Hinge, making it last a long time;

    now Drop the Tin Can, glissando, then Limping Siren,
    then it’s back to the Hinge done with a caesura

    midstream, so it becomes a Recalcitrant Double Entry.
    What are they up to, these late, randy singers,

    who seem to shiver the whole tree in pleasure
    when somebody gets off a really fierce line,

    aerial gang of pirate deejays remixing their sonics
    above the median strip all up and down the block

    from here to the Taco Cabana? They sample Bad Brakes,
    they do Tea Kettle in Hell, Slidewhistle into Car Alarm,

    Firecracker with a Bright Report, and every feathered body—
    how many of them are there, obscured by dense green?

    seems to cackle over that one, incendiary rippling, pure
    delight, imperious and impure singing: the city’s traffic in tongues,

    polyglot cantata, awry, expansive, new.

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