“You’re an early riser today,” Momanita said. She tugged the cover off my rolly cage.
I had whistled her over to take it off and maybe fill my food cup with oats. (I liked oats almost as much as millet.) She helped me that way.
“Someone didn’t turn the lamp off last night or turned it on early this morning.”
To other hootmans this sounded like squeals and whistles, but not to Momanita. She MOSTLY understood cockatiel speak. I MOSTLY understood hootman talk.
“It’s brighter earlier, Squeaks,” said Momanita. “We’ll gain over an hour of daylight in February.”
Momanita explained that the earth’s tilt and movement closer to the sun brought more daylight.
“That’s why the light woke me this morning.”
“I’ve been thinking about spring,” said Momanita.
“We’ll see Wren and Hummingbird and Crane soon.”
Wren built a nest in the birdhouse Mike hung. Hummingbird sipped the sugar water in the feeder Momanita filled. Crane guided her babies near the marsh. I worried about Crane and her colts (That’s what baby cranes are called.) foraging too close to the marsh road. Not everyone drove carefully.
“I’ve been wondering about migration,” said Momanita, “not only bird migration, but other animals as well. It must be an arduous journey.”
Sometimes Momanita used big words like arduous. It meant difficult. (Good thing I was a smart cockatiel.) But Momanita wondered again. I knew what that meant.
When Momanita wondered, she thought of questions.
When she thought of questions, she looked for answers.
When she looked for answers, she needed my help.
“Let’s read about what makes migration arduous and how we can help,” said Momanita.
I climbed out of my rolly cage into my writing nest. We migrated up the stairs to HER writing nest. She scooted her chair to the computer and tapped the keyboard. I perched on top the writing nest and thought about how I would never migrate. I can’t fly and it took me a LONG time to walk anywhere.
Don’t Fence Me In
“About 1 ½ million African wildebeest migrate 3,000 miles a year,” said Momanita. “They are constantly moving to find water and grasslands.”
Momanita fed me every morning and gave me fresh water. I only had to migrate six inches to find MY food and water.
“On their journey, they must cross rivers. Hungry crocodiles wait for them.”
I thought of the hungry terror birds (owls and hawks) that waited in the backyard trees. Cardinal hid from them in the bushes.
“In America, pronghorn antelope migrate,” read Momanita. “They meet danger as well.”
“Hungry crocodiles?”
I scouted out the back window. No hungry crocodiles in sight.
“Pronghorn antelopes live in the western states,” said Momanita. “One of their dangers is fences ranchers build to keep their cattle from roaming.”
“Hungry crocodiles are by the fences?”
“These fences block the migration path. They’re too tall or too low or too barbed,” said Momanita. “Pronghorn are injured or separated from their herd trying to leap over or crawl under.”
“Maybe the ranchers should build different fences.”
“Some ranchers are building wildlife friendly fences,” said Momanita. “The pronghorn can clear them either going over or under.”
“Ranchers are as smart as cockatiels.”
Safe Travels
“Conservationists work to create wildlife corridors,” said Momanita. “Those are connected areas for wildlife to travel when they migrate.”
That’s like Squirrel scampering from treetop to treetop. He raided the bird feeder. I didn’t trust Squirrel.
“If roads cross the pronghorns’ migration path, conservationists build tunnels under them or bridges over them for the animals to use,” read Momanita. “Then cars won’t hit them.”
Home Ground
“Pronghorn and wildebeest don’t live around here,” said Momanita, “but we can help the migrating songbirds and butterflies by planting shrubs and flowers and fruits that they can eat along the way.”
Robins gobbled Momanita’s raspberries from her garden each season. They never left any for us.
“Although, the turtles we spot crossing the road aren’t migrating,” said Momanita, “we could help them by moving them to a safe spot so cars don’t squish them.”
In the spring, Momanita drove slowly on the road by the marsh. She stopped the car whenever she saw a turtle on the road. If it was a painted turtle, she just picked it up and moved it to the other side. If it was a snapping turtle, she used a shovel to move it along. Snapping turtles were grumpy and snapped.
“Maybe we should write about planting bushes and trees for wildlife and stopping to help turtles and not driving too fast when Crane returns,” said Momanita.
I migrated down the cage, up Momanita’s arm, and onto her shoulder.
“Maybe we should write about that AND helping others in need to make life easier.”
To other hootmans this sounded like squeals and whistles, but not to Momanita. She MOSTLY understood cockatiel speak. I MOSTLY understood hootman talk.
Check out Momanita’s book OPERATION HOPPER.
Momanita and I read about migration. You might want to read about it, too.
Anita Borgo 