Reston

USGS holds and Open House in the National Head Quarters every 3 years. This year they actually asked me to come with my wave tank.

As I walked out of my hotel room on Saturday morning with my USGS shirt on, the Master Falconer from Talons, A Bird of Prey Experience, walked out of her room. "Hey," said Lorrie Schumacher "that's where I'm going." I knew I had to go check out her birds. What I didn't expect is that she would offer to let me hold one.

As some of you know, I've seen the raptors as a sign of hope in the last few months. A sign that someone was watching over me. I count special the days that I see a hawk or bald eagle. I've always loved owls.

This is Mama. She's a Eurasian Eagle Owl. She weighed 5 lbs and has a 5 foot wing span. She was amazing. I got to hold her and pet her. She even cooperated for the picutre. It made the whole trip to Reston worth it, even though I didn't get to hold her for long. The Master Falconer took this one for me before the offical start of the Open House. She'd already started her show, as people who arrived early came straight to her birds. We had a rare pause in the people coming by. I'm glad we took this when we did. I wouldn't have had a chance later in the day, because the Open House was swamped, er... well attended, by 10,000+ people. Neither of us had any breaks during the day. I saw her again the next morning and thanked her again. If I ever get up to Hamilton, NY, I'll stop by. They offer "Hawk Walks" where you get to fly the birds... Where do I sign up? To see some more of the picutres I took, check my Flickr page.

To see some really great picutres of Lorrie's birds taken by Bob Quinn at the NCTC Open House on Oct 20, 2007 click here.

Waiting to Greet the Sunrise

On my way to and from work, I cross a bridge over Boca Ceiga Bay, part of the intercoastal waterway. Also crossing the water at that place are high tension power lines and their 150 ft towers. I've noticed over the past few months that the local birds of prey will sit on the top of the towers and survey the water below, looking for a meal or perhaps just surveying their domain. I've gotten into the habit of looking for them as I approach the bridge.

Over that last few months I've noticed that a bald eagle has occasionally settled atop one of the towers while on my way home, gazing across the waters. These birds are distinctive, even in silhouette against the evening sky. Their large bodies and upright posture distinguish them easily from their smaller and more common cousins, the osprey. Last week I've saw an eagle twice on the way home. There is something breath taking about seeing a wild eagle. I've seen bald eagles up close, in captivity. While they are just as beautiful and majestic, they are captive, and I feel sorry for their loss of flight. It's just not the same. So I've kept an eye out for the eagles, and count special the days I see one.

This morning as the sky was brightening from from dawn toward sunrise, I approached the bridge and looked up. There, on top of the western most tower was not one, but two large regal forms, side by side, silhouetted against the pale pink and yellow of wispy clouds in brightening sky. One on the tower itself, on on the wire next to the tower. Both birds were facing east as if waiting to greet the sun, still 20 minutes from rising. As I passed I peaked back out my window, to see them lit faintly by the morning light, watching the world below go by, surveying their kingdom. They were unmistakable, with their dark bodies and white heads. Untouchable at the top of the towers.

I've always loved the birds prey, and they've been a symbol of hope for me in the last few months. Every time I see one, It's like a sign that someone is watch over me. I felt honored to have seen them this morning, and know that most people driving by that morning never noticed them, never bothered to look up and see the site. Or that some who did look up may not have recognized what they saw. They don't know what they missed. Sometimes you just need to pause and look up... It's not every day you get to see a pair bald eagles waiting to greet the sunrise.

Thomas...

I lost a good friend last Thursday, a friend of 14 years. My 16-year old orange tom cat, Thomas, finally lost his battle with kidney failure. He’d been struggling since December, requiring nearly constant care in the end. He’d been barely eating in the last few weeks and not at all for the last few days. We had been giving him fluids under the skin to keep him comfortable.

Thomas had a rough life at the start. He’d never fully trusted us at first, and trusted Edward even less. See there was this man, a neighbor told us, that had beaten him then left him to fend for himself in the winter in Maryland. When we finally trapped him, 4 months later, Thomas was thin and cold, and wanted nothing but to get back outside to fend for himself. He soon figured out that inside meant regular meals and a warm place to sleep, if he could just learn to get along with those other two cats in the house. Thomas, at age 2, the doctor guessed, had never been neutered, and so he had a strong wide chest and a jowly face that only an un-neutured male gets. The first night we had him I set him on the couch beside me, he purred nervously and looked as if he would run at any moment. We could only guess that he’d never been allowed on the furniture. For the first few years whenever we entered the room and he was on the couch he would immediately jump down, as if caught where he wasn’t supposed to be. His purr was always rough and his meow never smooth, but after a while he began to trust us. Thomas hid from everyone who came to the house, especially men. If Edward grew a beard, he got especially wary. Loud men also sent him scurrying for cover. I remember once, pulling him from under a bed to prove to friends that I really had an orange cat. That all changed when Mike started feeding him treats while cat-sitting for us. Then, whenever Mike came over, Thomas would run to the cabinet where the treats were kept and beg. Quite a change from the shy cat we took in 14 years ago.

He wasn’t your typical orange cat, either. His fur, thick and soft, was a bleached version of every other orange cat I’ve ever seen. With a white blaze on his chest and belly and white tips on his paws, he was, by far, the prettiest orange cat I’ve ever seen. He was quick, a result of having to feed himself for so many months. It took him years to figure out that meals were a regular thing, and filled out a lot the first year we had him.

In the end he was thin beyond belief, but still proud and noble. His fur was still soft, although it showed the signs of his not being able to wash any more. That last day he sat in my lap until it was time, he purred some, dreamed a little, but mostly slept. Our vet was able to come out to the house, and save him that last car ride. He died in my arms, and we buried him in the back yard next to Felicia, under a bush called a Yesterday-Today-and-Tomorrow, whose purple flowers fade to white with time. I was grateful to have had the time to spend with him that day.

I’ll never forget him. He was a great comfort in rough times, and a good friend always. The other cats know he’s gone and the shifting in dominance has begun. The girls are competing with Smoke, Sandy is sitting this one out for the most part. Thomas had been out of that loop for a while, but nothing had been settled. They have seemed somewhat subdued the last few days.

I miss Thomas already. There seems to be an empty space in the house. After caring for him so long, I feel lost that he’s not there. We have four other friends to make up to… for time spent with Thomas. They haven’t understood what’s been going on, and only know that we are sad. Tina sat on me yesterday as if to say, its OK, I’m still here.

Losing a cat, as I have now several times, always hurts. The pain eventually dulls, but never goes away completely. He was a sweet cat. I loved him deeply. Rest in Peace, my friend, you’ll be missed.