Marty puts down her drink and runs to the rescue.

 

       We’ve taken an almost proprietary interest in the little moorhen family that would appear and peck their way through the grass and water’s edge around our pond. Mom, Dad, and six tiny chicks, little black ping-pong balls. Their home base is probably the stand of grasses and water plants next to our bridge.

          While they’re good swimmers – sometimes diving under water to get to food – in spite of not having webbed feet (Thank you, Wikipedia), and can fly, I most often see the parents running hell-bent-for-leather across the ground as though they’re about to miss a bus.

         

So, there we were, My Guy and I, late one afternoon sitting fat and happy on the lanai, margaritas in hand, when he looks across to the bridge and says, “The otter’s after the moorhens!”  

          Well, we’re so invested in these little balls of fluff that when they appear near our unit, we always count to make sure all six babies are there. So, fueled by righteousness and alcohol, I leapt up, found my flip-flops and walked at top speed (no one wants to see me run) around two buildings, hoping to get to the scene of the crime in time.

          I rounded the second building and a second-floor couple standing on their lanai called down, “He’s after the chicks!”

          I clapped my hands loudly and a gray-black form shot out from the hedge next to the building and dashed back into the water. Let me tell you, he was huge, even bigger than our last sixteen pound house cat, what with that big thick tail.

          I marched back home, victorious. I hoped.

          That night, though, until the small hours of the morning, I could hear a bird calling with the regularity of an alarm that wouldn’t quit. I hoped it wasn’t the mom or dad calling for a missing chick.

          Ah well, I told myself, it’s the cycle of life. These are wild animals who live precarious lives. And so on and so forth. Sigh.

          And then, frabulous joy and excitement!! I looked outside today and saw both parents with all six chicks scrabbling away right outside our screens.

          We’re leaving here on Friday and none too soon. I want the happy end of this story to hold.

Rude Awakening

 

Tomorrow we’ll be listening as someone sings a thought we’ve all had – ‘If I were a rich man. . .’

Duty Done!

           Our next door neighbors here are so close that our porches sit side-by-side. We’re outwardly friendly, but like the big ole hypocrites we are, we avoid them with dodges and weaves worthy of any prizefighter in the ring.

Morning Constitutional

 

Another stroll around our quiet (especially now that many of us snowbirds have left) complex once again provided some unexpected sights.

Shameless or Brilliant Marketing?

 

As we were leaving the beach the other day, I noticed something that at first seemed out of context, but then realized it was perfectly placed. 

A Little Free Library

Disasters in Clay

Because last year we’d enjoyed our maiden voyage into the land of clay, my friend Ann and I returned to the Venice art center for another pottery class. Neither one of us lays any claim to artistic ability, but this seemed like something even we could do.

Beach morning

Today being about as perfect as a day can get, we decided to do breakfast on the beach. 

Rainy Day

 

Nothing gladdens the heart in the middle of a drought like a good rainstorm. Our totally fake ponds, not spring-fed, were looking very low. In fact, it’s been so dry this year that one of them has grassed over and will need mowing before long.

Babies, scooter, snakes, and rainbow

 

You would think that walking the around our complex would be tedious. I mean, it’s just a circle. About the only variety you can achieve is in which way you take it. Admittedly, I’m always listening to a book on my phone since I always feel like a hamster on her wheel by the time I’m in the second loop to gain some steps.

Day Trip

           So, just to get up and out, we took a drive to Matlacha, Florida, only a little over an hour away from us. Against all logic, it’s pronounced “mat-lah-SHAY.”