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This is Meg’s tree. She likes it a lot. It’s always been her favorite resting-in-the-shade spot, but lately it’s REALLY her favorite.

I assumed maybe she’d chased something up the tree at some point that she was still looking for, but today I decided to investigate and found this hollow in the tree. When I peered in, something peered back out at me. I tried to get her picture but she was gone by the time I got back with the camera.

I think maybe it’s a nuthatch, but I’m not sure. I also think that the speckles on the eggs are actually crud that Meg has knocked onto the nest trying to get at it. I’ll have to do an internet investigation later.

ETA: I don’t think it is a red breasted nuthatch, but this website seems to support the possibility of a nuthatch. Apparently they build their nests in hollowed out trees and have white eggs with reddish speckles. I guess maybe that isn’t crud that Meg knocked down onto the eggs.

A couple of weeks ago I was a volunteer dissection assistant for my son’s class. I and 4 students dissected a set of pig lungs (complete with trachea and esophagus) which I understand are nearly identical to human lungs. It was fascinating. There’s really nothing to compare with hands on experience to help you have that “a-ha” moment. I always knew in theory what lungs are like, but now I really feel like I know.

It was also a huge breakthrough for my son who is terribly traumatized by the whole dissection process. He was able to join in and eventually even participated AND enjoyed participating. By the end of the class period he willingly touched the lungs.

My favorite part was seeing the vocal cords. It amazes me that we can make all of the sounds that we do with such a simple structure.

I’m hoping for a picture from the teacher at some point.

Here’s the picture. I erased the girl’s head who is standing to Coleman’s left… so, that would be why the picture looks a lot weird.

This morning I killed another chicken. I’ve lost count. Maybe 60 chickens. These hurt, though. Pollack escaped from the pasture, killing four chickens and leaving four others so wounded I had to finish them off.

Poor Doris. Poor Trick Chicken.

It was all my fault. I should have brought the dogs in before leaving for the store. I should have pounded a t-post into the ground next to the gate. Pollack is strong and skinny. Should of… should of…

Laura had called me while I was out and said it was horrible. She was right. Feathers everywhere. Four dead birds in the coop. The ducks escaped damage; I’m guessing the chief male duck confronted Pollack. He has seen one duck die and another nearly strangled to death. He confronts the dogs, chases Jack around the cars and generally let’s it be known no ducks will be hurt on his watch.

I only wish I had his sense of responsibility.

I failed those eight birds.

It’s a large flock of birds that might run and hide when they see a dog coming but they’re not taking any nonsense off of some random, neighborhood cat.

Scott called me out to see the chickens and ducks go on an offensive against a Tabby that had been on top of the “neighbor’s” pump house and was showing a little too much interest in the birds. The cat ran away before I could get a picture and the birds were starting to disperse.