digitalscapes by Bill Stark
Rocking gently in the morning mist, my dock began to settle into its own easy equilibrium. The slightest movement on it sent up a slapping chain reaction of tiny water spouts. That ran off up and down the logs, making the most delightful sound. Even Zibby’s light patter created miniature spouts that followed her every movement. Trying to curl up in my frost laden chair with hot coffee became an art, especially when struggling to keep exposed feet tucked warm inside the heavy woolen blanket. Once safely cocooned and settled, we both settled in for our mornings contemplation.
A family of Mergansers had been nesting uneasily over on the lake for the past month; so when three stragglers glided in over the pines I paid them some mind. As they swooped down and disappeared into the rising steam, we could hear them skid landing on the mirrored lake. The Loons feeling that they own the lake, immediately sent out a string of expletives, that could be heard for miles. They will attack and kill anything that they feel is in direct competition with them, regardless of actual fact or perceived. I had noticed that the Merganser family was growing smaller and smaller, and I had no doubts as to why
A family of Trumpeter swans had found something in our little cove to their liking and had been nosing around for over a week. It was a busy time. I could see their long white necks and black bills hanging ghostly above the mist. Feigning disinterest but intently aware, the swans had been raging a battle of wills with Zibby. I was now convinced that it was this standoff and not some aquatic delight that was keeping them around.
I watched Zibby’s head tilt to one side then the other, as she zeroed in on something in the mist just off the dock. I could hear nor see anything and assumed it was a Muskrat or a Beaver, as both swim soundlessly. It surely wasn’t a swan sneaking in with head low, as they never approached when I was around.
Zibby began to utter a silent whine that always suggested her frustration with something. What ever it was had her undivided attention, and even my teasing whispers for her to quiet, were only met with subtle flicks of her head and her eternal tail wagging.
I had much to do and as the sun broke through the wispy vapors, it was my cue to get busy. As I stood bare foot on the melting frost, something speed-boated away in panic. That set Zibby to barking and in turn began to upset the Swans, then all hell broke loose and the idyllic Zen morning evaporated like a bad dream.
As I went about my morning chores, Zibby carried on her raging feud with the Swans. They seemed only to willing to indulge her, and kept her busy with pincer moves. Which had her running up and down the dock, and at one point I almost had to go rescue her when she excitedly slipped off the end. Leaving her exposed and at a vastly unfair disadvantage. However, she was smart enough not to get coned into swimming out deeper. Where she would be easy prey for the swans, and swam directly to shore before the swans could launch a counter attack. A quick call from me gave her a face saving excuse to end the battle, and she readily excepted my invitation.
At lunch after things had quieted, we headed back out to the dock chair to eat. Again just as the dock began to rattle and complain under our weight, the frightened patter of a small duck could be heard skimming away. However this time the mist had burned off and we caught a quick glimpse of a small duck flapping into the shore reeds. That in turn flushed a red-wing black bird from her nest. I saw enough to know that it was a Bluebill Hen, probably in molt and unable to fly. The little scaup, thinking she was hidden, turned to look us over. When she saw that we were staring directly at her, she dug herself deeper into the rushes until she disappeared.
Zibby kept an avid watch, in the general direction of the diving duck over lunch. I could basically tell the ducks location by watching Zibby’s ear and head movements. It hadn’t moved very far from where it had entered the reeds. Zibby had once again taken a strange interest in another one of Gods wild creatures. I had long given up trying to figure out why she preferred one species over another? The moose over the deer, the skunk over the beaver? Her taste had no rhyme nor reason and I frequently had to catch and stop myself from contemplating her choices.
When I dove in for a cool refreshing dip and splashed around with Zibby in the water, the diminutive duck bolted, and flapped in a shower of feathers straight like an arrow across the lake. Thinking that was the last of her, I put her from my mind. Zibby tried to stay focused on her travels, but being so low in the water, she soon gave up and resumed playing. Zibby had a real love or passion for fetching. Obsessive might describe it better, as she would run and fetch until my arms dropped off. After a hour of this I gave up and headed back to work.
It wasn’t long until I realized that she wasn’t with me, and when I peeked around the cabin, there she was out on the end of the dock. Staring intently as only Zibby can, far out across the lake. She cant be looking for the bluebill hen, I thought to myself, that’s just weird? I called to her, but she just looked back and resumed her vigil. I called again, this time with added excitement and she reluctantly left her post. However she only stayed with me a short while, when she realized that there was no real purpose for her to be here. With a guilty look, shuffled off back to the dock. Now there was no doubts that something was up, and I wondered what would come of all this?
to be contunued:
Bill Stark
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