Last week, we had a great blue heron act in a most unheron-like way. The great blues are ordinarily skittish birds. We can't get closer than fifty yards before they're up in the air, beating their slow, graceful, pterodactyl wings. But this guy kept us company even with the grandchildren floating on the plastic boats, squealing and keening. The kids watched as he speared a small fish and swallowed it whole. I worried: perhaps he's hurt and can't fly. But after a day or so, he rose into the air, wheeled about, and off he went. Was he a poorly-educated juvenile out on his own for the first time? We'll never know.
And then, yesterday, a new critter. The pond has become home to a muskrat, which swims slowly along the opposite bank. Should we be happy about this? Muskrats eat cattails, of which we have a more-than-adequate supply. But they also eat small frogs, and we love our frogs. They are philoprogenitive, reproducing like rabbits. We don't want vast colonies of these lemming-like creatures. And they burrow into and undermine banks -- which is not good if they damage the artificial dike. OK, Mr. Muskrat, here's the deal -- you stay on your side of the pond, the natural side and we'll be good friends, but don't try to make a home on the artificial side.
When I was a boy in the unenlightened 40s, women wore fur coats. One of the common furs was called "Hudson seal." Guess what? "Muskrat fur that is dyed, plucked, and sheared to resemble seal."
Two can play the same game. If anyone asks, that rodent over the on the far side of the pond with the long ratlike tail -- that's a Hudson seal.
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