Categories: 2014, In the City
Tags: birds on roofs, humans on roofs, look up
Categories: In the City
On a mild, clear evening a few nights ago, the dog and I entered Riverside Park. It was a little after 7 PM and thanks to the recent arrival of Daylight Saving Time, there lingered still the faintest trace of light in the sky. Down by the river, the last of the rush hour traffic coughed and roared along the parkway as the lights of New Jersey glittered across the Hudson.
We were seeking raccoons.
It had been many weeks since I’d seen the Riverside raccoons, and I was hoping the suddenly spring-like weather would entice them out of their cozy dens in the great retaining wall. And so it had.
A small face peeped from the entryway to an always-occupied den.
And a little further north, a large raccoon filled a small space near the bottom of the retaining wall.
The raccoon filled its hole like a living object in a Joseph Cornell box.
We walked on a brief distance, but saw no other raccoons before turning back. As we retraced our steps, the first raccoon was slowly emerging into the night.
Categories: Birds, Hawks, In the City, Morningside Park, NYC Parks, Seasons, Spring, Wildlife/Natural History, Winter
Tags: Cathedral hawks nesting, Cathedral red-tails, Morningside Hawks, NYC hawks, red-tail hawk nest St John the Divine, urban wildlife
I’m not sure what to make of the collection of twigs amassed by the Cathedral Red-tailed hawks atop Saint Peter’s canopy.
I posed the question on Twitter, and love the response I received from Robert of Morningside Hawks: “If they were predictable, they wouldn’t be wild. And sometimes they do weird stuff because they know you’re watching.”
For now, at least, the hawks seem to be focused on refurbishing the old nest on Saint Andrew’s mossy shoulders.
When I arrived at the nest this morning, it appeared empty. But as I crossed Morningside Drive to enter the park, I looked back toward the Cathedral in time to see a hawk swooping in from the north to disappear from view behind the saint’s head. Although I could no longer see the bird, I could see twigs moving as the hawk rearranged nesting materials.
Then the hawk hopped onto the old man’s head and looked out over the park and nearby streets.
What a view.
Somehow, the poor saint looked especially sorrowful this morning, and the hawk, well, hawkish.
After a few minutes, the big bird spread its wings and soared off to the southeast.
Categories: 2014, In the City, Seasons, Winter
Tags: NYC street bikes, snow before and after, st john the divine, what's under NYC snow
Last week, snow blanketed the gardens of Saint John the Divine …
Today much is revealed.
All over the city, for better and for worse, things buried are coming to light.
Take a look at the bike buried beneath snow in front of my building.
Turns out it’s more than a bike. It’s at least a bike and a half. Who knew?
These are benign examples. In truth, once things start emerging from their hiding places, there’s no telling what may come to light.
Be careful out there.
Categories: 2014, Birds, Hawks, In the City, Seasons, Wildlife/Natural History, Winter
Tags: black snow, Cathedral hawks nesting, Cathedral red-tails, hakws, NYC black snow, NYC red-tailed hawks, red-tail hawk nest St John the Divine, urban hawk nest, urban hawks, urban snow
This morning, a stunningly beautiful, spring-like day popped out of a snowy winter.
The sky is blue and the snow is, well, black.
How does the pristine and elegant substance of a week ago …
… metamorphose into the dark, satanic mountain range of today?
When urban snow reaches this stage, it doesn’t even melt. My theory is that there are now more solid filth particles than there is water in this Substance formerly known as Snow. As most New Yorkers know, these mini-Himalayan ranges will diminish only to a point. The remaining black metor-like blobs hang around long after the surrounding street snow has melted. A particularly notable example was a giant blob that threatened to become a permanent resident of 108th Street in 2010.
Today was a good day for hawk-spotting. Over on Morningside Drive, one of the Saint John the Divine red-tailed hawks perched above a saint near its picturesque nest before sailing west out of sight.
Last winter, daily hawk sightings led me to found New York City’s Hawk-A-Day Club. This year, fellow New York nature blogger, Matthew Wills of Backyard and Beyond, has seen peregrine falcons for five days straight in Brooklyn and lower Manhattan. But my Morningside Heights sightings have been surprisingly scarce this winter. So I was delighted to see a red-tail on the Cathedral.
The Cathedral nest, which has been occupied since 2006, undergoes renovation each year by the nesting pair. Last year was an especially active year of redecoration, albeit with some questionable design choices. Long, dangling pieces of string kept me worrying all season long that one or another member of the growing family would become entangled. (Look to the right below.)
But it was the sight last spring of a hawk wrestling with an unwieldy cardboard box or large paper bag that really led me to question the red-tail pair’s eye for design.Below the hawk flies toward the nest with its catch.
For more on hawk cardboard-wrestling, visit last year’s How to Build an Urban Hawk Nest.
I’ll be keeping an eye on the nest, along with my trusty walking companion, who would rather be scrounging for food. (Mysteriously fallen street strawberries don’t count, in his book.)
Next week I’ll once again have a camera that will allow me to take some more detailed shots than has been possible with the iPhone that has been my sole camera for the past six months.
That will be fun.
Categories: 2014, Birds, dogs, Domestic animals, In the City, NYC Parks, Riverside Park, Seasons, Wildlife/Natural History, Winter
Tags: color red in nature, dog shoes, Northern cardinal, NYC cardinal, NYC snow, urban nature
As the dog and I step off the sidewalk into a narrow path dug between snow mounds at the corner of Broadway and 108th Street, the sound of distant honking stops me in my tracks. Not the usual traffic sounds of Broadway, but the calls of wild geese. I shade my eyes and look up in time to see a large flock of Canada geese – an uneven, dark V, followed closely by a long single line – disappearing to the southwest over the solid old apartment buildings of Riverside Drive. “Oh,” I say out loud, struck by beauty.
At the top of the stone staircase that leads into Riverside Park, the dog pauses to show off his red shoes.
We descend the staircase, and enter the white winter world of a snowy city park. Everything is strangely quiet.
Only a couple of dogs are playing in the 105th Street dog run.
Down by the river, a solitary runner runs.
But where are the rest of the animals?
We retrace our steps to the path above, where a squirrel scoots across the top of the snow and leaps onto a tree trunk.
The little creature leaves behind a scribble-scrabble of footprints in the snow, the record of many such forays out of the safety of the trees. Three crows call from the top of the plane trees, then fly, one at a time, out of the park toward Riverside Drive. Two house sparrows chirp.
And that’s it. No hawks, no juncos, no woodpeckers, no robins, no flocks of sparrows, no chickadees, no titmice. Where is everyone?
And then we hear a high-pitched call: “Tsip, tsip, tsip.”
Winter’s bare branches make it easy to find the caller: a female cardinal, perched in a tangle of branches beneath the retaining wall. Although I usually see cardinals in pairs, today the brilliantly colored male is nowhere to be seen. The lovely bird kept just outside the range of my iPhone, so here is a photo from last winter of two females picking up spilled seed beneath a bird feeder on eastern Long Island.
The Northern Cardinal (Cardinalis cardinalis) stays with us year-round, and even in the depths of winter, the male keeps his brilliant plumage. (Thank you, Rob Pavlin, for the beautiful photo below.)
Cardinals are particularly stunning against a snowy background, but they’re gorgeous birds in any season.
Just look at that red.
You don’t often see animals in winter sporting such flashy colors.
Still, it’s not unheard of, is it?
This post is for Nick and Zuri.
Categories: 2014, cats, Central Park, dogs, Domestic animals, Hawks, In the City, Morningside Park, NYC Parks, Riverside Park, Wildlife/Natural History, Winter
Tags: Morningside Park, New York City parks in winter, NYC feral cat in snow, NYC snows, Riverside Park, snow
Again this morning, snow.
Here are a few images from our snows of the past month.
Esau waits for me in Riverside Park.
Dog prints on the retaining wall high above the park.
In Morningside Park, a feral cat makes its way along the cliff near the iced-over waterfall.
The cat’s white legs look like little ice falls.
The pond in Morningside Park is sometimes frozen.
Other times, some kind of bubble machine prevents it from fully freezing.
After the snow, the sky clears and a hawk flies over the snowy landscape of Central Park.
Categories: 2014, Art and Literature, In the City, NYC Parks, Seasons, Winter
Tags: frozen Hudson River, Henry Hudson, medieval art, NYC cold snap, rosary bead, The Cloisters
On this chilly afternoon, we paid a visit to the Cloisters in northern Manhattan.
We wandered the galleries, and immersed ourselves in the intricate detail and vivid, sometimes lurid imagery of medieval art.
The rosary bead below is just over 2 inches in diameter, and features astonishingly detailed scenes of Christ’s life and crucifixion.
Not much bigger than a walnut shell, the little box puts me in mind of Hamlet’s speech to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern: “I could be bounded in a walnut shell, and count myself a king of infinite space – were it not that I have bad dreams.” The thought of being bounded in this particular walnut shell with its tiny depiction of martyrdom and crucifixion is certainly enough to give me bad dreams.
The rosary bead also evokes a nutshell that the white cat gives to the youngest prince in Madame d’Aulboy’s fairytale, The White Cat. To win the kingdom, the King’s three sons spend a year seeking the tiniest, most beautiful dog in the world.
At the end of the year, each of the two elder sons presents a tiny, beautiful dog to the king, and feels assured of success.
“They were already arranging between themselves to share the kingdom equally, when the youngest stepped forward, drawing from his pocket the acorn the White Cat had given him. He opened it quickly, and there upon a white cushion they saw a dog so small that it could easily have been put through a ring. The Prince laid it upon the ground, and it got up at once and began to dance.”
Images of dogs and other animals, real and imagined, domestic and wild, abound at the Cloisters, including birds, lions, fish, dragons, unicorns and a most marvelous camel.
After we’d spent a couple of hours surrounded by reliquaries and sepulchers, we craved fresh air, and looked yearningly through the windows into the Cloister gardens. But they were closed due to the cold. So we left the museum, our heads full of images, and strolled out into Fort Tryon Park.
We gazed west across the partly-frozen Hudson River, then walked north. We thought about Henry Hudson sailing up the river in 1609 into unknown territory.
Hudson, we realized, was born in the 1560s, not so many years after the creation of that extraordinary 16th-century rosary bead with its still medieval sensibility. The thought seemed to connect us, our river, and our modern city (developed in the wake of Hudson’s voyage) with the seemingly much more distant world of the Middle Ages.
Then the cold air and the icy river prompted us to think of Hudson’s second voyage to the New World, when he entered what is now Hudson Bay, Canada. After barely surviving a hungry winter trapped in ice, the crew, desperate to return home, mutinied. They set Hudson, his son and his followers adrift in a small boat to die of exposure in or near Hudson Bay.
It’s cold down here. But not that cold.
Categories: 2014, In the City, Morningside Park, NYC Parks, Peacocks, Seasons, Wildlife/Natural History, Winter
Tags: Cathedral peacocks, NYC Cathedral, NYC peacocks, NYC snow day, peacocks, peacocks in the snow, st john the divine
It was cold and snowy in the city on Saturday, so the dog and I bundled up. He’s the one with the blue boots. I’m the one with the blue hat. (My hat recently inspired some guerrilla art.)
Morningside Park is always magical in the snow.
The little pond was frozen solid.
A little boy and his father stopped to throw snowballs onto the ice. (Click photos to enlarge.)
Cross-country skiers slid across the fields, and dogs sniffed and romped.
Heading up the great stone staircase, we spied three feral cats well camouflaged by snow and bare bushes. Can you spot them? (Click the photos to enlarge.)
A white cat is balanced in the twigs, a gray cat is perched in the wire fence, and a white-and-black cat sits on the snow to the right.
Saint Luke’s Hospital loomed over us as we continued our climb.
Sledders were at play on the slope just below Morningside Drive.
On the street, the back of Saint John’s Cathedral invited us to explore.
We walked over to Amsterdam Avenue and the unfinished towers at the front.
We entered through the animal gates.
“Oh, I want to eat his eyes,” exclaimed one of these lively little girls as they circled the snowman below. “They’re made of Hanukkah gelt!”
Leaving behind the would-be cannibals, we headed into the Cathedral grounds.
We spotted the resident peacocks. First one.
And finally, three as Phil, the white peacock, preened inside the peacock house.
A group of teenagers came clattering up the path. The girls squealed and shrieked when they saw the peacocks, running toward them to take pictures. The birds, accustomed to paparazzi, ignored the girls, even the one shivering in a strapless dress and bare legs. Humans. What can you do?
We gave a last look up in search of the neighborhood red-tailed hawks, but no hawks today. Just Gabriel forever blowing his horn atop the Cathedral as the stony apostles wait patiently in the cold.
Categories: 2013, Birds, In the Country, Seasons, Wildlife/Natural History, Winter
Tags: beach in winter, deer tracks in sand, flowers on beach, ruddy duck, small creatures on beach
Yesterday morning was a gorgeous overcast day on Eastern Long Island. Snow was forecast, but hadn’t yet begun when the dog and I headed out on Flying Point Road to the ocean.
There were several sets of tracks. Why are deer visiting the beach?
In early October, when I was last here, the beach was littered with the remains of tiny creatures.
Yesterday it was mostly swept clean of flotsam and jetsam. But not entirely, of course. Here and there were a few skate egg cases and bits of sea weed greens.
More oddly, wilted flowers that might have come from Miss Havisham’s wedding bouquet had washed up all along the beach.
Continuing the theme of remains, we found a female ruddy duck lying dead on her back just off the road by the bay.
Her death allowed me to look more closely at a duck’s body than I’ve ever been able to do before. I’ll write more about this beautiful little bird later, along with photos of her extraordinary feet and the serrated edge of the underside of her bill.
Categories: 2013, Birds, dogs, Domestic animals, Hawks, In the City, Peacocks, Seasons, Wildlife/Natural History, Winter
Tags: 1000 urban miles, NYC nature, NYC peacocks, peacocks, peacocks st john the divine, red-tailed hawks, St John the Divine red-tailed hawks, tiny snowmen, urban birds, urban nature
Last night we saw tiny snowmen on the top of the retaining wall in Riverside Park.
It wasn’t much of a snow, but it gave a mysterious look to the park at night.
This morning in the drizzle, a Red-tail Hawk flew low over our heads as we were crossing Amsterdam Avenue. We tracked it as it soared into the animal gates that lead to the grounds of St. John the Divine.
The hawk soared along the path of the grounds, then suddenly swooped upward. We found it perched with a second hawk towards the back of the cathedral.
I have only my iPhone camera these days, so I can’t zoom in for a close look. But here it is with a slightly closer look.
Moments later, as we continued to watch the hawks, Phil, the Cathedral’s white peacock, wandered past us, looking rather bedraggled.
He was completely unfazed by a boisterous group of schoolkids who almost walked right into him as they came around the corner.
Phil simply moved aside with no fuss or hurry.
The dog, on the other hand, was definitely fazed by the sight of Phil. He moaned with frustration and strained at the leash.
The poor fellow has been trying for a taste of peacock ever since he first encountered the three neighborhood peacocks five years ago.
Ah, well. We all have our dreams.
Categories: 2013, Fall, In the City, insects, NYC Parks, Riverside Park, Rodents (other than squirrels), Seasons, Wildlife/Natural History, Winter
Tags: bare trees, NYC nature, paper wasps, the city in winter, urban nature, wasp nests
On a recent walk in Riverside Park, the dog stopped to investigate a fallen wasp’s nest.
What a beautiful little structure. Let’s take a closer look.
Look, one little creature seems to have died in the process of crawling out of a hole. How strange.
But who precisely built this nest? What kind of wasp? A hornet? A yellow jacket?
It’s been my experience that naturalists, both professional and amateur, are eager to share, expand and refine their knowledge about the world we live in, and interestingly, the technology of social media provides a swift and effective way to share knowledge. I sent out a query on Twitter, asking “Whose fallen nest is this in Riverside Park?”
Matthew of Backyard and Beyond quickly replied, “Paper wasp, probably Bald-face Hornet.” Andrew of Urban Ecology and Science Research soon responded with a photo of a much larger, enclosed nest hanging from a tree at Storm King Art Center, saying he was seeing these hives all over.
Chris of Flatbush Gardener believes Andrew’s hive to belong to Bald-faced Hornets, adding: “More visible without leaves,” which I take to mean that the nests seem to be suddenly everywhere only because they are more visible now that the trees are growing bare.
And it’s true: one sees things differently when trees are bare. One also sees, quite literally, different things, including, perhaps, hornet’s nests. There may be fewer birds around in winter now that most of the migrants have moved on, but the ones that stay, from Northern cardinals to Red-tailed hawks, are easier to spot when they perch on leafless branches.
Squirrels, too, have fewer places to hide. And if I may act for a moment as a squirrel real estate agent, I’d like to recommend a couple of deep and lovely tree holes as fine living quarters.
Non-living natural things – what ecologists call abiota – also emerge from obscurity in winter. The structure of the land, its slopes and cliffs, all hidden in summer by leafy trees, bushes and undergrowth, reveals itself. And the Hudson River, seen in leaf-edged glimpses through much of the year, reclaims its place as a central feature of the far west side of the island.
After the leaves have fallen, plants too reveal surprises. In summer, the two bushy plants below appear to be a single solid and impenetrable mass of green, the shoots drooping like willow branches all the way to the ground. But in late fall and winter, a beautiful hiding place is revealed at their heart where an animal like a fox, if only Riverside Park were lucky enough to host a fox, might curl up undetected.
The fallen leaves now cover the ground, obscuring its features and camouflaging small creatures. This seemingly empty patch of leaves was actually hopping with life, as junkos, house sparrows and squirrels scratched, dug and pecked for nuts and seeds.
Look. There goes one now.
Deep leaves often bury natural structures, like exposed tree roots or rat holes. Or dogs.
Here the dog investigates a rat hole at the base of a tree. Who’s there?
The other day, a naturalist friend, Kelly of Nature in a New York Minute, knowing my interest in rats, kindly brought me a NYC booklet with the elegant title, Preventing Rats on Your Property. I’ll write more about it some other time, but the fundamental message is simple: “To control rats, you have to remove everything they need to survive: food, water, shelter and ways to get around.” My own block has seen a bit of a decrease in rat activity since a few once-slovenly neighbor buildings started better securing their trash and closing up burrows at the base of street trees. But even so, rats still run rampant in the area. On a brief late night walk a few days ago, the dog and I saw three rats within two blocks.
And remember, the rats you see are just the tip of the ratty iceberg; beneath the surface of the street live scores – or hundreds – of others.
But wait, how is it I am talking about rats? I was talking about leaves, wasn’t I, and how they veil and reveal natural structures. Or was I talking about changing seasons? Or ways of seeing? Or, no, it was about naturalists sharing information. Oh, I remember now, I was talking about a wasp’s nest. Yes, a wasp’s nest. And here we are at a rat’s nest.
Well, that’s the way it is when you go out on a ramble. Even when every walk starts and ends at the same place, as so many of mine do, you never know where the path will take you along the way.
Categories: 2013, Fall, Flora, In the City, NYC Parks, Riverside Park, Seasons
Tags: eating gingko fruit, edible plants of nyc, gingko nuts, gingko riverside park, gingko tree, harvesting gingko, is gingko edible
Newsflash: If you can get past the extraordinary stench and the toxic outer flesh, the fruit of the gingko tree is edible.
Who would have thought it?
After all,the Gingko tree seems to have gone to a lot of evolutionary trouble to discourage predation of its potential progeny, starting with the extraordinary stench of its fruit (Gorgonzola cheese gone bad? dog shit? trenchfoot?). Then there’s the toxic outer flesh that can cause blisters and skin peeling. Oh, and the fact that the fruit can be poisonous when consumed in large quantities or over a long period of time.
None of those qualities deterred the charming and friendly Chinese lady I encountered this morning in Riverside Park, where she was digging in the leaves with a stick. When I asked what she was digging for, she said, “Gingko fruit.”
Her accent was so heavy that at first, I thought she was saying “Cocoa fruit.” Then I saw her collection.
Unmistakeably gingko. I realized we were standing beneath an enormous gingko tree. “Very tasty,” she said. “Very good.”
While I have no plans to harvest and cook gingko myself, here is a fascinating post by someone who did just that. Chichi at Serious Eats describes the Gingko as “the Camembert of nuts” and the taste as “complex and utterly good to eat.” While I believe her, I doubt I’ll be trying any of these gingko recipes any time soon. I’ll just stick to my admiration of the Gingko’s glorious golden leaves.
Note: If you decide to harvest gingko fruit, wear gloves when peeling to avoid a bad skin reaction.
And if you’ve ever eaten gingko, or if you plan to, please leave a comment to tell us about it.
Categories: 2013, Birds, Fall, In the City, Seasons, Wildlife/Natural History
Tags: happy thanksgiving, nyc wild turkey, wild turkey in battery park, zelda the turkey
Happy Thanksgiving from Out Walking the Dog
A wild turkey has been living in New York City’s Battery Park since 2003.
The turkey is called Zelda after F. Scott Fitzgerald’s wife, who supposedly roamed the area around Battery Park during one of her many breakdowns. See any resemblance?
Zelda (the turkey, not the Fitzgerald) appears to be a tough old bird, having survived for a decade in a highly urban park, subject to wind, snow and 2012’s Hurricane Sandy which flooded the park with a 13-foot storm surge.
I first heard about Zelda soon after I moved home to Manhattan in 2008 after almost twenty years away. In those early years of my homecoming, I found myself in a fairly continual state of wonder as I encountered the wild creatures that share our city. Raccoons! Hawks! Peregrine falcons! Seals! Dolphins! Coyotes! Deer! Wild turkeys! I was smitten with Zelda before ever seeing her, touched by her appearance and survival on our crowded island where great flocks of her ancestors once thrived. Several times, I set out for the southern tip of Manhattan to meet her. But she proved elusive quarry, and as the years passed, I fretted that she might die before I ever laid eyes on her.
Last week, my quest to see Zelda was finally rewarded.
Accompanied by my intrepid friend Mary, I walked south along the Hudson River Greenway to Battery Park. Although Mary can watch an entire flock of wild turkeys from her house on the eastern shore of Maryland, she signed on with gusto to the quest for Zelda.
It was a beautiful day to walk along the river.
Somewhere in Battery Park City, we passed a large flock of Brant.
I’ve seen Brant around the same spot in past years as well as further up the Greenway in northern Manhattan. The birds, which resemble a smaller, shorter-necked version of Canada geese, seemed remarkably nonchalant about the many runners, children and dogs sharing their chosen space.
We passed other intriguing sights, including still-golden trees.
But we were on a mission, and nothing could deter us.
When we reached Battery Park, we were startled to see how much of it was fenced off and undergoing renovation. A man with colorful brochures of New York City tried to interest us in a tour. We politely declined, but asked if he knew about the turkey who lived around here.
“Oh, sure,” he replied. “I see her all the time. She’s usually wandering around the paths.” He laughed. “First time I saw her, she scared me to death. Keep going around this way. You’ll see her.”
Next we stopped a man driving a Parks Conservancy truck, and asked if he knew where we could find the turkey.
“Oh, Zelda, sure, she’s around,” he said. “She was just over there in the parking lot.” And sure enough, strolling about in a parking lot in front of the Department of Homeland Security and Coast Guard Recruiting Center was Zelda, the wild turkey.
A beautiful bird, plump and well-feathered, she walked slowly and with a stately demeanor – stately, for a turkey, anyway. Mary wondered if she might be arthritic. After all, she’s old for a turkey.
A man, cellphone camera in hand, tried to get close to have his picture taken with her.
Soon, the man we had met in the truck joined us in the parking lot. His name is Charles, he told us, and he knows Zelda well. When Charles jingles his keys, Zelda comes and follows him as he retrieves a cupful of sunflower seeds and corn for her.
Here he is with jingly keys in hand.
Zelda did indeed respond to Charles, but when he left to get the seed, she seemed slow to follow, and rather easily distracted. First she became distracted by a hedge, staring into it in a way that reminded me of the great white peacock of Saint John The Divine.
Then a group of tourists on the path blocked her way.
Charles returned and handed us a cup of seed. He told us to sprinkle it on soft patches of earth, because it’s hard for Zelda to pick the food up off the hard sidewalk or asphalt. We carefully sprinkled a few seeds on a promising bit of ground, but Zelda was skeptical of our feeding abilities. Charles took the cup and unceremoniously dumped out the entire contents along a sliver of soil at the edge of the sidewalk. Zelda immediately chowed down.
As Zelda dined, Charles told us a little about her life. Every year, she lays eggs in various spots in the park. This year, she laid them in the hedge we saw her staring into. Despite the huge flock of wild turkeys that live on Staten Island, Zelda seems to be Manhattan’s only resident turkey. Zelda’s unfertilized eggs will never hatch. “We have to take the eggs away sometimes,” Charles explained, “or she’ll just keep sitting on them and she won’t eat. It’s kind of sad, but she has a pretty good life here.”
Every Thanksgiving, Charles said, people come to see if she’s still here. Mary asked if people ever harass her. Not if he’s around, Charles said. He also reminded us that she can fly, and so can escape, if she needs to. She roosts at night in nearby trees. Charles left us to our watching.
And we left Zelda to her meal. Goodnight, Zelda.