I am loving these cool mornings on the porch. The bright blue fall sky, cloudless, the sun warm on my face and feet. Today a brisk cool wind is stirring the trees. Penelope is taking her morning sun bath in the yard, pretending to be sleeping, and hoping for the next door cat to try and sneak by. She loved most of Chief’s cat herd, but protects her Roanoke empire and song birds with the ferociousness of a pit bull. I don’t think small dogs know they are small.

Had nine pair of cardinals on the bird feeders at dusk yesterday. If I said nine pairs, Chief would say that was 19 cardinals. Anyway, nine male cardinals and their wives. Read that 20 percent of cardinals divorce in the spring. Guess that’s pretty good since 50 percent of American marriages end in divorce. That’s a sad statistic!

Interesting that both male and female cardinals have the ability to sing. Usually only male songbirds are capable of singing. Females have reduced their singing to save energy for migration and breeding. Not only do male song birds get the beautiful plumage but they’re are blessed with operatic voices. If you’ve ever watch a little wren sing you will see Pavarotti! They puff their chests out and their ringing songs are very loud and very long. Wrens are born with special feathers to protect their hearing.

When European settlers first saw red birds they immediately thought about the red vestments and caps worn by Catholic cardinals hence the name cardinals. They are protected by the Migratory Bird Treaty of 1918 so don’t let your bb and pellet gun hunting youngsters shoot them.

Always heard that cardinals are loved ones visiting from heaven. They love to sing from high places. As I look up towards heaven to hear them sing, I think of Chief. If he’s not visiting me in his beautiful scarlet feathers, he’s sending all these song birds to my feeders as a source of comfort.

I literally sit on the front porch all day. Don’t know if that the result of being retired or the result of a dull brain. I wear Chiefs watch because it has the day and date of the week big enough for me to read. On any given day I probably could not tell you the correct day of the week without checking his watch.

Today I’m contemplating reincarnation and deciding what song bird I’ll reincarnate. I refuse to come back as a dove. The ones in my yard walk around with their heads bobbing with every step they take on their pink feet. Science says the head bobbin helps with vision and balance. I do stumble some so maybe I should try the head bobbin method of walking around. Scientists actually put doves on a treadmill and their heads didn’t bob because the landscape stayed the same. Why didn’t they fly off? Must have been a slow day in the lab.

I have one dove, think it’s a male, who obviously eats too many fermented poke salad berries. He can hardly fly after he stumbles around the ground under a feeder. One morning, my resident kestrel was waiting for breakfast, perched in the oak tree by the feeders. He waited till all 16 feeders had birds eating and he flew down and plucked off a titmouse. All the birds left the yard in a swoosh of featherings but Dumdum, oblivious to what had happened, just sat there trying to figure why everyone left.

I watched him looking around and I could almost hear the voice of that dim-witted cartoon character Willoughby who says, “Where did he go George? Where did he go George?”

When the birds come back to the feeders, he decided to fly to the power line. His flying is a marvel of nature. I think he’ll never make it and hear my self coaching him,”You can do it.” Dumdum makes it to the power line and lights, rocking back and forth till he gets his balance. After a little pooh, he decides to preen his feathers. This is no small feat. One leg on the power line, the other cleaning his feathers, trying not to fall off or swing around in circles. I am amazed that he will even try this circus trick. Raises his leg up, one toenail to his head feathers, and down he goes. Manages to get his wings flapping before he hits the street. I watch this play out everyday. Now he proceeds to walk back to the feeders where his three friends are bobbing around.

God is probably going to punish me for mocking his creature and bring me back as a dove. I’ll probably be sent to a cat hoarders yard who doesn’t feed birds! Have mercy on me!