Filling the Bird Feeder

Do you know how helpless you feel 

if you have a full cup of coffee in your hand 

and you start to sneeze? 

~ Jean Kerr

Friday morning.

Up early.

Things to do.

There's an order: Start the coffee. Start the oatmeal.

Inner voice speaks: If there are to be beans tomorrow, you should sort and soak them now. 

Sort. *

No rocks or tiny dirt clods. I had to have something to show from my sorting efforts so I removed the half beans, as if that somehow rendered them bad.

Soak.

I grew up eating pintos, but I hear that black beans are better for you. We may be feeding lots of people tomorrow. If not, we will be eating beans for a long time.

Cup of coffee.

Meds.

The rest of my brain kicked in - or so I thought. I grabbed the birdseed to fill the feeders that have been sitting empty. Zelda and I walked out into the yard.

Most of the time this would have resulted in a peaceful walk across the yard to the three feeders. We would have listened to the birdsong and maybe played a little hide and seek before heading back into the house.

For one of these easy walks I do not use a leash. Zelda always stays with me. She follows the scents of stray cats and other creatures who have stalked our yard at night. She joins me in the side yard and rolls around, or sits and waits patiently as I slowly fill one feeder after another.

I looked up as I walked down the stepping stones to see our neighbor across the street with Rudy.

Z needed no invitation and shot off like a bullet.

She never gets in the road. She is a street-savvy girl.

But not today.

Zelda not only ran into the street, but then rolled around in the street (!) trying to get Rudy's attention as our dear neighbor calmly walked the two dogs to the sidewalk.

She had ignored all my calls. I grabbed her collar and harness holding her down until our friends were out of sight.

Her heart was pounding. MY heart was pounding.

She is a dog, says the inner voice.

I know. I know.



Note:

* As the dry beans hit the bottom of the pot I saw my mother, sitting at our dining table in the family room. How many times had I seen her sitting there sorting the beans - removing the rocks and dirt - sliding the good beans off the edge of the table and into the pot? It's her pot I have now. I gave mine away to one of the children. I have Mom's.