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We went down to Pilar on Friday afternoon. A slow drive along the Rio Grande to look for waterfowl and eagles was the agreed-upon Valentine’s Day present for us both. But the sun was shining, it felt like spring—sixty-five degrees down in the canyon—why wait for the 14th, we thought? And off we went. This guy was one of the first specimens we sighted, and my wife is devoted to Canada geese, so that worked out fine.

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Walked right past it at first. Wow, that’s quite a burrow, I thought. It was definitely large and obvious enough to make me not want to hang around. Coyotes are always the first thing I think of, skunks second, raccoons third, then rabid badgers, spitting cobras, and so on. It’s probably possible to stand beside a hole like this and not have the mighty puma sink his fangs into your larynx, but it isn’t guaranteed. Neither is it written that you’ll never have to pry a hissing possum off your ankle. This was briefly on my mind because I decided to turn around and go back for a picture.

This thing is right beside the trail. The entrance was cloaked in shadow but might have measured a foot across. No more, if that, at the bottom of one impressive hole. I can’t imagine any animal choosing to dig a burrow out there. Most of the ones I just mentioned don’t live in the sagebrush, of course. Just the coyotes, really, and rabbits. But damn, not without water, not unless the buggers hike all the way down to the Rio Grande. I wouldn’t put it past them, either. The coyote above showing off to make a point has not been born.

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Sixty degrees today at Taos Valley Overlook and a semi-dry path. Who could resist? I noticed on the way out that my ’87 Ford F-150 was almost impossible to shift. Maybe the hydraulic clutch just needs a little fluid. Oh, sure. Has that ever fixed anything? “Here, lemme just top this off”… I used to do that at the gas pump. A stupid little game I played, rounding up the amount owed. Had gasoline overflow the filler pipe with that one, chilluns. Splashed all over the place, too.

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Now that is one tuckered killing machine. She was outside for about five hours before she rattled the doorknob and I let her in. That means she was hunting in the weeds and sagebrush. Chipmunks, mostly. Sometimes she brings them to front door to eat. Evidently the heads, shoulders, and backs suffice. I always make her give up the prey if I can, because the chipmunks are covered with fleas. Usually she lets me, my being head cat and all.

What happened today was, I realized my hand in this. The simple act of putting out sunflower seeds for the birds has consequences far beyond a happy flock of piñon jays. So many seeds get scattered or stolen that I’m surely supporting a thriving community of rodents. This might be related to the fox and bobcat sightings. Coyotes are a given, and they eat chipmunks, too. So does the cat, of course. If I could just get her to eat sunflower seeds directly, instead of turning them into a chipmunk first, there wouldn’t be all this gore on the door mat.

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