Day 9

The crows have eaten my peanuts. Perhaps that by itself isn't the basis of abiding friendship, but they can't any longer pretend they don't know me when they see me around. They've been over for a bite. I have their number in my phone. They'll have to wave back when I spot them.

I saw the smaller one digging a peanut up from squirrel's treasure trove, and I made my move. "Do you like those?" I asked, while she flew off a ways to perch on a wire, "because I am richer in peanuts than you can imagine!" It was good of her to keep her distance. It shows she's learning the important lessons. I left an offering on the walk. She called her mate, and when I'd gone back into the habitat, they both came and partook. If that isn't love, love can wait. Today I'll settle for respect, though if I can get a morsel of slack-beaked awe, I'll go for it.

Is it pirates or squirrels that are worst at rediscovering their buried gold? They both keep meticulous ledgers of their caches, down to the nut. They remember every treasure, yet they can't be bothered to write down any but the vaguest reference to location. Waikiki Beach, in the sand there. Somewhere in that lawny part of the yard. Maybe all their aimless digging is a necessary part of a clever system, or maybe, for both of them, it's the burying, rather than the finding, that feeds them.