Icon by @ThatSpookyAgent. Call me Tir or Julian. 37. He/They. Queer. Twitter: @tirlaeyn. ao3: tirlaeyn. 18+ Only. Star Trek. The X-Files. Sandman. IwtV. OMFD. Definitionless in this Strict Atmosphere.
i have never wanted pets more in my life, i too wish to name a little demon after various crimes
iirc Arson’s mate is named Larceny. I forget their kids’ names. @hellenhighwater can you tell us about your pets again they’re so fun
Arson is the current pet-matriarch; she’s at least five years old, which beats out Malice and Vice, who are only two (and are both cats). Arson’s first husband was named Anarchy, and her current husband, and father of her chicks, is Larceny. Arson&Larceny have had five babies: Forgery, Fraud, Jaywalking, Joyriding, and Vehicular Manslaughter, who went by Vikki for short. Here’s a family photo with the two youngest; all the babies have been adopted. They don’t live in that cage, I only use it for transporting them to the outdoor aviary.
Before I had Arson, I had a pair of doves named Vexation and Vendetta, which are not crimes but were pretty good names.
Kestrel-dad not sure how to dad but he’s trying his best.
Dad loves you and feeds you. But he is also dumb and feeds you a wonderfully done wagyu steak. You are 3 days old.
Okay, but check out this video from mid-May 2022 of a Kestrel Dad who just kept piling up voles and mice beside his babies when the mom was injured/killed/mia’d by owls…but then watched one of his babies just swallow a lizard and went “OH. I can feed them small food!” and learned to tear it apart!
EDIT: There’s a not-zero percent chance that this could be the same dad???????? The source is the same–Robert E Fuller–but they could be different birds.
UPDATE: Not only has Mister Kes learned to feed his chicks all on his own…
….the three chicks who were taken out of the nest for intensive care after the mom disappeared were put back in, and he just started feeding them, too.
He’s a single father of six who does not possess the instincts to feed even one of his offspring, but he learned and adopted that behavior without difficulty and is now hunting and providing for six kids all on his own.
Apparently all of the babies have grown up and have left the nest. This video shows the last one leaving the nest with a bit of help of the same person that took care of the other three chicks in the previous video.
I find Cedar Waxwings fascinating, they are so beuatiful with their cool Miami Vice look. They never visit my feeders and only show up in groups at certain times of the year, so I think I am extra excited to see them. I admit we also planted a lot of native bushes and plants to attract them so I would have photo opportunities, but everything is still small. Anyways, please enjoy this group at the bath.
the turquoise cotinga is a passerine bird found in costa rica and panama. these birds live in moist rainforest habitat; they are threatened by deforestation. these frugivorous birds use their slightly hooked beaks to open fruits. bright colors, particularly bright blue like this bird, are common in the cotinga family, and turquoise cotingas look very similar to many of the other cotinga species.
Just because one of your chicken eggs hatched a fire breathing dragon people think you’re evil. But you’re still just a regular farmer trying to make a living while dealing with an overprotective dragon, heroes that want to kill you and fanatics who want to worship you as the new Demon Lord.
The thing you need to know about all of this, the thing that
got me into all this trouble in the first place, is that chickens will sit on anything when they get broody enough.
Anything. Duck eggs, goose eggs, turkey eggs, lizard eggs, egg shaped rocks,
anything. Chickens aren’t smart. If it looks vaguely like an egg, they’ll plant
their feathery arses on it and wait.
I noticed that there was a bigger egg under one of the broody
chickens, when I checked. Of course I noticed, it was twice the size of the
others. But I have geese. I figured it was a goose egg she’d found and stolen. It
was about the right size, and I didn’t take it out to check the colour because
that particular chicken gets very protective of her eggs. I’ve already got a
scar on one hand from trying to get eggs away from her. I didn’t want a matched
set.
That was a decision I regretted the moment I went out to
feed the chickens and found a little blue-and-silver dragonet’s head poking out
from under a very confused-looking chicken. The poor thing kept shifting around
and looking under herself in a bewildered way, like she didn’t know what to do
next. This particular chicken is a good mother, and she’s raised clutches of
ducks and geese without any trouble – she’s even resigned to some of her
children swimming – but this was too much. She didn’t object when I carefully
reached in and fished out the little dragon.
It was so tiny, then. It fitted in my hand, with its little
head peeking out one side and its tail looping around my wrist. Cute, too, with
its big eyes and little snout turned up towards me.
That was when I made my second mistake. I decided to feed it
before releasing it. Dragons are innately wild creatures, everyone knows that.
They can’t be tamed. People have tried. The eggs are abandoned as soon as they
are laid, and the dragonets hatch able to hunt, so they don’t even bond with
their mothers. So just feeding it a little shouldn’t have been a big deal. It
should have gobbled the meat and fled as soon as I loosened my grip on it and
it saw the open sky.
It didn’t. As soon as I’d fed it, it fluttered up to a sunny
window ledge and went to sleep. I went about my work, figuring that it’d leave
in its own time.
By noon, it was sitting on my boot, squeaking pathetically. I
wondered if maybe it was confused by the farmyard – they usually hatch in
mountains, if the stories are right – so I took it back to the farmhouse with
me and fed it again when I ate, then took some time away from the fences I
should have been mending to walk it up to the hills. I found it some nice
rocks, with plenty of lizards and beetles and suitable prey for something that
size. It pounced on a beetle almost as soon as I put it down, and when I left
it was crunching happily.
I hadn’t walked a quarter of the way back before something
hit the back of my boot. The little dragon was holding on with all four claws,
and when I looked down it squeaked pathetically. If possible, its eyes got even
rounder.
Listen, you don’t make it as a farmer if you just let orphaned
baby animals die. We hand-raise calves and lambs and ponies, set chickens to
sit on abandoned eggs, or put them under the kitchen stove or by a fireplace.
You don’t make a success of farming if you don’t value every animal. A good
shepherd will spend all night looking for one lost sheep. So despite what was
said later, it wasn’t just sentiment that made me sigh and pick up the little
thing and carry it back to the farm. I
am a good farmer. I don’t let orphaned babies die just because they’re a little
work.
