So, we have pet vultures now. A whole volt of them.
Or a committee.
Or a venue.
So many words to describe a group of vultures.
There's even a separate word to call them when they are eating. A wake.
And when they are flying? Yup, another word. A kettle.
These are things you know when you have pet vultures.
What you don't know is why there is a need to be so specific when talking about a group of some of the ugliest birds on the planet.
It reminds me of trying to teach 4 year olds the words for a single goose or a flock of geese.
The days and weeks that I had to say things like, "See that one bird in the grass? There's only one, so we call it a goose. See all of those birds in the parking lot? Since there's more than one, we call them geese."
And the days and weeks that I had to hear things like, "So if it's in the grass, it's a goose, and if it's in the parking lot it's a geese."
It's enough to make a mother consider leaving her child to be raised by said geese.
Back to the pet vultures.
There are three.
We're just calling them the vultures.
They've been living in our barn for at least 3 weeks now. Every time we go outside, we hear them making a ruckus on the metal roof or see them come swooping out of the barn loft window.
We were a bit startled at first, but honestly, I'm glad they're here. My days of cleaning up nasty dead animals are over!
Of course, our little zootopia we've got going here doesn't leave many dead animals for either of us to dispose of.
To illustrate, I'll describe my time in the garden the other day.
As I sat in the dirt, plants all around, the cat comes looking for attention. He rubs up against my back and legs, but my hands are covered in mud. I couldn't pet him. He wasn't happy that I was ignoring his pleas, so he nipped me. I tossed him to the next row and continued to pull weeds. In protest, he plopped himself down directly on top of 2 green bean plants.
As he sat glaring at me, the chickens came a calling. Their favorite garden pastime is scratching in the grass clippings between the rows, flinging grass all over the new baby plants, thus killing them before they have a chance to give us their yummy veggieness. Seven chickens wander all around me and the grumpy feline.
Next up, the dogs. Roy is content to simply rest in the shade of an apple tree a few yards away. Hershey, on the other hand, must be righthereinmyface, with not a care that he is stomping all over my fragile carrot stalks. He didn't even give the cat or chickens a second glance, and the animals didn't even have the decency to scatter in fear.
After I got the dog and cat off the plants (there really is no way to make chickens do anything without causing way more damage) and back into the grass, I sat myself down to continue with my chore.
Birds were singing. The breeze was blowing through the trees. The sun was shining.
When seemingly out of nowhere, not one, not two, but three rabbits came speeding through the garden. I'm guessing they are the same rabbits that chewed the green beans plants down to nubbins. They went careening into the orchard, chased each other among the trees, and came back for another round bout the garden, paying no attention to the dogs, the cat, or me.
Not only weren't they petrified, they weren't even nervous. The were frolicking for Pete's sake!
So, zootopia continues.
At this rate, I won't be the least bit surprised if, when I'm out picking raspberries along the perimeter of our property, a coyote or two sidles up next to me looking for a scratch behind the ears.
Mighty unfortunate for the vultures.