Tag: Boink

The Return of Boink!
animals

The Return of Boink!

J.Leave a comment

Remember Boink? The weird little scrunglemuppet who spent an entire summer living on top of my shed?

He’s back. At least, I’m pretty certain sure it’s him, though he appears able to fly now. This crow has a distinctive appearance and a set of behaviors I had previously only observed in Boink, so I am somewhat confident in my assertion that The Shed-Dwelling Scrunglemuppet Has Returned.

Last year, he spent evenings roosting in the big apple tree, and mornings and afternoons sitting on top of the shed. When I went outside, he’d run to the far side to “hide.” If he heard the back door close, his little head would pop up over the shed’s roofline to see if I was still there. If not, he’d hop his way over to the feeders to grab some food before the other crows came.

Now, he appears with the rest of the family. He still appears to be pushed away from the food and scolded, and he still does the same goofy little run, but he’s at least better able to get away from predators. I don’t think there are many animals who would go out of their way to eat a Boink, but there are certainly creatures who would take the opportunity to hunt a land-locked crow.

Two crows at perched on a deck railing near a feeder. One is larger and sleeker. The other is smaller and distinctly scrungy.

Boink still has to be a bit opportunistic when he eats. He’s still scrungy. His tail is still kind of karked up, and I don’t think he’s capable of not looking bedraggled, but his flight feathers are back and that’s what’s important.

Good job, scrunglemuppet.

“hey. hey. hey where’d you go”
life

“hey. hey. hey where’d you go”

J.3 Comments

So, my spouse and I went to an out-of-town family shindig the weekend before July 4th. It was a lot of fun — there was a ton of food, live music, and a huge crowd of interesting people to talk to (many of whom are also Garden People like me).

When I came back, the yard was silent. My heart dropped into my stomach.

Was it because I wasn’t there to keep the food and water replenished? Was it the fireworks? Had someone gotten injured or killed, scaring the whole murder away?
Did something happen to Boink?

I put fresh water and the usual mix of food (peanut butter cereal, cat kibble, dried bugs, and berries) out, but all I got was a clamorous mob of starlings.

(Apparently a group of starlings can be called an “affliction,” which sounds about right. I love all of the birds that come to my home, but most of these are, to put it bluntly, invasive shrieking dickheads who throw things.)

A day went by, then another. I lost sleep and felt my urge to write or paint completely sapped. So much of my art is inspired by these magnificent little weirdos, I hated the idea of working on a painted bird when the real ones had disappeared.

Then this happened.

A crow, head cocked, peers through a bathroom window.
“hey, you there? you guys back n- oh, you poopin?”

The crows returned by having this guy rock up to the bathroom window (please ignore the spots on the glass — the rain and pollen have fingerpainted everything) and stare inside. They twisted their head from one side to the other, very deliberately peering in. If they had hands, they probably would’ve cupped them around their eyes to see better.

It was funny, but, in retrospect, also somewhat concerning. Did they watch us leave? Did they send someone to stare into our house every day to see if we were back yet? There are so many windows, you guys, why did they pick the bathroom?!

Anyhow, the big maple tree is once again filled with raucous caws and shiny black birds. I’ve seen Magni and Muse, and even Boink has once again taken up his position on top of the shed. (I have no idea where — or how, for that matter — he went for several days at a time. I’m just glad he’s back.)

It does my heart good to see them. I just kind of wish they’d maybe peeked in the kitchen instead.

This is Boink.
life

This is Boink.

J.Leave a comment

Crows are sleek, beautiful, intelligent creatures.

And then there’s Boink.

Boink looks like he was made by Jim Henson with spare parts and a strict time limit. He looks like what birds would look like in the Fraggle universe.

Boink is not injured, but has somehow managed to damage all of the flight feathers on one wing and half of his tail. He can fly, but it’s the flight a bird whose wings have been clipped — just enough to keep from falling, until his flight feathers grow back in. His main means of locomotion is to hop and scramble in a way that even the best foley artist would have difficult putting a sound to.

A small, scruffy crow gazes pensively through slats in a deck railing.
Boink having a small philosophical moment.

He spends most of the day hanging out on the railing by my back door. When I open it, he jumps up and… well, boinks his way across the deck to the shed. He hops on the roof, bops his way to the other side, and ducks down with his little head sticking up like a periscope.

If I look at him, he ducks.

If I pretend to close the door, he pokes his head up again.

If I go back inside, he moves back to the railing to sit.

Boink is the scruffiest wild animal that I’ve ever seen. He is the prime specimen of scrunginess. An absolute scrunglemuppet. He is Mother Nature’s silliest fool and I love him very much.

He doesn’t seem to have trouble avoiding predators, somehow — when he needs to hide, he hides behind the other shed, or climbs up the big apple tree. It makes me grateful that I didn’t prune it as much as I should have, because the lowermost branches give Boink something to hop onto and make his way up.

(I don’t even really know if he’s a he. In my defense, I don’t think Boink does either.)

I think that Boink may have a criminal record. He doesn’t seem to have a mate to help take care of him, and the other crows push him away from the feeders. I sneak extra portions of food into places I know he can reach easily and put extra fruit and dried bugs to make up for the things he may not be able to forage for himself.

A small, scruffy crow sitting on a deck railing in the rain.
“Hoh. Kibble for Boink? No! Cereals for Boink? No! Every time, they bully Boink.”

The other crows also don’t seem to have a problem with leaving Boink behind, too. Is he Outlaw Boink? Has he been ostracized for crimes, or do they just leave him because they know he’s safe, with his water dish and his food stashes and his shed roof?

I don’t know what Boink did, or what happened to him. He sits on my deck like a tiny, questionably useful gargoyle. He is my very special boy and his presence is delightful.