Tag Archives: sloth

Sloth?

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The cars in a caravan of about 15 parked in the overflow lot in front of the Mercantile. I don’t know if the people in the cars were a family or friends or what, but the folks from the group who visited the Mercantile ranged in age from babes-in-arms to senior citizens. Of course, the children who came inside ooohhed and ahhhhed over all the things they wanted but their parents weren’t going to buy.

A little boy who was maybe five walked right over to the wagon full of stuffed animals and pulled out a monkey.

Wait? What? A monkey? On a mountain in North America? Why in the world were we trying to sell a stuffed money? Those were the questions I wanted answered.

The plush toy in question is not visible in this photo.

I’d just pulled the monkey out of our plush toy back stock earlier in the day. Why are we selling a monkey? I’d asked the other store clerks. Neither of them had any idea. I tossed the monkey into the big wagon with the stuffed bears and raccoons and other woodland creatures. Maybe we’d sell it eventually.

The boy honed in on the monkey, picked it up, and carried it over to his older sister who seemed to be about nine. Look, a sloth! he said as he handed the plush toy to her.

The sister looked as confused as I felt. A sloth? Really? While selling a stuffed sloth in the middle of a North American forest on top of a mountain made about as much sense as selling a toy monkey in that location, I didn’t think what we had was a sloth. It didn’t look a bit like a sloth to me.

The sister was scrutinizing the tag attached to the toy’s ear, trying to find an indication of its species, I presume. I sidled up to her and said, I think it’s a monkey. She looked startled. Maybe she was surprised to find an adult getting involved.

My brother said it’s a sloth, she told me.

I know, I acknowledged, but I think it’s a monkey. I walked away from the girl then. I didn’t want to creep her out by hanging around.

A few minutes later, a man who turned out to be the dad of the two kids came into the Mercantile. He looked around at the goods for sale and found himself in front of the wagon full of stuffed animals. His daughter must have returned the monkey to the wagon because there it was, looking up at him. I’ll be damned if he didn’t exclaim, Look! A sloth!

The father had an accent that led me to believe English was not his first language. Had he somehow gotten confused in his study of animal names and thought the critters English speakers call “monkeys” are called “sloths”? Had he taught his son the names of animals, thus passing down the monkey/sloth confusion? Had the girl child learned the proper animal names in school, but the boy child hadn’t gotten to that lesson yet? Or could it simply be that what looked like a monkey to me looked like a sloth to others?

A few weeks later, a different little boy solved the mystery.

He was probably seven or eight and made a beeline to the big wagon filled with stuffed animals. A Sasquatch! he exclaimed as he plucked the monkey/sloth from away from its furry companions.

A Sasquatch?  I pondered. This kid might be on to something.

Is this a Sasquatch? the kid asked the adult who seemed to be his father.

I don’t know, the father said. Why don’t you ask? he said, gesturing to the other clerks standing behind the counter.

The boy marched up to the counter with the monkey/sloth/Sasquatch in tow. Is this a Sasquatch? he asked one of the other clerks.

I have no idea, she told him.

I took a good look at the plush toy. Yes. I could see how it was possibly, maybe, perhaps supposed to be a Sasquatch.

I want the Sasquatch, the boy told his father,

You only get one thing, the father told his son. He mentioned a half dozen other things the boy might want from the Mercantile, but the boy stood strong. He wanted the Sasquatch.

Just before the other clerk rang up the purchase, I ran over behind the counter. Let me see that! I demanded, grabbing the plush toy and finding the tag attached to its ear. Yep, there on the tag with the barcode and item number, in tiny letters it said, “Bigfoot.” Mystery solved. Why hadn’t I just looked there in the first place?

I took a photo of the stuffed animal in question and planned to share it here, but I’ll be damned if I can find it. It probably actidentally ended up in the wrong folder and I’d never renamed it, so itsname is just a bunch of random numbers. Sigh. Blogger fail.

I took the photo in this post.

The Roadrunner Returns

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Remember the roadrunner that hopped up on my side mirror one morning? It came back!

It was early evening. The sun was still out, but the temperature had dropped a bit and my van cast a big shadow. I had my table set up in a shady spot in the back of my campsite, and I was cooking dinner.

I saw movement in my peripheral vision and turned my head to investigate. The roadrunner was on the ground, strolling, in no hurry at all. I froze and watched it.

Close Up Photography Roadrunner at the Top of Red Surface during Daytime

(I’m not 100% sure it was the same roadrunner, but it seemed to be the same size and color. According to http://www.softschools.com/facts/animals/greater_roadrunner_facts/465/, the

[g]reater roadrunner is territorial animal…

which lends credence to my idea that it was the same bird I’d seen before.)

The roadrunner was close enough for me to see it very well, especially when it stopped moving. I could see the iridescence of its long tail feathers. I could see the crest of feathers on the top of its head move up and down. (Was the bird trying to communicate with me? If so, I missed the message.)

While I observed the bird, it picked up one of its legs and used its foot to scratch where its ear would be if it had external ear parts. The bird scratched its “ear” like a dog would. I was delighted! I’ve never seen another bird do such a thing. Is that a normal thing for a bird to do? Is that specifically a roadrunner move?

The bird didn’t seem worried or frightened. I wonder if it were as interested in me as I was in it.

As I stood watching it, the roadrunner turned its back to me. I thought it was going to walk away, but instead, it lifted its wings away from its body. It looked sort of puffed up. I could see the downy feathers on its body. Those feathers were being fluffed by the wind. I could see its skin in patches not covered by feathers. The bird stood with its wings lifted for what seemed like a long time before it walked away.

I wondered if it were trying to make itself look bigger in hopes of intimidating me. It seemed odd to me that an animal’s act of aggression would involve turning its back on a possible threat.

According to https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roadrunner,

To warm itself during the day, the roadrunner exposes dark patches of skin on its back to the sun.

The Hill Country Naturalist says that to warm itself,

[t]he roadrunner turns its back to the sun and fluffs out its feathers, using its black skin to absorb the warmth.

So that’s what it was doing! The roadrunner was feeling chilly and was trying to get warm. Its behavior had nothing to do with me.

When the roadrunner walked away, I went over to the van and sat in the open side doors to eat my dinner. As I sat there, the bird came back! It stood about three steps away from me, parallel to the van and calmly regarded me. I thought I should grab my camera, but I was worried my movements would scare off the critter. I decided I’d rather look at it and not risk spooking it while fumbling around.

When the bird grew tired of looking at me, it walked a few more steps away from me, toward some creosote bushes. It stopped, turned its back, and commenced its wing flapping. Then it disappeared into the bushes, not to be seen again.

When I told the Lady of the House about the return of the roadrunner, she said maybe it was my new spirit guide. I’ve been pretty happy with the sloth as my spirit guide, but there’s not much I can do if the roadrunner has chosen me.

Photo courtesy of https://www.pexels.com/photo/close-up-photography-roadrunner-at-the-top-of-red-surface-during-daytime-158097/.