Cry Me A Rodent

Texas is known for its downpours, but Utah is right up there.  This is what we saw the other day.  When we came here what little grass there was, was brown and under snow.  Now some of the grasses near the streams are taller than Jim, and he’s tall!

Summer Downpour

The cranes haven’t been as prevalent these days.  One doesn’t usually hear them calling their prehistoric cry aroun d 5:00 a.m., but Jim did this morning.  After he left I went upstairs to clean up and what do I see but a Greater Sandhill Crane killing a large rodent.  In about three minutes s/he used its bill to peck at it, carry it around, drop it to the ground and peck some more.  This was about 200 feet away but I’d gotten the binoculars.  It was probably a large rat or small marmot (prairie dog).   Then came the impressive part.  With only one body part (the bill), no cutting board, poultry shears, boning or chef’s knife this poor creature was filleted into three pieces and placed down the hatch, one by one.  There was no sharing with the mate.

About an hour later I looked out and they were about 150 feet away, the lifelong mated pair.  I saw a rustling in the grass and a small animal about five feet from the cranes.  My first thought was how stupid this mammal was tailing these two magnificent killing machines.  Then I thought again and got out the binoculars.  Yep, it’s a colt, probably unable to fly as yet.  Note to siblings, yes, baby cranes are called colts.  When we were young my sister and I used to change the Sesame Street song about animals and baby names to be silly, like “ducks have puppies, hippos have lambs…”

So, may I introduce you to perhaps Mama Crane (the one who was catching bugs and placing them in the colt’s beak) and the Crane Family.  It takes about 30 days for the eggs to hatch, then they need to wait for the young’un to be able to fly before they can head for NW Canada.

Were the cranes able to speak, no doubt they’d have given me their recipe for varmint.  Simple, really, eat it whole or nearly whole with fur, bones and guts.  No seasonings to speak of.  No oven or stove required.  Just how nature intended them to eat varmint.  Then they’d tell me we ruined things by finding fire, marinades, rubs, rich sauces and plastic packaging to demonstrate we’re really not carnivores after all.

Hope you’re enjoying your Monday.  I’m warming up some mac and cheese (rich, yummy with extra sharp Tillamook cheddar) and making spaghetti and meatballs for the better half.  Zoe’s getting dried with chicken broth.  She has a pound of frozen venison and a pound of frozen elk, both raw, but I can’t cut them if they’re frozen.  I’ll work on that one.  I prefer the individual medallions that come in a bag.  Cheers!  Dee