The geese that I waited for every year at least lived in a recognizable landscape, that is until they disappeared.
But when the young woman keeping my dad safe and sound pointed out something I've only seen on TV or in children's books...
... well... how could I not run out, get a feeder and then home-make sugar water for the itty-bitty-smaller-than-a-manderin hummingbird and her little babies?
My father, hearing all the squealing and picture snapping, shrugged. "If it isn't an eagle or mockingbird, the hell with it."
**
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