This morning, while taking a letter to the mailbox, i hear a few sandhill cranes overhead. A unique bird, the sandhills. When I was growing up around here, about 10 miles east of Lansing MI, there were no deer, coyotes, turkeys, eagles, or sandhill cranes. There were quail - the ones whose call is "Bob White!" - , ring necked pheasants, kill deer, and a bear or two. Now, the situation is reversed. Rabbits are still here, of course, but their numbers are thinner with coyotes around. I dearly miss the ringmecks, bob whites, and killdeer.
And then, there are those sandhill cranes. Robert Frost found them interesting. I find them to be dumb. Oh, they look regal when standing still. But then, so does an oak tree. As you watch them move around, you quickly notice that their movements aren't bright, quickly moving in curiosity, alert.. They appear more like they are on drugs, or drunk. They don't stumble, but neither do they move quickly like, say a blue jay or a crow. They . . . just . . . slowly . . . amble . . . along. Evidently, their instincts are enough to get by on, because it surely isn't intelligence.
And then, there are those sandhill cranes. Robert Frost found them interesting. I find them to be dumb. Oh, they look regal when standing still. But then, so does an oak tree. As you watch them move around, you quickly notice that their movements aren't bright, quickly moving in curiosity, alert.. They appear more like they are on drugs, or drunk. They don't stumble, but neither do they move quickly like, say a blue jay or a crow. They . . . just . . . slowly . . . amble . . . along. Evidently, their instincts are enough to get by on, because it surely isn't intelligence.