Aha, victory is mine, Centurus aurifrons!

woody

woody 2

My dining room table is pushed three feet out of the way with the tripod atop it, I’ve removed the plants that were hanging in the window, and made a slippery mess scooting the dogs’ water dish out of the way, but I finally got a somewhat decent shot of one of the golden-fronted woodpeckers that frequent the feeder, a female this time — note the golden patch on her nape and that she’s missing the red cap sported by her male counterpart. She has lovely eyes, no?

Oh, and Zenaida asiatica, thanks for nothing! I’ve got literally dozens of pictures of your ilk. Bless their hearts (to use that old southern prefix that signals you’re about to call someone or something stupid or ugly), bless their hearts, doves are beautiful, but not exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer, or the most graceful. (Hence, no doubt, their oft-observed collaboration with magicians and wedding planners. Easy to catch, without much of a finely honed survival instinct. ) They have a great deal of trouble actually getting into the feeding station- they can more or less easily land on top of it, setting the whole thing swinging wildly, but they seldom make it into the feeding tray on the first dozen or so attempts, which is probably why, once they are there, they don’t want to leave. They remind me a bit of old ladies bogarting the buffet table (no, I am not projecting) at a wedding. They cluck and dither around, their generous rumps obscuring other, more photo-worthy, subjects from view.

The woodpeckers on the other hand, zoom in, flit madly and acrobatically about, and are then all, “later h8trs!” They may, on rare occasions, hang out, but only if my camera batteries are dead.

Speaking of flitting madly about, and animal photography, huzzahs and kudos are in order for NTodd, who’s garnered a well-deserved finalist nomination in the 2007 Photobloggies. Too bad he doesn’t have a blog…

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That’s general dickface SIR, mister!

Because I believe it’s important that we listen to our generals on the ground, a salute is in order for everyone’s favorite heterosexual patriot, Gen. JC Christian. The General has taken on one of his most dangerous missions ever: corresponding mano a mano with the crusaders in Donahue’s Army. For his considerable trouble, he gets highly erudite answers such as this:

Go fuck your mother you bitch ass faggot general dickface!!

Remember people, he’s fighting them over there so we don’t have to fight them over here…