Behind the Lines: by David Heiller

David Heiller Snakes. Just the word sends a shiver up most people’s backbone. I don’t mean that everybody is afraid of snakes. Most people aren’t afraid of snakes, once they spot them and get over the initial shiver. It’s that first sighting, when you see the grass move and the snake slither, that makes everybody jump. This first heart-pounding surprise is what gives snakes a bad name. Take a group of kids, and put a snake in their midst, and that snake’s future will be gravely in doubt. I remember when I as about 12, some younger kids caught a big water snake by the river, carried it up to Main Street, and proudly killed it for all the town to see. I saw it, and yelled at them. “Why did you have to kill the snake?” They looked at me like I was crazy. “It’s just a snake,” they mumbled. Of course, the other strike which snakes have against them is that some are dangerous. Marlin Perkins will testify to that—remember that Wild Kingdom episode when a python nearly squeezed him to d...

David Heiller Warning: The following column contain graphic (but not salacious) material. And if that doesn’t get you reading it, nothing will! Winter must be coming, because our house is filling up with mice and flies. It happens every year at this time. I can understand the mice. They feel temperature changes, so they head for a warmer home, which happens to be my home. But flies? Are flies that smart? I don’t like living with either one. I love my wife and two kids and two dogs and one cat. But mice and flies are not welcome. Cindy alerted me to this fall’s mouse invasion about a month ago, when she found shredded toilet paper in the bottom of the bathroom vanity, where she stores things like toilet paper. She figured mice were using it for something other than its intended purpose. She figured they were using it to make a nest. You know what that means. More mice! A battle plan was needed, so she called on me. I’m Chief Mouse Catcher in our house. I’ve been refining ...

David Heiller The evening grosbeaks fought for food at our feeders on Sunday. They jostled for a spot with the chickadees, nuthatches, and blue jays. So many gathered there that when someone walked around the corner of the house suddenly, they would take off with a roar that made you jump, like the sound of grouse that you scare in the woods. But they soon returned. They are bolder this time of year, because they know they have to fill up for winter. One grosbeak sat on the edge of the dog’s water dish. I walked to within five feet before it flew off. Maybe it got the idea from the blue jay that I saw on Sunday morning. It was perched on the edge of the dog food dish and calmly eating dog food. And perhaps the blue jay stole its idea from my least favorite animal. Two weeks ago I woke up in the middle of the night, and headed out-side to answer nature’s call. Our dog, Ida, wanted to go outside too. I flipped on the outside light and started opening the door. At the same ...

by David Heiller The call of the bittern almost shook the windows in the house last Friday morning. I stepped onto the deck and looked toward the pond. I couldn’t see anything, so I went back inside and grabbed the binoculars. When the call came again, I was able to zero in on a bird standing on the south side of the pond. He blended in perfectly with the dried grass all around him, two feet tall and very stout. American bittern. I’m saying it was a “he” because I think he was calling for a mate. It was one of the most fascinating things I’ve ever seen. The call started in his midsection, as if he was gasping for air. Then he puffed out his feathers and stretched out his neck like he was about to throw up. His chest bulged up like a hot air balloon. Then out came this big, wet, hollow call. Glug-Ga-GLUG, Glug-Ga-GLUG, Glug-Ga-GLUG, Glug-Ga-GLUG. It sounded like Paul Bunyan using a plunger in an echo chamber. The nickname of the bird, “slough pumper,” comes from that uniq...

David Heiller The bat flew through the cabin last week as only a bat can fly, dodging and darting like a furry whiffle ball, Everybody screamed and yelled and cleared out of the room except my daughter Malika and me. The question popped into my head: Do I kill this bat? I quickly answered no. A bat, the kind that startles us, and freaks so many of us out, and eats multitudes of pesky insects. I doubt that I will ever kill a bat again after reading an article about them in National Geographic a few years ago. The article talked about how bats consume astounding numbers of bugs. Any critter that kills bugs gets a reprieve from me. (My compassion ends when it comes to killing bugs.) First I took off my T-shirt and tried to trap the bat against a ceiling or wall. But he always seemed to flutter away at the last moment. And I thought they were blind. I had him trapped behind a picture frame once, and called Malika over to hold the frame while I slipped the shirt ov...