Back Porch Sittin’

 

   One of my favorite summer pastimes is to enjoy nature from the back porch. Thus, this story titled Back Porch Sittin'. I hope you enjoy it.

Back Porch Sittin'    

Since retirement, Saturday is no longer a day to rush around cleaning, mowing, or shopping for groceries. Mundane chores are completed during the week. Now it is the day I like to stay home and relax. When weather permits, my day begins on the back porch with a steaming cup of coffee.

Gus, our red-heeler, comes along. He checks the perimeter for danger, before making himself comfortable at my feet. As dawn colors the sky, birds come alive. They are practicing their calls and singing the day awake. A cardinal makes a precarious landing on the edge of the feeder, followed by his lady. He hops off and sits on the fence while she eats her fill. A chickadee joins her, followed by a dark-eyed junco. A larger bird, practicing his menacing moves, swoops down and lands nearby. He utters a high-pitched call and the other birds quickly disappear. It’s the dreaded cowbird.

“Get him, Gus,” I whisper.

Gus swiftly advances toward the enemy. He barks. The cowbird flies to safety in the top of a dead tree. Gus barks some more and then struts back to the porch. “Good dog,” I say and give him a pat on the head. He flops down and closes his eyes. He’s asleep.

A hummingbird roars by, circles, and lands on the new red Hummerdome I found at the hardware store last week. He takes a few sips of nectar before a WWII reenactment begins. Mr. Hummer #2 in a Japanese Zero dives down from the clouds. Mr. Hummer #1 climbs into his Hellcat and the fight is on. They forget they have an audience. After a few passes, they each retire to the fence. One is on the north side, the other on the south. They prepare to fight another war—they’re off for round two.

Gus jumps up, runs toward the west perimeter and starts barking his mean bark. It’s the neighbor’s bull. I silence the dog before the bull charges through the rickety fence. The bull wanders off.

The sound of hooves beating against hard earth distracts me. The pasture has morphed into the racetrack at Churchill Downs. Two horses are running across the pasture at top speed—side by side—racing. Whiskey pulls ahead. With his muscled body straining, Nero fights back to take the lead. By the time they reach the pond, I decide Whiskey is the winner by a nose. At the track it would have been a photo finish. The thunder of hooves subsides. Nero snorts, kicks, and nips Whiskey on the neck. Whiskey reciprocates with a nip to Nero’s nose. With a shake of his head, Whiskey walks over to the pond. Nero follows. In tandem, they bend down to get a drink.

Don, coffee in hand, comes outside. “Any excitement this morning?”

“Actually, yes.” I say. “Have a seat, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

He sits. I talk. We laugh. It’s another relaxing day of back porch sittin’.  ~ 2021