Dining with Friends

Anybody remember going out with friends pre-covid? Getting together, everybody around a big table, the restaurant had to move things around so everybody could sit together, sometimes they’d even put us all in a separate room so our laughter wouldn’t disturb the other patrons?

Gosh, those were the days.

We’ve just begun to do that again. With a few, select friends, of course.

Not so in The Wild. Here friendships, when made across species, last forever.

Or at least while food resources are available to support group dining.

But even when resources diminish, we rarely hear squabbles, rarely witness arguments and aggressive, assertive discussions.

Most often they’ll snatch and grab, take what they can immediately get and run away.

It may not fill their bellies, and it will get them to the next opportunity.

When perhaps they can share again.

Any Two-Legs listening?

 

Matchmaking in Opieville

Long, long, oh, ever so long ago, I routinely gathered with friends to play music. One time and for no reason, I started playing America’s Muskrat Love except I changed the words to something far from the original.

People laughed, held their bellies, rolled on the floor, had tears coming of their eyes, gasped for breath, those with instruments put them down, …

It was a glorious time.

I remembered that on this night.

Two Opossum, dancing in the moonlight, doing it up and doing it right.

Or at least not arguing with each other.

Much.

 

Enjoying a Little Opie Butt

I wrote in The Bluebirds of Keith Jarrett about The Wild seeming not to signal its children to move on.

Four days later, our area looked like this:

 
Needless to say, migratables had migrated quickly.

Our hope is we provided fuel for their flights.

Meanwhile, two days after WinterMan walked through our backyard, an Opossum sallied forth.

I’ve always wondered why nothing ever sallies fifth. Or third. It’d be great if they medaled at least once, wouldn’t it?

 

Alphabetical Opie

I mentioned in Oaps Likes Grand Funk how intrigued we are by The Wild‘s musical tastes.

Example: Last night’s Opossum banged along with Grand Funk. Today, it’s Keith Jarrett.

And, hey. Who wouldn’t cruise with Keith Jarrett, right?

Especially when Susan‘s offering commentary…

 

Oaps Likes Grand Funk

We are often intrigued by The Wild‘s musical tastes.

It is eclectic to say the least.

And it would be one thing if musical preferences followed some kind of Old One differentiation, you know?

Something like “All raccoons prefer Bach, all Opossum prefer modern jazz, skunk are heavily into acid rock (thank goodness they’re not!), …”

You know, some kind of differentiator so we could see who’s come to visit and put on something to suit their musical tastes.

No such luck.

Each’s musical leanings are as individuated as, well, as they are.

Food.

That seems to be the commonality.

Not only across species, but individuals, as well.

Set out a good table and they’ll gather.

It’s a good thing.