Ho! Ho! Ho! I hope everyone is enjoying a fun and festive holiday! This morning Malki helped us celebrate Christmas with her traditional shredding of paper as we opened presents.

And many presents there were,  wonderful items from our closest relations and friends.

But this year our family received a unique and unexpected gift…

                                                                                                 Meet "Holli".

Holli was hit by a car a few days before Christmas after a rainstorm that caused havoc on streets funneling hundreds of shoppers. When my girlfriend Donna and I saw her frantic little body zigzagging through busy traffic several cars ahead, we immediately shot into rescue mode, cutting lanes to follow the animal into a nearby neighborhood.

Lost and frightened, the little brown dog ran almost a mile until she hit a dead end—a fence framed by two block walls. There, she dove into a stand of wet Oleanders and sat trembling in the mud. Her feet were bloodied. Hot breaths of exhaustion puffed to clouds around her face. Wide eyes held unyielding distrust.

I approached slowly, sideways. Diverting my eyes to avoid direct contact, I mumbled words of encouragement until I could loop a leash around her neck. At last, employing a soft blanket and a good dose of patience, I was able to wrap her cold, shaking frame and carry her to my car.

Luckily she was not badly injured, just a few bumps and bruises, broken nails and scraped toe pads. Yet, with no tags or microchip we could not return her to her family. We posted hopeful notices in every appropriate location but nobody has called.

That evening I brought her home, fed her and slept on the laundry room floor holding her in my arms.

Kevin and Malki opened their hearts, too. They have made Holli feel welcome in our home and she is recovering well.

     So for now she is safe and dry and warm, bringing her own mark of sweetness to our home and reminding us of the season’s most important blessings—a soft bed, a full belly and at least one person who holds you dear.

                                                                                                            Here’s wishing you all a very special Holli-day!

P.S. Remember, I will be blogging from Costa Rica in January; please join me for the journey.

My treasured friend Tony Subia just surprised me with this 3-minute video that he created using elements from my website:

    I first worked with SubiaCreative (www.subiacreative.com) when I was eighteen years old. I soon met Tony and his family—gorgeous wife Ruby, their great kids Patty, Kenny and Tanya (who are close to me in age), and subsequently all the grandchildren who came into the fold one precious birth at a time.

                                      What connects us with certain people for a lifetime? I don’t know.

    But the Subias have been in my heart ever since and I love them like family! Together through the years we have watched children grow (little Brittney is a new Phoenix Suns Dancer http://www.ahwatukee.com/articles/suns-7857-phoenix-team.html) ...jobs change ... skin age. We have shared holidays’ joy and tragedies’ tears. We are forever linked.

Tony and I are especially close. He is a trusted friend and father-figure, who I've always turned to for advice during major life decisions, and his insight and support have undoubtedly shaped me.

Professionally, Tony is a marketing genius. For over thirty years he has been an ally to clients trying to share company messages in an ever-changing American culture. Nowadays he focuses his creative mind and savvy business sense on developing websites about beautiful and interesting destinations; he opens windows to the world. He has taken Internet browsers to Sedona, La Jolla and Orlando...

                                                                                                                                ... and now he’s taken my goofy mug to YouTube!

If your reading this, Tony (and I hope you are), thanks for the super cool video! But most of all, thanks for believing in me.

If you like to travel as I do, here are some of Tony’s top-rated websites:

www.arizona-leisure.com

www.dreamsedona.com

www.dreamlajolla.com

www.orlandomagicalvacation.com

www.dreamflagstaff.com

Kevin and I are always looking for ways to eat more healthfully, so we recently became members in a CSA called Desert Roots Farm (http://www.desertrootsfarm.com). CSA stands for Community Supported Agriculture—members own “shares” in seasonal crops and receive produce direct from the farmer.

Now, every Tuesday, we have a giant brown bag of ultra-fresh, organic veggies delivered right to our door. The cost turned out to be less than we’d pay in the grocery store and, since all the food is locally grown and still plump with right-from-the-ground goodness, the flavors are decidedly yummier!

Of course I like the idea of buying from small traditional farmers but it also feels great to be taking another step for conservation. By supporting a farm that employs organic practices, we help keeps tons of pesticides out of ground water. And since that farm is nearby, we help eliminate tons of CO2 that would be piped into the air from trucks transporting food across country.

There are CSA farms in every state. If you want to eat better—live greener—you might consider joining one. We became members online and the process was quick and simple. Here’s a helpful website to learn more about CSAs and find one nearby: http://www.localharvest.org/csa/.

Actually, one of the very best things about a weekly delivery from Desert Roots is… well, it’s the SURPRISE! I never know what my brown bag will hold and we have discovered some delightful new varieties of vegetables. I never know if I will get a butternut squash or a beautiful eggplant, some bok choy or asian cucumbers—but I do know whatever I unpack will be fresh, seasonal, delicious and, best of all, “green”.

                        Happy eating!

         It was heart retching to see a baby so emaciated!

I happened into the garage and, glancing down, discovered a hatchling Western banded gecko (scientifically named Colenyx variegatus) stuck in an empty dog bowl and nearly dead from starvation. 

Like other lizards, a banded gecko absorbs the last of the yolk sac inside its egg just before hatching—a bolster of nutrition to hold it over until its first meal. This little guy was days, maybe only hours old when he somehow slipped into the bowl and found the edges too steep for escape. I do not know how long he suffered without food or water before I finally spotted his miniscule frame and stooped in horror.

     I could hardly believe he was still alive.  Under two inches long, his body was mostly bone, his tail thin as a thread. And the skin along his sides had folded into long yellow stripes from dehydration.

Urgently, I carried the bowl into the kitchen and transported a single drop of life-giving water from my fingertip to a spot just in front of his face.

      He immediately smelled the moisture and began lapping up the liquid, eyelids closed in weakness and gratitude. 

                        I covered the bowl to let him recover his senses...

     ...and within twenty minutes the skin on his thorax had filled out. 

     My recuperating patient was then set up in a small terrarium with some native plant clippings and a hide box made from butter packaging. Kevin was sweet enough to stop at the pet store to buy pinhead crickets, two of which the gecko gobbled in an instant.  

I do not like to keep animals—wild creatures should be allowed to remain wild. Normally I'd just relocate a misplaced critter to a suitable outdoor spot around the house. But this gecko would never survive in such poor condition. A dazed lizard is quick food for wandering predators. Plus he needs energy to chase and catch prey, and a bit of tail fat to sustain him into the chill of winter.

        So he stayed with us for a few days. He rested. And ate.

            And a week later he appeared in much better shape. 

I knew I could not wait any longer to let him go. In fact, with October pulling down on the thermometer, I worried it might already be too late. I wanted to be sure his release offered enough time to stabilize in the environment before his first hibernation.

I contacted a friend (and reptile expert) at the zoo for advice and, looking at my photos, she agreed he showed significant improvement. She encouraged me to send him out as soon as possible, before the Fall temperatures could drop any lower.

          So, yesterday I picked a nice area with protective rocks and ground cover in the wash behind our house.

                                                             And... 

            I let the gecko go!

He was set free with a full belly and, I hope, the necessary resources to grow into adulthood. Like all releases, it was bitter-sweet for me, simultaneously thrilling and worrisome.

However, I did manage to click one final photo before that banded baby slinked under a rock and disappeared from sight.

                           And when I compare this picture to the first one, the one of him in the dog bowl—when I see his resilience, his fortitude—I am filled with confidence that he will, indeed, survive.

                         Farewell my small friend.

                                                                    God speed.

   Dad and Marie-Laure have lived on an epic arch of California hillside for coming on thirty years. Their charming little ranch house is filled with wonderful food, books and artwork. The sitting area is held between a baby grand piano and a hospitable hearth—both are perfect for warming chilled bones.

                                          Yes, inside it’s always cozy and comfortable.

   Yet perhaps the most alluring aspect of this homestead is the surrounding landscape. Dad and Marie-Laure live in a wildlife wonderland. Their private acreage is bordered by miles of undeveloped parcels. Long grasses trip across rugged canyons, which twist like crumpled paper until they kiss the toes of Mount San Gorgonio, the highest peak in Southern California. Throughout the years, many wild animals have been seen and photographed on the property; Dad and Marie-Laure keep their cameras at the ready. This week they have been kind enough to share some of their favorite images/series. I hope you enjoy...

          a bobcat in the wildflowers - only ears at first sight

                                                         backlit raven collecting nest material

           a young bear next to the house     another adult treed by dogs

                           two fiesty ravens mob a red-tailed hawk                    

                                                          a marsh hawk's "skirt" blows

                                                                                 a male harrier (marsh) hawk in flight

one curious coyote     

                  a sweet little brown towhee, one of the many songbirds that brighten the air

         a great-horned owl   

                                     a mule deer leaping off into the distance

Wonderful sights, don't you agree? A giant thanks to my dad for collecting and sizing all the pictures for this special photo blog from the ranch. Gosh, looking at all these awesome animals, I just can't wait to go back over for another visit!

 “C’mon!” I call from up by the chicken coop, “Time for ‘the family parade!’”

Ninety pounds of smiling dog muscle trots in my direction. Sweet gentle Meggie. With cheeks curled up at the corners and thick tail beating the air, she is ready to go. Moxie, her antithesis, two bold pounds of spotted Chihuahua, already wiggles at my feet.

“The family parade” is what I call our morning and evening walks around the property, a chance to stretch our legs and remember our good fortune for having such bountiful views in every direction.

                                                        As we stroll,  our steps kick up dirt on the tractor road that cuts out to the canyon and wraps neatly back around to the house. I have just let the fowl out for a day of pecking and in the peachy glow rising off the horizon we can hear the young roosters hollering their cock-a-doodle-good-mornings to anyone who will listen.

This place, my father’s 16-acre ranch in the dry scrub-covered hills of Southern California just west of Palm Springs is, for me, a place of great peace.

       Of collecting my thoughts.  Of escaping the day-to-day bustle of the city.

I am watching the property while Dad and Marie-Laure do some escaping of their own—a wedding anniversary trip to visit friends in the Pacific Northwest. So for now it is me,

                                                                                                   Moxie,

              Meggie,

                                                                                    Minou the cat,

       four French sheep,

                                                                                            several chickens and turkeys,  

          and a whole lot of fresh air.

Walking with the dogs settles my mind and binds me back to the earth, to the here-and-now. I relish their companionship. Indeed, they are essential to this heavenly sliver of life on the Banning Bench. But there is wildness here that simultaneously captures my heart. My eyes naturally scan for wildlife on the ranch, a shy coyote skimming a knoll or a hawk flushing prey from a stand of green bushes.

   As we reach the edge of the canyon   and pause to watch the valley below fill with golden light, I promise myself I will show you some of the ranch’s wildlife—the bears and bobcats and birds—I will show them to you in my next blog. Yes, a short photo essay from Dad and Marie-Laure’s extensive collection of images; that will be wonderful! They are great photographers and I know you'll be pleased.

“Let’s go, guys,” I rally the dogs, who have wandered off into the grasses, bored with my reverence for the sunrise. They come quickly and we turn toward home.

                                                                                                There are sheep to feed.

                                                      my head in bat guano... hey, gotta get the shot

You know me—I love bats! (You my recall my blog post on 2-6-09, “Going Batty in the Rainforest”.) And loving bats as I do, I have always wanted to make a trip to Tucson to see the large colonies of migratory Mexican Free tail bats (scientifically Tadarida brasiliensis) that flutter north into Arizona’s summer swelter. Thousands of them roost under Tucson’s expansion bridges between the months of May and October and their nightly emergence is a wildlife must-see!

So my husband, Kevin, and I hopped in the car and headed south. We carved the winding back roads from Scottsdale, a more scenic route that slips between thick creosote and towering saguaro, two hours of glorious, mostly unbroken desert. Arriving in Tucson, we parked near the crossroads of Campbell & River. The bridge spanning the Rillito River has one of the highest bat occupancies in the area and—bulging, all cameras and eagerness—we dashed down into the wash to survey the underside of the viaduct.

Although the tiny Chiropteras (the order means “hand-wing”) hide too deep in the expansion grooves to visualize during daylight hours, the ground beneath gives away their warm sleeping bodies; in the river bed, the sand is striped with thick brown, pebbly-looking bat guano (code for “poo”).

At this point it was still only 6pm and yellow beams still poked at overhead clouds, too high on the horizon. So we waited. We ate. We watched. And watched some more.

Then, about 7:15pm, just as the sun began her curtsies on a stage of purple mountains, we started to see little bat faces peeking out from the blackness. What a delight! Thousands of wrinkled noses and pink tongues edged into the dusky air, anxious to twist and swirl into the cobalt world.

Soon bat chitter rang between concrete and stony earth, a rumpus of squeaks and screeches and clicks, a ruckus, a rally—precursor to one of nature’s greatest performances!

7:35. Let the show begin! Clouds of tumbling brown fell, swooped and rolled away to the west, hungry bat bellies seeking the night’s feast.

Let’s join forces and clean up aquatic habitats! Ocean Conservancy will hold their 24th annual Coastal Clean Up on September 19th, 2009. That’s a Saturday. And there are scheduled sites around the globe, including inland lakes and rivers, so even if you don’t live near the ocean, you can still do your part. The event is only a month away, so sign up with your family and friends at: http://www.signuptocleanup.org.

Last year 400,000 participants coordinated efforts in 100 countries to remove nearly 7 million pounds of trash—yes, 7 MILLION POUNDS of TRASH!

                     Mottled domes of shell wing slow and steady as time across vibrant reefs of coral.

                                Sea turtles of sweet mystery.

                     Wiggly bodies, all eye and color in soft pallets and neon flare nibble tender feathers of algae.

                                               Fish of our lifeblood.

                     Blue behemoths, a hundred feet of glorious blubber, heart and baleen gape krill in the crystalline space.

                                     Whales of living legend.

                     Divers, black neoprene and plexiglass, capture whisps of plastic, slick as jellies, and take them away.

                                                         Hero of all.

Kevin and I are planning to work at Lake Pleasant in Phoenix, Arizona to support the underwater cleanup there (see, there are even clean-up sites in the desert). We hope there will be lots of people diving with us and tidying the shore. Wherever you live, whatever river, lake or ocean you love best, whichever aquatic animals speak to your heart, please join this important effort.

       Alone, we can make a difference.  Together we can save the sea.

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The covered cage-style trap remained perfectly still, even as I lifted a pink terry edge and peered inside.

Soft black marbles glimmered in the revealing light. Eyes. The shiny globes were open and anxious, wrapped in a cliché black mask, punctuated by a sharp pointy nose—the intense stare of a cornered raccoon.

                                    The youngster appeared in good health.

This nocturnal omnivore had been captured overnight trying to freeload a can of cat chow. He was not injured, just locked in.

A live trap had been baited in an area where wild emigrants—feral cats, a rare raccoon—have been causing problems for the residents. The cat-food bandit simply needed to be relocated to a more appropriate riparian (river) habitat. I was charged with the transfer.

The animal shifted stiff and tense into the back corner of the small wired space and my heart lurched for the fear of confinement it must feel. I eased the cover back over its hiding spot and promised to do my job with as little stress as possible.

Raccoons are fairly adaptable and the new location was sure to offer all the amenities—year-round water flow, thick flora and a comfortable elevation. Yes, I was pretty sure this little fellow would like its new digs.

In the car, my guest sat securely in the back seat. The cage remained covered to provide the comfort of darkness. My radio was set to the OFF position, as it always is when I have a “wild” rider. Aware of noise and temperature, I conscientiously adjust both to their needs.

We drove together in silence until the road transgressed to dirt and eventually ended on a sandy bank. There, I settled my engine and efficiently moved the towel-draped cage to a dense stand of trees and greenery a few paces from the river’s edge.

Slipping the pink cloth off one end, I quietly worked the trap hinges to open the door. When freedom was presented, the grey raccoon burst without hesitation into the understory.

It stopped and looked back—released animals so often do—eyeing me from the shadows; however, I was too slow to grab my camera and missed the photo op.  

Instead I clicked this blurry image of a furry behinny dashing into the wilderness…

                                                                                 As it should be, I thought with a smile. As it should be.

To read another raccoon story visit: I http://www.arizona-leisure.com/the-desert-wild-snoodleberries.html (Brooke's gets mushy with her vocabulary when she bottle feeds three wriggling baby raccoons who need to gain strength before they can rejoin their mother.)

Sometimes when we think of “wildlife” we think of animals from other places—exotic species we have seen in books or spotted when traveling to distant locales.

But it’s vital to acknowledge that wildlife exists around us wherever we are. We don’t have to leave town to see it!

I was reminded of this in a recent blog by friend and director of Liberty Wildlife Rehabilitation Foundation www.libertywildlife.org, Megan Mosby, who pointed out, “Many children… can tell you more about the tropical rainforests (as seen on TV) than about the wildlife in their own backyards.”

That’s sad.

Not because rainforest denizens are not worthy of our knowledge and protection—indeed, they are!—but because when we focus solely on far-away habitats, we miss out on the beauty that nature affords us every day.

Watching a hummingbird bird build a nest… or a lizard hunt for bugs. Taking time to observe the delicate footwork of a bumblebee tiptoeing inside a fresh spring flower. Such sweet moments can raise our spirits and make us feel more connected to the world around us. And recognizing the importance of nature in our daily lives is most likely to inspire us to be good stewards.

This week I’m up in Colorado, visiting my family.  One treasured part of staying in the house I grew up in is seeing the wildlife of my childhood. Miss Robin Red-Breast hopping over wooly grass in search of pudgy brown worms. Chittering squirrels dashing across power lines like over zealous tight-rope performers. And—one of my favorite little creatures—the gentle roly-poly (I suspect this beneficial garden woodlouse has charmed children for eons curling magically into a miniscule grey ball).

Last night, windows open to the breeze, we even heard a fox barking. I looked out into the inky darkness but couldn’t resolve any animal from the bushes. Still, just knowing the red ruffed canid was there, one of nature’s graveyarders, gave me a quick simple pleasure.

If you keep your eyes and ears open, you are sure to have lots of small but precious animal experiences in your very own neighborhood. And learning a thing or two about your homeland species makes them even more fascinating!

I reside in Arizona where we are privy to the lives of cactus wrens (the Arizona State bird builds “dummy” nests to fool predators)... 

 ...rattlesnakes (eggs hatch inside the female for a live birth)...

                               ...cottontail rabbits (camouflage is their best defense)...

...turkey vultures (with those giant nostrils they can smell carrion up to 50 miles away)...

 ...and desert tortoises (the top shell is called the carapace).

Occasionally, bigger mammals  like javelina  walk right down my street (they stink because of a hefty scent gland on top of their rump).

If you love wildlife, take a trip out into your yard, go to the park, perhaps hike in a nature preserve just beyond the city. I think you might be surprised how many animals you see. And, let’s face it, sun on the back and the wind in the face is just plain refreshing.

I love sharing stories and photos from biomes far and wide—including the rainforest—but the BEST habitat in the world is the one I’m standing in, where the animals are real and right now. Today that's the beautiful Rocky Mountain State of Colorado, ripe with raccoons and prairie dogs.

Hey, a hawk just flew past my mom's window. Gotta go see what species it is…

                                                                                                                   What's flying past your window???

Well, those spectacular Monarch butterflies are in motion again, heading north on their spring migration from Mexico.

                                       Today I was lucky to observe several orange clouds

                  bobbing over the vast dry desert between Arizona and California, fluttering wings filling crisp blue sky.

This mass migration of the Monarch butterfly is a true wonder of nature—a sight that captures the eye and boggles the mind! But the journey began many months and miles ago in North America and Canada.

In late spring/early summer, Monarch eggs are laid on one type of plant called a milkweed. After they hatch out, tiny yellow, black and white striped Monarch larvae (better known as caterpillars) spend their earliest days eating and growing. Then each animal forms a chrysalis (also called a cocoon). Emerging ~14 days later as butterflies, they take to the breeze...

                                                               on outstretched wings thin as tissue and  

                                                               painted in a dazzling orange and black pattern.  

Once adults, most Monarchs are spurred by a deep instinct to find a very specialized habitat of fir forest that only exists on twelve mountaintops in central Mexico. So hoards of butterflies travel ancient pathways on a southbound migration, seeking a warmer clime to winter over—and mate.

When the rising temperatures of March send the Monarchs flooding north again, they find themselves in a race against time. Those butterflies only have short time to live, to travel toward their homelands and lay eggs of their own.

When the new eggs hatch, the cycle begins anew.

I hope you will watch for Monarch butterflies passing through your back yard. Maybe you’ll even plant a milkweed or two!

If you would like to learn more, there are several good websites about Monarchs but this one maps the annual migration: http://www.learner.org/jnorth/monarch/.

 It was an honor to see Macho B in the flesh. To touch his warm amber fur, trace fingertips across black markings I’d seen only in photographs. To feel him breathing—chest lifting gently beneath my hand—and hear his steady heartbeat through the length of my stethoscope.

What an unlikely surprise, a rare gift, to be working at the zoo the day Macho B arrived, a jaguar known across oceans and held nearly sacred among conservationists in the American Southwest. A jaguar whose story I had followed for over a decade.

But our time was short. His aged kidneys were failing.

For our veterinary team, the streaming minutes were spent in motion. The doctors did an extensive physical examination. We set monitors, added fluids, drew blood, took radiographs. And vitals—always the vitals—I constantly rechecked them in succession. Heart rate. Respiration. Pulse Ox. Temperature. EKG. Our well-trained movements juxtaposed Macho B’s stillness.

He knew nothing of us and our human compassion. Through it all he remained sedated, his eyes lost in the unconscious gaze of sleepers.

It was a heartrending moment when the truth became clear: despite our urgent care and silent hope, there was no way to heal his ailments—no way to reverse the clock. He was estimated to be sixteen years old, and beyond the diagnosed renal failure he had other issues, too. Time steals health from us all.

Freedom from pain and stress was the most humane offering. I looked around the room; faces were drawn with sadness, eyes tipping with tears. My own heart, too, heaved with sorrow as I felt that beloved feline slip from this world.

In the forest, the death of a wild jaguar would be news to none but vultures and insects. Macho B was a wild jaguar. Yet his death reached round the globe like wildfire sparking across AP, phone lines and emails. He garnered international coverage.

Why, you may ask?  It’s an interesting chronicle to be sure...

Jaguars once inhabited the southwestern United States as far north as the Grand Canyon. By the 1950s only a few remained. The last female jaguar was shot and killed in Arizona in 1963. Although listed as an Endangered Species in 1972, jaguars were believed to be extirpated in our country.

That is, until 1996.

Six months apart, two separate hunters treed and photographed adult male jaguars in southeast Arizona and Panthera onca was resurrected as a United States species.

In the following years, protections were put in place, habitats held open and camera traps set to research the large cats’ territories. As more motion-triggered cameras were added, more images were captured. And the most commonly seen jaguar was Macho B, readily identified by a mark on his left flank that looked rather like…

                                                                      ...well, like Betty Boop.

Here’s a 2007 Smithsonian article about Macho B, the conservation program and the history of jaguars in the United States: http://www.smithsonianmag.com/science-nature/prowl-200711.html.

Then a few weeks ago Macho B was accidently caught in a trap and biologists took the opportunity to fit him with a GPS collar before releasing him. That collar later showed him to be moving poorly, so he was recaptured and helicoptered up to the Phoenix Zoo for care.

An article in National Geographic describes the circumstances surrounding his death: http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2009/03/090303-jaguar-update.html.

Macho B was an icon, respected and adored. On a personal level, I will always cherish the miracle of our acquaintance. But his legacy was more than the connection we made with him as an individual. He reclaimed a piece of American soil—a powerful reminder that jaguars belong to this land. He rallied us to preserve vital natural space between Mexico and the U.S.—that he survived sixteen years in the wild shows land conservation efforts work.

Fate may have placed me at the zoo that day, but I don’t want to be one of the last Americans to see a native jaguar. We must continue to protect the habitat in hopes another young male overtakes the territory, perhaps expands or adds a family. Just imagine tiny jaguar cubs romping along paths that Macho B once roamed.

That is the way of things. Generations pass on, inviting new life.

Staking his birthright as a historical predator—observed without contact—Macho B was a special link to the natural world. He lived with dignity and died a legend. Yes, that magnificent bespeckled feline certainly left his mark.

                                     May man honor his life and God rest his soul.