I’m actually writing this on Boxing Day (HAH!) because I spent Christmas Eve on the phone, first with R and then with Mar, and Christmas Day was spent with presents and setting up the outdoor IP camera that Parview got P for Christmas. I got it working, motion detection and all, and somehow (accidentally) managed to get motion detection email to work on the indoor camera, too.

Anyway, I did the traditional rendering of beef fat on Christmas Eve.

Made more suet; this time with some cracked corn, and poultry grit. The poultry grit is calcium-enriched, which they will definitely need in a couple of weeks so the ladies will make strong egg shells once breeding season comes. That’s not terribly far away, either!

We opened presents in the morning, then P started feeling really sick, so I sat and defended the feeders before I started working on the camera. I was shooting all of the birds…starlings with a pellet rifle, and the rest with a camera!

The Bloos came for their pnutz.

RBW came for goor-met suet.

Then he left…fast, and with his beak full of suet. Blurry, but funny

Cardinals and house finches came for black oil sunflower.

It was warm enough yesterday that this little nuthatch checked the sweetgum tree for insects after he’d
got his share of suet.

The downy grandkids are pretty much guaranteed to be stuffing their little faces with goor-met suet.

Girl:

Boy:

Twofer:

OMNOMNOM!

I’d put fresh nyjer in the Goldisox’s sox, so they rewarded me with a game of peekaboo.

This one had just got a drink at the pond. He refused to face me, so I took his photo anyway.

Tufted Titmouse. Not a great shot, but the little shits don’t stay still for more than a nanosecond, so I’ll take it.

Chickadees usually don’t hold still, but this one did.

Proof that a non-woodpecker, perching-type bird can use the smooth feeder if he’s little and means to do it.

Another peekaboo. Everyone likes the log feeders. Unfortunately, starlings can raid those, which is why we have the smooth one as well.

And it wouldn’t be a collection of my shots if there wasn’t a bird mooning me. Chicka-butt.