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Thu., August 27, 2015
Visited Dad today at “suppertime.” Took him a Netflix movie, The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill.
Carol and I went out by the barn to shoot a paper target mounted on a slab of hard foam insulation, which I intended to brace between a couple of chunks of log at the southwest corner of the foundation of the old tool shed that used to stand a few yards east of the silo. I lifted the smaller, nearer log, about like a good-sized fireplace log, and found, underneath, prone and flat on its belly, hugging itself, a furry, sleepy, brown bat! It roused itself, lifted its head, bared its teeth, and hissed at us, and, guess what, we had left our cameras in the car!
I handed Carol our pistol, ran back to the RAV-4, grabbed our camera bags, and trotted back to the bat. The creature allowed us precisely two minutes to get some pictures, but it declined to show its face again and ignored our polite requests to stay still. It clambered to the top of the larger log, fluttered into flight, zigged and zagged a few feet above the ground, and then gained altitude and disappeared into an oak tree to the south.
I would have liked to have had a picture of the menacing mouth; I’ll try in the future to remember to carry a Canon as well as a revolver. ♦
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