Elvis Has Left the Building

So here we are: 7 days prior to the opening of the official season of glee, and thus far, things have been fairly exciting -- until today, that is. Ahh, and now they've gone and done it . . . the age old disappearing act.

Its a fairly routine phenomenon in our part of the country. Birds appear out of nowhere in October and loaf carelessly for 3 weeks in rice fields with no apparent fear of molestation. Then, for whatever reason, I show up and they're gone. Many have moved South and will not return. The remaining flock is smarter, more savvy, and well-educated. They have calenders too. And somehow, they understand the time of year, the changes of the season, and the meaning of the hustle and bustle of SUV's pulling trailers brimming with decoys and ATV's. Now they're restless, and they leave with a sense of urgency at the first hint of human interaction. They're night feeders, and 10 years of roosting in a safe zone has taught them that sleeping while its light and feeding while its dark will ensure the vitality of their families.

So, as far as options go, I always think it appropriate to exhaust obvious remedies first: I cry, curse, and run around helplessly with my hands thrown towards the heavens screaming "Why God!". Experience tells me that I'll do so to no avail, but it always seems to make me feel better. Next, the more time consuming: a little more water, a little scouting, and a little more thought regarding exactly what I should do for the opener. Eventually, I'll start the nightly routine of offing the birds that are dark-feeding. I'll start checking other roosts and watching the late-evening fly-out. And I'll hope for a little luck.

Opening week is always a gut-check. After that, things settle down and I establish the routine of simply searching them out. I just wish that, for once, they'd stay put until after the opener.