There is now a handful of peanuts left from the fifty-pound bag we bought in mid-March.  And of course it's clear that at this time of year there is abundant food for the wildlife in the ravine.  They no longer are in need - if they ever indeed were - of the daily handout of peanuts we place here and there in a wide range of caches they've become well familiar with.

I've thought about it enough.  On the other hand I've become somewhat accustomed to taking along a bag of peanuts for dispersal on a daily basis, into the ravine with us when we embark on our walks.  The squirrels, chipmunks and crows - and whatever else takes advantage of them when we're not around to observe - have also become accustomed to our leavings.

Yesterday I decided, would be the first day of our not sprinkling the peanuts quite so liberally.  I would take along only a handful, to be given to those squirrels who boldly confront us, twitching their tails, approaching us directly, awaiting their due.  Only, it did not quite work out that way.

I was dismayed to watch as a crow walked behind us all the way down the hill.  I wondered, would he rush over if I threw a peanut at him, as the squirrels do?  But he panicked instead, flying off, to return to the middle of the descending trail in our wake, once again, waiting for me to deposit peanuts.  So I felt badly, disappointing the bird's anticipation.

And felt no better about not leaving peanuts in the usual places, watching as the squirrels began to rush about as they usually do, to retrieve them, finding nothing there for them, other than a few meagre little bits I'd placed, with a guilty conscience, in a number of discrete places along the trail.

Back to the more generous sprinklings of peanuts.  I cannot stand to watch the dismay elicited at the abrupt withdrawal of treats the little creatures have become accustomed to.