Backyard Revelations 5/17/2026

By: Jennifer Richardson Holt

It was just an average day in the country, I suppose. I’m well aware that nature carries on about its business whether I’m there to casually observe the wilderness preserve that is my backyard or not. Most days, I’m at work or out tending to other obligations, so I’m not always afforded the chance to witness such things. I imagine this day wasn’t far from the standard. But because it was one of those lovely days when I got to stay home and truly take in the world around me, it was something to behold.

It began with yet more proof that animals possess not only personalities, but seemingly very robust senses of humor. To document this, I need only point to my dog and her ongoing interactions with the local skink and lizard population.

I should preface this by explaining that my dog will chase absolutely anything. If she is fortunate enough to catch said thing—which she usually isn’t, because she has just enough hesitation in her bravado to leave her a fraction too slow—she will then attempt to eat it, or at the very least chew on it.

You see, my dog is convinced in her heart of hearts that she is a ferocious beast who strikes fear into all her surroundings.

I know this because I recently bought several potted trees that we intend to plant on our property. When she unexpectedly came outside to discover seven potted trees occupying her backyard, she lost her ever-loving mind. By this, I mean she went into full mohawk mode, with a stripe of fur standing upright down her back, and emitted a sound somewhere between a bark, a howl, and a scream.

Yes, she eventually settled down after cautiously sneaking up to inspect and thoroughly sniff each pot. That peace lasted only until she forgot they were there, returned later, and had to repeat the entire dramatic process from the beginning.

During her backyard gallivants, she remains determined that she will one day catch one of the many lizards and skinks in residence.

There is one fellow in particular she follows around and around a plant stand ad nauseam. Eventually, he simply stops circling and gives me what can only be described as a weary look while she continues frantically chasing herself into dizziness.

He will also position his wee head just beneath the edge of our poolside pavilion floor, fully aware that she will come charging after him. He also knows that her brakes are less than reliable, and that the moment he darts back under the boards, she will plow nose-first into the flooring.

I’m not saying I’ve heard him laugh, but I’m fairly certain that’s only because I don’t speak reptile.

Aside from my dog barking at something—or nothing at all—there was a good deal more activity in the skies that day.

At first, I noticed a pair of small wrens frequently flitting near where I sat. I could plainly see that one or both often carried bits of straw or grass in tow. Then I watched as one disappeared into the leaves and blooms of a flowerpot while the other hovered watchfully on the nearby fence.

As the plants quivered with their industrious efforts, I realized what was underway.

This rather noisy pair was building a nest—one I sincerely hope they won’t mind being watered regularly.

I briefly considered discouraging their efforts, but if they’re willing to trust their handiwork to the mercy of rain, surely a watering can won’t offend them too greatly.

Perhaps I’ll get to witness the transformation from simple construction site to a cluster of partially bald little heads with impossibly large mouths.

That is, of course, assuming I can keep my dog from noticing the hardworking couple and their low-flying travels. Not that she’d come close to catching them, but she could certainly annoy them into relocating.

One citizen of my skies, however, needs no such concern.

Earlier, I had heard our resident hawk pair chattering in the trees. Then, like something from a National Geographic documentary, I watched as a massive wingspan rose above the treetops.

I caught sight of a pale belly, cream-colored with scattered dark markings, and the distinct banding across long feathers. Hanging from its talons was what appeared to be a snake.

It soared low over my backyard, prize in tow, before disappearing toward another stand of towering oaks.

I sat for a moment simply considering the majesty of it.

If I’m honest, I picked up my phone to call someone and tell them what I’d just witnessed. But I set it back down when I realized there was no way the wonder of that moment could survive translation into casual conversation.

So instead, I sat in the sun and reveled in the quiet magic of creation unfolding all around me.

And whenever life affords me opportunities to revel, I try to remember to ask what I might learn from the joy being lavished upon me.

From the wrens, I’m reminded to work diligently through adversity and to look to unlikely places for possibility.

From the hawk, I’m reminded of patience and focus in pursuing the task at hand.

And from my own special little chaotic sprite of a dog comes perhaps the simplest lesson of all:

Not every pursuit will be successful, but that is no reason not to chase boldly.

And perhaps most importantly, if given the chance, one should never turn down a good cuddle with someone who loves you.