I was in the flight pen blind early, still reassuring myself of the birds’ presence there. They are so great. Sometimes it hits me all at once: I’m watching condors. Condors! The young ones in particular are so playful, always in some kind of a tussle, playing tug-of-war with entrails or the like. I can’t help but doubt the efficacy of this one-way glass—sometimes I feel like the condors are staring straight at me, musing at my confinement in this tiny box.

Later: I stepped outside the house this afternoon and there was this tiny round baby bunny sitting by the door. I don’t know that I’ve ever had such an embarrassing reaction to something based purely on its cuteness. It’s a good thing no one was around to see me, because I couldn’t even properly form sentences (at least not coherent ones).

Shortly after sunset, I drove out to Pit Trap Feeding Site down the dark dirt road with a dead cow and an axe in the back of the truck, while the radio DJs were trying to get me pumped up for a “Wild Friday Night!” They have no idea how wild.

This evening excursion went as smoothly as the last one hadn’t. I cut the space between the Achilles tendon and the bone with ease, and strung the chain—staked into the ground—through the incision, wrapping it around the leg to secure the carcass in place and prevent its being dragged off by any number of carnivores, the condors included. Funny how quickly you can become accustomed to something as unnatural (for me) and brutal as jabbing a knife into something that was once alive. I suppose it’s no different than preparing beef for the dinner table.

Call me Angela, Condor Chef. 

I got back in time for what was promised to be an intense and game-changing episode of “Fringe” but then Geoff called right in the middle and made me miss all the good bits. Alas, data sheets come first.

Oh alright, just one more:

Cute Bunny, or Cutest Bunny?