Monday the Thirteenth

Grandpa always said that a Monday the 13th was more bad luck than a Friday the 13th

Today in the forest I saw the most exquisite little hummingbird. From tip to tail it couldn’t have been any longer than my thumb, and it was such a bright emerald green that it looked almost incandescent. I also saw a couple of parrots—pale green and yellow. I’ve never seen parrots in the forest before, but I often see them perched and skwawking outside of peoples’ houses—kept as pets.

Unfortunately, I did not see Wrinkle Belly or Sophie and Spud (the new mom and baby in the North group). I guess I just had a little Monday the 13th bad luck. There is still much to learn about these monkeys’ ranging patterns and territorial disputes with neighboring groups.

I came home exhausted, disgruntled, hungry, and thirsty. After showering and washing my clothes in a zombie-like state, I fell into a nap that was interrupted by a rustling noise. I opened my bleary eyes and saw a dark shape scurrying across the room. It was a rat. I screamed like a girl. However, all things considered, I am glad that the dark scurrying shape was of the four legged variety rather than the eight. This time, my being awoken by an animal was actually real—a week or so ago I woke up screaming in the middle of the night, convinced that I had seen a snake in the room. Rob tried to reassure me that it had been a dream, but I still searched the room thoroughly and then lay awake for a long time, wondering.

At any rate, I need to get to bed. I guess I should watch myself for any signs of the bubonic plague after my encounter with the rat. Thanks for reading.