by Pa Rock
It is the best time of year in the desert. The days are still relatively tolerable, and the evenings are cool, but not so cool as to prohibit riding around town with the top down. Tempers remain subdued, but they will begin to flare with the advent of the hard, miserable summer.
The cacti are just beginning to bloom, and they look especially vibrant with their crowns of blossoms. They will hold their blooms for a month or so, and then go to seed. The little cactus wrens are starting to drag straw into the upturned armpits of the giant saguaros, building nests that no sensible predator would dare to invade. And the little doves will soon begin their family planning by building nests on the tops of buildings. Soon they will all be chirping and raising their babies.
My favorite bird, however, is the desert goober. While this doofus species acts too dumb to reproduce, something must be happening somewhere because they keep on appearing year after year. Yesterday I was heading out to the Arizona State in Glendale when one especially heinous desert goober pulled up beside me on a motorcycle. I was fairly certain that he was a true goober because he wasn't wearing a helmet, and my suspicion was confirmed when I looked closely and noticed that he also had a pistol holstered to his expansive girth. While a desert goober, particularly one with prison tattoos, may strut his stuff and act as though he is one bad dude, he is generally too dimwitted to pose any serious danger to the other desert creatures.
It's springtime in the desert, and me and all of my fine feathered friends are enjoying the last of the nice weather!