A mouse has decided to make it’s home in our studio. It has chewed the weather stripping at the bottom of the door. I blamed Willow at first, thinking she was scratching at the door, though I’ve never seen her do so. The mouse has even got into my big teacher’s desk and chewed into my bag of veggie and flower seeds.
Willow knows it’s inside and it drives her nuts. She sniffs and snorts and follows it from one hiding place to another. Once under the old Heidelberg press it is safe. Willow falls asleep with her nose beside the pallet.
If Willow doesn’t pick up her game I may have to buy a trap.
The garden has gone from wet to bone dry over the weekend. It doesn’t take many sunny days to parch the earth.
The garden is producing more than we can eat. Tonight it is mixed salad including kale, spinach and chard, beets, carrots and spuds.
Another week and the zucchini and squash will be ready.
The beans are also on the rise, this year will be quite a crop as it seems every seed germinated.
A lazy Sunday after a busy week.
The thing about letting the dog run the mouse out the door is she might keep going to the next barn. The dog I mean, the mouse will always come back.
We have plenty of firewood. We get it early. We call it next years wood.
It takes sweat and stamina to cut, chop and finally relax in front of a fine fire.
The dogs were a sniff in the bush. Catching scents, running hither and yon. I envied them. I also envy the way they can sleep anywhere. Dreaming of slow rabbits and bird calls,
Lisa did the cutting, not every woman can handle a chainsaw with a 24” bar, while I hauled the blocks. Maynard caught a rabbit and displayed it proudly. Willow enjoyed the bush as usual. Very fine day.
“Yes I am. It’s on my resumé,”
said my neighbour,
after he was told
My fence even half not up
still tomorrow should
It’s good not to be a connoisseur of anything. It allows us to drink bad beer and wine, eat all the the extra parts of the animal, enjoy Jughead and Crumb, figure a fine is sometimes worth it, tell bad jokes, unpolitically correct or just in bad taste, share stories about birds, flying, laughing. . . those superior bastards.
Plus what would we do without sub standard music? Shite, we would all be listening to Brahms and Taylor Swift.
My boss likes to say, we ain’t building a piano. He doesn’t say it to me. He knows I haven’t seen a piano since keyboards. But for the other guys. . . those old fucks.
Storm clouds with nothing in them, neither rain or wind. Most go west to east and jump the mountains. It’s the northerners you have to worry about. They care little for geography, and will flatten a garden in a minute.
Exaggeration isn’t just bullshit.
Willow sporting her new haircut.
We got a new dog. . . well not exactly. It took two sessions but we gave Willow her annual stripping.
Wire Haired Dachshunds grow a thick wiry coat over winter and it has to be ‘stripped’ in spring. This is done by grabbing a few hairs at time and pulling them out.
Willow with her winter coat digging for spring mice.
It is not that bad because the hair has loosened and needs to come out. I’m not sure if the hair is even really attached to her anymore, but held in place by all the other long wire hair.
Once it is out they have a smooth soft coat for summer.
Cooper and Willow wrestling over a stick.
Although it doesn’t hurt her, Willow doesn’t like it. She endures Lisa and I pulling, while she thinks of hunting, letting us know if we grab a couple more hairs than acceptable.
At the end of it we have half a dog as what we had at the beginning.
Willow trying to talk me into a late night fetch.
A wild turkey. Too late for Easter and too early for Thanksgiving!
Got the garden in. Better late then never, yet I’ve been later. It all seems to work out, despite my foolish worry and woe.
Wild flower. Venus’s Lady’s Slipper Orchid.