My Garden Shadow[s]

With many apologies to Robert Louis Stevenson,

"I have three "little" shadows that go in and out with me.
And what can be the use of them is more than I can see."

As I garden, I usually have a faithful entourage, albeit a rather hairy, sometimes smelly, one.  With the passing of our dear cat T.J., I am now sadly reduced to three "shadows", but what great companions they are - and how loved, warm and protected they make me feel!

Becker is the eldest...and the largest.  We got him shortly after Katrina, after my dear old girl Annie passed away.  The 7 week old pup that fit on my lap coming home grew up a little bit!  Ummmm, perhaps MORE than a little bit, topping out at close to 150 pounds "back in the day."  He's 11 1/2 now and beginning to slow down, but he's still as bright-eyed as ever.

Next in size is Blue, whom we adopted as a 16 month old "wild man" several years ago.  He'd been confined to a pen in the middle of his owner's backyard and he was quite vociferous about that indignity; I could hear him from blocks away when I went to meet him for the first time.  While kennel-bound, Blue apparently decided that it was his divine duty to keep the world safe from cats and squirrels, but the fence kept him from carrying out his appointed duties.  When I brought him home the first time, he hit the ground at a dead run, ears back and ruff up, to take out one of our cats.  I seriously questioned my sanity in bringing him home at that moment, but Blue learned quickly to accept our pack members.  He's a loving and important member of our family now.  Woe betide an unwary squirrel, however, or a cat that doesn't "belong."

Smallest of my garden guardians is Bella...but she is mighty in spirit!  Bella is another refugee, abandoned by her original owners when they moved.  At that point, Bella adopted our daughter, bringing along her 2 half-grown kittens.  When Jess tried to keep Bella inside, though, Bella made it quite clear that she is a free spirit and would not be confined.  Lo and behold, Bella ended up taking residence with "Mom and Dad', on our 10 acres in Kansas.  She's been a good sport about the move to a more populated area, but she still much prefers the out-of-doors, despite my open door policy.

(Note:  For the sake of the wildlife, I would  MUCH prefer that Bella - and all cats - be kept inside, but Bella has very strong opinions about that concept and makes herself abundantly plain about what she considers acceptable.  As often seems to happen, I have learned to compromise....)

I hope you have gardening companions every bit as loving and loyal as mine - and perhaps even a little less likely to break off or otherwise destroy a plant when they inadvertently step on it.  I try to keep an open mind, though, and think of the "pruning" that is occurring.  At any rate, I consider the occasional, accidental loss of a plant well worth the companionship.

Winter Wonderland

Having received 14" of snow last week, we were a little dismayed at predictions for another 12-18" inches of snow, accompanied by strong winds, for the last 48 hours.  Yesterday we waited all day for the blizzard to begin, but temperatures hovering around 35 kept the worst from happening.  We got the strong winds, but most of the precipitation fell as light rain and acted to melt much of the snow that we already had.

Last night, as we went to bed, the temperatures dropped, the electricity flickered, and the weather decided to give us a small taste of what might have been.

So this morning we woke up to a winter wonderland again - about 5" of wet snow with a little underpinning of ice, plastered to the trees and shrubs, coating the ground beautifully and softly.

As I plodded out to follow our morning routine of checking for the paper, a track in the snow told of a bird's passage - presumably a pheasant from the size.  It looks like he half walked/half flew, leaving wing tip prints, but also dragging his tail and putting his feet down every 3 feet or so....

TJ, our 9 year old cat, isn't too excited about being out in the wet, cold white stuff, but loves hunting the birds through the window.  Here he is, several days ago, "talking" to them through the sliding glass door as big flocks of red-winged blackbirds and cowbirds chowed down on the bird seed I'd spread out for them.  Every once in a while, one would try to fly into the kitchen through the door, and TJ would jump 4 feet up in the air to greet it.  Several of those birds are still alive only because of the miracle of modern windows!

When we get this much snow, we've had to add a new task to our country lifestyle:  cleaning off the shade cloth over the kennels.  Greg literally had to shovel snow off the shade cloth because it was weighed down so heavily, sagging about 3 feet.  One side recovered its spring pretty well; the other side may have to be replaced this spring, despite his attempts at saving it.

It's an interesting start to the year:  an almost totally dry winter until late February, then 2 snowfalls giving us the snowiest February on record.  Feast or famine.  While hope springs eternally (especially in the springtime gardener's mind), concern and foreboding aren't too far behind, at least as far as weather is concerned.  This promises, once again, to be an interesting garden season.

Black Dahlia

As animal lovers, we support the Kansas Humane Society.  Because we donate, I get e-mails.  When I'm bored, I actually look at the e-mails I get - even from the Humane Society.

Looking at e-mails from the Humane Society, especially when it involves glancing through the pictures of the dogs and cats available for adoption, is dangerous.  Just ask Greg.

Can you guess, yet, where I'm leading?  Yup.  Exactly.  So I got a Kansas Humane Society e-mail last week and I opened said e-mail.  I looked at the photos of available dogs.  And I saw 2 German shepherds, which is rare.  (One acquaintance swears the local humane society puts most German shepherds and similar breeds down before offering them for adoption.  My guess is that their pre-adoption screening process does not favor untrained, large, working dogs.)  Not having totally lost my senses yet, I forwarded the profiles on to Greg, since he is the rational, hard-nosed one of this particular pair.

But even hard-nosed, rational people have weak spots.  On Saturday we happened to be driving on K-96, coming up to the Hillside exit where the Humane Society has its headquarters.  I'd already put the available German shepherds out of my mind, but Greg suggested that we stop in and sponsor one or both of them.  Of course I agreed.  He warned me, though, that we were NOT to come home with one of them.  Of course I agreed.

We walked through to see if the dogs were still there.  The older one, a male, had been adopted out, but the younger one, a black female was still there.  She was heartworm positive and seemed very depressed, just curled up in a corner and not responding to the people who walked by.  This, in dog personalities, can be a real danger sign, so I decided that we needed to meet her before sponsoring her.  Apparently several people had visited with her, but the heartworm issue caused them to shy away from adopting her.

The dog's history included abuse and neglect, a fear of men, plus 5 homes already.  She was noted to jump 6' fences and dig if left outside alone.  The Humane Society guesstimated her age as 2 years old.  When we met her, she was reserved and shy, a little skittish, but not at all aggressive.  Despite the note about her fearing men, she seemed fine with Greg.  She lay down on the floor near me and alertly watched people going by in the hall outside the window.  Occasionally she'd get up and come over for a pet.  The only "aggression" we saw was when she was still in her private room - if another dog walked by, she would come to the window and bark with her tail up - but with no hackles and the tail lightly waving.  She'd been at the shelter for over 2 weeks.

Well, I'll spare you the rest of the details, but the upshot of the story is exactly what you expected it to be:  we now have a new-to-us, young female German shepherd.  She came with the name Dahlia, which apparently was her name from her prior owner.  Black Dahlia.  A prior owner with a sense of history or literature or something.

The plan is to socialize Dahlia with Becker and Blue, to begin (or continue) basic obedience training, to get her heartworms cleared up, and then to take her down to our daughter who has been interested in getting a dog for years but only now has the time and stability to offer one a good home.  (Yes, we made the decision to adopt Dahlia only AFTER consulting with Jessica!) 

We've had Dahlia for 4 days now.  She's opening up and getting more comfortable.  She's a "shy" dog, but I've not seen signs of "sharpness," which is a dangerous character flaw, especially in a big dog.  (It was to assess for sharpness that I wanted to meet her originally.)  She's housebroken and crate trained and she does well with cats.  Anger makes her cower, but there's no sign of submissive peeing.  She'd never gone up or down stairs; it only took her one time, each way, to learn the process.  Now she goes up and down with no reservation at all.  She learned to drink from the toilet in less than a day.  (Yeah, disgusting as that is, it's my shepherds' favorite water bowl, despite the big, fresh bowl of water sitting between their food bowls.)   I let Dahlia off the leash in the house after 24 hours and she's proven her houseworthiness so far.  The crate-training was a pleasant surprise - we thought we'd have to do that ourselves.

I walk the dogs every morning and even risked letting Dahlia off the leash for a while yesterday.  The dog with her in the photo is Blue, the younger of my two Shepherds.  She loved it, stretching our for full bursts of speed, then circling around and checking right back in.  She and Blue even started playing a bit.  Her only problem was learning to keep her mouth shut as she ran through the tall grass - she kept getting seedheads in her throat and having to stop and gag to get them out.  I only put Dahlia back on the leash when I saw Blue start to look longingly at the neighbor's pond - that's a habit I'd just as soon she not learn from her adopted brothers!

Food is the biggest issue so far.  It took her over a day to even take a bite.  We tried dry kibble (to which our dogs have free access), canned dog food, tuna fish (from sandwiches we were eating), 3 different types of dog treats that Blue and Becker both love....  Nothing.  No interest.  She did eat a pat of butter (with a pill hidden inside) and a dollop of sour cream (with a pill hidden inside), but we could hardly feed her nothing but butter and sour cream.  The next day, the vet got her to eat a bit of recovery Science Diet, so we took a couple cans of that home.  Now she's eating some canned food, even with a bit of kibble mixed in, but she still eats warily and minimally.  Any noise or movement causes her to abandon her food.  On the plus side, I caught her eating a few bites of plain kibble last night.  Hopefully as her life normalizes, her eating will too.

So we're progressing.  As I type, all 3 dogs are stretched out on the floor near me, dozing.  Next on the agenda is our morning walk, so I'd better sign off and get to it before the day heats up unbearably.  Despite their relaxed demeanor, I'm sure the dogs are ready to go!

Successful Fledging!!!

With 3 cats frequenting the yard around our home, this spring I've watched the frantic activity in the nest pot on the breezeway with both interest and concern.  Would the Carolina wrens possibly be able to fledge their young without losing one or all to the cats?

The answer is a strongly probable YES!  Last Saturday Greg was watering the garden during the late afternoon and went out to move the hose.  As he stepped out the front door he suddenly stopped and whispered, "Get your camera!"

I had no idea what had caught his attention, but I followed his instructions immediately.  As I carefully stepped out onto the front porch, he softly said, "There!  In the aromatic aster by the path.  A fledgling wren...."

I took a photo, although all I could see was a small, brownish mass.  As I slowly edged to the right, a little more of the young bird came into focus.  Definitely one of the Carolinas.

As I watched and shot a couple photos, the young bird couldn't stand the suspense any more and fluttered to the base of the Bradford pear, about 20' away.  Both Greg and I were scanning the garden bed, porch and breezeway for signs of a cat, but all seemed quiet.  I moved quietly to try to get another photo, but I was moving too much for Little Wren and it frantically flew/scrabbled...

... up to the lowest crotch of the Bradford pear, where it blended into the bark of the tree and rested a bit.

Then it seemed to decide that it needed to go higher into the tree.  Rather than flying, it tried to climb the righthand trunk....

Actually, come to think of it, the little bird did more than try to climb the trunk.  It wasn't pretty, but little fledgling succeeded in climbing up it!  I lost sight of the fledgling in the tree canopy.

Meanwhile Greg noticed another fledgling, also in the Bradford pear, that I never actually set eyes on.  Mom and Dad were frantically flying around, sounding the danger alert and trying to distract us.

After Fledgling No. 1 disappeared up into the Bradford pear, unable to see Fledgling No. 2, I checked out the nest pot next to the porch roof - I'd been  hearing some cheeps still coming from its vicinity.  Sure enough, there was a less adventuresome fledgling still snuggled down into the doorway of the nest, watching all the uproar going on below and not quite ready to leave the security of the only family home it had ever known.

We decided that we'd interrupted things quite enough already, so we went back inside the house to check on the cats, leaving the wrens to their important business.  TJ and Bella were sound asleep inside, escaping the heat of the day.  Ranger was sprawled on the back deck in the shade, also napping in the afternoon warmth.  All of the cats were so used to the wrens sounding the alarm whenever they were around that they paid no attention to the alarm being sounded now....

We were able to keep TJ and Bella inside the house until dark.  Ranger meandered around a bit but, as far as we can tell, all of the young wrens managed to fledge successfully.  Certainly we've found no piles of feathers anywhere, and we can hear the wrens calling each other in the trees along the creek on the north side of our property.  (At least we're telling ourselves they are "our" wrens.)  The nest pot is quiet.

A few more noisy, little, rusty brown bundles of energy have joined the big world here in south central Kansas.  They will definitely help to keep nature balanced.  I can't help but smile as I think about them.

Bella's Lazy Day

"Oh, cool, Mom, there's some bugs flying around down there!  If I hide up here and watch, maybe I can catch a couple!"

"Mom, This is getting boring.  It's not fun! Those bugs are a lot harder to catch than I thought...and it's awfully hot today...."

"Maybe I just need to meditate a little so they'll forget I'm here.....  Zzzzzz."

Bits and Pieces on May 1st

It's May 1st.  My larkspur just started to bloom, while the lanceleafed coreopsis and Missouri evening primrose started blooming a couple days ago.  Helen Jane's rose is almost done.   Looking back to photos from last year, my flower gardens seem to be about 2-3 weeks ahead of spring, 2011.

I finished weeding out the backyard buffalo grass over the weekend.  We plugged it last summer, during the beginning of "the heat," and the plugs were still healthy and strong.  It looked better than the buffalo grass in the front, which we didn't get to until August, but it had some areas where a particularly vicious mix of little barley, undead Bermuda grass, and annual brome (Japanese, I think, but maybe downy) were attempting to completely take over.   Here is a photo, showing how much it has filled in...but how much it still needs to fill in, too.  Hopefully the predicted heat, combined with our recent rains, will take care of that, now that I've got the competition out of the way.

In the vegetable garden, the 2 Brandywine tomatoes that Greg took a chance on (planting in mid-March) are looking "full and fluffy" and have started to flower.  At least we should get a couple tomatoes this year!  The first 6 broccoli plants are ready to harvest...although the harvester is not ready to deal with them, yet!  The broccoli is a full month ahead of last year.

I've been trying to get out for walks along the trails this week, to see what's blooming.  The boys, of course, accompany me.  Blue, especially, enjoys a quick cool down in the pool of the draw every time we head back towards the house.

Once Blue has cooled himself down in this pool (which in MUCH less appealing than it looks in the above photo), he quite frankly reeks!  Being a young and energetic German shepherd, he is likely to wander off and get himself into trouble if I leave him out unattended.  So I rarely do so.  I've taken to hosing him down when we get back to the house, but it only helps to a certain degree.  Consequently every walk is now followed by a period of uncertainty in which I have to measure the total certainty of wet-stinky-dog-in-the-house versus the near certainty of young-idiot-dog-doing-something-like-visiting-the-neighbors'-horses-to-bark-at-them-in-the-hopes-of-getting-them-to-run.   In farm country, this latter behavior is grounds for rapid termination and therefore it's not to be taken lightly.  Usually near certainty wins out over total certainty before said dog is completely dry...so my house has taken on a definite eau de wet, muddy dog.  It is not a pleasant perfume, but Blue's enjoyment of his regular "bath" is so deep that I feel unwilling to deprive him of this relatively harmless ritual.  (And, truthfully, I'm not sure I could stop it, short of stopping the walks altogether.)

Moving on to a less odoriferous topic, I've seen my first snake of the season - a young garter snake in the back yard.  The dogs and cats didn't even notice it!  In fact, I was afraid Becker was going to lie down on top of it, but he ended up a foot away.  Then I had a hard time keeping Blue from stepping on it while he plagued his big brother, trying to get him to play a bit more actively.

(If you look carefully in the middle of the photo, you'll see a dark line leading away from the big shepherd - that's the snake, trying to "get the heck out of Dodge!")

This morning I saw my first hummingbird of the year, so I've put up the feeders and I'm hoping that we'll have a pair nest in the yard again this summer.  Since their nests are tiny and well camouflaged, I've never actually found one, but we've had a pair stay around all summer for the last several years, leading me to assume they are nesting somewhere nearby.

On a similar note, Greg reported that most of the nest boxes are occupied, including one that has a bluebird incubating eggs in it, but I'll have to post more about those later...after I've done a little more observing and maybe taken a couple photos.  The blooming and breeding season of 2012 is certainly off to a rip-roaring start this year - now I've got to see if I can possibly keep up!

Skunked and Deskunked

It's spring and, naturally, a young (neutered) male's attentions turn to...new toys???

1:30 a.m.  Blue's internal monitoring system is telling him that his waste disposal system needs emptying.  His antsiness is telling me that he needs a trip outside.  I stumble to his cage, open the door, walk down the stairs with both dogs, flip the front lights on, and let both boys out.  (Note:  Greg has done this multiple times over the last several months, with no negative repercussions.)

A few minutes later, as I lie dozing on the recliner, waiting for them to finish, I think I get a whiff of skunk.  This does not make me happy.

When I open the door, there is definitely "eau de skunk" in the air.  Becker is by the door, waiting to be let in.  He passes the nose test and is admitted.

I call Blue, who comes happily trotting over from next door. 

Blue most certainly does not pass the nose test.  He reeks so strongly of skunk that it doesn't even smell like skunk.  I can't believe he's not rolling in the dirt and rubbing his eyes, but he looks happy as can be.  "Guess what, Mom?!  I just got to play with a new friend!" 

Blue gets trotted out to the kennels and summarily joins the outdoor dogs for a night under the stars.  Two hours later, once my body has had time to relax from the adrenaline high of a skunky dog, followed by a trip (in bare feet and pjs) out to the kennel in 35 degree weather, and finally by a quick washdown of my hands and nose to remove the skunk oil Blue managed to share with me, I finally get back to sleep.

Needless to say, I didn't have the energy to tackle deskunking Blue yesterday, so he got a day's vacation in the outdoor kennel.

This morning, however, it was time to tackle the necessary.  I got out my skunk kit and added a wash cloth and a big bowl, then I changed into an old gardening shirt that could get bleached without harm.  Greg brought the offender inside and I got to work in the downstairs shower.  (This was our first use of said shower for its originally intended use.  It definitely proved its worth this morning!  Prior to remodeling the laundry room, I would have had to bathe Blue outside in the brisk 40 degree air, or take him all the way through the house and upstairs to the tub, perfuming the carpet and any other surfaces he touched along the way.)

So...soak with deskunking solution.  Let it sit for at least 10 minutes.

Rinse thoroughly.  Check for remnant skunk odor.  No skunk detected, but "eau de wet dog" is still less than appealing, so apply dog shampoo.

Rinse.  (Shake.)  Towel dry. 

Put Blue outside. Clean shower stall of caked dog hair and remnant soap. Wipe down shower.. and bathroom cabinets, walls, floor AND bathroom door because Blue determinedly shook after getting out of the shower but before we could get him outside.  Take a shower myself to remove residue of deskunking solution, dog hair, and dog shampoo.  Get dressed.   Finish cleaning up downstairs bathroom/laundry room.  Whew!  Mission finally accomplished.

Blue is now sweetly lying near my chair, once more allowed back in with the indoor pack.

And me?  I'm trying to figure out how 2 supposedly intelligent dogs can have such a hard time learning to leave black and white "play toys" alone!

Bella Bagged a Bird

I lost another bird, a goldfinch this time, to one of the cats.  Watching her play with the poor, dead thing made me immensely unhappy and started me on a guilt cycle once again, especially remembering the angry, anonymous comment on my blog a few months ago when I was so upset about the number of birds Ranger was then catching.  Presumably a birder.

Then I got to thinking a bit more.  It's so easy to get mad at cats for catching and killing birds, but ultimately it's not cats that are responsible for the massive decline in bird populations.  It's people.  As a species ourselves, we destroy millions upon millions of acres of habitat to build shopping malls, homes and to plant crops. 

Even those few acres that could be managed to provide good habitat for other species, our yards, parks and landscapes, are usually planted with exotic species useless for insect food (insects being the primary bird food), saturated with insecticides to further decrease the insect populations, and then groomed to resemble sterile plastic.

If birders want to get mad about something, they should get mad about habitat loss...and then actually start doing something about it.  Habitat loss is the real "bogeyman" here, but working to stop that is much harder than just bitching about your neighbor's cat(s). 

So, folks, I challenge you to put your efforts where your hearts are.  Quit using insecticides.  Plant native plants.  Welcome the insects in your landscapes.  Leave some areas in your yard wild.  Quit worrying about "perfect" lawns.  Then we'll see if we need to be quite so obsessed with roaming pet cats.

Blue's Diagnosis: Leiomyosarcoma

Well, the pathology report came back yesterday.  Blue's intestinal mass was diagnosed as leiomyosarcoma.  The surgeon attempted to be upbeat, telling me that the margins were complete, so hopefully he got it all.

But in talking with Greg, he reminded me of the enlarged lymph nodes that were seen on ultrasound....  And it is a cancer known for metastasizing.  (Another bit of somewhat good news, though:  at least it wasn't in the liver.)

This is normally a cancer of older dogs.  Median age at diagnosis is a bit over 10.  Blue is 2 1/2.  Does this mean that he's young and can fight it better?  Or does this mean that it's a particularly aggressive variant of the disease?  Only time will tell us, so all I can do is try to move this news to the back of my mind and enjoy our time with him, however short or long it may be.  (Median survival appears to be 22 months after diagnosis.)

Ironically, in this case, it might almost be easier to have the mindset of a dog - and let the future take care of itself.

Blue

Just a little over a year ago, I brought home a 16 month old German shepherd male that I'd found through a classified ad in the paper.  He was wild and undisciplined, the result of having spent most of his young life (and all of the last 4 months of it) in a kennel with little human or canine interaction.

Between Becker and Greg and me, we've absorbed Blue into our home and into our lives.  (That's Blue on the left, Becker on the right.  This photo was taken near the end of August.)  Now it's hard to remember the wild thing that nearly pulled me off my feet during our first walk together, that tried his best to eat the cats during our first attempts to introduce them.  He's still a hard-headed adolescent at times, but he's an integral part of our family pack.  Like Becker, he almost feels like an extension of me as I go about my daily routine.

And he's not here tonight.  He's in a kennel at the Wichita Emergency Veterinary Hospital with an IV in him, replacing fluids that he's lost over the last few days, awaiting exploratory surgery in the morning.  On ultrasound this afternoon, they found a mass between his spleen and bladder, complete with (probable) enlarged lymph nodes in the area. 

A few days ago, Blue started vomiting copiously.  Huge amounts of slightly digested food.  He continued drinking...but he continued vomiting too.  My initial reaction that this was a normal stomach virus or a reaction to something he had eaten morphed into real worry by late yesterday.  An obstructed bowel seemed probable, although he showed no sign of the pain that normally accompanies an intestinal blockage of that nature.  This morning Blue and I were on the way to our vet as soon as I could get him in.  Their x-rays were inconclusive, so they arranged for us to head to the local specialists for the ultrasound.

So tonight I wait.  And worry....

Unsettling Questions This Fall

I'm feeling unsettled and on edge these days. The horrible, blast furnace heat of the summer is gone, but the drought remains. I don't know how best to handle putting my gardens to bed for the winter...or what dreams for next spring and summer are rational to indulge in.

Do I mulch over bare, dry ground? Or do I wait until we get a decent rain before mulching, so I lock in moisture, not dry soil? But if I wait, when will we finally get a good rain?

Maybe I should water well, then mulch? But my experience is that you can NEVER water enough to equal even a moderate rain. And our water is very hard, well water.

On the other hand, bare soil gets even drier, exposing the plant roots to more extremes of temperature, too.... What to do? And when to do it?


Then there's one of our cats, Ranger, a neutered black male. The first winter we had him (and after we finally let him become an indoor/outdoor cat, succumbing to his powerful need to be outside, hunting), I wrote posts about his attempts to hunt birds. He was so patently unequal to the task that it was comical.

Ranger is 2 1/2 years older now, and he has become a hunter extraordinaire, definitely living up to his namesake from Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum series. I put out my winter feeders about 2 weeks ago, in preparation for participating in the Cornell FeederWatch program this winter. In that 2 weeks time, he has caught, killed and mostly eaten at least 6 birds - all of them "good" birds. No house sparrows or starlings for this guy. On the worst day, he killed 2 in one day, a male cardinal and a Harris sparrow.


This photo shows Ranger, on the right, and Bella guarding the hummingbird feeder earlier this summer. Bella goes out, but she's not the one bringing the dead or almost dead birds back to the kitchen door on an almost daily basis.

Should I take my feeders down and consider my FeederWatch fee a donation to Cornell Lab of Ornithology? Or should I take a more Darwinian attitude: the fittest will survive? The feeders are all out in the open, so the birds have a fighting chance to see Ranger coming. By providing seed to augment the natural feed around, am I strengthening them...or just luring them in to become cat food?

(I've even put out the word that he would be available to someone who needs a barn cat - he's great at catching rodents, too - but there have been no takers.)

It's a tough autumn for me. I read others' garden posts about how much better their gardens are doing after the summer heat is gone and I'm glad for them, but the drought is still crippling us here. There have been no fall roses, no fall catmint, my hostas are gone....

Then I shake myself. The aromatic asters are lush and have lasted for weeks, despite the heat and drought. The Wichita Mountains goldenrod was spectacular. The gaillardia is vivid. The roses may not be blooming, but they look reasonably healthy. This weather is, after all, why I concentrate on prairie natives.

No matter what this winter and next spring bring, this past year has shaped my gardens significantly. That, however, is the challenge of gardening. This, too, shall pass. I hope.

Meanwhile.... Any suggestions about my mulching dilemma? Or the ongoing case of Ranger vs. the birds? I would greatly appreciate any words of wisdom!

A Gift Twice Over - A Dying Wren Leads to Sheltering Monarchs

Ranger, our black cat, came running up to the open kitchen door tonight, carrying something in his mouth. Greg and I scrambled to intercept before he dropped his (potentially alive) probable mouse inside the house. Yes, sadly we have experience in these matters. Unfortunately, we didn't succeed in cornering him until he was under one of the kitchen chairs.

At which point he dropped the (still alive) house wren that he was carrying.

Expecting it to shudder and die at any moment, I gently picked up the little bird and cradled it in my hand. I could feel it breathing, but it didn't struggle.

Without any expectation of the injured bird surviving, I carried it out to the draw, leaving all of the dogs and cats back at the house. I laid it gently in a clump of grass near a tangle of vines where I've seen wrens many times before. If it had to die, at least it would die in its natural surroundings.

As I walked back towards the house in the twilight, I noticed several monarchs fluttering around one of the willow branches, swaying in the wind about 10' above my head. Lazily watching them, I noticed a couple more in the same area of the tree. Looking more closely now, I saw a small cluster of about 10 gathered together, settling in for the night.


After running back to the house for the camera, I followed a few more monarchs to a second, slightly larger cluster. Every time another individual joined them, many would open their wings as if in welcome, then close their wings and almost disappear into the darkening silhouettes of the willow leaves.


Following his natural instincts, Ranger brought us a tragic gift tonight, but in trying to return that gift to its natural place, I received another gift of grace in sharing the evening ritual of the monarchs. Nature, in both its beauty and its harshness.

Exploring the Aftermath of the Storm

Pristine snow just doesn't seem to happen in our yard. Two German shepherds take that on as their special project.

After two days of short or nonexistent walks, Becker and Blue were raring to go this morning. So I bundled up - even digging out a wool scarf to try to protect my face a bit - and off we went. I plodded. Becker alertly trotted. Blue galloped and twirled and raced and tossed his muzzle in the snow and begged Becker to play and galloped and twirled some more.

I think Blue would have been happy to stay out there all day.

In the Cedar Grove, it was interesting to see how each tuft of grass had created its own snowdrift, leaving the field looking rather like a collection of sand dunes seen from the sky.

Shortly after we entered the Back 5, I started to noticed the arcs in the snow, inscribed by the grasses and other plants as the wind moved them ceaselessly back and forth. There were long, gentle arcs from the tall grasses; short, fine arcs from the short grasses; complex parallel arcs from forbs; and occasionally there were combinations of all of the above.

Seeds remaining on the sideoats grama and other short grasses stood out boldly against the white.

I flushed a meadowlark sheltering in a bunch of grass. It was cold enough that he waited until I was about 5' away before he lost his nerve. If I'd known he was there, I wouldn't have disturbed him. The dogs flushed two more as we walked, and all of them let us get much closer than they normally would have.

Along the far edge of the Back 5, the western most point of our property, the drifts were deep enough that I couldn't see our mowed path anymore. I shortcut through the unmowed grasses to avoid them, the snow coming up midcalf. The drifts were easily 2-3' deep. According to the gauge on our back deck, we only received 3" of snow, but those grasses managed to catch the snow blowing off the wheat field to our west. The farmer's loss is my land's gain.

A flock of snow geese flew overhead - the first I've seen this year.

And watching the 3rd meadowlark, after the dogs had flushed it from its resting place, I managed to give myself a brief case of snow blindness. I guess that's what you'd call it. For a while I saw orange streaks across my vision...that faded to peach...and eventually to yellow. Finally I didn't notice them at all. By then I was back inside the house, immensely thankful for modern technology and the gentle warmth of central heating.

Ranger Tries Again

Well, you can't say that he doesn't try!

I've mentioned that Ranger hasn't mastered bird hunting yet, much to my relief. It's not for lack of trying, though.

His first efforts involved quick darts from under the deck towards the bird feeders. The birds, naturally, just flew away.

So Ranger got trickier. About a month ago I saw him rolling in the grass and birdseed debris, then lying quietly next to the feeder. Camoflage?

That didn't work, so he quit bothering the birds for a while. The cotton rats were much easier prey and readily available. They must have gotten boring though, because he's back to trying for the birds again.

Today I saw a couple new techniques. First there was the stealth approach.....

When 30 minutes under the feeder didn't work, he decided that, "If the birds won't come to me, I'll go to them!" So up in the tree he went.

Nothing magically appeared, so he checked out the "link" between the finch feeder and the tree branch.

That wasn't fruitful. Maybe this basket of fat hanging here?

Still no luck. And while Ranger is ingenious at trying out new approaches, his patience is rather limited. So he quit for today...and the birds rapidly flew back in to reclaim their territory.

I shouldn't laugh, because one of these days he's going to be successful, but it's still rather humorous to see his repeated attempts. Maybe we should have named him Edison (of the Thousand and One Steps to Success)!

Further Adventures of Ranger, the Electro-Cat

Okay, the title is a little misleading. As long as Ranger gets to spend massive quantities of time outside, he's basically leaving electrical cords alone inside. I don't dare dangle them in front of him, though. He's definitely an opportunist!

Luckily with all of the time he spends outside, Ranger has not proven to be too adept at catching birds. (Yes, I'm knocking on wood - at least metaphorically - as I say that!) Animal-snob that I guess I am, I'm not too worried about the hispid cotton rat population that seems to provide him with the most frequent victims. It'll be another matter altogether if he starts getting Harris sparrows, Carolina wrens or goldfinch.

Anyway, I got quite a laugh last week when he suddenly discovered a fox squirrel that comes in occasionally to bulk up at the feeders. As I stood at the kitchen sink washing dishes, the first thing I noticed was a rusty blur streaking along the ground and up a tree. Then a black blur followed close behind it. When the action paused, the squirrel was high up in the branches of the green ash, chattering and flicking its tail vigorously, not letting its eyes leave Ranger. Ranger actually disappointed me - he climbed up in the tree and seemed to study all the angles for several minutes, but abandoned the chase that day after barely getting 1/3 of the way to his quarry.

By the next day, he was more determined, however, and worked his way at least halfway up the tree before deciding to go after easier prey. (Maybe the grayer day just had him more inclined to chase away his boredom.)

I'm quite sure that the squirrel can balance on far smaller branches than Ranger can, but it's going to be interesting to see how far out a limb Ranger is willing to go!