The New Dog

 Meet Chance.  On Saturday we drove down to an animal rescue to look at one dog and came home with a different one.  That's how it sometimes happens.

Chance is a Border Collie probably mixed with something else.  He's eight months old and came from a family that let him get away with all sorts of bad behavior.

He's also as smart as a whip, drives Murphy crazy (but they roughhouse  and play like long-lost brothers) and is as sweet as they come.

Other than his unfortunate desire to murder the chickens, he's fitting in very well.  Hopefully we'll work this out.

Snake Lady

Snakes at home and snakes at school -- lucky I like the slithery little fellows.  Every spring, our resident scientists bring in a collection of reptiles to share with the students.  Some teachers stand in the very back, as far away as possible.  Others push their way to the front of the line and claim teacher privilege to get as wrapped up in snakes as possible.

Guess which kind of teacher I am!

Iris

The days have gotten a little cooler; from the low 80's, down to the low 70's with a hazy cloud-cover.  That ten degrees makes a difference, especially since the strong winds of last week have also died down, which is a blessing.  These iris came into bloom a few days ago and they are holding up beautifully in the balmy weather.  Their colors are so unusual -- a warm yellow shading to a smokey purple-brown.  They have that strong, grapey fragrance that is so delicious.

Filling in the Gap

The Hose

Friday afternoon I got home early and discovered that the same idiot who'd left the hose running less than two weeks ago (me) had done it again.  I wanted to beat my head on the wall.  This time I'd managed to empty out the tank by the well completely;  when I turned on the kitchen tap, nothing came out but a hiss of air.  I was furious with myself for being so forgetful about the one thing I'm thinking about, dreaming of, and longing for at all hours of the day and night -- water.

I called Bruce at work and asked him how much he loved me.  He said, "A lot," which was reassuring, so I told him that I'd left the hose on...again.  He was very nice about not calling me a careless nitwit and promised that he wouldn't hold my second lapse of memory against me.  I appreciated that very much.  He then gave a refresher on how to reset the pump.  Patient man.  I flicked the circuit breakers in the garage like he instructed and then there wasn't much left to do but silently berate myself for wasting water and wait for the tank to refill.

I've gotten into the habit of walking every chance I get now that I'm wearing a Fitbit to track my steps.  Since I couldn't water the garden because there wasn't any water, I began walking around the living room and then on down the hall.  I was looking so intently at the Fitbit app on my phone to check my steps that my bare foot almost came down on what looked like a length of striped hose stretched across the wooden floor.  It took only another second to realize that the hose was a snake (in my defense, hoses were very much on my mind at that moment).  A fat, striped, two-foot long garter snake, to be exact.  I managed to rock backwards onto my other foot and hop backwards, which was a pretty fancy maneuver for a 60 year-old woman.  I'll admit that I may have also shrieked just a tiny bit.  More than once.  The snake was unimpressed and immobile.



Once I'd regained some composure, I caught the snake using the dishtowel method:  gingerly drop one over the snake,  wrap the coils in the folds of cloth and then scoop the entire bundle up.  When this technique works, it's a great way to catch a snake.  When it doesn't work, one is left holding an empty dishtowel and there is a snake sliding off somewhere.  Fortunately, the snake was so still that I got it gathered into the towel very easily.  I even was able to hold it in one hand and the camera in the other so I could take its picture.

The dishtowel-wrapped snake and I then took a walk down to the small canal that feeds into our pond.  I set the draped snake near the water and (Abracadabra!) lifted off the towel to reveal my coiled up friend.

The snake was now lying on its back and still not moving.  It actually looked rather dead, but I could see its sides heaving.

I sat down on the dirt and grass about four feet away and watched.  The snake remained where it was, so I began pulling a few weeds that were within reach.

When I looked up, the snake was as still as before, but it had turned part of itself right-side-up when I wasn't looking.

I weeded a few more minutes, and when I looked up the next time, about half of its stripy upper side was showing.  Again, the snake was completely still.  I figured out that it was watching me and only moving when I was busy with something else.  Clever guy.

When I looked up the last time, it was gone.  It was as though there had never been a snake at all.  Poof.













I'm certain that he slithered under the slab of rock that is our bridge over the canal.  It's a good place for a water snake to live and I hope he does well.  Perhaps my adventure with this hose-like water snake that that showed up in the house with such impeccable timing will serve to remind me to always TURN OFF THE WATER.  We can only hope.





Oh, and when I got back to the house, the tank had refilled and we had water again.  So I went outside and did a bit of watering.  I turned off the faucet when I was done.


I do like a story with a happy ending.

Foxies

The flower beds in front of the house are a hodge-
podge of whatever survives and looks halfway decent.  The cast of characters frequently changes, but a few spunky regulars such as wild mint, Siberian iris and chrysanthemums tenaciously hang on season after season.  I fill in the gaps with seeds or plants from the nursery -- most die, but some thrive.

These foxgloves are from six-packs of plants I bought and put in about six years ago.  Originally the flowers were in all the pastel shades that hybrid foxgloves come in, but they have long since reseeded and reverted back to humble purple-pink.  I'm fine with that, because I love this petal color and their white and maroon-spotted throats.

Wind, sun, chickens, gophers, bugs ... it amazes me that a plant that looks so delicate can withstand everything that Frogpond throws at it.

Ephemera

The last few days have been sunny, but with chilly winds gusting.  The grass on the hills is seeding up and turning yellow and the wildflowers are quickly closing up shop.  So it was a pleasant surprise when this peony (aptly named 'Sarah Bernhardt' ) burst open in all its fragrant pinkness.  It will most likely be past its prime and fading by tomorrow, so I'm busily appreciating it today.

Tadpoles

This has been the briefest spring we've ever had.  Even with last week's rain, the hills are already yellowing as they go dry.  Our daffodils and tulips came and were gone within two weeks and the lilacs and forsythia are almost finished.  Even natives like California poppy and bush lupine are stunted and struggling.

And from the barely one-fourth filled pond, there is absolute silence.  Normally at this time of year the bullfrogs are croaking up a racket as they lay claim to their territory.  Back in January and February, I heard and saw frogs in both the seasonal creek and the pond, but now there is no trace of them.  They have vanished -- a sad mystery.

So I was delighted when I walked down to the edge of the pond and my eye was caught by swarms of small, fat shapes wriggling away.  Hundreds of tadpoles have hatched (the January frogs must have been busy) and seem to be doing quite well.







So even when the weather's totally wacked out and it seems like more is dying than surviving, there is evidence of just how tenacious life is.

It gives one hope.

The Queen

Yesterday was a day of memories.  Seal left us in the morning and Bruce and I looked back on the fourteen years she'd been a part of our lives.  In the afternoon, the tree guys showed up -- a crew of three, along with two trucks, a huge wood chipper, power saws, and loud music.  They had come to work on our massive gray pine that stands on the upper pad.  Fourteen years ago, Bruce and I were married under this tree, who we had named "The Queen".  Gray pines are rather short-lived trees (60 years is about the average), but The Queen is estimated to be well over 100.  These pines usually bite the dust by literally biting the dust; one day their roots give out and they just keel over.

The Queen, over the past few years, has been doing the Leaning Tower of Pisa thing.  The tilt was gradual at first, but now she was so far over that her lower branches blocked the path and the ends of largest one was resting on the crown of an unhappy oak.  Our options were to do nothing and wait for her to topple over on her own, have her taken down before she fell, or try to keep her going a little longer by ridding her of the weight of the branches that were pulling her down.  We know that she's old and already past her prime, but we opted for the tree surgery to see if we could keep her a little while longer (I sense a pattern here).

From this side, she actually doesn't look too bad...

This angle shows her struggle with gravity

The unwilling oak that's being used as a branch-rest

I believe that the young man who swung up into this tree is part California gray squirrel.

The similarities between the two were striking.  Give the squirrel an orange helmet and a chainsaw, and they could be brothers.  Oh, and lose the tail.

(The squirrel pix were taken several months ago -- the little guy lives in the pines surrounding our house)

Here the tree trimming is almost complete.  The little oak to the right lost a branch in the process, but it no longer has the pine branch pressing down on it.

Bruce and I took an evening walk up to the pad to see how The Queen was doing.  She looked splendid against the sunset.  There's no telling how much time we bought her by the tree surgery, but we did what we could to help her out.


And that's all one can do.

Goodby, Sweet Seal

Seal and Murphy playing a last (very gentle) game of keep-away with the kong yesterday afternoon.

Today we let Seal go free.  After a week of pills and special canned and dried food, all to help her failing kidneys,  she'd gradually stopped eating entirely.  She didn't seem to mind not eating -- it was as though she had no need for food anymore.  She remained cheerful and she kept her tail wagging, but being sick was taking its toll -- she was losing more weight and spending most of her time asleep.  When I spoke with Dr. Mike this morning, he agreed that it was time.  An hour later, I sat on soft blankets on the floor with her in the clinic.  She lay against me as the vet gave her the injection.  Her passing was quick and easy -- she was gone in moment.

My heart is heavy tonight, but I'm grateful to have had her lovely doggy self as my friend for the past fourteen years.