It’s very warm for March, and you know what that means.
I will be heading out to run soon, and I’m sure they’re waiting to crawl into my hair, gonna attempt to nest in my mouth, just can’t stop thinking about putting their feelers in my nose–and all while I’m trying to run.
This is entirely separate from squirrels noticing that when I take Sir Boxnoggin out for walkies or running, he’s tied to my waist and can’t do much more than lunge. Oh yeah, they’ve figured that out, the little arboreal nuisances. Just the other day we came home and a particularly sleek, rotund fellow with a bottle-brush tail zoomed across the driveway, stopping once to flick said tail in Boxnoggin’s general direction. I could swear I heard a tiny guffaw.
That was the same day the Princess informed me that the damn squirrels had been doing reconnaissance up to the front door. “They’re watching us,” she says balefully, at different points through the day. “There was one in the apple tree outside the dining room window, too.”
Two Black Rhino running leashes, two Ruffwear harnesses, one locking carabiner from my climbing days, and we finally have a solution for two active, inquisitive dogs at once. I really like the Black Rhino leashes; I just wish they made a dual one with a thicker belt. That’s a small quibble–with the carabiner, the leashes can be kept at the small of my back, which means I can use my body weight to shift both of them at once.
Sir Boxnoggin loves walkies almost as much as he loves running. You can see him yearning for the fire hydrant, eager to lift his leg and tell the world he was here. Miss B, on the other hand, sticks close unless there’s another dog to be seen, in which case she wishes to make acquaintance in the worst way and is in danger of teaching Lord van der Sploot bad habits. Our next walk will include a small spray bottle for deterrence purposes.
It’s always something. But we got a good walk, Sir Boxnoggin is happily splayed on the hall floor to cool down, and all is (mostly) serene in the land of Canine.
These fellows caught my attention at the garden shop yesterday. I brought none of them home, having learned the hard way that “full sun” is not something one gets with seventy-year-old fir trees hanging around. But it was nice to talk to them, to see all the green things…and to get an iron trellis for a certain part of the yard. I almost got a hydrangea vine to put on said trellis, since those do all right in shade, but in the end thinking of digging another hole in that corner undid me and I left with supplies but not a single plant.
It had to happen sooner or later. There weren’t even any sad little lumps on the clearance racks begging for a home. I’m grateful, I suppose–I am full-up on save-this-poor-soul projects at the moment.
Have a good weekend, dear Readers, and I hope you find something beautiful during it.
Miss B needs more walks these days since she’s getting a little old to take long runs with me. On this one, we came across a dandelion still holding onto to shreds of its sunny face. Or at least, I did, since she was busy searching for something stinkalicious to roll in.
For some reason, the little fellow made me feel better. Hold on, it seemed to be saying. Just hold on.
There was a whole SHELF of ancient Baedeckers at the library sale Wednesday. I looked at my writing partner, she looked at me, and we both said, “Room With a View.” Then we began talking about Julian Sands, and there is a reason we’re best friends. (The phrase “rats down his pants” was bandied about with glee.)
It’s good to have friends. And though I would never in a million years use them, I was extremely tempted to pick up a couple of the Baedeckers.
When I bought a couple grapevines, I didn’t think the second one would survive. It was a spindly, ill-tempered little thing, and did nothing the first year. It only sent out a few anemic leaves the second, and I thought it was done for. Still, I fed and watered and sang to it, hoping. The kids, used to me giving plants a long time to bounce back, shook their heads and left me to it.
This year, the spindly little bastard has exploded, and there are at least six bunches of grape-buds buried in its depths. The other vine, the luxuriously healthy one, still isn’t producing.
Sometimes it just takes a while for the fight to show any results. Keep singing, keep watering, keep hoping, keep fighting.