Friday, May 21, 2010

The Widow

I'm beginning to wonder if the young widow down the way on Almosta Road is expecting. She's beginning to put on a bit of weight around the middle and her flat chest isn't so flat anymore. Although she's been widowed for only a short time, she does have gentleman callers now and again. Not that I go looking for these sorts of things, mind you, but one can't help but notice when a male suitor comes happily strolling out of her place with the morning light.

Time will tell, as they say, and I'll be waiting to see if my hunch is correct. I'll also make myself available if she needs any help with the delivery. Even though this would be her first litter, and mine too, I'm sure Puff will know what to do when the time comes.

I know one thing for sure, she's been awful lonely without her beloved Beau, who by the way, disappeared over the winter. Our neighbor's discovery confirmed our fears that a hungry coyote crossed his path. We miss him too and are very excited that Puff might bring life back to the barn--down the way on Almosta Road.

Chance

A few days have gone by since I first sighted "the snake". The weather has turned cold again, which means cold-blooded creatures head underground or under the breezeway for safety. I'm not sure where he went only that I haven't seen him.

Out of sight doesn't mean out of mind. To say that I'm obsessed is not accurate. What I am, instead, is more thoughtful. A friend called yesterday to tell me that if he had a bull snake living under his house he would bend over and kiss it. While I admit I am no longer scared out of my whits, I'm not exactly at the point of embrace, but getting there--slowly. He informed me that bull snakes, although not venomous, do kill other snakes that are venomous like the dreaded rattler. They also eat mice, gophers, and the sweet baby bunnies. I promised my friend that if given the chance I would refrain from killing the snake. I'm slowly accepting the notion that he may be an asset--a well-skilled, low maintenance security force. Admittedly, I have not seen a single bunny or gopher running around the back yard so he must be doing an effective job.

Since he is now a resident, I've decided that giving him a name might be the first step in forging this strange new relationship. But I stop there. I refuse to bake him a pie or send out a casserole like the Welcome Wagon ladies, who by the way, are still active in this corner of the world--in case you were wondering where they went.

At the end of a very thoughtful day, I settled on the name, Chance, since we have apparently taken a mutual risk to live with each other. He's taking a chance on me and I on him. I am slowly awakening to the realities of living on the prairie by looking for the opportunity rather than focusing on the problem.

All is well, and so it is.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

The Hole Under the Foundation

This morning I spent some time walking around the house, shovel in hand, back filling the ever growing number of bunny and gopher holes. Over the past few weeks the baby gophers' numbers have increased ten fold. At one point while filling holes around the fence posts I remembered the hole I'd spotted a few days ago up against the foundation of what used to be the back porch and is now part of the breezeway. Last spring a mother cottontail used that space for her litter of five bunnies. Ever since, I've repeatedly filled and refilled the opening to what must be a cavernous bunny and now gopher nursery. Ordinarily I would say, "aaahhhh, baby bunnies, how cute". But now I know better. Now I know that baby bunny or baby gopher means an easy buffet to a snake. Might as well hang a neon sign that reads, All You Can Eat.

And sure enough, as I headed across the lawn toward the back of the breezeway, movement caught my eye. THE STONES MOVED!

I jumped back, spun around on my now quivering heels, ran a few feet, stopped, then looked, from what seemed like a safe distance, in time to see the last part of the snake slither into the hole under the foundation. OMG, it's under the house!


The snake had been lying up against the foundation among the tan and grey stone blending-in just as nature intended. My question is: why do snakes need so much protection? Granted they don't run or fly, but they have camouflage skin, fangs, and poisonous venom, and a look that stops my heart...cold--isn't that overkill? All I have is a shovel and semi-clean underwear. Hardly seems fair.


Even though I have a gun, I can't very well shoot the thing while it's lying up against the house. I remember my sister-in-law warning me that bullets can ricochet off rocks, or the ground, or any object, and end up lodged in my skull instead (thanks, Pat). If I try to arouse it so that it moves away from the house, it will move back under the foundation. It might be primitive, but it's not stupid. As I understand it, they've been around a lot longer than man, and will probably remain long after we are gone. Isn't that reassuring?

I called my husband, Pat, to report the first sighting of the season, and to announce the official start of spring. Of course, he's out of town for a couple of days, so I'm on my own, essentially. It's me and a know-it-all teenager who wants to open the back door to get a better look at the reptile because he's convinced there are actually two snakes and wants to prove he's right. Now I've got to watch him, too, as well as manage to get the dogs out to pee occasionally.

My new game plan for the dogs is to take them on a walk several times a day rather than opening the door and letting them go take care of their business on their own. The driveway is about a half mile long, so we can walk back and forth for exercise, fresh air, and a bowel movement. After seeing the snake, the walk takes on more of a recon mission. I hold the leashes tightly and keep the girls from drifting into the tall grass growing along the edge of the drive.

Shortly after spotting the snake, Cali has to pee. Off we go, down the road, my hands still shaking. I'm scanning both sides of the road in a state of hyper vigilance. I stop, first my feet, then my heart, there's something round, grey and mound-shaped off in the grass inches from the road. My eyesight's not what it used to be, so on this day everything looks like a snake. This time it's a rock, but who knows, next time it could be a snake. Rocks look like snakes; snakes look like rocks. It's just not fair.



Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Just Another Windy Day

After spending at least five minutes applying layers of clothing including gloves and my ridiculous mad bomber bunny rabbit fur hat with ear flaps and a chin strap (for which I am eternally grateful), the dogs and I braved the hellish weather for a quick pee. The weather man, Chief Forecaster (no he's not an Indian just a goofy white guy), predicts more of the same until the weekend. Today is the third straight day with sustained 40 mile-an-hour winds accompanied by an occasional 70-90 mile-an-hour gust, which might be tolerable (although doubtful) if the temperature were 20 degrees warmer than the 41 displayed on the outside thermometer. On the east coast this would qualify as a hurricane and people would tape their windows and stock up on batteries, but here it's just another windy day.

Three miles down the road lies the small town of Ulm, population under 500 people, but well over 200 dogs along with assorted cats, chickens, ducks, goats, and guinea hens--many of whom can be found in the middle of the street at most times of the day. Ulm's a typical small town with its own post office, a gas station, a bar, a casino, an elementary school, as well as a born-again Christian church. And not much else. Not that one really needs much else.

This morning I realized if I wanted my Mother's Day package to arrive on time I would have to head to Ulm's post office before noon (when Leslie closes up for lunch) to ensure the package would get out today. So off I went. Heading out the back door towards the truck hunched over at a 90 degree angle, package in hand, purse on my shoulder I quickly realized I was moonwalking. Both the package and the purse were flying parallel to the ground behind me as my legs moved forward and backward but my body stayed in place while the truck remained out of reach. Almost at once I began howling with laughter realizing the futility of this adventure as well as the absurdity of my life. My arm fought against the wind's resistance as I willed my hand to meet my face and wipe the blinding tears. At the moment of contact my glasses found their freedom and joined the tumbleweeds hurrying across the prairie....

Later in the afternoon I give in and decide to tackle the pile of ironing--yes, I still iron. So I'm upstairs standing at the board (bored) but determined to finish when I begin to feel the house moving and hear it groaning under the increasing pressure of the now pounding gale force wind. The dreaded 70-90 mile-an-hour gust just one of many we will brace against over the next 72 hours. I look out the south facing window but can't see a thing. Confused but determined to figure out why I can't see I realize that what I'm actually seeing is my neighbor's recently plowed field blowing past the house. I am literally standing in the middle of a dirt storm--dirt and seed--that is. The Gerard's crop and livelihood just blew past my window. I'm so glad Lew and Kathy live downwind--they have cows. I'm guessing the expression, "when pigs fly" originated on the windward side of the Rockies. On a day like today it makes perfect sense. Indeed.