Summer m/vole count

I have a math problem. And it’s a revolting math problem to boot: When do you count a dead m/vole as one dead m/vole and when do you count it as 1/2 a dead m/vole?

All that’s left on the back porch are, um, the innards. Yeahhh, I can’t wait to clean that up. Which is why I’m writing this instead…

Since, to my knowledge, there is no how – many – parts – of – a – mole/vole – count- as – an – entire – m/vole rule book (but tell me if there is one) I’m going to take the higher number and use it in the summer count (click on summer m/vole count category if you don’t know what I’m referring to).

I think I can justify counting it as one by pointing out that cleaning up bloody guts is way more disgusting than cleaning up “just” the carcass.

Plus, since I’m the only one I know of who’s doing the summer m/vole count, I think I can make up my own rules regardless.

God I don’t want to go out there.

I just want to know “Why?”

What makes a cat (that eats an animal’s head and tail) “just say no” to its innards? Did he smell something icky in the innards that made him say “No, I don’t think I’m eating the innards tonight”?

Or was he just too full after eating the head, the tail, the arms and legs, skin, etc. and just decided to save the guts for later? No, that couldn’t be: it was Bubba. He’s never met a food item he didn’t eat too much of.

If I were a conspiracy theorist/anthropomorphist I would say the cats are mad at me because I’m dog-sitting this w/end so they’re telling me they’re p.o.’d by leaving the guts behind because they know I hate gut cleanup duty the most.

But that implies they have a moral compass, which is clearly not the case, or they never would have put me in this position to begin with.

Plus, it was Bubba who did this. And come on — he’s just not smart enough to have a moral compass. He can barely find the litter box.

Therefore, I hereby count this as summer m/vole number 6. But I’d count it as 526 if grossness were a relevant factor.

 

Summer m/vole count — one less pest

Plus one=

5 this year

This time: I got to hear its last squeak before Allie brought it (dead) onto the porch and then totally ignored it.

I guess the thrill was in the catch. This is often the case in life, eh?

Yes, here you get not just dead animal stats but also philosophical musings. All for free — my gift to you.

You’re welcome.

 

Summer m/vole count

Plus one=4 this year

I think this is a low count compared to past years, but

• It’s been extremely rainy this year and
• I’ve never really counted before so it is possible, although unlikely, that in past years I only had a few but it seemed like more. In fact, it’s so unlikely that I am crossing it off the list. The m/vole count is low due to all the rain.

Ra**its, on the other hand, gawd. Yesterday morning — I swear this is true — there were 2 rabbits walking down my sidewalk.

Not hopping, not scrambling, not scurrying over each other, but standing up and walking one behind the other, sauntering almost.

For the first time I almost wished for a couple more because it would’ve been a great photo. Granted, they are everywhere else so it’s not like I’m jonesing to see them or anything.

 

Audubon does its annual bird count. I’m doing the m/vole count.

<ed. 6/19: bolded info. on this topic due to reader confusion — have had a couple of verbal comments too — and/or writer vagueness; Here’s the upshot: I have removed innumerable m/voles from my basement, back porch and house. This summer I decided to do a “summer m/vole count,”  much like the Audubon Society (?) does its annual (christmas?) bird count. Get it?>

Since there have only been 2 so far and I can still keep track of them, I’ve decided to write a post every time I get a m/vole* off my back porch this summer.

Well I won’t really “get them,” the cats will, but I will be lobbing them over the fence into the neighbor’s yard “getting them” off my back porch (and/or avoiding them), so I feel entitled to the need to document each disposal.

For some background : This is getting a little ridiculous.

You could also just click on the Dead Animal of the Day link on the right, and 98% of the time it’ll be about dead m/voles.

I understand this could get kinda boring for you, dear reader, but this blog is about me, after all, and it could be worse: I could use this blog to track my periods or every time I said the eff word or every weed I pull out of the weedpatch garden (which I don’t have enough time to actually pull, not to mention to document).

So think of this as a database with words. Heck, it’s better than that: It’s an interactive database you can leave comments on!

To to make it official: This weekend I lobbed removed #2.

In the unlikely event you need a reminder this is about the first one of the summer: Summer’s here even though it was 34 degrees the other day

*or any part thereof

 

Summer’s here even though it was 34 degrees the other day

Today we welcome one of the first signs of summer. Welcome it with me, won’t you?

For today on the back porch I found the first dead m/vole of the season.

Summer is here, cold weather be damned!

 

But I don’t LIVE in the woods!!

Although also a hawk, this is not what it looked like, but I can’t spend any more time looking for a picture of this damn bird.

Sittin’ here looking out the window on this gloomy day, when I see this big-a**ed bird preening itself high in a tree. It’s got a rust-colored belly, and being an adult – convert – bird – nerd (thank you Tom, though it was probably in my blood already due to my dad), I run and grab my bino’s and bird-nerd book.

Sure enough, I think it’s s a Skinner’s Hawk, relatively common in woodland areas (which I would not consider my area at all, but maybe it’s lost). Never heard of it before but it fits the description and behavior, namely the following…

Oops — it’s not preening itself: It’s picking apart a dead bird. I couldn’t (mercifully) see much, except feathers floating down periodically.

I do not live in the woods for godsake. I live in a ‘burb right next to the City. It just boggles my mind how many bizarre animals, dead and alive, I see around here. Not to mention where I usually see them, which I won’t get into except to say they’re usually inside my house…

Other than my sister Sarah, who had a bat infestation in her attic (I had one in my bedroom which was enough for me to have to get rabies shots — we always try to outdo each other) and a rotted, maggot-infested raccoon (squirrel maybe?) fall out of her chimney flue into her house releasing millions of maggots,

I just don’t know anyone else who has had all of these bizarre animal sightings / infestations.

Oh wait, I just remembered Brett at work, who smelled found a dead shrek or a shrew or a something in his ?basement ?garage. I don’t remember which, since clearly I have enough of my own traumas to deal with.

I remember my parents having a bird or 2 come out of the chimney when I was a kid, but seriously, do other people have these problems on the scale I seem to have them?

Is this another taboo subject nobody mentions but everyone has?

I’m starting to (albeit paranoically if that’s a word) feel picked upon by the universe for having rescued my animals and for creating a garden and putting up birdhouses and feeders.

This is my reward for engendering nature and wildlife?!

Sounds to me like it’s yet another illustration of — cliché alert — no good deed going unpunished.

 

The farting dog and the springtime mouse

I wrote this last night while I, well—read for yourself:

At this moment I am trapped in my bedroom with a snoring, farting dog and the door closed. And I am praying I don’t see something slide under the door.

Again I blame the cats. Allie came hauling through here a few minutes ago, chasing something.

Yep it’s comin’ on Spring so that means it’s comin’ on varmint time. Yee haw! Tonight we have a mouse in the house, which if you’ve read any of my 1200 previous posts about animals in inappropriate places, you’ll know is unusual (I typically get m/voles).

update: I just turned the radio on—and loud—so I can’t hear what’s going on. Just had a thought of someone finding me in here dead tomorrow with a noxious odor still in the air (and 2—no make that 2 1/2 or 3—other animals in another room). That would be humiliating.

a few minutes later: summoned the courage to see if I could get Allie to take the damn thing downstairs or (preferably) outside. But no such luck. Guess it’s more fun let it go, chase it, pounce and <that’s when I left the room>.

more time passes: Allie and Bubba are in a standoff, each staring the other down. I guess Bubba decided he wanted in on Allie’s mouse (talk about entitlement!), and Allie was guarding her prey and growling. All over a mouse that seems to be dead…

I don’t want a mouse in my bedroom later, so I retreated to the “Farting Dog Room” and closed the door.

So here I sit with my farting snoring dog. This will not happen again. Starting tomorrow night they’re going back to the basement at bedtime. If it’s warm enough to find a mouse, they can just have at it downstairs where I’ll hopefully never see it.

–>3/12 addendum: The mouse was gone when I woke up this morning. I hoped they had eaten it. This being the HouseOfDeadAnimalsInInappropriatePlaces, however, I found it intact, hidden between a towel and a sheet that I’m (gasp!) throwing away.

You have to know when to walk away from lots of things—relationships, cats chasing mice, washing and re-using mouse-infested linens. Maybe I’m finally learning.

 

Increase your blog traffic by…

…writing about your latest breakup. Posting MRI scans on it does not increase your traffic, though. As Omar’s comment implied in here: Another one bites the dust…, I’m apparently not unique in having a CD of my brain. (I know—it was hard to absorb that. Is having your brain MRI on CD becoming cliché?)

Anyway, I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that it’ll be a while until I post about my next latest breakup.

That’s because I’m becoming:

• a re-born-again virgin
• lesbian
• Buddhist monk
• who lives by herself on a deserted island
• with only:
  • Pina Coladas
  • a rechargeable music player
  • infinite amount of reading material
  • an on-call boy toy (me a lesbian*–who am I kidding?! <–*not that there’s anything wrong with that)
  • unlimited funds to fly in a friend or relative periodically to bring me Ted Drewes and stay ’til we’re sick of each other

–>Off-topic: You would not believe the number of hits I get for Ted Drewes. If I got a free Oreo extra Oreo for every hit on “Ted Drewes,” I’d weigh about 500 lbs. They really need to get a website.

With just the above, I do believe I’d be set.

• Oh, add a toilet, potable water and a cook.

I’m still at the weep-weep –>IHopeYouGetTheToledoSize KidneyStone –>I knew this was coming, so why didn’t I do it then? –> weep-weep –> Thoughts I’m not willing to share but have to do with sex if you really must know –> weep weep –> IHopeYouGetTheToledoSize KidneyStone –> weep-weep –>I miss him. –>weep weep –> ToledoSize KidneyStone –> I’m relieved –> No more dating ever again –> I knew it’d never work so why didn’t I break it off –> oh I’ll be fine –> weep weep –> oh goody I don’t have to shave until summer! –> vicious circle that keeps going ’round and ’round until I distract myself phase.

Unfortunately for me, unlike The ExMan and a few other XMen come to think of it (like the one who forgot to tell me we were done before he started dating again—doncha hate when you forget to do stuff like that?!), I can’t just come to a relationshipy decision, execute it, then walk away cleanly and unemotionally. <3/9 I just remembered an exception – I did do it once.>

I have to understand why, go through the vicious circle for a while (this one’ll hopefully be short since we weren’t together long), then swear off men (again).

I’m also specifically swearing off Virgo men (again). I hate to generalize (not to mention acknowledge an affinity to horoscopes) but me+Virgo=NoGo.

And I’m not saying they’re a-holes, mind you (although I say it plenty while I’m still in the vicious circle). These have been wonderful, funny, usually good-hearted intelligent men.

I keep going for the Virgos, but no more. I have really learned my lesson this time. I’ve already told my friends to just shoot me if I ever even talk about one again. I mean it. I’m inherently attracted to them, yet it’s a guaranteed destruction in the making.

But anyway, back to the major point here–have had major spikes in traffic, but only a few clicks on the MRI images. I’d thought more people would want to see either them or the witty comments I inserted but no, not so much…

Here’s another opportunity though. I just think it’s really cool (and am apparently one of few that thinks this) to have dozens of images of the inside of your brain.

I have pictures of where all of my (over-thinking highly-attuned thinking) originates! I can watch the cd and see images of my brain changing over time.

I think it’s fascinating, but maybe I think it’s fascinating the same way new parents think their baby’s first fart is fascinating.

But don’t tell me that right now, ok? Just play along, cheer me up a little, leave a comment, and agree that these are — without a doubt — the most interesting, life-altering images you have ever seen:

Thanks.

 

Another one bites the dust…

Note: All images are of my brain from an MRI. The images are on a cd and are my backup in case I lose my real mind. Do you have a cd of YOUR brain?

I may not post this–I don’t know. But I need to vent, and to who better than to an audience that gets here by googling something like ‘why is my dog stupid’ or ‘ASKED NEIGHBOR ABOUT TREE – GOT MAD’ or ‘how do panties work.’

All of which are real searches people have done to get here, BTW…though admittedly me dissing them like that wasn’t a good way to endear my readership.

In my (unfortunately) vast experience, breakups often happen like this: You know in the back of your mind that something’s wrong but you can’t quite get that thought transfered to the front of your mind.

Something is happening of course, which you don’t realize until immediately–and I do mean immediately—as the main event begins. Maybe it’s been that the back of your mind hasn’t been yelling loudly enough to the front of your mind or you’re in profound denial. Or both.

I guess it is denial come to think of it. Because usually a breakup is preceeded by this faintly-heard, screaming voice in the back of your mind that’s going “nooooooooooooooo.” You’d think by now I’d have learned to listen to it (and THEN what would I do).

In fact, the front of your mind even says stuff like “if the Man and I don’t work out I’m going to either move South or move to France.” Or (to a friend) “I think we’re near the end…” Yet there’s still this “dense matter” in your brain that doesn’t allow the back and the front to synch up with each other.

That “dense matter” my friends, is the heart. That stupid heart somehow expands big enough to invade your brainspace and actually block thought, as illustrated in this slightly modified MRI image of my brain:

 

 

Until the main event: he says something along the lines of “It’s not you. It’s me.” Or the trite (yet oft-used) “I don’t know what it is <editorial comment: bull****> is but my heart’s just not in it,” or <Insert another lame-ass excuse here>. Whatever.

He could’ve said it was because you’re a crazy effing beeatch and he’s scared of you, but in the end it doesn’t matter.

All you hear is that “nooooooooooooooooooooooooooo” sound again, followed by an “ohhhhhhhhhhhhh,” followed by a tear that seeps out even though you swear to god you will not let him see you cry.

You hear your heart crumpling up and going ‘not again.’ I can’t do this again. I really like you. Rapidly this turns into I hate you and HowCouldYouDoThisRightBeforeMyPeriodYouAssholeIHopeYouGetA KidneyStoneTheSizeOfToledo. But I’m not at that point right now. I’m still at “noooooooooooooooooooooo.”

 

♪ It was late last night. I was feeling something wasn’t right…and a feeling you feel so strong…I knew that there was something wrong…then you gazed up at me and the answer was plain to see, ’cause I saw the light in your eyes. ♫

♫ But we had our fling (echo: we had our fling) I just never would suspect a thing (another echo: suspect a thing), ‘til that little bell began to ring….in my head (echo: in my heaaaaddd)…I tried to run, though I knew it wouldn’t help me none… ♪

Thank you Todd baby (from Something/Anything?). You’ve helped me through many of these effing life experiences…

 

 

 

The harsh brutal truth

I hate my animals.

Actually, today (right now) the dog is okay but even she knows to tread lightly.

My opinion of her could change any moment, depending on the next “bodily function in an inappropriate place” or the next “dead animal in an inappropriate place” encounter.

The cats? I am OVER them. They just need to die already.

Don’t bother calling the Humane Society, ASPCA, my parents, or my shrink. After hearing some of my dead animal stories they’d either agree or kill them on the spot.

I know—I’m a cold beatch.

But YOU try cleaning up the 987th “unrecognizable except for the blood and tail” dead animal inside the house or cat barf from on top of your car.* Then we’ll talk…

*The ONLY bonus about this is that I can see the top of my car better in a parking lot.

 

Li’l F####er—a eulogy?

<scanned-in photo from the pre-digital era 1993; It’s scratched but it’d take 10 more hrs. to install P-shop & fix, so deal. Click it to see when the ears were his biggest part.>

Bubba (also known as Lil’ F***er, Fatboy, Bubby, and Godamm It Bubba) is missing and presumed dead.

My stupid little Bubby didn’t come in during the nightly “last call” on Thursday, and it was the 1st night we had a freeze. I checked for him throughout the night to no avail and he wasn’t at the door the next morning. Subsequent searches of the yard have been fruitless.

Now granted, he has/had his nickname for a reason: He was mean, wanted to be petted only when HE wanted it, and only for a limited time that always varied. When he wanted you to stop petting he would turn around and bite you (quickly too). He was just ornery.

He even bit at ME, the hand that fed him (and then swatted him). What else do you call something like that but Li’l F****er?! I always warned people not to pet him but they always did, and then they always got snapped at. I think people would do this to prove THEY would be the one he’d finally like, but it never happened.

There must’ve been a kind side to him but he hid it pretty well. Girl was scared of him because he’d reach out a thwack her for no good reason, and when they passed in the hallway Girl averted her eyes by turning and looking up at the ceiling. It was really pretty funny, if pitiful.

I think he secretly wished he was a dog since she gets so much more attention: When I fed Girl, I had to feed him too. He’d stand by me and meow and lead me to food bowl which usually already had food anyway. But I went through the motions and refilled the bowl.

When Girl went to the door he usually was there too, and they’d run out next to each other, hellbent for leather (whatever that means). She jumped onto the bed, he jumped onto it. When I’d take the dog for a walk Bubba (and Allie) sometimes followed along, if only to the top of the street. I looked like the Animal Whisperer.

He spent the night outside sometimes, but I’m not sure he ever really went anywhere. The backyard is (as you know if you’ve read >3 entries here) a paradise for animals of prey, so why would he ever need to leave?! He acted tough, but how tough can you be when all you’ve caught is m/voles and haven’t ventured much beyond the back yard in suburbia?!

He had a couple of fights with the neighbor cat who comes into my house periodically and picks one with him, but that’s the extent of his life experience fending for himself. He had a great threatening growl, though, and used it a couple of times like when a delivery person came to the door or a new mail carrier.

He would lie on the couch and not move one bit (except his ears) for up to 12 hours at a time. He’d lie on his back and sleep like a dog. But god forbid you should ever touch his ample stomach or he’d —surprise coming— snap at you. You could bomb a small town with that gut he has/had.

When my sister’s dog was over and snapped at him for no reason he literally jumped straight up, like a Halloween cat. It was hilarious actually, but for the subsequent chaos.

He watched nature shows on TV, and when he was younger he’d try to find the animals behind the tv after they were off-screen. He even watched other cats on tv (pictured) and tried to grab at them (not pictured but I have witnesses).

Frankly he was just a bastard, but he was my bastard. He usually liked me and would cuddle up to me (on his own terms, of course), and when he wasn’t bugging the crap out of his “sister” Allie the codependent kitty, they would snoogle together, especially on cold nights. They’d do that until he inevitably ruined it by trying to play and she hissed at him and/or ran out of the room, him running after her ’cause he got his chase on.

So now, not only is Bubba missing but Allie has lost her attention-taker. And there’s nothing worse than a co-dependent cat without its primary depender-onner. Now that primary depender-onner is me, and she’s driving me nuts with all her whining. I’ve threatened for years to box her up and send her to my niece who would LOVE to have her, so I sure hope my sister is nice to me, lest she receive an unexpected gift in the mail.

I’ve been saying for years that I wish they’d die already. I know that sounds mean, but even though you know how long they live when you get ‘em, it’s still a long time to spend with an annoying animal whose feces you have to clean up and who bites when you pet him.

My only sorrow is that I don’t know if he suffered. I am assuming that he didn’t, since he probably froze to death. He didn’t do cold too well so I’m assuming he didn’t make it, or he was seeking warmth and got lost or something.

I’ll do the usuals when an animal loses you (call Humane Society, animal control, etc.) and who knows? He could just show up again like Allie did after she was missing for 2 months and 1 day. But it’s getting colder and he’s really pretty dumb, so I’m not holding out hope.

 

That darn cat*

*OR “This ain’t no party, this ain’t no disco, this ain’t no foolin’ around…” (Talking Heads-Fear of Music-Life during Wartime)

                                 

So I’ve been a bit stressed lately and not properly getting rid of it. Won’t go into the details but it’s got partially to do w/the whole prove myself like a (professional) puppy at new job, stretching myself professionally (learning new things), being billed out by the hour and feeling like I have to MAKE EVERY MOMENT COUNT, we’re just before a go-live to Production, and there are still 3 or 4 new things creeping steadily towards me and no relief in sight except a day off Fri., which you might be able to tell I need.

I’ve been doing acupuncture (well, I haven’t been doing it but you know what I mean) and was religiously going to the gym, doing my physical therapy, stretching, a pose or 2, and light weights on a medicine ball. <No comments on how you never noticed> But I’ve not done any work at the gym the last couple of weeks, have been steadily decreasing the PT, and my once-resurrected meditation practice seems to have died again.

Plus the joys of perimenopause – a period every 3 weeks with sore boobs in between? Hell yeah—what’s not to love about THAT? <These are the times I regret giving this address to people I work with.> 

Anyhoo, the job, the dog almost dying, the stolen truck & cop car outside the other night, the unexpected fireworks in the park the other night that caused my dog to run full speed into the back yard gate then inside where she shook for the next 20 min. You know, the usual life stressors. I just needed some time to chillax.

Last night I didn’t bring home work.  I blobbed and watched funny shows I’ve recorded, re-started my physical therapy, did some crunches and stretching (including pigeon pose, which I now—but didn’t before—suck at, and almost burst into tears about when I couldn’t get into it anymore). Me—the uber-flexible.

I was “closing up shop,” debating whether or not to put on the meditation cd, when the question was answered for me, and Allie carried in some little at-least-partially-dead thing (baby bird? m/vole? baby mouse? I don’t even know and it doesn’t matter).

Rather than totally lose it and rather than call my usual “AAAHHH there’s another animal inside” sister (must stop doing that) I instead called my dear friend to talk me through the nasty disposal process. If she had any doubts about my sanity she clearly has no doubts now. I was all hyped up and talked fast in a high squeaky voice and she probably caught only every other word.

Really, this “bring your outside animals inside” thing has become a routine that just involves different members of the same household. Last night, it was Allie carrying in the nearly (?) dead thing—that part remains constant—she brought it into the dining room (yep, just like the baby rabbit a year or 2 ago). This time both Li’l F***er** AND Girl the Beagle were eagerly following her and her prey.

As I’m losing it on the phone w/my friend encouraging me and walking me through (yet another) disposal operation, what do I see but Allie (aka ‘ co-dependent kitty’) hissing at Bubba to get away from her prey (and he did). Girl saw that and of course, backed off immediately. She’s a lot of things, but she mostly is scared of the cats.

I ran to the porch and got the specially-designated animal-removal dustpan (how sad that I have one, and that it has its own storage place so I always know where to get it “in a pinch”), b-ing and moaning to my friend the whole time, complaining about the inevitable.

I came inside strengthened by my kind friend who’s keeping me encouraged and distracted enough to not pay too much attention to the grossness I’m about to deal with, and damned if the little m/vole creature isn’t gone, all except for a little piece of something-that-I-don’t-care-to-look-at-closer-thank-you-very-much.

I guess since Girl took Allie’s recent catch, <Yes, lightning can strike twice…or more.>, Allie decided she wasn’t taking any more chances so she wolfed that sucker down but quick.

I mean LITERALLY, in the time it took to speed dial, yine into the phone while retrieving the dustpan, it was gone. But hey—less for me to do, right?! <She breaks into song:> “Yeah, that’s all right mama, yeah that’s all right with me…”

                              

I decided to ignore the little piece of something-that-I-didn’t-care-to-look-at-closer-thank-you-very-much, thanked my friend again (I hope profusely enough), walked back into the dining room, and the little piece was already gone. All I have to do is sterilize the floor now.

I’m just glad I have such good family and friends to keep me off the ledge, and even though the animals cause the trouble in the first place, I’m glad they sometimes clean up their messes.

Most of all, I’m glad it’s still warm enough to lock Allie out of the house tonight in case she throws up.

**reminder: Allie (on left in photo)=co-dependent kitty/the great hunter and Bubba (on the right)=Li’l F**ker 

 

Today’s waste of money

was the dollar I spent to have the little girl behind me come retrieve the dead bird off the back porch and then finding that since this morning “it was gone” from under the plant on the porch. Just gone.

Of course I know something ate it, but I am choosing to not think about it any further.

She is the youngest and was SO excited to be the first to volunteer and not be superceded by an older sibling, and of course by knowing she’d get paid for her “troubles.” She was genuinely disappointed we couldn’t find it, and matter-of-factly said that Girl or the cats probably ate it, but she wasn’t so disappointed that she forgot to ask if she’d be paid anway.

Of course she was gonna get paid—can’t you see the “I’m a sucker for a cute kid” tatoo on my forehead?!

Those kids are making a fortune off me, and not even for anything really “beneficial” to me, like cleaning the gutters or raking or something. It’s all in dead animal removal (or as a consolation when the dead animal’s been made gone already).

Not that I don’t appreciate it, mind you,* especially since I’ve already used my sister’s birthday present coupons for dead animal removals (and then some).

Thank god I can get rid of the m/voles myself or I’d be so poor I’d have to eat the damn things for nourishment.

*See this post for just one such incident: Yes, lightning can strike twice…or more.

 

Readers’ remorse

(photo caption: Surely you realize this isn’t me holding a rabbit, since I see only dead ones.)

People keep telling me how ‘disgusting’ my most recent bunny story was, but come ON people–you had fair warning.

The biggest clue: the photo of the dead baby rabbit at the beginning of the story.

But, like rubberneckers driving by an accident, some people just can’t help themselves—they slow down and look.

You had the chance to keep driving, but you slowed down and read it (despite yourself) so don’t complain NOW ’cause you saw the blood.

In fact, I should ask for sympathy from such a traumatic event. And after all I’ve done for nature: taken in three stray animals, recycle, limit consumption (except ice cream & frozen custard), improved the earth with bird/butterfly/snake-attracting somewhat-aesthetically-pleasing garden (with bird feeders!), and being a shining example to all I know.

I deserve praise for having courage to witness and write about such a digusting beautiful, natural thing. You just read about it. You had it easy!

Remember, you just READ about the accident—I was IN the accident. So quitcherbellyakin.

Click to re-visit the accident scene: Yes, lightning can strike twice…or more.

 

I have HAD it!

Today: a squirrel on the back porch

Yesterday: the rabbit

Last week: THREE (yes, I said 3) hummingbirds—you can ask my niece and my dad; a wren-sparrow thing, a mourning dove, and something I couldn’t even see anymore, but whose trace elements were lickable by the dog.

It’s madness, I tell you, madness!!!

I’m calling my dad to see if he could put a pet door in. That should at least reduce the number of live animals that get in, even if my own animals bring in the more disgusting things.