Another day, another critter.

My husband was looking for his walking boots this morning, with the intention of going around the property to check on the nest-building progress in the ten bluebird boxes that we have set up around the pastures.  The county gives a tax-break for having those bluebird boxes on one's property... the bluebird being a protected bird of Texas, and the Powers That Be would not like to see those birds get anywhere close to the 'soon to be extinct' list.

So the little wooden birdhouses go up around the property, then are checked every two weeks for nests, eggs, fledglings... and recorded on reports that get sent into the county office every year. Everybody's happy, especially the little bluebirds.

With the recent heavy rains, the grasses in the pastures are nearly knee-high. In order to walk safely out there, one needs boots. (I have boots, but I don't walk in grass that's higher than the soles of my shoes.... just to be on the safe side of snakes, fire ants, and heaven only knows what.)  With all of that in mind, it is my husband who makes the rounds of the property to take photos of the nests and baby birds. When he comes back, he shows me the pictures, which is enough of an 'experience' for me.

As we were looking for his boots, put away in such a good place that neither of us remembered where they were, I suggested to him that we shake them upside-down when we found them, to make sure nothing was hiding inside of the boots.

"You think too much about bugs," he told me. "What could be hiding in my boots?"

Fine. If he didn't want to check his boots for visitors, fine. But I certainly would.  And I did, since I was the one who found the boots.

First, I called out to my husband that I had his boots. Then, as I waited for him to get to that side of the house, I turned each boot over and pounded them upside-down on the courtyard by the garage. From inside the first boot, nothing. From the second boot, a dead tarantula.

Well. I'm patting myself on the back for not screaming. I'm also patting myself on the back for thinking too much about bugs and pounding those boots on the courtyard.

I'm also patting myself on the back for not saying "I told you so!" to a certain husband who thinks that I'm thoroughly obsessed with the array of wildlife and insect life that surrounds us on this surprise-infested property.

Snakes happen....

So there I was yesterday evening.... getting canned Fancy Feast ready for the cats' dinners and bringing one of the bowls into the garage for Mickey so I could get him in there for the night.  Before I closed up the garage door, I looked around to make sure the orange cat wasn't in there, or Gatsby, or anything else that shouldn't be inside before the door is shut.

And there it was... in front of one of the big doors... a small snake all curled up just as nice as you please. I didn't scream because it was just a green and black ribbon snake, and I didn't want to scare it away, figuring it may slither underneath my car and (is this possible?) somehow get into my car.  I backed away from the snake and then ran into the house and up the stairs and told my husband that I needed him to get rid of that snake.

I don't know what I would have done had he not been home... I guess I could have dropped a brick on top of the snake, but that would have been a messy little ending. And what if my aim wasn't quite right?  I know it's "just" a ribbon snake, but still, a snake is a snake and I have enough nightmares about the wildlife and slithering-life out here in the hills.

With all small garden snakes, my husband's method is to capture the snake in a plastic container and then drive it two miles up the road and release it in the empty field by the main highway.  I knew he would want a plastic container but in my haste to get it to him, I grabbed one that didn't have a cover. So my husband improvised, putting a thin piece of cardboard on top of the container, and he had to hold his hand on top of the cardboard to keep the snake from getting out of the plastic.

My husband told me to get his car keys, which I did... but when I was handing him the keys, he said "You drive, I'll hold this."

Pardon me?  "You want me to drive? While you hold that thing next to me in the car? No way."
 "Well, you hold this and I'll drive,"  he said.  Pardon me?

I came back into the house and found another plastic container with a tight-fitting lid.... went outside and gave that to my husband, and he transferred the snake from one container to the other, snapping the lid down tight, while I watched from the back porch.  "Want to come for the ride?"   No way.

So off went both my husband and the plastic-contained snake. When the car came back up the driveway, my husband was smiling and holding up the empty container.  He told me to save the container for the next time.

"You want me to put that in my kitchen?"   I suggested to my husband that he keep that container in the garage from now on, to be ready for the next little adventure. And I know now from experience that it's only a matter of time till the next slithering thing finds its way into that garage.

And all I want to know right now is... could it ever be possible for a snake to find its way into my car as it's parked in the garage.

"Anything is possible," said my husband when I asked him that question.

Men.  Would it have been so hard for that man to say: "Of course not.... a snake could not  penetrate the undercarriage of that vehicle and find its way into the interior of your car."

Rain, thunder, lightning, the works.

We have had so much rain these past few weeks......... I have honestly never seen the grass here grow so quickly. Our Spring bursts of wildflowers are all but obscured by the tall grasses in the pastures, and I'm still hoping that the yellow Texas stars will grow tall enough to peek out from all that green.

Our pond looks beautiful, as do all the other ponds in our hills here. One could probably put a rowboat or even a little fishing boat out in any or all of the ponds and have a grand time... if one were prone to do that (which I am certainly not).

The barn swallows are busily renovating their nests from last year, to the detriment of our porch. Where one has birds, one has bird poop and feathers. Actually, the teeny little feathers that float on the breeze look very pretty, but the same cannot be said for the splotches of poop all over the deck and the porch.  There hasn't been this much of a mess on the porch since we had the chickens a couple of years ago.

There is a particular nest in one corner of the porch that is being fought over by barn swallows and wrens.  That nest was originally built by the swallows, but the wrens are trying to stake their claim to it by adding gobs of messy grass and horse hair to the otherwise very neat mud-construction of the swallows. At night, the swallows sleep in that nest, but when they're flying around the yard during the day, the wrens sneak into the nest with their beaks filled with grass. The result is a messy nest with all sorts of stuff hanging out of the sides. When the barn swallows come back, they simply pull out all the unwanted items and drop them onto the porch. I've been keeping a broom up on the porch because I'm having to sweep up the debris twice a day.

The orange cat.... he's been sleeping in the kitty-coop during the day, which Mickey isn't happy about.... and when I came home from town yesterday, all three cats (Gatsby, Mickey, and the orange cat) were sleeping in the shady grass by the courtyard behind the garage. As I walked from the garage to the back porch, all three cats opened their eyes to look at me, but it was the orange cat who meowed loudly and turned over on his back to stretch out his paws in welcome.

Ha! I've fallen for his upside-down belly-to-the-sky look before from that cat. That's when he gave me the worst of the scratches I've gotten from that blasted cat. I just look at him now and tell him that I wouldn't trust him for all the Meow Mix in Texas.  Slowly, however, I think both Gatsby and Mickey have come to realize that the orange cat has decided that this is where he wants to live out his stray little life.  I don't agree.... and I long for the day when I can capture his orange and white kitty self again.

Sprinkle this....

So there I was this morning, looking at gardening boards on Pinterest.... not that I'm a gardener, but I do appreciate pretty gardens.  For our own property, I would need the flowerbeds to be free of ants, spiders, scorpions, snakes, wasps, and even bees... and then I would be happy to go out there and play in the dirt and plant flowers that would hopefully grow and bloom before they fry and shrivel up in the Texas heat.

On a clever Pinterest person's gardening board, I happened across the following simple suggestion: Cornstarch kills ants. That clever gardening person even wrote "You probably have cornstarch right in your own pantry!"  Well, of course I did.... and of course I took that box of cornstarch right outside to see if it would work.

Out of the dozens of fire ant mounds that have sprung up since this last week's rainstorms, I picked the smallest three mounds, doing a quick calculation of the size of the mounds in comparison to the amount of cornstarch in that package. (My husband would be proud of my mathematical sense.)

I took a stick and poked some holes in those ant hills, and out came thousands of fire ants trying to defend their territory. I sprinkled the mounds with the cornstarch, and within seconds, the ants who were moving at a Jitterbug pace were suddenly doing the Waltz... and then they were barely moving at all... dancing in slow motion. Success!

Off to the second and third mounds.... more cornstarch... more barely-moving fire ants.  When I came back into the house, I checked the pantry to see if I possibly had another container of cornstarch, but I didn't.  I wrote "cornstarch!" on my shopping list, and I will be raiding the store shelves for it when I go grocery shopping this week.

The cornstarch trick is the second gardening secret I've learned on Pinterest... the first being that if you mix white vinegar with water and a bit of liquid dish-washing soap (like Dawn), that mixture will kill weeds. My husband sprayed that concoction onto a gravel path around the side of our house and it has been weed-free for weeks now, even with all the rain we've had.

So now, when my husband asks me why I spend so much time on Pinterest, I should tell him that I'm doing research into the most cost-effective and earth-friendly gardening methods which will make his life easier and protect the planet at the same time.

Cats on the porch.... hail on the roof.

Woke up this morning and not only was Gatsby sound asleep on the porch, but so was the orange cat. Each one had spent the night in a chair, one on each side of the back door. Sometimes those two cats look so comfortable with one another that I can forget the days when Gatsby chases the orange cat out into the yard. And of course I can almost forget that we don't want this orange cat in the first place.  But he still seems to want us. On his own terms, of course, which doesn't set right with me.

We've had a weekend of ridiculous weather.... lots of rain, which we always need, plus plenty of blue sky turning to dark rain clouds and then back to blue after a ton of rain fell from the sky and into the pond. (The pond looks beautiful, by the way.)  We also had hail this afternoon... marble-sized ice rounds that bounced off the roof of the gazebo and rat-a-tat-tatted against the tin roof of the barn. Scared the living daylights out of Gatsby and Mickey, both of whom went running for cover. I have no idea where the orange cat went to hide because I make it a point to never look for him. (Nor does he care... he prefers his independence.)

We had a new handyman working here all day yesterday and half of today. The 'old' handyman will be moving out of the barn apartment at the end of this month. That man never did get himself a car, and you can't live this far out of town and not have your own vehicle to get you from here to there... so back he's moving, into town where he can walk everywhere. Fine. It was nice while it lasted.

So the new handyman can do plumbing, electrical work, welding, landscaping... a more varied handyman resume than the first guy. This new man, however, has a house in town, so he's not in need of an apartment over our barn. I suggested to my husband to ask him if he may have a friend who's looking for a place to live out in the country and who may do some work around here in exchange for the rent money. Doesn't hurt to ask... and being that this 'new' guy is very nice, very reliable, goes to church and is close to his family... he may know someone else with the same sort of mind-set.

About an hour ago, the sky was black and we had thunder and lightning with bouncing hail and pouring rain. As I type, the sky is blue, the barn swallows are singing, the sun has dried up all the rain puddles, and there are three ducks out in the pond.  Don't like the Texas weather? Then just wait a few minutes and it will change....

Goats on the road....

I am so tired of chasing away the neighbor's goats. At least once a week, half of those goats get out of their field.... the larger ones jump right over the fence, and the little ones crawl under. Being that this particular neighbor uses those goats as a food source, one would think he'd want to keep his livestock on his own property. Personally, I don't care if the neighbor's goats are loose.... I just don't want them on our property because they will eat everything in sight, whether it be wildflowers or rosebushes.

When we first moved here, I used to just drive one of the cars down the road... the goats would see the vehicle headed their way and they would either jump back over the fence or run down our hill and then turn left and run up their own hill.  I used my car for goat-herding until the day that my car got caught in the gravel at the side of the road and slipped a bit down off the road. In order to get back on the road, I had to drive in the tall grass on the road's shoulder, hoping beyond all hope that there wasn't a soft spot or a very small goat underneath that high grass.

Then I started to walk down the hill holding the broom.... the goats either didn't like the looks of me or didn't like the looks of the broom, and they jumped back over the fence and ran to the other side of their field.

My husband was home one day when the goats got out of their property and he used the air-horn to blast them back onto their own pasture.  One blast was all it took... that rattling, deafening sound echoing around the hills here for miles.  So that's what I do now with the goats.  This afternoon, I got that air-horn, walked down the road a bit towards the goats, and blasted that thing for all it was worth. Clearly, the goats don't like the sound (neither do I) and off they went running..... some jumping over the fence, smaller ones crawling underneath the fence......... and as I walked back towards our driveway, I could still hear the blasting of the air-horn in my own ears.

Problem with the air-horn is that it also scares our cats.  When I got back to our porch, there was Mickey and Gatsby, both of them with looks on their faces that would stop a train.  Gatsby gets highly insulted when his naps are disturbed, and Mickey just looks pitiful.  There's no apologizing to cats, as any cat-person will tell you.  It will take the cats the rest of the day to get over the loud noises that I made with the air-horn which hurt their feelings and hurt their ears.

Playing nice....

.... and waiting for the other paw to drop.

Since the return of the orange cat, he and Gatsby have called a truce of some sorts. Mickey continues to ignore the orange cat, keeping his distance but also keeping watch when they're both out on the porch.

Gatsby, however, is another cat story, especially because he has been King Of The Porch for six years now.  When the orange cat first appeared, Gatsby growled and hissed and howled at him, to the point where one would think whiskers were being pulled out by the dozen. Gatsby, however, howled from a distance, but every once in a while he would charge the orange cat as if he were the matador and the orange cat were the bull.

There was a decidedly different cat atmosphere on the porch while the orange cat was off at the Lake... both Gatsby and Mickey strolled around the porch without so much as a glance behind their furry cat-selves.  However.... that 12th day after the Lake episode brought the orange cat back here... and once again, Gatsby and Mickey walk in slow motion on that porch, as if that blasted orange cat were going to jump out from a corner of the porch and scream "Gotcha!"

When the weather turns warm, Gatsby prefers to sleep on the porch, and the last few nights have indeed been warm. Gatsby came into the house to eat a late dinner last night, then sat by the kitchen door till it was opened for him, and out he went.  By that time, Mickey was safely enclosed in the garage, with his little trap door open so he could get into the fenced-in coop. (Both areas are equipped with cat-beds and cat-sized chairs and little tables... a plethora of cat-napping/sleeping choices.)

During the night, I heard not a sound from outside... no hisses or howls, no screeches or cat-fights. When I woke up this morning, I actually thought the orange cat had gone off to another property for the night, as he often does.  I walked down the stairs and into the kitchen, and peeked out the back door.... and there were Gatsby and the orange cat..... both of them sleeping soundly in the chairs by the back door... Gatsby on the left side, the orange cat on the right. Sleeping nice. Playing nice.

I poured Meow Mix into two bowls before I opened the door.... Gatsby had jumped down from his chair as soon as he heard me turning the lock, but the orange cat stayed right where he was and just watched me. I put the food dishes down on the porch, each one on a different side of the back door. Gatsby started to eat immediately.... the orange cat left his chair and walked to his dish when I came back into the house.  I waited for them to finish up before I went into the garage to feed Mickey and let him out for the day.

These cats are testing me. As of right now, everyone is quiet and friendly and playing nice.  They've been like this before.... and then when I least expect it, one of them will be rumbling across the porch intent on making the other jump from between the porch railings and land in the flower beds around the porch.

Cats. It must be my destiny to have cats. They always find their way to where I live... and they tell their whiskered friends.  But that orange cat.... unfixed, unbroken. still on the feral side, no matter how nicely he has behaved since he found his way back here. I still look at him and shake my head in wonder.

Spring things....

The wildflowers are in bloom... bluebonnets and paintbrushes are all over the pastures, with the yellow Texas stars waiting in the wings for the grand finale. The bluebonnets are always the favorites, and either this weekend or next, people from the city will be driving along these roads to take photos. We're supposed to have rain all weekend long, so it will be a soggy Easter Sunday, unless the weather wizards have made a mistake in the forecast.

Our property does look beautiful... the pond is filled, the bluebonnets are blooming around it... and all the grasses are lush and green. The barn swallows are back, building new nests and renovating old ones that we left up on the porch columns through the winter months. Those birds surely do make a mess in the corners of the porch, but they're just so darn cute when they peek over the edge of the nests and watch us walk up and down the steps. And the sounds of their little birdie symphonies are priceless.

The end of March gave us the end of two water heaters... and we now have two new ones. The plumbers know the layout of this house by heart now... each morning when they came up to the back door, I smiled and told them "Welcome home!"  The jury is still out on the state of the third water heater... but we're watching that one to see what happens.  If that had been up to me, I'd have just told them to replace it and be done with it.  Just who in the world decided to put so many bathrooms in one big old house....

The orange cat has been very nice to me since his return from the Lake, but he has hissed and spit at friend C when he saw her again for the first time yesterday. That orange cat must surely blame C for his trip to the next town.... she was the one who closed the little door on the carrier, and she also carried that crate to her car...... so instead of blaming me for his little adventure, he's decided that she was the one who kidnapped him and took him away from home. We still look at that blasted cat and wonder how in the world he found his way back here after 12 days.  He's a smart cat, I'll grant him that, but still, he's so ill-mannered and bad-tempered.... and I truly know that bringing him to the shelter will be the end of him.  Oh well... we'll see what happens.  His little cat bed is once again inside that cat carrier, but the orange cat hasn't gone anywhere near that part of the porch.

Knock, knock.
Who's there?
Orange.
Orange who?
Orange you ever gonna believe that I'm supposed to be your cat?