The headless duck...

... and no, that's not a typo.

As I was walking Savannah yesterday, along with JAS and her little Bella, Savannah saw something in the tall grass by the road behind our barn and I had to quickly pull her away from it because I didn't know what it was. There in the grass, it just looked like a black mound of something either immobile or dead, and I didn't want Savannah near it. So I pulled her away and JAS went into the grass to investigate. When she moved it over with her foot,  we could clearly see the feathers.

Neither one of us had seen ducks in our ponds recently, even now with the ponds being filled up after last weekend's deluge of rain. But just because we hadn't actually seen any ducks didn't mean that they weren't around. This particular duck was black with either blue or green feathers near his back. And the duck was also missing its head. Pulled clean off and nowhere near the rest of the body. So gross.

JAS said that it was most likely a raccoon... it went hunting, was able to catch the duck, and then pulled its head off to kill it (raccoons do the same thing with chickens). Why the raccoon chose to abandon its dinner was beyond us... the duck was a good size and it looked faintly "fresh" so there had to be a good reason why said raccoon became distracted from his dinner.

We just left the dead duck right where we found it. JAS told me that coyotes would come by to "take care of it in the middle of the night."

I repeat: So gross.

Living the high life...

How much rain did we get this past weekend?

This much:  We have an arbor out by the chicken coop that is about eight feet high. On top of the wood slats of that arbor are five birdhouses, a few of which were there when we moved here, and a couple of them made by my husband.

When I went out towards the coop this morning (because the sun is shining and the rain has gone elsewhere) I looked up at the birdhouses and peeking out of one of them was a little green frog. He had to climb up the post and then walk across the wood slats in order to get into that birdhouse, and for a little frog less than three inches long, I'd say that was similar to a Mount Everest-ish attempt.

And a successful one. I don't know how long he had been sheltered in that birdhouse, but this morning, his little green head was peeking out of the little hole in the front and the sun was shining on that frog and he looked perfectly content as he watched me going back and forth to the coop. So comfortable was that frog that I was able to go into the house and tell my husband to come outside with the camera...... and the frog was still there, basking in the sun in his penthouse above the yard... living the dream.

Got armadillo?

After days and days of trying to catch an armadillo that has been digging holes in the flowerbeds, we woke up to a nice surprise this morning: one armadillo in the catch/release trap. We're pretty sure it's the same one that's been here for a while because my husband set the trap by the barn where the armadillo had made his home.

Right now, the armadillo's new home is at the lake. My husband drove him there this morning, in the pouring rain, and released him near the lakeside so he can begin his new adventure with waterfront living. Armadillos are not the brightest of creatures. Even after my husband opened the door of that cage this morning, the armadillo made no effort to get out of it and go on his way. My husband had to literally turn the trap sideways and upside-down to force the armadillo to walk out of the wire cage.

Savannah woke me up twice this morning with very low barking, and I think that she heard the trap close on the armadillo, and then heard the armadillo struggling to get out of the trap. Those traps don't hurt the animals they catch, but they make a loud noise when the door slams shut, and I'm sure that Savannah was able to hear that.

It's been raining -- pouring -- all day long here, with just little windows of very light rain that I take advantage of to get Savannah out for a walk without both of us getting sopping wet. It's been a lot of years since I've had to walk a dog in the rain, and I can honestly say it's something that I didn't miss. One good thing, though... Savannah doesn't like the rain so she goes quickly out there and then we're back in the house--- after she steps and splashes in a puddle or two, which she seems to think is fun.

Flash-light to the rescue...

Heaven help me with the creatures and critters out here on this property after the sun goes down...

I had Savannah out in the grass by the back porch last night... her leash in my left hand, a flash-light in my right hand.  Not that we don't have outside lights there--- both porch lights were turned on for that side of the house, but still, the flash-light comes in handy for up-close peeking under the bushes. Just in case anything happens to be there... I don't like surprises of the critter kind.

And that is exactly what I was doing... using the flash-light to look underneath the bushes that Savannah was directly in front of.  So intent was I on that side of the courtyard that I neglected to look on the other side of the courtyard. Silly me. I should know better by now. Especially since this was not the first time this week that I nearly stepped on an armadillo.

As I think of that moment right this minute, I'm wondering why I didn't scream into the night and then run back up the stairs with Savannah. Right there, not three inches from my foot, was an armadillo. A good-sized one, not a baby, not a medium-sized armadillo, but one that could have given Mickey Kitty a ride if I'd put a saddle on that blasted thing.

Armadillos are not the smartest creatures that were ever created, and when the armadillo saw me so close in front of him, he did what he knew how to do best: he froze in his spot, not moving, possibly pretending to be a rock. I tried to shoo him away, literally saying "Shoo! Shoo!" (proof positive that this country life is getting to me from the inside out).  The armadillo just ignored me, and continued to stand there with his eyes glued to the ground, along with his four feet. Savannah was still in the grass, just watching this four-legged silver rock standing near my foot.

What to do... what to do.  Ah... the flash-light.  I took that flash-light and bopped that armadillo right on its backside near its tail. And off he went, Hi-Ho Silver, into the night he ran, and I hope he's still running. I have to admit that his silvery shell was indeed very hard and the flash-light seemed to bounce off of him, and there's no doubt in my mind that I scared that animal more than I hurt him. And hurting him was not my intention... getting him away from me was my goal and the flash-light just happened to be the correct tool at the moment. Actually, the only tool at that particular moment.

I can see it now... I'll be an old old woman, out in the yard with a flash-light, surrounded by three thousand armadillos wanting (demanding) to know why I assaulted their great-great-great-great grandfather.  (That sentence is more proof positive that this country life is getting to me.)

Armadillos in the night...

.... and if you're not careful where you step, you could trip over one of them.  Give me a blessed break.

That's what happened last night. Correction. That's what happened in the middle of the early morning, somewhere between 1:00 and 4:00. No way to truly pinpoint the time because I've had interrupted sleep these past two nights and both nights have blurred into one. Explanation:  we're on Puppy Time in this house.

But back to the armadillo. A slow-moving ridiculous-looking creature, and why the state of Texas chose that particular animal to be its State Animal is just beyond me. They're stupid and brainless and totally cowardly and that's what the Texas Powers That Be wanted as a recognized state-wide symbol? Once again: Give me a blessed break.

So there we were in the middle of the night, under a sky filled with zillions of stars, and I guess I was looking up at the stars and not looking down on the courtyard... and when my feet got to within six inches of a living breathing slow-moving armadillo I happened to look down and the flashlight beam was shining right into those beady eyes of that animal and that's when the armadillo decided it had better move... and so it did... nearly taking my left arm with it because Savannah's leash pulled that arm as she started to run towards the escaping armadillo and thankfully I had the presence of mind to hold tight to that leash because Savannah would probably still be running after that miserable critter. (And yes, that's a very good example of a run-on sentence but I don't rightly care.)

But on the bright side... the stars are glorious out here in this Country Bubble in the middle of the night. The sunrises have been exceptionally beautiful, and the sunsets are Van Gogh-worthy.  And I've seen them all these past four weeks. Explanation: we're on Puppy Time in this house.

Coyotes in the night...

... every night, every blessed night. And our new puppy Savannah believes she has to bark at every coyote she hears, no matter the time.  We wanted her to bark when she hears unusual noises, and she's doing just that. However, I'm hoping that she soon learns that coyotes howling at two o'clock in the morning is just about as usual as a noise can get out here in the hills.

As a result of last night's (early morning, actually) barking-at-the-coyotes at 1:45, 4:15, and 5:30, Savannah has been sleeping for most of the day. I wish I could say the same, but I'm not typically a day-time-sleeping sort of person, and for me to even take a nap in the middle of the day I have to be either sick or up-all-night the night before.

So as I type this, the coyotes are somewhere off in the woods sleeping, and Savannah is sound asleep near the little table in the breakfast room. She has barely played with her toys today, and except for some barking at the handyman who's outside helping my husband, Savannah has been resting and/or sleeping inbetween her morning walk and her noon-time walk.  I think if I just relax in this chair and put my head back, I could easily fall asleep myself, but I'm fighting that because then I won't be able to sleep tonight.

There have been a lot of coyotes lately, more so than usual, on many more nights than usual. And most of them sound very close, as if they're right out in the backyard here. I've been letting Gatsby sleep in the house on most nights, even though he's smart enough to hide when he hears the howling of the coyotes. And Mickey is safely tucked away in the garage and the coop at night, so he's fine.

If I can just convince Savannah that barking at the coyotes is a waste of her puppy-time, we'd all get a good night's sleep around here.

The Birds and The Cats...

... and I'm sure there are some Bees out there as well.

As I type this, both outside cats (Mickey and Gatsby) are sound asleep on the table on the side of the back porch. We bought that table and two chairs at a flea market a few years ago, with the intention of having breakfast and lunch out there when the weather was nice enough. Problem with having meals outside was that when the temperature was too hot, we were just too uncomfortable. (Living in Texas gets you accustomed to air-conditioning very quickly.) And when the temperature was cooler, that meant it was windy and who wants the dust from the pastures blowing over one's lunch plate?

So we hardly used that table at all, and the cats took it over. I keep a tablecloth on it to make the old table look nicer, and then I put two of their pillow-beds out there to make the cats more comfortable and both Mickey and Gatsby jump on the chairs, then jump on top of the table, and settle into their beds for a nap.

As I passed the back window just now, both Mickey and Gatsby are sound asleep, mirror images of themselves, all curled up into that comma-shape that cats do so well and so often. On the porch railing, right near that table, there are two wrens just sitting there and watching the cats sleep. Those two particular wrens have taken over one of the nests made by our ever-returning barn swallows, and every evening the wrens settle into that same nest, but only after they perch on the railing for a while to study the cats.

Mickey must not see the wrens because without a doubt, he would be trying to capture them. Not to kill them, but to play with them and then let them go. The only thing he kills are the tiny geckos, which he eats. As if Fancy Feast isn't good enough for that cat? And Gatsby, even if he did see the wrens, he wouldn't bother them at all. I think he's wise enough to know that he's too old and too heavy to run and catch them so he doesn't even try. Gatsby is just content to watch the world go by and just be an observer of his universe.