Never have I experienced such destruction and absolute disregard for my cherished flower gardens as I have this summer. And we’re only a few days into summer. Sigh.
First it was D.O.G. the pig chomping my flower beds near the house. He was dainty at first, just nibbling blossoms and leaving me the dirt and naked stems still in box shapes from their original containers, yanked from the ground, and scattered about for easy replanting.
I almost gave him credit for being thoughtful. That lasted all of two days.
After blessing and replanting over a dozen box shapes, I barricaded the beds with big logs. That ungrateful, thoughtless pig plowed through the barricades and tore up entire beds, flinging dirt and returning to the porch with a snout black and rich with fermented horse poo, garden soil and mushroom compost. His favorite blend, apparently.
Next came the deer. We busted them at dawn the other morning, grazing down the flowers I had so joyfully planted near the pond.
“Your heads will be hanging above the mantle,” I shouted, as they jumped the fence and loped ever so gracefully away. I believe there were still zinnias dangling from their chops.
So what’s a farm chick to do but savor her lily pads. They may be my last hope for some beauty among the beasts. Never to be picked, chomped, mauled or grazed.
Here’s to a little flower power in the pond…Eat your heart out D.O.G.
Photo Of The Day is also Pick Of The Day.
From my morning walk to the beautiful New River meadow…
…a little Flower Power for you.
(Dear D.O.G. the pig…please don’t eat the daisies)
Funny. Every time I send a text message or email to my beloved saying something profound like; ‘Hey baby…taking a break from wacking…where you be?’ or; ‘Vibing so bad from 3 hours of wacking…pick up some munchies?’ … auto-spell kicks in and turns wacking into ‘whacky’ or ‘walking’ or ‘waking’…when I just wanna say WACKING. It makes me even more WACKED OUT than I already am.
Now to be perfectly clear (as some perfectly murky politicians might say), to be whacked-out is similar (take definition #1 below for example), but certainly not the same. As defined by Merriam Webster;
Definition of whacked–out
1: worn-out, exhausted
2: wacky a whacked–out parody
3: stoned whacked–out on drugs
Now I maybe, might have, possibly, been all three of those definitions of whacked out in the course of my lifetime, but to be WACKED OUT involves and solely derives from using a Weed Wacker.
Since I cannot find an appropriate written definition, let me provide you with a visual definition.
This farm chick is Wacked Out…
…I mean really Wacked Out…(auto spell just corrected to ‘wicked’ out…now that’s a new one!)
Don’t mess with this Wacked Out mess….
Wacked Out at ground level…
Occasionally Wacked Out accidents happen…
…that will make a mess of one’s Wacked Out pants…
…and then you might see Recluse Man cruising by ever so cooly on his tractor…
…and in that Wacked Out frame of mind you just might want to bend that thumb of his upside down and WACK IT.
Catch my drift?
Summer has returned and so have I.
Yes Please…bring it on!
In this kind of weather, everyone should take cover.
Meet Simba…a Chinese crested dog……also known as a zip lock pooch.
I have the best neighbors. Generally, we’re a small quiet group, but the ‘hood comes to life on holiday weekends.
One family in particular will come up occasionally, and they know they’re welcome to mosey over to visit Gyps and the Pips, or D.O.G. the pig.
They’re from suburbia, where I would imagine most folks don’t have a ponkey in the pasture, or a pig in the living room. A live one at least.
Tim is the dad, and has helped me out many times over the years with his tractor. It sure is a pretty tractor. He’s plowed my driveway…dug up earth for my garden…moved the manure pile. Nothing like a part-time neighbor with a tractor to seal a friendship. A very pretty tractor. Did I mention that?
Sometimes Suzy (mom), and the kids; Jessica and Nate, come along to walk the Pips to the river. If they’re brave enough, they’ll pet the pig. Contingent on his whereabouts. That dang pig can be a grouch behind the couch.
Suzy always packs plenty of vittles and this Thanksgiving weekend was no exception. They headed back home today and afterward, I found a bag of food tied to the barn door. Veggies galore! For D.O.G….the local compost-master!
D.O.G. had already told Suzy, “No onions.”
I told Suzy, “He’s watching his waistline…easy on the desserts.” (BIG SNORT from grouch behind the couch)
For Photos of the Day…check out D.O.G.’s neighborhood Thanksgiving…
Linguini…breaking bad over the watermelon…
“Hey Suzy…howzabout peanut butter with the celery?”(or more politely…Thanks for the Giving)
I am NOT a Black Friday shopper. In fact, I will go to great lengths to stay away from crowds of frenzied shoppers.
Today for example, I needed to buy some rope at the hardware store for that darn horse I’ve been trying to load. I took the back roads to Tennessee.
And dang if I didn’t find THE BEST Black Friday Special in all of Johnson County, Tennessee.
No lines. No sales tax. No hassles. Just come and get it….Recluse Man said, “If we don’t get the horse tomorrow…we’ll get the TV.”
I can’t wait til tomorrow.
Until further notice, I have reassigned my duties as Star-trekker-trainer, and daily blog poster, to a highly qualified substitute.
As you can see, this substitute of mine has exuberance, she’s forthright with her goals, she has a good chomp, and every so often; a nice disposition.
“Hey Whip-Lash!! … Let go of Star!!! …See you on Friday with some leftover stuffin’!”
HAPPY THANKSGIVING Y’ALL!
FOUR ON THE FLOOR AND HEAD OUT THE DOOR…YIPPEE!!!
After 10 days of working with Star, and getting him over his fears and green-colt anxieties about loading in a trailer, we had the best day yet.
Thank you Goddess of Patience! Thank you Blocker Tie Rings! Thank you Janice for leaving your trailer!
Not only did Star load, he stayed. He sniffed. He stuck his head out the side door. He nibbled. He leaned into my fingers at his favorite scratch spots and batted his eyes. He turned his head this way and that. He backed out a few steps, then came forward. Then he stayed again…for awhile.
And then he asked… “Hay girl…where’s the TV?”
I was so happy with this headway (wimpy pun), I promised we’d watch the next Panthers game together.
It was the same feeling I had at age 14, when I won four blue ribbons and then grand champion, in a horse show at summer camp. It was hard work and team effort then, and no less so today. With the same huge feeling of accomplishment.
And trust. Gotta have trust.
Check out the Star-dude…in Photos of the Day…
Head out da door…four on da floor…
“Where’s the TV?”
“Love my little apartment…where are my slippers?”
“So when are we going?”
Lookin’ like Turkey Day…you hot-red-headed-turkey-you.