Friday, August 8, 2008

Muttering Crows & Rosie's Nose

Another gorgeous Valley morning and we wander again to the garden. As I roll up the beach mats and the shower curtain on the boat, I hear them coming...the Muttering Murder of Crows. They do like to sit and watch me work in the yard. I cannot tell them apart, but they have distinctive personalities. One is a real clown. Today there is a lot of noise out by the bridge beside our gate. Mason, my Bichon boy, finds it all quite annoying and he lets the world at large know this by barking his opinions.

I move about the garden yard picking up windfall apples and Pippi wanders with me, nosing about, checking out bugs and things that move. The other girls are sunbathing and sniffing the gentle breeze. In the background there are crow mutterings and then...something else. It sounds like a dog barking. A dog barking up in the cherry tree behind the house. Hmmmmm. I had a dog once who climbed trees. Had to watch Annie like a hawk or she would be 25 feet up as fast as you could blink. But I knew none of the Bichon's were climbers.

Orienting on the Wild Cherry tree, I see the culprit. One of the Muttering Murder of Crows has taken up a new vocation - that of dog mimic. Mason barks, and the crow barks, only it comes out more of a "mark, mark, mark". He hasn't mastered that "b" in bark that canines have. I snicker and shake my head at his cleverness. Time for a cappuccino.

Today is Bente's Anniversary and I have decided to go to Naesgaards and purchase a big bag of fresh, green, garden peas for her as a present. Now that may sound like an odd present, but it is one I know she will love, being a green-garden-pea addict like she is. I meet her at Quality Foods to give her her gift and she giggles with delight, immediately diving in and eating two peas. I am pleased that she is pleased.

I grill steaks to perfection - rare - for our dinner tonight and cook potatoes and corn. I made the mistake of using a purchased grill rub instead of making my own and the purchased rub doesn't agree with me. Soon I am sitting on the bed and watching television, attempting to digest dinner.

Richard is thumping about upstairs, moving things, who knows what, but it annoys the dogs and they periodically run hooting and barking out to the kitchen letting him know how they feel about the noise. This goes on a few times, and each time I try and shush them and each time I am unsuccessful. Sigh. Finally at 10:30pm I can't take it anymore. This time there is whining, barking and growling as well as a soft thump, so it is time to investigate.

Rounding the corner I notice that the gate is on the floor, Pippi is trapped in the kitchen and there are 4 Bichons gathered in a circle around Rosie. And there is something dark, and hairy on the floor at Rosie's feet. I swiftly cross the floor. Rosie just as swiftly grabs the dark and hairy thingy in her mouth. I even more swiftly grab Rosie by the scruff of the neck and hoist her up before she swallows whatever that dark and hairy thing is. Rushing to the kitchen I holler up the stairs to Richard that I really need help and he comes to my aid.

"Rosie has something in her mouth and I need you to get it out before she swallows it" I holler. Out of the corner of my eye I see something dangling from the corner of her mouth. "And please tell me that isn't a...

"...mouse!" Richard replies as he pries her jaws open and removes the vile, disgusting, well-chewed and very dead little mouse.

"Awwwgggghhhhh!" I reply.

The mousie remains are quickly dispatched into the bushes and an extremely annoyed Rosie rushes around the kitchen looking for more mice. Where she found it is not a mystery. The gate on the floor answers that question - Rosie, and the others, must have chased it behind the gate where it leans against the wall. When Rosie nosed it out behind the gate, the gate fell, and she grabbed it. Where the mouse came from remains a mystery, although I have a habit of leaving the back patio door open through out the day when I am home, an inviting portal for tiny mice.

Time for bed, my stomach has had enough today, and Rosie has a new moniker: Rosie Mousie Killer. She loves it.

I'd rather she kept her kills outside.

I am glad she got the mouse before it got into my room though.

Hmmmm. Wonder if that mouse was an advance scout for the Mole People.

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