Sunday, December 7, 2008

Can Ya Dig It?

The sun shone today! Wow! Ok, it was only for 27 minutes, but it still shone and we still went out into the yard to enjoy it. And it was WARM! Only Mason and Emmy and I felt like wandering around the yard. The other's went back inside to jockey for position on the back of the sofa. I took photo's of my still blooming Calendula plants and tried for a photo of my hearty little Johnny-Jumpup but that one is blurry. Oh and my Sweet Peas are going strong, looking like they could bloom at any moment, given half a chance.

It's December 7th today, and the weather continues to be mild, thank goodness. I know we will get crapped on someday soon, sigh, that is the nature of the weather out here on the Island. But boy, that sun felt good on the face, let me tell you. Most days it is so dark and gloomy out, the automatic plug for the lights on the fence doesn't shut them off until after 10am.

I made some fudge this morning, trying out a new recipe. Hmmmmm. The recipe was rather vague on the directions, just leaving you to read between the lines. For instance, it says "Add peanut butter and marshmallow cream; mix well. Quickly pour into 8 x 8 buttered pan." What it SHOULD say is "have peanut butter and marshmallow cream quite soft and then add peanut butter and marshmallow cream as fast as you can stirring all the while as fast as you can and then as fast as you can pour into prepared pan and spread quickly!"

It kind of went funny when I poured in the peanut butter and marshmallow cream, kind of...seized...if you know what I mean. I worked as quickly as I could but it still went all crumbly - kind of dry. And oh boy is it sweet! Yes, I know, it's fudge and fudge is supposed to be sweet, but, wayyyy too sweet for me. Oh well Richard will eat it. But I won't make it again. Glad I found out now before I bundled up little packages of it in gifts for Christmas.

l have other recipes to try, none of them my own because I never make fudge and don't know why I decided to this year. But I did, so people might be getting dry, crumbly fudge anyway. Maybe I will just fall back on my old standby, Peanut Butter Marshmallow squares, but with a twist. What twist you ask? Ah, now that is a surprise.

Time to coax the kids outdoors again. Molly is mad at me, has been for a couple of days, so is hard to coax out. The other night, about 10pm, we took them out into the garden yard for their last go round before bed. The minute they hit the yard, they went crazy, running around by the shed, standing up, throwing their heads back and sniffing the air. That alarmed me for it meant that something big had either been in the garden yard or was on the other side of the shed. Richard noticed it right away too, so we called to the dogs, getting 3 of them in the house. Of course Emily and Rosie took off to the far end of the yard by the garden boat. It is dark down there, even with the feeble yard light and lights on the fence. I hobble after them and finally coerce them back to the house and indoors while Richard closes the gate .

One, two, three, four, five, si...uh oh, missing one. Molly. MOLLY!!! Nope she's not in the house.

"She has to be, I got them all" Richard says.

"No" I insist, "she is still outside.

"Well, I can't see her" he replies.

"Ah, crap, she's under the flower bench beneath the rose bush!" I holler, and race - ok, hobble quickly - out the door, Richard right behind me.

"Molly, you come here RIGHT NOW!"

No, I huntin' Mow Pepo

"Now Molly!!!"

But Mom, der Mow Pepo, unner heah, lotsa dem!

Richard hollers, banging on the bench and finally she crawls out from under it.

"Ah, damn, she is all muddy, just look at her paws," Richard says as he picks her up. "YOU ARE A BAD GIRL!"

But I jus' huntin' Mow Pepo, I not bad, sniff.

We take her right into the bathroom closing the door, hounded - pun intended - by the other 5 dogs, worried and concerned because we were yelling at Molly. In the bathroom sink, I run water over her mud-caked paws, cleaning them as best I can, then washing her face and nose, which are mud-laden too. She's been using her teeth to facilitate her tunneling. Drying her as best I can, I have Richard put her in the dog room alone and close the gate. What a brat!

10 minutes go by, the rest of the crew are really upset because I have yelled at Molly. Mason comes up to me, asking me to free her. The others whine and fuss. "Let her out now," I holler at Richard, "before they mutiny." Mason runs out to the dog room to help Richard open the gate. Molly comes up to me, rolling over and baring her tummy. The others gather round, sniffing her.

I sorry mom, but der was Mow Pepo, I has to get dem

So she is still upset with me. Once I get her in the yard, I have to watch her the entire time, without watching her, if you get my drift. I keep her in my peripheral vision, because if I don't, she will slip back under the bench. On Richard's next days off, he is removing the bench and making it so she can't get under there. I know she will find somewhere else to dig, that is just Molly's nature. She is just a digger. When she was 7 months old, she dragged one of my small plant pots off the deck into the living room and proceeded to dig all the dirt out of it onto the floor, sofa, and chair. She hasn't stopped since. There is something about dirt that entices her.

Mow Pepo mom, I keep sayin' dat. You don' lissen. It MOW PEPO!

"Yes Molly, outside, we'll go outside now, just give me a minute."

Sigh, moms, dey jus' don' lissen

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