Fruit Fly Olympics

It's 9am and I am outside already rolling up the beach mats and the shower curtain on the garden boat. Going to be a hot one today, and don't want to burn things. Things look good, although I make a note to water later, after the boat is in shade. With the warm sun these last days, the rain of a couple of weeks ago has evaporated. I lose myself again in the beauty of the view for a while. Then become aware of a faint tap-tapping above me. I look up to see a pair of tiny Downy Woodpeckers busily hunting for bugs in the King apple tree. We wander about checking this geranium, that fuchsia, those marigolds, noting that most of the pots need watering as well.

I hear a starling, or starlings maybe, in the holly bushes making coaxing noises and of course, my Muttering Murder of Crows in the Cherry trees. They mutter to one another, either critiquing my apparel - pajamas - or checking out the tomatoes and peas. Yes, I AM paranoid about my tomatoes and peas, what of it!?

Definitely time for cappuccino.

Now I am dressed in my usual jeans and t-shirt and starting my day. Of course, Richard has been up and active since dawn cracked, but as I mentioned before, I am a very slow starter in the morning. I take notice of that summer annoyance - fruit flies - flitting around hanging basket of apples and make a scrunchy face. Richard comments on them and suggests I make my homemade fruit fly trap: a cone of paper suspended in a jar with a 1/2 inch of apple cider vinegar in the bottom; works every time...

...but not this time. Hmmmmm, curious. Two hours later and there is still a cloud of the foul creatures flitting about. I add white wine vinegar to the cider vinegar in the jar, then stand back and watch. They pay it no mind at all, instead start flitting around my face. I scrunch my eyes and imagine I can hear them snickering at me, chattering to one another with their tiny, high-pitched voices about the stoopid human as they get in my nose and eyes. Double scrunchy face.

Giving a shrug I go on with what I am doing; all the while my mind is working on the fruit fly problem. I look up again at my hanging fruit & vegetable basket and it strikes me - gee, maybe there is SOMETHING IN AMONGST THE APPLES THAT IS ATTRACTING THEM, DOPEY! So I start to remove the apples one by one by one by...eeeew GAK! There, right smack in the middle of the pile, is an extremely rotten apple, with dozens of tiny fruit flies practicing their dives: forward dive pike from a standing start, back dive in the tuck and, my personal favorite, the free position. Big Scrunchy Face here!

Richard dispatches the foul apple to the garbage and the little fruit flies soon disappear. I keep one eye watching the fruit fly trap, but see nothing. Still, I leave it there; it is after all summer and you can count on them being back, with their dirty little feet walking alllll over the nice fresh fruit and veggies and doing their level best to spoil whatever they touch...maybe its time for another cappuccino, I'm getting a tad bit testy.

We wander back out to the yard. Richard has gone to work - 12 till 8 today - but managed to mow the garden yard for me before he left. I notice that in the tiny pea patch - that has only two very sad looking pea plants, some Scarlet Runner beans, sage, thyme and tomato plants - there are some tomatoes slowly ripening. Maybe there will be some ready for Rylan to pick when she is here on the 23rd. Over at the garden boat, I see one tiny red Tumbling Tom tomato starting to ripen. Will save that for Rylan too. The peas are setting more and more pods everyday. There won't be gallons of them, but maybe we will get a small feed with dinner one night.

Back inside, I check the fruit fly trap. Ah Hah! Suckers! There are 3 fruit flies inside. Will leave it to attract more. Time to vacuum and tidy the kitchen, get dinner plans on go. Periodically I smugly check my trap. At the 4pm trap check, I don't see any fruit flies...I mean NO FRUIT FLIES! My eyes go slitty and search from side to side. How can that be? The little beggars have made a daring escape, and are even now laughing at me from behind their tiny wings. This trap is supposed to be inescapable! Does this mean that, as I have used this trap over the last few years on succeeding generations of fruit flies, the fruit flies have become smarter? have figured out ways to escape the trap and it's been hard-wired into their tiny fruit fly DNA? that I have to devise a different trap?

Naw, it just means I was careless when I made the darned trap and leaving a gap between the top of the jar and the paper cone, and they were able to push through. Phew, for a minute there I was worried about evolving intelligence in fruit flies. Not that there is much concern there. I mean, fruit fly intelligence, that's just laughable...

...still, I DID see a few fruit flies buzzing around my computer monitor the other day. And I DID see one sitting on my keyboard, moving from key to key until I chased it away.

Hmmmmmm.

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.