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terribleturnip

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So.... [May. 7th, 2010|09:57 am]
terribleturnip
I got an e-mail yesterday from a colleague for whom English is a second language. He wrote "for this product, distribution continues to be a crab shoot."

Which could just be a typo, or maybe he's editing...but I love it and I assure you that I will be using crab shoot on purpose from here on out.

I was worried that maybe after a couple of months of not having a dog, I would be so used to it and, frankly, spoiled by the ease of not having to re-arrange my life around an animal.

Fear not, as I have begun fantasizing recently about resurrecting one of my fish tanks...just a betta and maybe some lemon tetras...white cloud minnows...dude, the POINT is to enjoy the freedom!



Okay, so fine, I'm using my FREEDOM to reclaim the front garden, aka the Grass Garden. Not because I've purposely filled it with ornamental grass, but because weed-grass has damn near taken it over. So, I'm digging and swearing and cursing and pulling up that network of underground roots.

And we do have a pair of Robins nesting beside the driveway. And yes, I am parking my car on the far side of the driveway, stepping out into the bushes on the other side of the driveway, so that I disturb them as little as possible. Because re-arranging my life around some idiot animal is WHAT I DO. And they are idiots. Because Mommacat lives in my yard and Mommacat didn't take long to figure out that there's a bird nest there and while the bush branches aren't big enough to support her weight -- score one point for smarts, Robins! -- it's just a matter of time until the babies fledge and when they do, they have to spend a day or two on the ground before they really can fly and then, then, my friends, it's Baby Robin appetizers for Mommacat.

Delete previous score, you stupid birds. Did you go to the same parenting school as the rabbit who every year had her babies in the only yard in the whole neighborhood that has GREYHOUNDS? Obviously, yes. But still, it's nature's way and I try to keep interference to a minimum. After all, a pair of birds only has to produce two babies to breeding age in order to replace themselves and at 4 eggs a brood and 2-3 broods per year...well, a lot of baby robins have to become part of the food chain before they reach adulthood, that's all I'll say.

Anyway, I call them stupid, but that's not really true, as they've already learned to follow me around when I mow the lawn, to take advantage of the kicked up bugs. And, in an ironic twist, the Robins have been having their way with the cat food that MommaCat leaves in her bowl.

And now, MomRobin has learned that my cursing and pulling and tossing in the Grass Garden also kicks up bugs. And she's become quite bold, coming pretty much within arms reach of me each evening.

(I know, some of you are thinking -- what, you garden each evening? Shouldn't you be inside doing Faire stuff or something? Yes, I probably should. Except. I had to have a stern talk with myself this year about sanity and prioritizing and finances and stress-induced illness. This included charts and lists and all sorts of prescribed activities. And the conclusion was: the single most beneficial thing I could do for myself would be to walk away from the Virginia Faire. Hm. Thankfully, I have a very realistic picture of the different between "should" and "gonna". But the compromise was that I did have to make time for me. And dirt time is important to me. So, while I'm egregiously behind on a lot of things, I still, in general, feel better and less likely to pour kerosene on everything, set it alight, dye my hair, change my name and move to Newfoundland.)

Anywhoo...so there she is, pecking and scratching around in the dirt near me, and I'm following the Miss Manner's rules for critter etiquette, first rule being, never, ever, ever, look directly, but always out of the side of your field of vision. So, she's just getting bolder and bolder, not caring that I'm on the phone, or hammering away at stubborn roots. So, I toss her a grub that I just dug up. (Okay, I toss her several. Yes, I've found something I can throw even less capably than a ball -- worms and grubs) And finally one lands within her eyesight. She grabs it and gobbles. And then looks at me expectantly. Which of course means that now I'm frantically digging for bugs, so that we can keep the positive reinforcement going. And I find one and toss it and she grabs it, eats it, and then heads back to her nest.

Which of course, means, it's no longer about gardening anymore, is it? Nope, can't go out tonight, got to get home and feed the Robin. Sigh.
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Comments:
[User Picture]From: sestree
2010-05-07 02:12 pm (UTC)
That's how I got my love for Robins. When we'd garden at Grandmas they'd flock down and dig for bugs and that of course went to tossing them bugs to them coming to find you outside wanting you to go play in the garden and get them bugs.

*sigh*

I think they passed that along though because a few years ago I had one who thought I should open the door and let it in because it was raining.

As for enjoying freedom? While not quite the same comparison, after years with TWG then poof not having TWG dictating my every movement, I found this huge gaping hole of WTF do I do now?

Granted, again not quite the same comparison: Ma never wore a poo-shoe though she was frightened of thunderstorms, a kiddie gate did nothing for her ... she'd just call and panic that we'd lose power. And yes I never had to coax her off the sofa to go outside, rather she'd have to coax *me* off the sofa multiple times per day/hour/minute for errands 1-500. Instead of pee-pads, we had 50million rolls of toilet paper. You get the drift.

Anyway, off the tangent, put as gently as possible, not everyone is built for peace, quiet, and serenity. Some are/some aren't.

I'll let you decide which side of that coin toss you drew.
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[User Picture]From: dawntreader90
2010-05-07 03:04 pm (UTC)
what? pray tell. is a "poo-shoe."
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[User Picture]From: sestree
2010-05-07 03:11 pm (UTC)
I'll let Mere explain *that* lil gem but suffice it to say The Wild Granny never danced in and/or tracked her own poo when it thunderstormed.

She just draaahhhhhhmaaaaaaaaaaaaed.
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[User Picture]From: terribleturnip
2010-05-07 03:44 pm (UTC)
If you ever want to smuggle heroin, do it in a greyhound paw. Those long, high toes conceal a big ol' storage space not found in normal dog feet. Hickory nuts, rocks, horse chestnuts, all sorts of stuff gets stuck up in there, and you just think "why's he walking funny"?

As Percy got older, he'd occasionally have an accident. Wait, regularly have an accident. But he always tried to get to the front door. But didn't always make it, so he'd drop a turd somewhere along the way, which would be....tolerable. But then, he'd freak out because he'd poo'ed in the house, which was BAD DOG, so he'd panic and pace back and forth, back and forth, all agitated, and...yes, eventually, step in it.

Reference above note on storage space and imagine tracks ALL OVER THE HOUSE.
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[User Picture]From: dawntreader90
2010-05-07 08:05 pm (UTC)
oh maaaaaaaan. poor guy.

on a side note, i wonder if they are extra fast because of that extra li'l space there. maybe it gives them extra oomph or something. or maybe they are just lean and fast with wonky feets.

anyway, so now i know. i'm so glad. i'm also now officially off the heroin because you never know where it's been.
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[User Picture]From: dawntreader90
2010-05-07 03:03 pm (UTC)
is a crab shoot as easy as shooting fish in a barrel?
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From: kudrasslipper
2010-05-07 11:59 pm (UTC)
please oh please don't move to newfoundland.
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