porcupine

Blackberry Season!


It is also the season for fireweed and Queen Anne's Lace, but Mojo has not bothered to take pictures of those, and she has already stolen pictures from Wikipedia LAST YEAR. No, not stolen. LINKED TO. Which has all the advantages of stealing with none of the bandwidth. The blackberries above are actually taken as a still from a video I made below, as a matter of fact. But I digress, as usual.

My point is, I am pretty much living off the garden, just going to graze when I happen to be hungry and eating whatever I happen to find. Similar to how certain animals behave near a trash heap, come to think of it. More Mojo!>>

Scary Monsters

One of the joys of living WAY out in the sticks is, you never know what's going to show up on your doorstep. Sometimes literally. One morning I was late for a meeting and I went dashing outside and had to suddenly leap over a very large porcupine to avoid it. He was just flopped on my front walk basking in the morning sun. I learned that day if you are in a hurry you cannot "shoo" a porcupine. They only move at one speed. If you try to make them waddle faster they curl up into a ball and quill out.

Anyway, it's very late at night, I'm typing here on the couch, and the cat is flopped on top of the armchair near the window. And suddenly there's funny snuffley diggy noises coming from under the open window. I'm sort of wondering what it is, and the cat all of a sudden goes all rigid and bolts upright and starts staring out the window. So I figure something's out there. I go over, but I don't see anything. I turn on the outside light, and there's nothing. I open the door and stick my head out, and nothing. More Mojo!>>

Poor Rosie!

Our poor dawg met Mister Porcupine today for the first time. One of my complaints about Ratty cat is that he is WAY too forgiving with the dog. At times Rosie could really use a good swat on the nose with a couple of claws in the mix, but Ratty just doesn't have it in him. Not even with mice anymore; early on when he still thought he was a stray he was an excellent mouser, but now the ones he brings in the house may be psychologically traumatized, but there is rarely a scratch on them when he lets them go in our beds at two in the morning.

So we had to spend about an hour this morning acquainting Rosie with another new friend, who we call Mister Needle-nosed Pliers. More Mojo!>>

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