MUSICAL BEDS

Today is one of those days when not much is going on except that Doc is going to go to training but I have not told him yet. I probably won't tell him until we get out of the Van at training. ("Oh my goodness, Doc! LOOK where we are!! Well, we might as well go in, don't you think?") (Doc doesn't think training is the way to spend an evening.)

So today apparently we are playing Musical Beds.
Not me. I just spent 3 hours putting 3 stupid things on eBay for sale.

But the dogs seem content to fritter their time away by confusing me as to who is sleeping exactly where:

 

This is Nigel's daytime spot, on my bed, but that is Conley, not Nigel.

This is one of the two places DH sits but that is not he, that is Nigel who is not on the bed in my room because Conley is.

This of course is Doc who frequently sleeps in his own crate or next to me and he is the only one who has it right-- he is next to me in this photo. (Yes I know: I took the photo from a different angle.)

And last but never least is Llewis, sleeping soundly not in his crate but in Conley's crate which drives Conley insane, so that Conley has now moved onto the floor displacing Doc, who is just looking rumpled.


That's my day. And don't ever ask me how to list something on eBay to sell, either.

 

ONE MORE REASON WE DONT HAVE GUESTS

Aside from the dogs that never leave you alone except for the one that hides, we read. This is another reason we do not invite you past the front door:

 

 

(DH designs all constructs on top of things and at the foot of the stairs)

 

And he adds all artistic touches to those things that we already have.

 

My room

 

 

 

Living room again

 

Who wins? The Imperial Stormtroopers or the Smurf?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My dresser and the wall behind it

 

The top of the Fridge, thank you, Katie.

The one spot in my room that is organized: This is where I keep many of my beads and supplies. Doc is guarding it to make sure I don't make necklaces instead of feeding them.

The whole house is like this.
Don't bother to come in.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

SUMMERTIME

It's officially summer.
It is supposed to be in the 90's for the next couple of days, which means I need to turn the A/C on before I did yesterday (4pm).

Nigel, who spends a lot of time on my bed, has already gone heavily into SummerMode:

 

When he is not here he is on the floor, which is cement covered by a thin rug, or in his pen, or outside. But right now, he seems content by the open window, on the bed.

 

 

 

He doesn't move around much, and yes I know those toenails are shameful.

 

 

 

 

 

 

summmmmerrtiiiiiimmme

 

 

 

 

THE TEAM

When Doc first came to live with us, Llewis made it clear that although Doc was cute as a baby bunny and about as dangerous, Llewis wanted nothing to do with him (Doc) and was to be left alone.

 

But Baby Doc wanted to play and in typical Belgian style, decided that he was going to play with Llewis, whether he liked it or not.

And so, thus was born THE TEAM.

 

Doc, a little hesitant in his new home, began waiting for Llewis to go out. When Llewis came in, Doc looked around to find himself either alone or at the mercy of Conley, and came in. It got to the point where one rarely went out without the other, and both came in at the same time.

And it is still that way. When they play tag, Doc is carefully restrained.

When they play "Chase Me", Llewis leads off and is rarely captured.

 

 

 

Llewis seems to be mysteriously faster than Doc, despite having one unworkable back leg and one partially goofy back leg. The "Bunny hop run" with Llewis is necessity.

 

 

Doc watches from his spot at the back fence. He and Llewis wait for Ori, the Border Collie who lives in back of us, to come out so that they can run the fence. They understand that when I show up with the leashes, the game is over. (Or, the jig is up.)

 

 

Here are the two Terribles, discussing what they can get into, destroy, drag around the yard. My understanding of this relationship is that Llewis actually picks out the object they are about to torment and destroy, and sends his guided missle to get it.

In this photo, Llewis is saying:

Remember the last garden hose they bought? Well, that's the new one. YOU KNOW WHAT TO DO!!

 

And off goes the black dog to resection the new garden hose.

WAIT! I am Conley. What does Llewis have that I don't?

HAHA I will tell you what I have that you don't have:

a Bodyguard.

 

HOW DOES YOUR STUFF GROW?

This used to be a neat, carefully built Robin's nest. For years it has been. The Robin returned this year and began carefully reconstructing his home. Somewhere in there, between tucking in a piece of string and finding another, came a Sparrow (a House sparrow, i believe.) and finding a nice foundation, appropriated the nest.
The difference, to me, between the two birds, Robin and Sparrow, is staggering. This is the kind of stuff I find fascinating. In addition to the overall appearance of mess (it looks like my room) the entrance to the nest is impossible to see from anywhere that I can stand. I have seen the Sparrow coming and going, so i know where the entrance IS, but I cannot SEE it.

This is Spiderwort. I first saw it growing in ditches and became curious about it. Finally one day John pulled over and I clambered into the ditch and grabbed some which i then planted. Imagine my surprise when, visiting my parents some 500 miles away, I found a row of carefully cultivated Spiderwort along our fence. My Father had seen some in a ditch and brought it home. How alike we were, but I never suspected until I was grown and gone.

 

My first rose of the season, albeit a wild rose atop a man-eating rose tree with canes as thick as a man's thumb and thorns designed to tear your gizzard out. They still smell great, and they are still beautiful.

When I was a kid I rode my horse almost every day past a beautiful blue-grey tree with a gnarly, coal black trunk that I loved. I loved the way the leaves blew silver when there was a wind or storm coming, and I loved the medium size, the contrast between the leaves and the trunk. It was, my Mother told me, a Russian Olive and I vowed someday to have one. They were awful, she said: dirty trees that break. How on earth I wondered, can a tree be dirty? It drops it's fruit, she told me, everywhere.
Oh, like the Walnut tree in our backyard or the oak trees next door.
So I grew up and moved away and raised my children and bought a Russian Olive after all these years, and this is my little 3 yr old Russian Olive in my back yard.

This is the Jungle. Due to the heavy rains it has grown like crazy. In the Jungle if you look carefully you will see the resident wolf and one of his cohorts scouting for deer.

This is the cohort (Llewis) rushing to get a piece of deer (Milk Bone.)

This is the wolf, contemplating the chances of capture if he comes any closer to claim his piece of deer.

And these are the mushrooms of which I am going to paint a picture. I hope. (Expectation often exceeds reality.)

                    "What the hell happened to my nest???"