A wedding venue?

More than one person has mentioned there are elements of my yard that would make a great wedding venue. Since absolutely no one wants to hear my opinions on the very idea of weddings, we'll jut skip to the venue part. While is was suggested my backyard would be perfect, it actually is only great for dogs to zoom around and then drag half the leaves into the house. The front yard is a slightly different story. For one thing, the dogs are not let out there (no fence), and we are mindful that the neighbors don't want to see an eyesore as they stroll past. The particular feature that has captured the souls of romantics was utterly unexpected and delightful.

One of our spectacular Foxtail (or Fox Tail depending on which Google site you trust) Agave plants decided it was time to bow out and send up its spectacular bloom, which then becomes an arch. First it bursts into fuzzy blossoms that the bees adore, and then starts to make little agave babies over time. While it is wise to pull out the plant and let others take over its space, I don't have the heart to do it -- yet. Besides, there are so many people who marvel at the arch and it's just too fun to speculate all the purposes it could be used for. We'll see how much longer it can survive.

The following is the progression of the arch. In many ways, it looks so much sadder, but when you look closely, you see all the new buds beginning for it's reincarnation. Pretty amazing.

Yes. It's about more dogs

Baloo and Leia have moved into the neighborhood and have charmed me so completely it's hard to resist daydreaming about snuggling up with Baloo, the Samoyed. Since Leia is so ball focused she doesn't even care about getting treats, snuggling would be out of the question. 

Baloo has trained me very well. Like Charlie, he seems to have a sixth sense for when I'm about to round the corner, and he makes sure Nellie and I are aware he is awaiting his just rewards. With a grin and happy spirit like his, there is absolutely no resisting. 

And yes, there had to be three pictures of just Baloo because he is so charmingly expressive. But just in case you're curious about the elusive ball-obsessed Golden Retriever Leia:

 

 

Once again, our neighborhood is the richer for two charmers.

Doggie friends

We are very fortunate to live in a neighborhood which has multiple dogs, and more importantly, the kind of people who actually know how to care for their furry companions well. Naturally there are the dog people who don't find it necessary to let their fur buddies out of their yard prisons and go for walks. Then there are those who don't keep an eye on shutting doors and gates so their adventure seeking dogs escape. But by and large, in our immediate area, we mostly see pampered pooches on walks at least twice a day. 

It is not without some pride I can say that the vast majority of dogs we meet like me instantly. Witchcraft you say? Being a dog whisperer? Of course not. It's really very simple. I carry treats with me and hand them out lavishly. Dogs never forget someone with treats. Even my dogs are swayed by the magic power of dog cookies. And head scratches. Oh, and butt scratches. Cookies rule though. Someday you might hear about the magic power of my brownies on humans. Don't want to give away too many secrets right now though.

Rascal, a.k.a. Mr. Grumpy Pants, and Nellie chillin' in the backyard - which, by the way, they have been trained not to leave even if a gate is open, without a release word:

Nellie and her buddy Nick. We are lucky to have the joy of Nick and K's company on our evening walks three days a week. And Nellie and I get to visit with Nick, who sings opera when his mom is away at the office. We try to entertain him for a few minutes until he settles in a bit, but I confess he does the majority of the entertaining. And yes, Nellie definitely needs a trim.

And last but not least, there's Nellie's good friend Charlie. Charlie is still very much a puppy with all the puppy energy that goes with that. Alas, Rascal, who adores little dogs, isn't fond of Charlie, judging her as too large and energetic. Fun fact, Nick was his first friend when he came home to us from the shelter. Nick was very courteous and accepting of his attentions, for which we will always be grateful. But I digress. Charlie is a sweet, lovable girl who knows the instant we turn on to her street and will get our attention to make sure we don't pass her by. She even knows how to count to three, which is the number of treats each dog gets. Don't worry, they are small. It's almost more the power of suggestion than the actual treat.

Isn't she gorgeous? The answer is YES.

Is it possible to have too much of a good thing?

As I've mentioned multiple times to anyone who will listen, knowing anything about gardening is not one of my skill sets. As a result, it is always a complete shock when plantings take off. For instance, the African daisies in the Critter Café have grown over the path to the second bird feeder and it grieves me to ever step on any of the blossoms. Humming Tiptoe Through the Tulips (anybody remember Tiny Tim?) helps.

Then there's the garden bed with a lovely marble topped table at the foot which is so smothered in the ground cover that refuses to grow in the direction it should and instead, creeps over everything else -- beautifully, but none the less.

That same ground cover was planted in a corner with the intention of spreading out to add color and replace grass. The spreading stopped, but the color is fantastically intense, and I'm not even fond of pink and think it's glorious.

 

And now here's what is going to give true gardeners cause to shake their heads and do a lot of tsk tsking. There is one area of the front yard that is completely overrun with, dare I say it, a weed. Thing is, it provides food for bees and cover for other beneficial insects during the late winter/early spring. No matter the side eyes from actual garden pros, this happens every year and makes the bare dirt a thing for the hot summer. It's called Oxalis, and there are good reasons to get rid of it in your flower beds, but, sorry, not sorry for leaving it alone while it flourishes. Come summer, it will go.

 

 

It's true I let things get out of hand, but starting in April, after most of the rains have stopped, then it's trim, weed, transplant, and generally get serious about trying to pretend there is a method to my gardening madness.

Spring has definitely sprung

Dogs force us to get out and about and that's a very good thing. Nellie and I do vary our path occasionally, but mostly we have a routine and it means passing by familiar houses regularly. Often it's very ho-hum. Same old, same old. But every so often we're startled, and mostly delighted, by something new.

We were hailed today by a very friendly frog, who boldly captured our attention with his wide smile and bon vivant manner. We introduced ourselves and asked to take his picture. He graciously agreed.

 

Further along on our stroll, we came upon a Wisteria in full bloom that was too magnificent to pass by unacknowledged.

But not to be outdone by neighborhood whimsy, there are two critters who reside in my front yard full time. While neither have the rakish air of the frog dandy, they make me smile.

The bunny is perfectly content to watch passersby in the front, secure in the knowledge she can't be easily seen.

The cat's expression is one of perpetual surprise. I expect it's because after all these years, she's STILL not invited into the house, though she keeps an eagle eye on the front door. We feel quite protected.

We appear to have added another furry friend

We have an operating Critter Café in our side yard where we cater to squirrels, banded pigeons, doves, scrub jays, crows, ravens, and other assorted tiny birds, and we have unfortunately attracted cats as well.  I've had conversations forbidding them to attack any of our café guests, and reminding them to mind their manners. For the most part they have been respectful, but we have had the odd incident or two. For the most part, they have a tendency to avoid our backyard because of the multiple dogs we have always had on the premises. Out of the twelve dogs that have graced our home over the years, only two were friendly to multiple species. The rest have made a point of terrorizing squirrels, skunks (to the dogs' dismay), possums, raccoons, and yes, cats. 

Rascal and Nellie are quite blasé about most critters. They don't bother to chase squirrels, Nellie has befriended cats around the neighborhood, and the skunk Rascal encountered taught him a very good lesson about avoiding them in the future. It should be no surprise then that a cat might venture into our backyard domain. What is a bit shocking is the absolute sense of entitlement this particular visitor has. Young people today....

Looking out the kitchen window, we spotted this sight. Gorgeous kitty. When she realized we were on to her, she did scamper off, but apparently decided, especially on this rainy day, to come back and snuggle on the chair under the table. She's hard to see, but here she is:

We hope as time goes by she will allow us to get to know her better. But truthfully, that probably won't happen.

The con artist next door

I have the kind of next door neighbors people envy. During COVID they happily went to Costco for us, before Costco came up with old geezer hours. Need something welded? Here, let me practice with that. BTW, that translates into, I'll do the job for free under the pretense I'm just practicing the craft. Need grass clippings to add to the compost pile? Here's a bin with your name on it that will appear in the driveway after every mowing. In other words, wonderful neighbors.

In return, I let their dog out when their crazy work schedules don't allow them to do that. Elvis is an American bully who can best be described as a lovable, lazy couch potato. He will only go outside under the most congenial (in his mind) circumstances. The sun has to create the perfect spots for him to lounge in. The temperature has to be between 65 - 75 degrees, and the wind factor can be no more than 3 mph gusts. He is a big cuddly love bug and he is also a con artist. Yes, I said it -- a con artist.

The other day I let him out of the house to perfect weather, but always keep an ear out for any barking to indicate he's ready to go back inside or something is stressing him out. After a couple of hours of lounging in the sun, he started barking. Ahhh, better check on him. Went to the gate and he was giving me the look that said he was ready to go back to bed (as if he hadn't already been snoozing all morning). OK. Opened the gate and he scampered off toward the steps to the door where I had parked his water bowl. Keeping his eyes on me the whole time, he lapped up water. Fine, I'm thinking. Now he'll run up the stairs and I'll tuck him in. NOPE. He just wanted an audience while he drank. He then sauntered off to another sunny spot and flopped down. Is he going to be the dog who cried wolf?

The con artist:

 

Entry into bizarro world

Most of us would agree that going to the doctor is rarely fun. Our medical industrial complex is geared to make things as complicated as possible, so finding physicians we like and trust can be, well, interesting. As a former librarian, I like to think that my research prowess is fairly decent, so finding specialists who get high grades should be a snap. Or is it?

As luck would have it, the appropriate specialist had wonderful reviews and accepted my insurance. Good start right? The appointment wait time wasn't too terrible, and on the day of the appointment the parking garage gods were smiling with the perfect spot close to the elevator. Good beginnings.

Walking into the office waiting room festooned with Easter decorations (though candy would've been a nice touch), made you feel welcome. Staff was courteous and helpful. I was super early and had just settled in for a long wait, when surprisingly my name was called. I looked up, and was greeted by the doctor who led me to his office. And then it took a turn into the, shall we say, unusual.

The doctor was wearing a yamulke which announced he was Jewish. No problem there. He asked why I was there and I was able to describe the issue fairly briefly and that is where it all got interesting. He basically began proselytizing about his faith. He also made the bold statement that he was never wrong. Really? Never? I listened in utter fascination and amazement and wondered where this was all going to go and what it had to do with what I was there for. I did engage mildly to see if he could be derailed, but no. And honestly, half of what he was saying made no sense.

Now, those who know that I don't fear confrontation and can have a sassy mouth are probably wondering why I didn't take him to task or simply walk out. Well, again, because I was so gobsmacked this was happening in a doctor's office, and because I was so curious to see where this was all headed. I did offer some mild examples of things that puzzled me, and then told him I  have a god I prayed to: Steve, the god of amiable fuck-ups. He took that and ran with it, and his diatribe became even more unhinged and bizarre. Forty-five minutes later I did walk out with orders for the needed tests for the next step, so it wasn't a total waste. It'll be interesting what the next visit will bring. And yes, don't worry, the sassy me will be back in form.

The Santa Anas are becoming a thing

Now, SoCal is known for Santa Ana winds, but this is getting ridiculous. There was the really scary, very damaging storm in 2011. That storm was the beginning of a total re-vamp of what our garden would look like and coming to terms with the damage to the house. Then, as expected, there was a 10 year span of winds that were gusty, but certainly not bad, until two years ago, when we had the storm which felled trees and power poles on our street. Okay, wait another 10 years for the next disaster -- not too bad, right? Wrong. Last week we had winds up to 50+ mph and while we lucked out with minimal damage (though lots of debris to clean up), once again our garden and yard will be getting a bit of a makeover. Comparing us to the devastation of the tornadoes  that touched down the same day in the Midwest and south -- no contest. Tornadoes are by far more devastating. 

For a glimpse at what the wind hath wrought, behold:

Nellie and Rascal were not thrilled as they surveyed the damage. The large overturned pot, by the way, was snugged up against a wall and is so heavy a truck couldn't move it -- yet there it lies.

The patio, which I had just cleaned to pristine perfection the day before, was covered in leaves from the hedge. That hedge was our privacy screen as well as cutting down on traffic noise and pollution. Now it's like a torn curtain.

Then there were the pots which, though not particularly pretty, again resting against a wall, just got swept up and thrown around. Oddly and happily enough, none of them broke.

The hedge on the side of the house fared even worse than the backyard and it makes me wonder when, or if, it will make a comeback. If you look at the lower left corner, you'll see a pile of leaves which are covering what is a rock swale. The leaves were so deep, even with a blower it was hard to clear them.

My saddest find were the knocked over pots that sat on metal chairs. They were the anchors to the front corner. Alas, since this is the second time for their downfall, they will have to be placed somewhere else.

 

And last, but not least, I am seriously going to have to talk to the manager of the huge long needle pine trees across the street from us. Every little puff of wind sends debris to our side to clean up. After wind storms like this one, we can fill two huge waste bins just with the broken branches, pine cones, and needles. I'm not certain, but I think the manager is the tall tree in the center.

When I'm over my snit about the cleanup project, I may go over and lodge a complaint.

 

The foster that almost was

This is the story of Paco, the little squishy Pug. Or as I call him, Mister Jello Head. Buckle up. It's a long story.

Paco is on our walking route, and he's a friendly, cuddly little guy who has succumbed to the siren call of the treats I carry to curry favor with any dogs we happen to meet. He's almost one year old, and has always been securely behind his fenced in yard, which he guards with lordly attention. Until the day he wasn't. 

My friend K was walking her little Bundledorfer after a horrible thunderstorm that struck without warning. It was still raining as she came down the street where Paco pushes his head through the fence to examine passersby. Only this time, he was loose on the street and running toward a very dangerous throughway. K managed to entice him back toward his home and noticed his Dad standing on the porch. She called to him to help corral Paco back to safety and he. just. stood. there. No reaction, no concern, nothing. Fortunately for Paco and K, a near neighbor saw what was happening and came out to help. Between them, they were able to get the little guy behind his fence.

Now, here's where it took an even more bizarre turn. The man on the porch asked K if she wanted to buy him for $200. This beautiful, happy, sweet little guy for sale after living there for a year? What kind of heartless man was this?

K told me the story and I walked down to check things out and found a crude sign hanging on the fence offering Paco for sale. Something wasn't adding up. I tried to find someone to talk to, but no one would answer the bell. Later that evening, K and I did talk to Paco's Mom. She had no idea the sign was there and there was an effort to sell him. She mentioned her husband didn't want Paco and it created tension in the house. She, on the other hand, adored the little guy and didn't want to give him up. Understood. After a couple conversations, she agreed it might be best if he came to live with me. Since he's a puppy, and I'm a cranky old lady, it was clear that it would be a foster situation. She was welcome to come and visit Paco any time she felt the urge. On Monday we settled on picking him up on Wednesday evening, after I went to get a couple of chew toys and arranged for his accommodations in the house. We wanted him to feel as welcome and comfortable as possible. Fortunately, both Nellie and Rascal liked him already.

Tuesday morning, Paco's auntie was in the yard and we talked. Mom had changed her mind and wasn't willing to part with him. She wouldn't come out and talk to me herself, but it was clear Paco wouldn't be coming home with me. I made sure it was understood that if she changed her mind, all she had to do was let me know. Part of me is so disappointed we won't be adding a cuddly, adorable little dog to our troop; part of me is relieved he is with the family he knows and clearly loves (except for the man of the house). 

And thus endeth  the tale of the Pug foster that wasn't.

Back by popular demand

 OK - really only one person mentioned they missed the blog, but then a couple more said they liked it, so here we are. And if all six of my loyal following come back, what a wonderful world it will be.

So what's been happening here? For one thing, California has experienced more rain in the last two years than we have in far too long. Bone dry reservoirs are now filled, and rivers that were too lazy to flow are now gushing. All good. It's meant not having to stand outside with a hose to water the garden, which has exploded. 

Speaking of gardens, of course I can't leave well enough alone. There were a ton of wine and beer bottles left over from an earlier project, and rather than haul them to the recycling center, they had to be put to use. So, I attempted to make something fun and decorative, using some barrel hoops and a mosaic bowling ball to throw in some drama. Add some aloe, and voilá: