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:

 On January 19, 2023 a young woman decided to completely ignore the road and ran up over the curb and plowed into my thicket on the corner. She wiped out jade, aloe, and cactus. She did this at 10:30 pm and only the luck of a neighbor going out to his trash bins alerted me to the devastation. What got me is everyone saying "oh, it's just plants." Yeah, grateful no one was killed or hurt, but that was years of my work to make that area a home for wildlife and give us some privacy and walkers some cool and shade. Can't get that back. At least her insurance will be paying for the clean-up.

Saying so long...

I've enjoyed sharing great things around my neighborhood, crazy projects, my obsession with certain gardens or critters, and yes, the occasional rant. This blog was started as a way to stay in touch with friends and family who are too far away or too busy to be able to keep in touch personally on the regular. It was also a way for me to get a little brain exercise going by forcing myself to write coherent sentences and putting together cogent stories. But now, the party's over. I'll be setting my blog to private. 

Thanks to those who viewed regularly and even commented occasionally. It's been fun.

Nellie and Rascal saying goodbye

In my years of living in this house, we have had one, and only one, letter carrier who has always gone above and beyond, not to mention just getting it right. He knows how to read addresses correctly, he checks for outgoing mail even if you don't have any incoming, he moves packages out of street view and when he's delivering a package, he rings the bell to let you know it's there. He's kind and incredibly patient with crazy, barking dogs. Nellie has always liked him whenever we're out and about, but let him come up on the porch -- all bets are off. Howling ensues. Rascal has added to the din, as he is a barker who has perfected his skills over 14 years. Never fazed Billy our mail carrier. I went around the neighborhood alerting people to his impending departure (retirement much deserved) and encouraged thank you notes. If they wanted to add a little gift, so much the better. I shouldn't have been astonished by all of the people I talked to being totally on board. The enthusiastic responses were heartwarming. In addition to the card and gift, Nellie and Rascal wanted to make sure he knew they were going to miss giving him grief whenever he came up the steps to deliver mail. Today was his last day on the job:

 

Meet Rascal, our new family member

Yes, everyone already knows I'm crazy and a sucker for a pretty face and sad story. When I checked the local humane society website (OK - you got me - I look daily) I saw a dog named Rascal, 14 years old, who was surrendered for snapping at someone who got too near his food bowl. Older snappy dogs, especially those who are 14 and black, are very hard to find willing takers. When I talk to people about why they are unwilling to adopt seniors, they usually say things about the ending is too soon and too sad. Totally agree. HOWEVER, making a dog's last years truly comfortable and happy, at least to me, is more important than my own feelings of grief when they leave us. So for almost 2 months, I checked daily on Rascal. This past Sunday we finally made an appointment for a meet and greet. We inquired how many people had asked about him. None. Now those who were making bets we would be coming home that day with the bundle of energy we got to see in action -- you lose. We actually tried to have reason overcome our hearts (for once). We went home to think about it.

Monday we called the shelter and told them to wrap him up, we're taking him home. On Tuesday afternoon, we sprung him from jail, bundled him into the car in his brand new harness, collar and leash (matching teal, in case you were wondering). Once home, he was walked down the street a bit while I collected Nellie to walk on the opposite side of the street. Eventually we got closer to each other and kept walking. Rascal was far more interested in marking absolutely every shrub, tree, rock, and blade of grass to pay much attention to Nellie, so that was a good start. Kept walking, closer and closer together. There were a couple of tense moments, but overall, things were going well. Kept on walking. By the time we got back home, we pretty much decided to try and let them loose in the backyard to let nature take its course. This is against all expert advice by the way, so don't try this at home. So with a bit of trepidation we opened the gate and turned them loose inside. Nellie's response was much like her shenanigans at the dog park -- run circles around him and demonstrate a first-class case of the zoomies. Rascal was a bit confused by this, but took it in stride and after a bit, they did what dogs do best and people better NEVER do. So while they are not best mates yet, they tolerate each other. A win!

Now, Rascal is an Australian Kelpie mix and the people who surrendered him apparently decided to leave out pertinent information. His isn't just a resource guarder (shelter speak for he doesn't like other animals or people to mess with him while eating). He bites. Full on snarl and teeth. While introducing him to a neighbor who charms all the dogs who go by, he tried to bite her (and missed, thank goodness). OK -- maybe a one off. Nope. I was gently stroking his head and telling him what a good boy he was, and he suddenly, out of nowhere, snarled and nailed my wrist. He snaps when we put his harness on. Now, you would think that any sane person would take this unpredictable dog straight back to the shelter. Who thought we were sane? We now know we just have more issues to deal with and are taking steps to make him more comfortable in his new home. That and the barking. And trying to get out any open door. Yup, we have lots of challenges. And I don't care because he's family now and in a couple of months it'll be a different story altogether. So on that note, the first picture of Rascal: