Give a mouse a squirt of milk and it just goes nuts. The milk bar is a popular hangout for the grey horde every morning. I had been aiming for the wipes on the sill, but sometimes hit the poop rake by mistake. When I saw the extreme measures the little guys would take to get every last drop, I started giving it a healthy shot, too. What is funny, the mice seem to know they have to wait until Sheila is on the stand. Inga, first in line, has those nondirectional teats, and the mice concentrate on their cereal. As soon as Sheila comes in, they start lining up. Every morning starts with a smile.
It is a bumper year for the Cecile Brunner rose, another sentimental favorite. I love those tiny, nickel-size buds and the delicate pink color. There are more flowers this year than ever before. I'm in heaven.
It is possible to be in heaven and in hell at the same time. The vandals who had destroyed the one Tropicana flower came back and took the remaining open rose. What do do? I thought about digging up the plant and moving it to another location in the pig garden, but would it be safe? On a trip to town in the afternoon, I mulled over possible solutions to protect this beauty. And then, ta da!, I remembered a tomato cage that Steve had made long, long ago that had been sitting unused for years. Tomatoes are planted, when I plant them, out in the deer-fenced vegetable garden and don't need the cage. Since little to nothing ever gets thrown out around here, I found the cage and it fit perfectly over the Tropicana. This is not to say the ground squirrels might not come up underneath, but this will definitely stop the drive-by raids.