Furry Pancakes

I'm beginning to feel I'm being used.  The mother ground squirrels are sending their children into the barn at milking time, ostensibly to watch the entertainment, but in reality so they'll have a little time to themselves.  Like kindergartners with their nap rugs (do they still have nap rugs and graham crackers in kindergarten?), these little kids settle in to watch the show.  Yesterday there were five, and one at a time they stretched out flat as pancakes, lined up like speed bumps (hillbilly undulations) with front and back legs splayed.  Slowly, the susurring lullaby of the milk hitting the bucket caused their lids to droop...and they slept.  Now I'm a babysitter for baby squirrels. 

I just love words that sound like their meaning.  Susur is one, cough is another.  How about zip, or sigh?  Thank you, Mother.  It was she who introduced me to the "susurring of the wind through the pine trees."

I conceded defeat and took Pearl to the vet to have her stitches removed.  A la fuel filter episode, I'd forgotten that I'd need both hands to cut the sutures, and that I'd need both hands to hold a cat who did not want to be held.  That left me two hands short, and rather than risk her ending up looking like she'd been treated by Edward Scissorhands, discretion seemed the better part of valor.  This time as we drove in to town, she called me everything but a child of God, even though I explained that it was for her own good.  She got clearance from Dr. Ric, and when we got home, I let her out of the crate (in the house) and told her to "Fly and be free!"  She immediately disappeared somewhere (but not in the dreaded bathroom) for several hours, and then spent a few more hours exploring familiar territories before asking to be let outside.  I really was concerned that she would take off for parts unknown to avoid the possibility of repeat imprisonment, but she and Frank came in at the appointed bedtime hour...and all's right in our world once again.

Today is my daughter's birthday.  As we were talking last night, the birthday of each of my children takes me back to their birth day, and the intense joy of meeting these unique individuals for the first time comes flooding back.  It's a happy birthday for them, and for me.