Moving Forward

Eleven a.m.  One-hundred degrees outside in the shade, 85 in the house.  Regardless, it was time to get moving yesterday.  House chores not done for ages simply had to get done, period.  The rib had healed to the point I could face a lot of that which had been put off and I was completely bored by sitting all day watching television.  Admittedly, I was moving slowly, but did get quite a bit accomplished.

The bed of the truck is a disaster.  Because of the way the wild things had ripped the bag of bird seed open, I couldn't drag it out without dumping the whole thing.  Knowing the critters would continue to help themselves, it seemed prudent to wait until the bag was lighter and more manageable.  I did not expect them to devour nearly forty pounds of feed in such a short time!  The squirrels (the usual suspects) in their feeding frenzy had pushed a lot off onto the ground so the turkeys are also partaking.  It was a mistake I won't make again.

I'm under siege, I tell you.  The barn battle with Percy, et al, continues.  I changed the routine slightly, waiting to put down breakfast for the mice until Inga was on the stand, hoping it would give the littles at least a fighting chance.  It has only made the squirrels more determined.  They are ganging up, attacking in twos and threes at a time.  I got in a couple of good licks yesterday, poking my weapon into the tunnel, and squirting one with milk until his face was dripping, but I am so outnumbered.

Ralph wandered the hall and rooms yesterday, calling and calling.  I realized he was yelling for his sister, and realized I hadn't seen Celeste for some time.  A bit worried, I also started looking for her but couldn't find her in any of her usual hidey-holes.  I finally figured she had gone downstairs to avoid the heat in the upper rooms, and she did come up later.  Ralph was so happy to see her that he jumped on her back and bit her in the neck.  I guess that's not much different than a mother hugging and then spanking a kid when they've wandered off and are found.

I'm behind the eight-ball with the doggone star thistle.  I hurt my rib when the weather was right and the plants were small enough to keep in check, but I couldn't face jouncing around on John Dear then.  We're moving into fire season and it's too hot to even think about mowing in the middle of the day.  That dreaded weed is starting to put out its dagger-like thorns that hurt like the devil when they poke through my britches.  Bess got herself into a patch of the tiny Velcro weeds and her coat is a total mess, the fur knitted together like a mat.  I'm sure it's painful when I try to comb them out and she will let me work on her just so long.  She's a mess.

A trip to town today is mandatory.  The only thing to look forward to about that is the A/C in the truck.  I'd better get moving.