Found and Lost

All of my dogs are good Finders.

For example, every one of them can find a microscopic speck of food on the floor. Jasper, in particular, excels at this. He could be running at full speed through the kitchen and pull up short as his big nose catches the scent of Something Good. In my mind, I can hear the cartoon sound SCREEEEEEEE as he skitters to a halt and licks a tiny nothing off the floor.

Sometimes I just can’t understand the significance or the attractiveness of what my dogs Find. A few months ago, Jasper was running around the back yard with that particular look on his face that indicates he has something in his mouth but he doesn’t want anyone to Know About It. My daughter Corinne was nearby and read him correctly; she called out “Drop it!” Which he did, reluctantly. Then Corinne asks me if I recently lost an earring. Amazingly, I had, about a month previously. Somehow, Jasper had Found it in the yard.

Lilah specializes in Finding those tiny plastic bits used to attach price tags to clothes. These are the ones that I can never quite pull off myself, and I should probably go get a pair of scissors, but they’re All The Way Across the Room and I figure if I pull it just right, I won’t need to get the scissors. And then Bing! I pull it off and the little plastic tab goes flying. Ten minutes later, Lilah is murmuring something around in her mouth. “Drop it!” And out comes the tiny plastic piece. Lilah gets a treat for Dropping It. But seriously, why would she pick it up in the first place?

Because she Found It.

Both Jasper and Lilah also excel in Finding worms. The deader the better. Because dead worms have a lovely scent. Whoever finds it first (usually Lilah) will stop, drop and roll, spreading smelly wormy bits throughout her fur. A quick run by and the other dog will notice the Eau du Earthworm aroma, and sure enough, he’ll be rolling in what’s left of it, too. Tucker usually figures it out last, but there always seems to be enough stinky pieces remaining so that everyone can smell equally pungent.

Tucker isn’t too particular about what he Finds. Since he’s still a puppy, nearly everything is a new discovery. He Finds an item and then carries it to his bed to chew on. He has yet to learn the Toy/Not Toy distinction. So far, among the things that Tucker has Found to Munch On include: a box of Mystery Science Theatre 3000 DVDs, a pair of designer pumps that I was going to wear to a client meeting, a New Yorker magazine, my Canon digital SLR, the scrub brush I use to clean out the bird baths (yuck!) and a wood doorstop in the shape of a cat (probably had it coming, as it was a Cat!)

Tucker also Finds flower bulbs. And by Finds, I mean he digs them up and runs around the yard playing one of his favorite games: I Have it and You Don’t. And then he chews it to bits. This is Not a Good Thing, as tulip bulbs are on the list of items that can make dogs sick. So the idea is to remove the bulb from Tucker before he eats it, thus preventing hourly Potty trips outside to deal with the digestive consequences.

Recently, my pups have been on a run of Finding living things. This past weekend, Lilah was on the deck staring curiously at a spot by one of the chairs. Obviously something caught her interest, and upon investigation, I learned she had discovered a toad. I can’t imagine what attracted the toad to my deck, as I have several toad houses (broken halves of flower pots) throughout my garden, providing refuge from careening canines. But Lilah was just sniffing at Mr. Toad, and when Jasper and Tucker showed up, they also snorted the creature’s scent a few times; all three dogs didn’t seem to want to chew or pounce. This was good news for the our new amphibious friend.  So I picked him up, and put him in one of the toad houses, where he hid for the rest of the day.

Mr. Toad, right before he was offered the safety of a toad house.

Just a few hours later, I found Jasper looking very puzzled as he pondered a Find. Spread out across one of the chairs on our patio was an enormous Polyphemus moth. With a wingspan of 4 to 5 inches, this creature was quite spectacular. He didn’t seem interested in moving, even with a Jasper Moose Nose quite close. After taking a couple pictures, I gently picked up the moth and placed him within the leaves of my spider plant, where he would be less conspicuous, and thus less likely to be on the dinner menu for the birds who hang around by my patio.

The Polyphemus moth. Love those eyespots.

A view from the front. His body is hanging down through the chair. You can tell it's a male by the furry antennae, which he uses to detect the attractive pheromones of the females.

When I take the dogs out for their Potty breaks, I keep them leashed until we get to the patio, and each one Sits. There are several reasons for this. First, I like the leash practice, because they are not allowed to pull and we get to work on that rule. And second, all the walking and stopping and talking and sitting gives the birds and squirrels and chipmunks a chance to make their exits.

Yesterday’s Potty break was quite exciting, though, as all the dogs Found a blue jay, even before I could get them to Sit. The bird was hopping around the patio, trapped against the sitting wall. Three extremely agitated dogs were straining at their leashes, and a terrified bird was trying unsuccessfully to escape--and I was hoping my grip would hold while I dragged Jasper, Lilah and Tucker back into the house. I ran back outside to assess the bird, because it was either hurt or stupid or both, and leaving it there would have an unacceptable outcome.  

Minutes later I had cornered and caught the bird, deposited it in a shoebox with a few cloths, and once again brought the dogs outside. Freed, they ran around like crazed beetles, bumping into each other as they tried to re-Find the blue jay. Sorry, guys, but he was soon on his way to The Raptor Trust, one of my favorite nonprofits that takes in not only birds of prey (raptors) but all hurt birds and other wildlife that need veterinary care and rehabilitation.

Unbelievably, a similar scenario played out that evening in the pouring rain, as we went through the whole leash, sit, release routine and a juvenile robin wasn’t quite paying attention to the fact that Three Dogs were on the loose. The next thing I know, Jasper and Tucker were way too interested in a spot under the pine tree, a sure sign of something they Found. Following their two panting snouts, I saw sprawled about a foot away an obviously injured juvenile robin. Not again! And this time I felt responsible. As I carefully picked up the bird (with a poo bag--always have them on hand) I scolded Jasper and Tucker: “Please don’t eat the birdies!”

And once again, I headed out to The Raptor Trust with a hurt and frightened little bird.

But at least I found him before the dogs injured him too much. I have a feeling they weren’t sure what to do once he stopped flapping or running away. And The Raptor Trust would do the best they could for him. (I always give a donation when I drop off a critter to be rehabilitated. It seems only right. Please feel free to learn more about the organization, or if you’re ever in central New Jersey, to stop by. It’s a fascinating place, where, in addition to helping care for raptors, they also keep a few who for one reason or another can’t be returned to the wild. There are all kinds of owls, hawks, falcons, and eagles that you can wander around and see up close and personal.)

I find a lot of things with the help of my dogs. They are such good Finders. Now if only I can Find a way to make small jumpy critters like chipmunks and birds just a little less attractive...

A Gardener's Tail

Scenes from my yard Scene 1: Setting: a garden. Human digs hole. Human gently plants a deep purple petunia in hole. Dog digs hole, unearths petunia. (Hint: it’s the same hole.) Dog runs around the yard with petunia. Roots exposed. Dirt flying. Ears flapping. Happy dog. Dead petunia. (Though said human will try to replant and hope for the best.)

Scene 2: Setting: a warm sunny day. (Admittedly, there have been few of those recently.) A gentle breeze is blowing. All is at peace...except for three crazed canines who have decided that running through the garden and playing dodge the dog among my hydrangeas is The. Most. Fun. Ever.

Scene 3: Setting: a lovely naturalized patio in a shade garden. A stone seating wall curves around the mossy slate. Birds flit among the bird feeders. Chipmunks scurry and skitter, cheeks swelled up with maple seeds and bird food. Squirrels hop from branch to branch. And a trio of dogs Must. Get. The. Chipmunk. Something about that high-pitched squeaky “Tscheep! Tscheep!” of those little rodents and my dogs’ brains universally short circuit. Running, leaping, digging and barking ensue. There were plants in the way? What plants? Exactly.

Lilah in the garden.

Last year, Xiomara, a good friend of mine, who is also an amazing garden designer (see XiomarasGardens.com), created the most beautiful patio and shade garden--something I’ve dreamed about since Brian and I first bought our house. On the last day of planting, around the huge tree that became a focal point of the garden, she added some gorgeous deep green and white Patriot hostas, and added a flat and a half of bright pink impatiens. It was perfect.

My beautiful shade garden and patio, with hostas and pink impatiens...before being trampled by dogs.

For a few days.

Jasper and Lilah ran through the mulch, tearing up pink and green and white shreds of petals and leaves. By the end of the summer, you could barely tell there were once pretty, delicate plants around the tree. And this year, we added Tucker to the mix; he just loves to lead the other two in a merry game of Look What I Dug Up That You Can’t Have. But You Can Chase Me to See if You Can Get It.

It’s easy enough to see the conundrum. I have wanted a perennial garden for years. I used to fight with the deer (more plentiful in my neighborhood than squirrels) until we installed deer fencing in our back yard. Now I can plant nearly anything I want. But, will it survive the potential damage that 12 marauding paws can do?

A puzzlement inside a enigma; how to keep dogs out the garden
At first I thought I’d build what I called a “visual fence.” Since we have an acre and a half of woods, and the trees are kind enough to drop dead branches of all sizes, on the ground, I went around and collected sticks, which I then stuck in the ground outlining my garden beds. I figured the dogs would see the sticks and think: barrier. It gave my garden a rustic artsy look, and I was quite pleased.

Of course, I didn’t consider the fact that I took Jasper and Lilah to agility training last year, and had taught them that an obstacle was for jumping. They sailed over my sticks. Tucker, who had not benefitted from such training, flew over my so-called visual fence as well. How nice of me to make the chase scene more interesting.

My visual fence bordering the perennial garden.

Score: Dogs 1, Susan 0.

Aha, I thought: taller sticks. If they’re tall enough, the dogs won’t want to jump them. To his credit, Jasper got the idea. The tall sticks are enough to stop him. But Tucker and Lilah? What was that old camp song? Can’t go around it, can’t go over it, gotta go through it. Doesn’t matter how close together I put my sticks in my rustic fence. They somehow manage to squeeze between the sticks, even running at chase speeds approaching Warp Factor 1.

But the garden is such a good place to hang out...

Score: Dogs 2, Susan 0

As for the plants around my big tree in the shade garden? I gave it over to the dogs. And made an attempt to create some color there by digging up my hostas and replanting them around the bird bath, which last year was the only area where the plants didn’t get trampled. I bought heavy ceramic pots and shepherds hooks and hanging baskets full of fuschias and thought I was ever so creative. (Until the hooks wouldn’t hold the baskets and I had to turn the pots over and use them as plant stands for this season.) The impatiens (why do I keep trying?) I planted directly against the base of the tree, where the dogs only go if there is an Immediate Squirrel Alert. On average, the plants get knocked off their stands only once or twice a week. For the most part, the dogs can race around and lay in the shade and very little damage is done.

A similar view of the patio as above, shown this year, and with dogs.

Jasper walks the path by my dog friendlier shade garden.

Score: (We both win this round.) Dogs 3, Susan 1.

And in my perennial garden, I gave ground (so to speak) to the dogs--in some areas. I acknowledge that they will get in, and will break the rules to go tearing along the fence, particularly if there's Evil Deer on the other side.

So, for the most part, I've moved my perennials away from the fence, creating a kind of path along the back, so when Evil Deer do show up, the dogs can run along, barking and carrying on, protecting our yard from these nefarious creatures--and trampling almost nothing.

A Barking Along the Fence Path

I also put a few obstacles in the way, making it hard to run a straight line anywhere in the garden other than along the fence. These obstacles include tomato ladders (I grow tomatoes mixed in with my perennials) and a garden obelisk frame for my clematis to climb on.

When the clematis bloom, this Running Obstacle will look even prettier.

Score: (I call this one a draw, too.) Dogs 4, Susan 2.

The canines are ahead in this game so far. But it’s far from over. I have a few more tricks up my sleeve.

A rewarding exercise; treats are more fun than the garden
I am pretty sure all the dogs can tell where the grass ends and the garden beds begin. I’ve begun rewarding them for not going in the garden. I walk along the edges, and as long as they stay on the grass, they get treats. When I step inside the borders to weed or poke among my plants, and if they don’t follow, doggy snacks are freely distributed.

But I really do want to create a much more visual barrier. In the beds in front of my deck, I’m thinking of putting a very low (2 to 3 inches high) stone border, using stacked slate like my shade garden sitting wall.

Perhaps they’ll learn. Or maybe I need to file this whole concept under basic ideas that don’t mix, like oil and water, python and mongoose, matter and antimatter.

In the end, as I told my husband the other day,I love my garden, but I love my dogs more. So if they lob off a lobelia, crush a chrysanthemum or destroy a day lily, I’ll survive. My plants are replaceable.
And even though the 4-legged creatures are currently leading the game at 4 to 2, I still have lots of innings and many seasons ahead of me.

The games continue.

Jasper, looking regal, among the perennials.

Photoshoot: Boris and Natasha

In my last post, I introduced the flying squirrels who visit my bird feeders. Boris and Natasha have been visiting the peanut butter buffet every night, and are becoming a little less camera shy. Here are a few pictures from our most recent photo shoot.

The feeder is a double decker, but sometimes the little critters have trouble sharing. There was an awful lot of squeaking and skittering and leaping and flitting, which made it a tad difficult to get both squirrels in one picture, but I did manage to snap a few.

Perhaps the paparazzi were too much for Natasha. Hiding her face, she turns away, giving us a good look at her white washcloth belly, so useful for gliding.

 

When I originally discovered Boris, he was nibbling from the suet feeder. I still spread a little Skippy on it every night and he often stops by there for a snack.

 

A full bowl of food; what a great way to start the evening.

Peanut butter is just so good that you might as well get in the bowl with it to make sure you scrape out every last bit.

 

Hopefully Boris and Natasha will continue to visit. I'll share pictures when I can.  My hope is catch one of them in flight!

Gliding in the Night

As I write, I’m trying to feel the warmth of the summer evening when I first encountered my squirrelly little friends. 

I always carry a flashlight when we head outside for our last excursion of the day, mostly because Lilah, the obsidian-furred Stealth Dog, disappears in the dark.  This particular night in the summer of 2010, as I walked past the tree where I keep the suet feeder, I heard a scrabbly noise, like something scratching at the bark. Without taking time to think, I swung my flashlight in the direction of the sound and saw a tiny creature sitting on my suet feeder. 

It was the size of a chipmunk, with a chipmunk-sized tail, but it had graybrown fur. It's large dark eyes seemed to take up an inordinate portion of its head. Startled, the little animal scrambled up the trunk and disappeared into a crook between two branches.

What was that? I quickly ran through a list of possibilities.

Squirrel? No, too small. And squirrels are creatures of the day.

Chipmunk? Nope. No stripes. And the eyes were way too big.

Those huge eyes offered a clue; whatever I saw was nocturnal. A furry nocturnal something. So I did the obvious: ran inside, fired up the MacBook and Googled “New Jersey nocturnal mammal.”

The result? Flying squirrel. Sounds possible. So let’s try a Google image search. Oh. My. Gosh. That’s him!  Or her!

Most specifically, my visitor was a southern flying squirrel or Glaucomys volans. They live in deciduous and mixed forests throughout the eastern U.S., bunking down during the day in nests made in holes in dead trees, called snags. And it turns out, in addition to suet, they like peanut butter.

Naturally, the next day, at dusk, I slathered a glob of Skippy onto my suet feeder. That night, when I came outside with the dogs, I heard that scratchy, scrabbly noise, and there the creature was, chowing down on the brownish goo. 

My new friend didn’t seem to care when I shone the flashlight on him, and Jasper and Lilah were busy chasing Sniffs in the night, so I stood there and watched him for awhile. Of course, prior to this, the only flying squirrel I had ever come close to (if one could call watching Saturday morning cartoons “close”), was Bullwinkle the moose’s best friend Rocky. It felt too easy to name my new acquaintance Rocky, so instead I decided to name him after Rocky and Bullwinkle’s arch nemesis: the Russian spy Boris.

Boris came every night after that. And within a week, there was a second squirrel. Of course, she had to be Natasha (Boris’ femme fatale partner). I took to calling out their names and making a clicking noise when I brought out the peanut butter in the evenings, thinking they might hear me and associate the sounds I was making with the peanutty smorgasbord I was setting out. Did I sound foolish? Perhaps, but my neighbors’ homes aren’t that close and I didn’t really care.

But here’s the thing; the squirrels did learn to recognize my call. Fast. And soon, I would go outside, call out, "Boris! Natasha!," click a few times...and suddenly they’d appear at the top of the tree. They had to have glided there but I didn’t hear them, and didn’t see it happen. They flew so quietly.

However, they weren't completely silent; when they weren’t floating through the air, Boris and Natasha called out in tiny voices that I could just barely hear. They made high-pitched little squeaks, chittering batlike noises that seemed to come from all over the yard. And, then one night when I was simply standing there watching them and grooving on the concept of flying squirrels simply existing, let alone eating from feeders in my yard, a shadow swooped over my head and landed with a little up-curve on the trunk. I saw it glide!  

And what's this...there are three?  No wait, there’s another one. Four? Five? 

Throughout the summer, they came. My husband and children and I would head outside at dusk; I’d call out for Boris and Natasha, clicking as I spread the peanut butter on the suet feeder--and in a new feeder I put on the tree specially for the squirrels and their friends and family. They’d glide soundlessly over our heads and flit from branch to branch on my split-trunk tree. In flight, they looked like square furry washcloths, with tiny paws at each corner, a head centered on one edge and a tail in the middle of the opposite side. The creatures pinballed back and forth among the tree limbs. Friends would stop by to see the show. At a family reunion (human, that is: my relatives), an entourage of cousins watched in awe as I called the creatures and they came swooping in to eat and play.

Every night I put out peanut butter and made sure the suet feeder was full. However, as fall approached and the nights got colder, there were fewer squirrels.  And then they simply stopped coming. For a while I thought perhaps they hibernated, but apparently, these guys don’t go in for the long sleep. I worried that something happened to them; often I’d hear the call of a screech owl at night and hope that southern flying squirrel wasn’t on the dinner menu.

Eventually, I stopped putting out food.  I figured I had my once-in-a-lifetime encounter with these unique animals. I felt incredibly lucky to have had the opportunity to watch them glide and soar in the nighttime sky.

And then, a few nights ago, I was outside with the dogs, and I heard the familiar scrabbling sound. My flashlight revealed a tiny furry creature with big eyes sitting on the suet feeder. 

Welcome back, Boris. Time to buy the economy jar of Skippy.

Boris eating from the peanut butter feeder.

Fire and Ice

The day began with freezing rain that fell upon thimble-height snow. 

As light filtered through the clouds, branches became slick and shiny.  The trees in the woods behind our house were clearwhite limned, giving the forest a chilled, yet delicate air.

Ice-coated limbs bent sadly with the weight of their cold burden.

Encased leaves, sticks and buds seemed unapproachable, yet fascinating.

Frozen water drew new patterns on rails,

fences,

siding.

Astilbe, forgotten since the fall, became a miniature landscape of ice-covered blooms.

Clear-coated mountain laurel offered up new colors and patterns.

As warmth seeped in between the raindrops, half cylinders of ice, molded from the branches, loosened, and landed in piles of shards. 

Twigs and larger branches whose strength was tested but fell short, lay scattered beneath trees that began to stand taller as they shed their icy skin.

Later in the day, the soft sound of rain was interspersed with harsher sounds of limbs breaking, ice shattering, branches crashing onto the coated snow. Hollow pops and sharp reports, brittle clanks and tinny clangs resounded as more ice fell from the trees above.

A mist grew up from the ground, as the sun appeared low in the sky, masked by the fog, yet providing a fiery orange glow to the landscape.

As night fell, most of the ice had gone, with the setting sun illuminating the last of coated branches.

What the Snow Reveals

A walk around our property gives me a peek into the lives of the other residents with whom we share our outdoor space. Their stories are written in the snow, but I’m only slightly familiar with the language, and thus can only guess at the authors and their meaning.

Walk with me:


My dogs have provided some insight; their tracks offer clues to figuring out other trails that I encounter. Lilah of the short legs can only leap through the snow, leaving sproing prints in her path. Depth doesn't matter to Lilah; it barely slows her down.

Jasper joins in, following Lilah. His long moose legs drag though the drifts, even when he's running.  A smart (and admittedly lazy) boy, Jasper will run in Lilah's path, so he doesn't have to work quite as hard.

A walk in the woods behind my house uncovers evidence that the foxes have returned to den here. With legs shorter than Lilah's, a fox bounds through the snow as well, leaping over logs, searching for food.

When the snow is not quite as deep, foxes leave more doglike prints. Here, a fox is using one of our makeshift bridges to cross a creek.

Up close, it's easier to see the fox paw impressions.

Squirrels make it easy to read their trails; their large hind paws and tiny handlike forepaws are an open book, particularly when the trail leads to or from a large tree trunk. The squirrels stay busy in the winter, proving to me that they actually do look for dinner in places other than my convenient squirrel--oops, I mean bird--feeders.

Deer, with long legs like Jasper, drag their feet through the snow; about a half-dozen of them have created a trail among the trees.

A tiny creek poses little challenge to Bambi and his friends, who leap over fences and across brooks with ease. Surefooted, the deer show no signs of slipping and sliding on either bank. It's not much of a challenge for the mind's eye to recreate the balletic grace of the animals--almost riding the air from one side to the other.

Up close, a deer print is somewhat obvious, as it is the only hoofed creature that lives in the neighborhood.

The deer in our woods are more numerous than squirrels; only a day after a fresh snowfall, there are so many overlapping trails that it's a bit of a challenge to try to figure out who went where, when, and with whom.

Of course, my walk through the woods also leaves a trail; perhaps snow shoes would have made the jaunt a tad less of a slog.

By my patio, where my dozen or so birdfeeders hang, I can tell the ground feeding birds have been very busy, hopping about and scratching through the snow for the seed I've scattered.

 

The heated bird bath (what bird wouldn't want a hot tub in the winter?) gives everyone a taste of fresh water to wash down the sunflower and thistle seeds, millet, suet and peanut butter offered in the daily buffet.

In the front yard, I was a little puzzled by a tiny trail of prints that travel lightly over my perennials. Like the elf Legolas (see Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkein) who could walk on top of the snow, the maker of these tracks travels on gentle feet.  It is probably one of my neighbor's cats, who are known to prowl through my landscaping.

 

Below you can barely see the prints weaving through the plants toward the back.

Sometimes I can only guess at the writer of the glyphs in the snow.  A bird? A mouse? 

And Jasper and Lilah add their own chapters to the snow stories. Below is a tale of two friends playing; with a squint and a little imagination, I see a heart drawn with paws.

The stories unfold in front of me, and then disappear underneath a new blanket of fresh snow, or melt away in the sun. A moment in time for our local residents is captured and revealed for me to guess an interpretation: a simple gift of the winter.