Click on the photo to embiggen all the deer and chickens together.
Oh give me a home
Where the Papillons roam
And the deer and the chickens do play…
Where never was heard
A four-letter word
Though I watch them eat plants all day.
The spring days grow longer and warmer. Of course, it’s welcomed. Still, the precious bit of time at the end of the work day that I can spend watering, weeding, moving plants, starting new plants, potting up containers, is never enough. I have big plans for the summer of 2010. Where will I find the time? And the energy?
The side garden near the chicken coop—where we sit on the bright green Swedish bench to watch Chicken TV—is a major project. It was a long-neglected area that we once referred to as Winifred’s Poop Garden because of its liberal use by our now-deceased Belgian Malinois.
Last year I divided variegated hostas and supplemented them with ‘Sun and Substance’ and a couple of ‘Blue Angel’ hostas. The slugs love the variegated hostas, so they’ll slowly be replaced with other plants. Several tiarella, or foam flowers, have gone in. Twenty more are on the way. I’m keeping my eyes open for more dramatic, thick-leafed hostas that Mr. McGregor’s Daughter tells me will be more slug-resistant so I can toss the variegated slug bait to the chickens.
Trying to establish a little green bit of lawn in front of the bench where the two little Papillons can lounge has been a struggle. It was looking pretty good last summer, but the snow plows did severe damage as they piled 5-foot tall walls of snow in the area this winter. The chickens are attracted to the fresh soil when they’re on walkabout and have managed to dig up the tiny grass seedlings I’ve been nursing. Now I’m thinking I’ll transplant more of the creeping Jenny from other parts of the yard to create a different kind of ground cover.
In the front of the house—a shady, north-facing exposure, the ‘Encore’ azaleas are blooming despite severe damage from the heavy snow. The hellebores have been casting off seedlings for a couple of years now and I will be moving them over to the woodland garden sometime this summer.
In the potager, the angelica anemones are blooming. I must figure out a plan for them, as they re-seed prolifically and clog up my garden paths. I feel guilty pulling them up like weeds, but what is a gardener to do? One must have paths!
I continue to be amazed by the simple little yellow pansies that I had planted in window boxes last fall. They hibernated under a couple of feet of snow and snuck out small blossoms despite the cold. Now they’ve roared back to life. I need to re-plant the window boxes, but the pansies look so vibrant and healthy, I’m temporarily relocating some of them into other containers.
I continue to tell myself to put one foot in front of the other and to stop to enjoy the sound of the birds and the beauty of spring. After all, the work is for a reason. Right?
When I brought home my first Papillon, Sophie, she was so small she could fit into the palm of my hand.
What she lacked in size she made up for in attitude. She would play dash-and-hide with our 55 pound Belgian Malinois, Winifred. She quickly discovered her voice—and has been using it liberally ever since. And she refused to sleep alone. After two sleepless weeks, Harry and I finally caved in and let her sleep with us.
Sophie
One of the biggest challenges of raising a small dog is house training. Little dogs just don’t want to brave the wind, rain, cold weather, tall grass or bugs when there’s a perfectly good floor inside.
I’ve always been a carrot rather than the stick kind of gal, so I figured I would liberally reward Sophie when she did her business outside. “Good peepee!” “Good poopoo!” “Nice potty.”
And she would get a treat.
Sophie was so thrilled with this arrangement that she could muster up five, six, seven bits of business in a single outing, locking eyes with me the whole time to make sure I acknowledged her accomplishments.
This house training system worked so well that we also used it on our second Papillon, Sarah.
Of course, with all this handing-out-of-treats business, we must keep a jar stocked with treats in the house at all times. I certainly buy treats in bulk. But the best treats—the ones the little dogs love above anything else—are the ones Mom makes with simple ingredients and her own two hands.
These are their favorite biscuits. They don’t have the multi-syllabic ingredients of the store-bought treats. They are filled with wheat flour, cheddar cheese and oats. And I enjoy making little shapes, such as hearts and fish. I need to find a tiny cat-shaped cookie cutter too.
Sarah
ARF!
Here’s where I found their favorite dog biscuit recipe.
Right Now at Bumblebee
If you’re in the neighborhood and just happen to have your paintbrush and paint clothes with you, stop on by. Harry and I are taking the day off from work to start painting the master bedroom. We figure it’ll take until Sunday. Harry does most of the rolling—no small chore with high ceilings—and I do all the tedious detail work. You, of course, can pitch in wherever you like.
We’re painting it a dove grey. So if you see some grey in my hair in the next few days, it’s paint. Got it? The grey is paint.
Robin
Happy Groundhog Day! What are you doing to celebrate?
We’ll have a special dinner of NOT groundhog. Dinner will be a special pasta (TBD) and some yummy homemade yeast rolls. Then we’ll pull out the photo album of past Groundhog Days and reminisce. We will toast Puxatawny Phil by opening the first bottle of my homemade apfelwein, which I hope is sparkly by now. If it’s any good, you’ll hear more about it.
Cheers!
Robin
Working from a home office is not always what it’s cracked up to be. I have a lousy IT department (me). Interruptions range from barking dogs to crowing roosters. I hear my business phone ring during non-business hours.
But there is a lot good about a 15 step commute. Such as today. It’s cloudy and a bit drizzly, but the temps will climb into the mid 60s for the second day in a row. I will turn off the heat, throw open the windows and give the house—and office—a good airing. Ahhh!
Robin
It’s cold here with a bit of ice and snow on the ground. The hens hate it.
There was a huge, chicken-y traffic jam at their window/door this morning. As I opened it three hens bolted outside. But they beat a hasty retreat back into the coop while other hens were still trying to get out. There was an impasse and much chicken shoving. There were no injuries—unless you count my sore sides from laughing so hard.
Robin
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