~ Cuddles, the aptly named ~

One afternoon this week I hurried out to my van 10 minutes before I was due in town (it takes 10 minutes to drive there without speeding on the gravel road) for a haircut. My purse was slung over a shoulder and my arms were full ... two jugs for drinking water, a bag with two fall jackets to return to the store because the sleeves would shrink to become too short for the ape-armed Scott and Everett, and several books to take back to the library. I stepped up to the driver's door and saw ... a brown and white mouse sunning itself against the door window. The inside of the door window.

It would have made a cute picture, but I did not have the presence of mind to hurry quietly back into the house for the camera. Instead I registered my horror with a shocked EEEEEEEEE and yanked the door open in hopes the rodent would fall out, but it disappeared somewhere into my vehicle.

I came back indoors, got the keys to Scott's truck (he was home with an earache and numb scalp) and took that to town instead, leaving Everett with orders to clean everything out of my van and put Cuddles inside it for a while. He did that; I don't know if the mouse was caught or not, so I still get the heebie-jeebies when I get into my van. I shudder, and then tell myself for heaven's sake, it's not going to hurt me. Now that the van is clean, it will probably starve to death, poor thing.

Xanderboy, our nephew, was excited to hear about the mouse and ran to set up a catch-and-release trap like his dad uses to catch rodents that get into the farm vehicles; but no creature was apprehended.

The common grey fieldmouse is usually what's found around here; this looks like it could be someone's pet, although I can't imagine anyone putting it in there for a joke. Ha ha.

Everett and I go walking with three dogs nowadays; there is Casper (a.k.a. Fat Girl, but now slimmed down somewhat and keeping up with us easier), then Sara the blue heeler, and Buddy, the import from the new place which was, by the way, owned in the 1930s and used as a summer home by the children's bedtime-story writer and amateur naturalist, Thornton W. Burgess. He gave the farm its name, Golden Grain Farm, and stayed there in a very large old house that burned down and was replaced by the one that is there now.

The two fast dogs (Casper stays close to us) like to run into the pasture and bait the five horses that roam there. The two above are the geldings that get territorial and chase the dogs back through the fence. This time they were still feeling rambunctious afterward so had a little horse wrestle.

The other day I opened the van door to check the catch-and-release trap (alas, still empty; or does it mean Cuddles consumed the little creature?) and Casper hopped up and over the driver's seat and onto the passenger's seat, expecting to go for a drive I guess. First time I've seen her do that:

I called her out and we walked over to the new place, as usual. There are seven cats over there and we go straight to the barn to fill their food bowls and so that Everett can cuddle the tiny kitten that, no longer throwing a literal hissy fit at humans, is making a pet of itself. Looking out the barn window as we approach is one of the wild cats —

and here is Everett with the very active and wiggly kitten he calls Dini:

~ look at those dimples ~

We have what seems like two tons of green tomatoes beginning to ripen, so last weekend I put together a batch of tomato-pepper salsa.

So much for an organized entry. Below are sights from our walks to and from Golden Grain Farm.

I don't take much interest in the cattle, but this black-nosed one stands out from the crowd

A flock of sandhill cranes circled over us one morning; they don't fly like Canada geese, which organize themselves into a loose V and mosey on like they mean to get where they're going. Cranes fly in horizontal circles high, high above our heads. You wonder how they can ever get anywhere, until you try to keep up with them, which Everett and I did. They left us in the dust, though we could still plainly hear them all the way home.

Everett, it turns out, can quite impressively imitate birds and animals as well as people's laughs. I laugh my ass off (till I cry, usually, which really cracks Everett up) when he mimics my brother; if I close my eyes, it's like Cameron is in the same room with us.

Now Playing: Joni Mitchell, Shine
I love the first song, One Week Last Summer, an instrumental, but have not warmed to the rest of them on the new CD ... yet. Joni's music sometimes takes several listens before it gets under my skin. I'm listening to it on Emil's walkman so can hear all the instruments so much better than on the computer, and that has already made a huge difference to my attitude.

*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,

*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,