Rodents 2, Humans, O
We won’t bore you with the morning we came downstairs and saw the dead rat lying on the dining room floor – having apparently perished of being chased inside after being poisoned elsewhere, and having the discourtesy to die in our house. We don’t count that as a win for either party. We won’t discuss the little holes in the garden bed, where the squirrels are, systematically and relentlessly, uprooting each and every bulb that they find. We will draw a veil over the early-Sunday-morning loud THUMP and chittering shrieks as they rush around playing tag on the newly finished upstairs deck.
And, lest T. turn into our crazed Brown Street neighbor, whose weekly 4 a.m. screams of, “No! Bad skunk!” followed by waves of concentrated stench produced both gagging and giggles, we will also just bring in the faux walnut wrens from the little succulent garden. Screaming, “NO! Stupid squirrels!” has so far not had the intended effect.
In the UK, the Gardener’s Almanac is kind of a thing, just as once upon a time, The Farmer’s Almanac was embraced by groundhog-loving Americans along the East Coast. If you listen to The Writer’s Almanac on NPR, it also comes with quiet music and notable events in history, narrated by the dispassionate-voiced Garrison Keillor. This week, T. discovered she could combine both of those peculiar almanac joys – gardening, history, and dispassionate male narrators – with The Hidden Almanac. Of course, it’s not entirely the same, what with The Reverend Mord detailing the lives of obscure saints, and occasionally giving the history of exploding butterflies, but what the heck: it’s an almanac, and it’s that time of year.
Speaking of that time of year, T. has disappeared under a stack of books, and will talk to you again in December. Be safe, and stay out of trouble…