Time for War

It all started with one drop of honey....one tiny drop that was missed during kitchen clean up. The small ants invaded our kitchen. I used the usual natural deterrents such as vinegar and lemon juice. That would work for a day, but late into the night the ants came marching back in, searching for who know what?

Remember the old song, "The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out..." Well, now it was ants, and after several days of battling their determined army I announced to no one in particular that I was declaring war on these annoying critters.

This morning I woke to a kitchen in disarray. Things were moved from the other side of the cabinets. I knew that my husband must have gone into the war zone and entered the battle I had been fighting for about a week.

"I see you fought the ants last night. I don't understand since I was meticulous in my clean up and had sprayed generously with the vinegar."

"Yes, they were all over the place, but these were different ants. They were even smaller and they were not sugar ants. These were searching for grease which they must have discovered in some back space missed during your clean up," Bob responded with annoyance oozing from his voice.

"This is definitely war. I will put out poison that they will bring back to their nest, destroying their entire colony, including the eggs."

Now I am researching the most natural way of killing that will not destroy other innocents that happen by. Stand by for final results. It is "man versus the ant," or, in this case, "woman versus the insects that invade my territory."

Summer is not my favorite season. It brings extreme heat and pesky bugs and the invasion of the weeds! I long for fall.

A "Tail" of Rescue

This story was told to me by my friends, Eloise and William.

William is a photographer. A few weeks ago his photography group was driving through a remote area of the Badlands of South Dakota. "Look over by the side of the road. I think I see a coyote lying in the tall grass."

The driver pulled over and Will got out to get a closer look. A head lifted up from the prairie grasses. Will was hesitant to get closer, but then he saw a tail wag. He thought that was a good sign so he walked over and discovered an emaciated dog, unable to get up but still able to wag his tail.

Fortunately the driver was an animal lover and encouraged Will to bring the dog into her van. Will lifted the dog, mostly skin and bone, into the van. The dog slept the entire trip home.

Before Will brought the dog into the house he approached Eloise and told her that they may have a guest for the night since the Humane Society was closed.

Eloise thought it best if they kept the dog for a few days until they gave him food and he looked more presentable for a possible adoption. After a few days they brought the dog to the vet to have the fleas, tick and worm removal and to get his shots. It turned out that the dog was about a year old and, other than dehydration and some infestation, was in good health.

This Hot Springs couple had been in the process of looking for a Golden Retriever to replace the one they had put down. Needless to say, this abandoned dog, almost to the point of starvation, came into their lives with a wag of his tail. They adopted him, or, perhaps it was the other way around; he adopted them. Whichever way it was, this is the tale of a wag of a tail that saved the life of one dog and brought a bundle of joy to a loving household.

They named him Inktomi. (Inky for short)

Photo by William Ing           

The Neighborhood Dog

It all began a few months ago. We saw the ambulance stop at our neighbor's house. They were new to our neighborhood and I moaned to my husband, "I never got over to greet the new folks and now one of them is being taken by ambulance. Why didn't I get over sooner with a pot of chili and a welcome? Now we may never meet whoever left in the ambulance and the woman who followed in her car."

They lived two doors down from us. Eric, the neighbor in between, told me that the guy was a veteran and the ambulance brought him to our VA. I fretted about the dog I had passed in the kennel behind their house on my way to the store. She would bark and snarl even when I tried to talk with her in a "doggy voice."

Now the dog was not the least bit friendly, but I worried that she was left alone in her kennel during the emergency. Eric told me that someone was feeding and watering the dog, but that was it. The caretaker asked Eric if he would walk the dog. Eric spent several days making friends with the dog. He brought her treats but was concerned about her temperament and docility if she were taken from her kennel.

One day Eric appeared at our front door with the leashed dog. Her name was Amber. Her coat was golden and she had brown eyes in a face that now looked sweet and friendly. Her tail wagged furiously, and off we went for a walk.

Amber is now a community dog. Some days Eric walks her and at other times my husband and I take her out. Each time we pass her in the alley she wags her tail, whines and jumps up and down with delight. She even recognizes our car when I drive by, roll down the window and spend a few minutes chatting with her.

She is so eager to go for a walk, but not having been obedience-trained, will tug at the leash. I struggle with bad-back issues, so when I take her by myself, I go to a park, take her into an enclosed baseball diamond and throw a ball until she is tired out. No matter how long she gets to run, she whines and jumps up and down when I bring her back to her kennel. It isn't easy to leave her for another day.

Eric brought her a dog house and sleeping bag in anticipation of colder weather. He has a kind heart.

Whey do we do what we do? Well, I, for one, cannot stand to walk past a lonely dog and ignore her pleas. But another reason is that the owner is a veteran. Since all of the government closures at our VA he had to go to Minneapolis for treatment no longer offered here and will be heading to another VA in Omaha for surgery that was once offered at our VA. His partner spends many hours on the road to be with him in Minnesota and still keep her job in Hot Springs.

Amber belongs to a veteran who once served his country. His benefits are being drained away, but his dog shouldn't have to suffer because of a stupid bureaucracy far from the front lines of veterans needing health care. This same government should not turn a blind eye. The officials will have superb health care for their lifetimes. Our veterans deserve no less.

Meanwhile, Amber will get her walks and a lot of loving while her owner is at a VA hospital far away.

Bye, Bye, Bees

It was a final farewell today. Someone purchased our empty hives with all of the equipment that accompanies bee tending. They are gone for good, along with any nostalgia that remained when I gazed at the empty hives. It's funny that I would miss something as impersonal as bees, but I did. Even in the middle of winter, when the weather rose to the 40's in the middle of the day, I would wander out in the back yard and watch those little hummers leave the warmth of their hive to relieve themselves far from their clean home. It was not as much fun as watching them in the spring and summer when they buzzed back to the hive laden down with yellow pollen, but it was more reassuring to see them fly in and out in the cold and bleakness of winter, an amazing sign of life humming inside of those small white boxes.

There are not many wild bees in our back yard as when we had our bees buzzing around. The yard is quieter this summer, with the exception of the lumbering, fuzzy black and yellow bumblebees, going about their work of pollinating and keeping life moving along for future summers.

Our house is quieter, too, with our faithful old cat gone from our lives. Bob put a headstone in the flower garden where he lies beneath our peach tree. As that tree grows I will know that Bugsy helped give life to future peaches in that side garden, in view from his favorite lounging window where he spent so many peaceful hours dreaming in the sun.

Life is easier. There are less chores. There is less commotion, less to worry about. But then there is less to love.

Meanwhile, I wait for more hellos. They have always arrived when I least expected them.

This coming week I have family from the Cities, books to sign and five days of a celebration honoring our veterans in our Veteran's Town. Life does go on.

Eighteen Years of Love

We brought our old cat, Bugsy, home from the vets on the third. They called every day, several times, during his four days there, to update us on his condition. Finally they realized that there was nothing more they could do for him and we knew that the days ahead would be filled with pain. The decision seemed obvious to us. Perhaps it was obvious, but it is never easy. We have been through this many times before, but it never gets easier. As some wise person said to me as I was struggling with this, "It doesn't get easier because it is love."

Through my tears I am remembering how Bugsy came to us, an abandoned six-week old kitten, surviving on grasshoppers on our land south on Cascade Road. It was October and the bugs would soon come to an end. We were staying in our camper, one last time before the winter. We took him back to the Cities, knowing that in a year or two he would have to make the trip back with us to our retirement home in the Black Hills.

He never complained - through eight moves - including our flight from the flames during the Alabaugh Fire of 2007 - until we finally settled in this last home in 2008. We chose this house for him and our other cat. It had several great windows for sunning and watching birds and other critters. It had a sound basement for the litter boxes. We never considered buying a house that did not favor our cats.

He was good - never clawing furniture - careful to retract his claws when jumping on our laps. and always eager for food, never forgetting his early starvation years of abandonment in the woods.

It was only in the past few months that he began to howl many times during the day. It puzzled us, and annoyed us - especially early in the morning - but I remember my other cat yowling during his last few months of his elderly life. Perhaps there was an onset of some physical discomfort, or, I like to believe, that these treasured pets knew that they would be leaving us and wanted somehow to remind us not to forget them when they left.

How can you forget eighteen years of purring, rubbing, insisting on lap time and the sight of him licking his face and paws most carefully after each meal, curling up and lying in the sunshine of an eastern window? Then, during the day, somehow, when the sun was moving through its cycle, old Bugsy would follow the sunshine to the southern window, and finally, late in the day, I would find him curled up in my office in the sunshine of the window facing west.

We brought him home from the vets for his last two days, fed him all his favorite foods, gave him his painkillers and extensive lap time and had the vet put him down yesterday while he was curled up on my lap

Bob buried him over flowers and catnip in the garden closest to his favorite window where he would sit and watch the birds, squirrels and occasional cats, deer and wild turkeys that stopped at the bird bath or feeders. As we covered him with the garden earth I listened to the birds who had flown to safety overhead as we said our final goodbye to the cat who had given us so many years of furry comfort, trust and acceptance.

Today, as I do my household tasks, I look at his favorite spots, see him stretched out or curled in a ball, and I remember.

Waiting is the Hardest

Our eighteen-year old cat, Bugsy, is at the vets. We brought him in on Saturday. It turns out he has pancreatitis, an illness fairly common in older cats. The first two calls from the veterinarian were hopeful. We thought we would take him home on Sunday, but he took a turn for the worse. We visited him this morning and he is miserable. It hurts to see him hurt and we began to consider having him put down. He got kidney disease a couple of years ago, but has done well on the food and meds. Several weeks ago he developed a thyroid problem. It's tough growing older for many of us.

Meanwhile, we wait. We wait with hope that he will recover and spend some quality time back home with us. If not, we will say another goodbye, and after eighteen years it will not be easy. I try to prepare for the inevitable eventually....ever hopeful that it will be later than sooner, but no matter when, saying goodbye is never easy. And although another hello will be around the corner, it is that time in between that is the most difficult, and, that time is now.

Here Come the Ducklings!

Running water always beckons. Our ever-inviting Fall River that winds through our town never tires of its appeal. I would not enjoy my walks if I did not have the river to follow. Children love to play in it. I listen to their laughter and the sounds of the river, increasing in volume as it splashes over the rocks in a mini-cascade. There are just enough benches to stop at along the way and those pauses are occasionally opportunities to visit with walkers who may want to stop for a chat.

During my reflective moments I imagine long ago when only the wildlife stopped at its banks. Later the Indians and then the pioneers enjoyed the ever-moving waters. Today both tourists and locals run, walk, skateboard, bike or amble the river walk.

Today a mother duck brought her newly-hatched brood into the water. She was cautious, very aware of my presence on the bridge above her. The nine eager ducklings were excited, eager to explore a bit, but mostly they were glued to her side and so clustered around her that it took me a while to sort them out from one another and make the count. They were easy to spot with their splash of yellow on their feathers, but mostly they appeared as one moving mass, floating on the waves in unison with their mother.

Mother duck avoided the larger current racing and tumbling over the rocks. She stuck to the quieter side, but with a constant eye out for danger. When I came a bit closer over the bridge to get a clearer look she swam a few feet down the river and disappeared with her charges into the overhanging grasses. I looked carefully for some time but could not see her or her ducklings. She had chosen a safe place - steep banks behind her and enough cover to disappear from me or any other potential threats.

This same mother brought her family from their nest, across the nearby streets, avoiding traffic and dogs and managed to bring them to the safety of the river. Whenever I see these annual endeavors I recall that compelling children's book, Make Way for Ducklings. I wonder how many of the nine tiny balls of feathers will survive to join the flock of ducks that make their home on the warm waters of our river, flowing through all seasons, including the coldest of winters?

What I do know is that on my walks I enjoy watching the fussing ducks swimming in the river year round, together with the cautious deer and sunning turtles. All of this is a hop and a skip from our front door near downtown Hot Springs.

A Burrowing Owl

That Christmas cactus that has been blooming since Thanksgiving is starting up for a third time with new blossoms, while the last few are still remaining from Christmas. I was admiring the newcomers on this constantly budding plant when I looked out ot the window, and there, to my amazement, a few feet away, was a fluffy looking ball of grey and white feathers, perched on the railing of our back steps.

Even though it was the middle of the day, I recognized that pile of fluff as an owl. What a thrill! An owl was a rare sight even when we lived in our land in the country. But just at that moment I saw my husband drive up and park in the garage. The owl did not budge. I ran frantically to my office window in the next room and pounded on the window. The owl remained still. My husband, loaded with shopping bags, paused at the bottom of the steps, looked up at me and past where I was pointing to the yard next door. I gestured frantically to try to stop him. He shrugged his shoulders and started up the steps as I ran to the back door. I was too late. The owl flew away as Bob stepped inches away from him.

In hindsight, I knew I should have gestured Bob back, instead of toward our visitor, but the deed was done, the owl flew away, never, maybe never, to be seen again.

Bob had a brief glimpse of him and identified him as a burrowing owl. The internet proved him correct, and they do appear during the day, hunting mice, lizards, small birds and insects during the summer season. Oh, small birds. Well, that could explain the absence of birds the past few months at our feeders. And all along I was blaming that on the neighbor's cat.

I have looked for that owl since his mysterious, wondrous appearance in our back yard in town. Where is his home? Will he show up again? Then, if it is a "she", will we have some owlets this spring?

Ah, sweet mysteries of life - always popping up, always entertaining, always enriching my small, brief spot in this world. I may never see that tiny owl again, but I have that picture etched in my memory because I happened to be at that place and looked out that back window at that moment in time.

Hello Again, Again. Goodbye Again, Again

We can always count on our Christmas Cactus plant bringing color to the gray of November and December. It blooms on cue, in time for Thanksgiving, lingering into December. Our second cactus on our porch lags a few weeks behind, with brilliant blossoms to follow.

And now, goodbye.....

For the second time we lost our colony of bees. A few days ago they simply disappeard from their hive. They seemed to be thriving all summer, downing the sugar water we supplied during the flowerless months of October and November. They were many and active, (I have two bites to prove it), but suddenly they are gone from our lives. We know they had an ample supply of honey they worked so diligently to harvest all summer.

Was it colony collapse? Was it the effect of the pesticides that neighbors spray to keep immaculate lawns? We may never know, but we think we may not try our bee endeavor again. It isn't the work involved, but the heartache that follows their absence. It amazes me how much I count on the little buzzers flying around, dancing on our flowers, drinking water from the bird bath, diving into the hive, loaded with yellow or orange pollen, then flying off to forage and fertilize our part of this world.

We intend to harvest the honey they left, a reminder of their energy, devotion to the colony and their part in the continuation of the lives of the plants that surround us with their beauty. They are remarkable creatures.

For now we say goodbye. We may change our minds. There is a hole to fill.

Three Trapped Mice, See How they Run!

During the summer months I fed the birds saflower seeds, as suggested by a reader, to deter the greedy grackles until they fly south in the fall. Yesterday I went into the tool shed to retrieve my stash of sunflower seeds. I reached into the large plastic bucket to be greeted by a surpised mouse. (Actually, we were both surprised.) I went for help from my husband, being squeemish about reaching into the mouse's space.

Bob calmly tipped the can over. Out ran a terrified mouse. "Well," said Bob. "There is another mouse in here." He managed to shoo that mouse out, at the same time that we heard a third critter scurrying around at the bottom of the tattered bag of seed. It took some maneuvering, but my calm partner managed to flush the last one out.

I must say, those three mice must have been in there for a long time. The plastic bag inside the plastic container was shredded among the seeds, and the mice looked rather plump as they exited their prison. I wonder if they thought of it as a prison. I know they could not climb back out, but in the meantime, they gorged themselves while trapped at the bottom.

There are two ways of looking at a situation such as those three, tiny mice found themselves in while in confinement: they could expend all of their energy trying to escape, or, keep feasting and hope for rescue. Fortunately these little guys were discovered by a couple who "live and let live" unless forced to do otherwise.

Meanwhile, "Attention, all you stray cats out there. You are welcome to sustain yourselves in our back yard. Winter is on its way and there are some plump, furry creatures who may help you make it through the cold days ahead!"

Behold, the Ant

It was another hot one. We have had more than the usual miserable days this summer. I try to do my river walks before the sun hits full force but this morning my pace slowed to match my mood. Then I noticed the ant. He was tiny and tugging furiously on a small piece of a cracker lying on the sidewalk. The piece was small, but the ant was about a tenth of the size of the morsel he was attempting to haul off. I paused to watch his struggle. He pulled and scurried around the food, pulling from different sides. I was impressed by his determination. Was he ever going to give up?

I stood and stared while he continued to try to move his treasure across the sidewalk. Ater a few minutes I looked around, hoping no walker or bicyclist would crush the little bugger into the cement. He had worked so hard!

Suddenly he stopped, dropped  the food and began to move on without a backward glance. I stooped down, broke a small piece and placed it in front of this ever-so-small insect. In an instant he grabbed ahold of the manageable piece and carried it into the grass, and, I suppose, to his family of ants.

Will  I remember when I feel overwhelmed by a task and want to give up, perhaps I should try to complete pieces and, in the end, I just may carry off the entire prize, or, the one part may be just fine?

Ah, November

What could be more typical than our first day of November? The last day of October was sunny and balmy. Today we woke to grey skies, and walked out the door to chilling cold and light rain, soon changing  to snow. How could the weather know that the calendar had flipped over to November?
But here it is, ready or not, winter is on its way.

Yesterday our bees were buzzing around the jar of sugar water that Bob supplied to them each day in October while the weather was still mild but the flowers had faded. It is an extra supplement to help them survive the winter. Hopefully they will have made sufficient honey to feed their queen and themselves during the cold, flowerless months ahead. The workers exiled the drones last month. They had passed their usefulness to the colony and only the bees who produced food and heat to sustain the entire colony through the winter would remain to keep the queen alive and nourish themselves so as to be able to begin the cycle anew next spring.

What a marvel are these little creatures! They supply the pollen needed for 60% of our food supply. And, to the consternation of many, they are disappearing from our earth. Their loss could be more serious to our survival than the problems we are facing with oil and other natural resources.

Every time I see the bees working themselves to death (literally) I sigh, "Thank you, little bees, for all of your hard work to help create the produce that will keep us surviving long after your three weeks of life are finished."

So November is upon us. The flowers are gone to seed and the bees have secluded themselves in their hive. I will miss them....their buzzing and flying from their home to distant flowers, returning with pollen and nectar, to be relieved of both by the hive workers and instantly flying off once again to gather the nectar, spreading the pollen from flower to flower, and by their flights, keeping all of us alive.

Another Farewell

Last night we buried our sweet black and white tuxedo cat. Bob dug a hole in our flower bed, covered it with catnip, laid her inside and covered her with black dirt and flower bulbs that come up every Spring.  Her body was still warm even though it was about three hours since the vet had put her down.

I had spent a sleepless night before that stressful drive, crying in the dark living room, lit only by the television that I vainly attempted to use as a distraction and sleeping aid. I cried yesterday on the way to the vet and while waiting there, holding the frightened ball of fur in my arms. The veterinarian was sympathetic. She handed me Kleenex while I told her how we had rescued our cat from a shelter eight years before where she had been living in a cage for six months, waiting for someone to adopt her. I told the vet how we had given her a good home, spoiled her, as we do with all of our pets. Now it was time, and the best for her, to put her down.

On the drive back home I told my husband that maybe I should not get anymore pets. Letting go was so difficult. I was glad that we still had our sixteen year old cat. He has kidney failure and I had thought he would be the first to go. He is still frisky, with a great appetite. I wonder if he will miss his buddy? Both cats had come through the fire with us, and all of changes that followed. I wonder how much loss he will feel?

Tonight, another sleepless one, I thought about the many pets I had over the years. Most of them were abandoned and needing a permanent home. Each time I had to part with them it brought pain. They really can become an important part of a family. Why, I thought, didn't it become easier each time to say goodbye?

It seems that this time I shed more tears for a small, gentle black and white cat than any before her. Perhaps it is because I am in a vulnerable state now after a difficult summer with health issues. Or maybe it is because each time I say another goodbye It brings back memories of the most difficult goodbyes... a mother, a sister, a father, and, earlier this year, a brother.