Rodent Issues

In recent posts to the neighborhood e-list, I see a great deal of concern re. rat proliferation in places where people feed ducks and geese that frequent the nearby inlet.

We just got back from time at a home we own up in the Allegheny Mts. A near-by farmer watches the place for us. Prior to our arrival he'd rid the place of rodents by using Havahart traps. He invested in these traps when he found that neither poisons nor snap traps yielded desired results. With Havahart traps, when successful, you've got live rodents on your hands to somehow dispose of. The farmer whacked them with a shovel. You might be more tender hearted, drive them to a lonely place in the woods, open the trap doors, wave goodbye, and abandon them like Hansel and Gretel. The point...Havahart traps can work where poison and snap traps fail. There are sizes to accommodate the most senior, over-fed rats on Knitting Mill Creek, while excluding curious geese/ducks. A source for havahart traps is at this link.


I heard several anti-rat remedies attributed to the "wisdom" of the Amish, the most frequently mentioned being Coca-Cola. It seems that rather than seeing this as a beverage, many Amish consider it a solvent to de-grease farm equipment, clean battery cables/terminals (They've got to maintain lights for their buggies.), and also a way to get rid of mice. At an auction in support of the local Amish school, I walked through the enormous dairy barn of the host family. All over the place in corners and beside downstairs pillars, sat pie pans of Coca Cola. The farmer solemnly assured me that this was the best way to kill mice/rats, cheaper and more reliable than rat poisons and not so dangerous to other animals on the farm.

Also, I met an Amishman on the sidewalk in town carrying two cases of Johnnie Walker whisky, one under each arm. Unnecessarily sensitive to my raised eyebrow, he asserted that this substance was going out to his barn to kill rats. Well...I believed him, I think. Alcoholic Amish rats. If this Amish practice became generally known, we'd have fewer homeless drunks on city streets, more drunks out in the country volunteering for work as Amish barn rats.

There And Back

We actually, finally went to the farm. Happily, it was a great experience. If Lydia hadn't dragged me there, I would probably never have gone, but she did weasel me into going and it was all good.

Benny at last found the perfect climbing tree. Hemlocks grow with branches coming out of the trunk close to one another vertically and in kind of a spiral around the tree. This makes them convenient climbing trees for very small boys. He climbed a tree directly in front of the dining room window. Each time he went up, he went farther. Once he got higher than the peak of the second story of the house. Too far up, but he was not daunted.

Also, Benny got to see how it feels to balance on a bike with no training wheels. Lydia took the training wheels off his bike and she positioned him at the top of the fairly steep yard. Then she gave him a running start downhill. He fell a few times, but landed on soft grass so that was no problem. After a while, he got it and was steering all over the side yard.

One afternoon Lydia took the kids down to the mountain stream at the bottom of the hill. This water is freezing cold year round. She waded right in and began to build a dam. Benny played at creek side and Sadie pottered around. Finally Benny got interested in the dam project and helped. I caught crayfish. A few days later we all went back down to the new dam which was deep enough for Both Benny and Lydia to get right down into the water and get cold. Brought down their body temperatures for the rest of that fairly hot day.

We had a fire in the fireplace each day at breakfast time, took off the early morning chill and looked cheerful.

Fortunately a caretaker had cleaned the place of three years of dust, cobwebs and mouse turds. It looked and smelled great.

One evening Lydia took the kids up to the next farm which has all kinds of animals. They were given pony rides which was a big hit, but the most popular event was feeding the chickens. Something about watching chickens eat the slices of bread the kids threw over the fence, it tickled Sadie so that she nearly laughed herself into a fit. She shrieked with laughter. Cute.

Long, 9-11 hour ride going up to the farm and coming home. Worth it, though. Coming back we got stuck in rush hour traffic going past Washt., D.C. That wasn't fun. We need to find a faster route.

Once More With Feeling

Today's supposedly the day that we really, finally, actually go to the farm. It's been one thing after another for about two months, now, but this is it. Poor Porque Choppe; she's going to have to co-exist with Leroy who torments her to a fury. It will be good for her; she's much too fussy and prissy and catered to. Both dogs have at least one flea at all times. I declare; the south; it's a vast insect conspiracy. I quite resemble a monkey mother, sitting several times/day with Porque Choppe on my lap toiling through her little short hair looking for fleas. The Front Line does no good at all and the other anti-flea precaution I bought makes Porque shed all her hair and look like a bald chihuahua, so I don't bother. I just play monkey. I sort of hope that once we get up north, this outrage will cease. When I was a kid we never had house dogs, but our outdoors dogs almost never got fleas. This I attribute just generally to the virtuousness of the good old north where bugs get frozen in the winter and therefore fail to run amuck as they do here in the south. The vet here in Norfolk told Lydia that if she wore white socks when she took Leroy for a walk, she'd come home with fleas visible on her ankles EVERY TIME SHE WENT OUT. Just awful. So anyway today's the day. We're going north. Chased by fleas, mosquitoes, ants, spiders....

I have a bad feeling that when we get back my flowers will all be dead. In this heat I've had to water them every day. Without that assistance, they'll likely kaboom. Oh, well. There's a price tag for everything. Run away from the heat and bugs and go north, but lose the flowers.

Worry, Worry.

We've still not made it to the farm. Reason; Sadie's allergic symptoms...or whatever is wrong with the poor little chihuahua child. Such a tiny body, such a big head. At two and a half years old, she weighs 24 pounds, just a delicate wisp of humanity with a huge personality. Today she went to the doctor for an official diagnosis of this horrible itchiness condition. Little baby is covered with itchy bumps which are not any of the standard "diseases".

According to the doctor, these spots are part of a reaction package. Sadie is allergic to something, maybe mosquitoes, maybe sun block lotion, maybe the heat, maybe something else. Clearly she's miserable, her tiny hand scratching away here and there, her face gloomy, preoccupied, worried.

However, for a while this afternoon she was her usual self. She played with the little houses. A while ago I bought a couple of sets of itty bitty dogs and accompanying dog toys and today I gave her one of these. Immediately she went to work introducing the new dogs into the play house environment. Soon she was singing. At one point she turned to her adoring mother and said, "I thinging a happy little thong, Mom." Awwww. Precious baby.

How To Waste Money

Porque Choppe was rescued from a puppy mill. She'd been born there. As soon as she was old enough to produce puppies, she was bred and from then on, cranked out back to back litters until she nearly died of pancreatitis brought on by malnutrition and stress. The owner dropped her at the pound to be euthanized for free. In all of her four years, she'd not once been outside to play, lived her life in a little box in a warehouse filled with other dogs. Then she came to my house where she has only gone outdoors on a leash since my back yard was insecurely fenced. Now, finally, the fence has been repaired/replaced/newly gated. Yesterday I took her outside to her new play area, unsnapped the leash, stepped back. She remained in place looking at me. I stepped away and made encouraging noises. Little Porque looked around puzzled. She looked from herself to me and back again, blinking. She wondered how I could be over by the garage while she was in the middle of the yard. I sat down. Carefully Porque Choppe worked her way over to the gate, looking around, worried. Since the gate is set down, a step below driveway level, she couldn't see out to the street, so she stood on her back legs and walked around that way until she found a spot from which she could see cars going by. With her back to the yard, she stood by the gate woofing at passersby. $550.00 for a play space for a chihuahua that does not understand play.

Again early this morning I took her out, unsnapped the leash, sat on the wall by the garage. Tiny little Porque looks extra small by herself out in the middle of the yard. She just stood in place, worried about dew on the grass. She shivered in the 85 degree air. Looked at me, her little face begging me to pick her up and rescue her from all that outsideness. I most definitely wasted that $550.00. Could have blown it all kinds of ways that would be more fun, like I could have bought a lot more fabric not to use for anything in particular. I could have spent it usefully to pay someone to come in and clean my garage. But no, I had to provide a play yard for a chihuahua whose idea of a good time is to sit on me while I type. Oh, well, the fence looks nice.

We High Maintenance Girls

Today is our monthly nails appointment, Porque and I both go and get fixed up. My appointment is on one end of 21st Street and Porque's is at the other end. In my case, they just do toenails and fingernails, trim and polish, today with a new color for summer, a bit brighter than colors for other times in the year, Tokyo Coral.

In Porque's case, they give her a bath, clean out her ears, clip her toenails and polish them with sparkly gold paint, and then brush her teeth with chicken-flavored tooth paste. Clearly, Porque's appointment takes longer.

I kind of enjoy my nails appointment. They sit me in a vibrator chair and soak my feet in a hot tub for toes, rushing bubbles tingling around my feet. My hands get soaked. The girls in the shop laugh and talk about silly things. It's nice.

Porque, however, is always afraid that grooming will kill her. Each time we go to Groomingdales, she begins to shake as soon as we pull into the parking lot. When it's time to get out of the car, she opens her mouth as far as it will open, throws back her head, and she emits heartrending squalls of chihuahua woe. The people at the dog beauty parlor are super nice to her, but she doesn't think much of the idea of grooming. She doesn't know how lucky she is. Silly little squirrel.

Today at my appointment the girl working on me said that at home one time she tried to do her dog's nails and the dog ran amuck all over the house smearing toenail polish on chairs, carpet and sofas. The polish never came out. Clearly it's something to refer to a professional, not to be tried at home.

HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!

The best comedy in life is an unexpected crazy thing coming out of the mouth of a perfectly serious person. Just had one such experience.

I have contracted with five different people to replace the fence in my back yard and put up two new gates. None of the five ever showed up to do the work. However, the most recent person to promise to do the fence seems to mean what he said. The other day he dropped off several sacks of cement for the fence posts. This morning he added a roll of chain-link fencing, posts, and the gates.

A few minutes ago he was back. I said, "Do you need the key to the garage?" No, he didn't. He seemed to be searching for a right way to say something difficult. I began to wonder if he was going to ask to use the bathroom. No, that wasn't it, either. Finally, he uttered these actual words, "Do you have a gasoline-powered post hole digger?"

Now this man knows that I am a little old grandma and I live here alone. I was at first flabberghasted and then tickled, so much so that I almost laughed myself to death on the spot. Between squawks and cackles, I gasped out, "I bet you say that to all the little old ladies."

Well, what it was, he'd not thought he'd have time to get to the hole digging today, but then found a little extra time and figured he could set the posts this evening if I happened to be the one little old chubby grandma on Planet Earth who kept a post hole digger around to admire...that would have to be the only reason. I saw one being used down the street recently and the thing was almost as tall as I am and weighed a good 75 pounds if it was an ounce. Plus it runs on gasoline and shakes like a frightened 75-pound chihuahua. A farmer near to our place in Pennsylvania bought a post hole digger...he got one that runs off the back of the tractor and the tractor holds it up. This farmer said that he didn't feel he was strong enough to run a free-standing one by himself.....but the fence guy thought I might have one. Oh, yes, that was rich..."Do you have a gasoline-powered post hole digger?"

Stuff like that gives a person incentive to get up in the morning. You just never know what screwball thing is going to happen.

Pansies to Geraniums and Back Again

Pansies bloom all year in Norfolk. The first thing I noticed about Norfolk on my first winter visit here was the huge tubs of pansies everywhere. Then I became a Norfolkian and I bought pansies, too. They never die. However, in the heat of the southern summer, pansies grow leggy and scrawny. I've been looking more in sorrow than in anger at my pansies now for about a month. Time to send them into purdah.

Today I bought heavyweight, sturdy Geraniums and Black-Eyed Susans and Rudbeckia and Dusty Miller. Brought 'em home and watered them. Maybe tomorrow night if it gets a bit cooler, I'm going to plant my little pansy friends out behind the garage, fill the ex-pansy-planters with cow manure compost, and insert the new stuff. Poor dear, sweet little earnest, willing pansies. They didn't stand up to our brutal summer season well enough.

This fall after those geranium/rudbeckia/black-eyed susan/dusty millers croak, I am certain that behind the garage, my pansies will be getting ready to survive another winter in the south, not somehow, but triumphantly.

Fireworks

I'm grateful to the criminals in my neighborhood who defied the law and set off a long and beautiful display of fireworks last night.

Lydia/Dan/kids stopped by yesterday evening on their way home from an afternoon of boating. They picked up the supper I'd made for them and then scampered away. Had to hurry to feed the kids and then get downtown to the Norfolk fireworks at Towne Point Park. I was all set to go with them but at the last minute the thought of that noise, the crowds, tremendous heat, still 90's at 8:00 P.M., I just couldn't face it.

So around a quarter to ten when the noise began to erupt out on my street, Porque Choppe and I went to sit on our porch and enjoy the illegal fireworks display. It was great. I was in my long flannel nightie but once the sun set, things began to cool off a bit, so I was quite comfortable. Two neighbors were doing the fireworks, one at each end of the block across the street from me. In spite of huge, old trees, the fireworks were easily visible since they were aimed at the airspace in center street above the cars. Little Porque Choppe sat on my lap, shivering and shaking like jello in a high wind. She has chihuahua issues with both thunder and fireworks. However, I enjoyed the whole thing; the comfortable rocking chair, the stool to put my feet up, the little worried dog, the cooler breeze, and the beautiful, against-the-law, fourth-of July festivity.

Every year at this time I wonder about how these impromptu displays get paid for. A friend told me that a little 20-minute kaboom can run upwards of $7,000.00 plus. Of course, there are some extremely affluent people in this community, but most of them live right on the water. I'm quite certain that the fireworks I saw last night were paid for by people of a humble income. So how do they do this year after year...and why?

Last year on the fourth, Lydia/kids/i were at the beach on Isle of Palms at Wild Dunes. The family in the next house, a very big and enthusiastic family, came prepared to celebrate Independence Day with a bang. Four adult men spent lots of the afternoon setting up great big PVC tubes made of plumbing pipe. They arranged circles in the sand above where the tide would reach. Inside each circle was a well-thought out supply area with tongs, long-reach lighters, and boxes and boxes of mega-expensive fireworks. As it began to get dark, Lydia took Benny down to the town beach to see the official fireworks. I stayed home to babysit Sadie. Finally dark arrived and the crowd next door set up shop on their porches while the men went out onto the beach to do the display. It lasted for forty-five minutes. The most spectacular, gorgeous display I have ever seen.

Suddenly police arrived and stopped the party. I heard the home owner arguing with police who said, "No. It stops now." "But," the guy complained, "we're just working up to our grand finale." "Nope," said the policeman. "Stop now." Police left. There was a gap of about five minutes of quiet.

Then all hell broke out next door as a glorious eruption of red, white, and blue exploded in the sky over the water directly in front of me. Gigantic star displays, circles of stars, an immense flag made of stars, on and on it went and all the neighbors on their porches screamed for joy and applauded their hands off. And then the police were back. This time cops gave the homeowner a ticket. Guy said, "I don't have time to go to court." Policeman said, "Fine. Pay up right now." The neighbor laughed and said, "OK. It's only $500." He opened his wallet and shelled out money, handed it over, slapped the policeman on the back and asked if he'd like to stay for a drink. The policeman, not amused, said that no, he certainly would not like to stay for a drink and he left amid the applause of all hands on surrounding porches. No doubt that fine was peanuts to a man affluent enough to provide his family an enormous beach-front home that they only have time to visit on week-ends.

However, on 38th Street a $500.00 fine would be a big deal, so I'm glad the cops didn't hassle our local display providers last night.

Rocked The House

A house most completely unused to rocking, that would be the house Of God as found in the historic cathedral on Olney here in Norfolk. This is a church that values its traditions and it's liturgy, it's beautiful music. However, today we rocked the house at least on the third floor of Lloyd Hall, home of the Children's Chapel. Lydia had made up a ton of fun things to accompany the effort, and she told the story of the plagues of Egypt. It was a stand up and sing, sit down, hoot and holler and have a good time kind of story telling. Afterwards she gasped and whispered to me, "Oh, no, I forgot to do all the little Children's Chapel Liturgy and Responses." The way I feel about that, those kids, as potential life long Episcopalians, have ahead of them years of doing the liturgy. Today didn't hurt a thing. The best part was that between each of the plagues, the whole group roared out, "Oh, No! Grief and woe! Sounds like another plague," to a rollicking tune. I'm all in favor of the traditions etc, but today was OK as sort of a religious vacation.