Monday, July 28, 2008

Your attention, please

Does I has it?

Probability would say yes, because you're reading this. Heh. Ask and ye shall receive.

I did something yesterday afternoon that I never ever in a million years would have thought I ever would do, but then I did it, and I'm very happy about it.

What is this heretofore unthinkkable thing? I gave the iris a haircut.

They were getting pretty daggone shaggy, losing leaves, the brown dead leaves were getting noticeable from the street, and they were flopping all over the yard, making it hard to mow or week whack around them, so I cut them back, took out the dieback, removed the floppies, and weeded between and around them.

Then I deadheaded the marigolds, snipped off the spent hydrangea blooms, brought the cuttings to the curb (the town picks up yard waste evey Monday. How cool is THAT?), swept the walk, and called it an evening.

THAT'S two hours of my life I'll never get back, but I'm thinking it was well worth it. At least now the Things will have some sense of where the yard ends and the garden begins, thereby rendering them incapable of saying "oops" after they weed whack an entire iris down to its bare nublins.

One must protect that which cannot protect itself, eh?

That protection, as it so happens, extends to the row of Very Large Arbor Vitae that screen the side yard from the lot and preschool next door. The screening is important, and I've gotten quite used to the verdancy on the property, so you can well imagine my shock when I looked out at the lovely arbor vitae the other day and saw that fully HALF of one had turned a crispy brown.

What the knee-slapping heck?

Naturally I went to have a peek at what was going on, and discovered, much to my horror, that the tree is infested with bagworms. How DARE they eat my trees, my lovely natural screen? Stupid bugs, they must die.

A little online research told me that the stupid bugs might be susceptible to pyrethrins, so it was off to the big box store I went, to purchase their imminent doom. It was that or snip each cocoon off the tree and plunge it into bleach, which I was tempted to do, but that would have taken all daggone day, which I did not have to devote to insecticide. A quick attachment of the Ortho Max to my handy dandy garden hose, and I was an agent of destruction. Mwuahahaha!! Die, bugs, DIE! I didn't even mind being ever-so-gently showered with overspray, though I did try to keep it out of my eyes, for the warnings about this kind of activity were dire indeed, and I'm not one for going blind voluntarily, or poisoning myself with anything other than intentionally used products (think bourbon).

If the pyrethrin doesn't work, then I'm on to procuring a vat of BT (Bacillus thuringiensis, y'all) with which to infect their bugly lil' systems, because I need to protect that which cannot protect itself, especially the 20-foot tall hedge of greenery that keeps little prying eyes from peeping in my kitchen window.

Righteous indignation - it's what's for dinner.


Looks like the TH is going to be the recipient of one adult dog come evening time. I know, the revolving door of pet-dom is crazy, isn't it?

Skeeter, the Aussie who lives at the ex's house, has gotten into the habit of eating his tomatoes fresh off the vine and trampling other bits of his garden, which is a super-dee-dooper no-no and Something He Will Not Tolerate, so yesterday when I was dropping off the Things' school supplies he asked if I wanted her, and what was I going to say? No?

No way.

She's a good dog, albeit a touch hyper (she's an Aussie, go figure), and we rescued her several years ago, which means that her quotient of pathetic is pretty high, which also means that she needs to remain in the family until she passes on.

That? Is a new rule.

So, I'm picking her up this evening. I cannot WAIT to see what the cat makes of this change. I expect that the random anger-sparked urine-slinging by the feline member of the household will be recommencing in T-minus 6 hours. The self-same feline who is on Clavimox for a bladder infection, which means twice-a-day pilling. She loves it, as you can well imagine.

Nothing but fun at the Tiny House. Nothing BUT.

And how was your weekend?

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