Can I Keep It?

When Good Bunnies Go Bad

Hud and I lived with a dwarf lop eared bunny named Arnie for about, oh, almost eleven years.  He was quite the little man.  He was allowed free range of the house because he was potty trained and didn't chew on cords and such as most lagomorphs are wont to do. 

He was such a sweet soul. If he had been human, he would have been the kid who was bullied in grade school with the pocket protector and horn rimmed glasses wrapped on the bridge in white medical tape.  The kind of kid who would ask if this wasn't the day we were supposed to have a pop quiz and offer to wipe the chalk board.  If a bunny could be nerdy, loveable Arnie sure seemed like it.

When my imagination was particularly randy, I would envision him as a tough guy, drinking bourbon, smoking, picking up cheap dames and punching the lights out of drunken slobs unfortunate enough to cross his path.  

In a high, squeaky voice he would bark, "Take THAT you big piece of Rat Doody!"

I surprised myself today.  I found out that I like to hit things --HARD.  Really, really HARD. 

Normally, I'm pretty laid back.  I have a relaxed, open life that's the definition of freedom to most people.  I don't think of myself as someone who is unaware of who I am, but when my personal trainer, Stephen, strapped me into some boxing gloves and instructed me to punch the pads on his hands, something happened.  For the first time in my life, I got a high from exercise.  I usually slog through, waiting for the bell to ring and release me.  Today, the time ripped by with hurricane force.  

At one point, Stephen's palm flew back and he shook it.  "Who's face are you seeing on this?"  he queried, a little shocked at my aggression.

But it didn't feel like anger.  It felt like power.  

Boxing makes me believe I might be a good bunny gone bad. 

I still feel a might jazzed by the experience.

 

* The painting of my sweet boy bopping a bull dog is named, "Last Call Bar Brawl".*

 

Playing 'Possum

The first time I heard this phrase, I was about two or three.  No, really.  I know most people don't have this crazy kind of ability to grub backward into their memories and pull out something so mundane, but that's my one of my special gifts.  Jealous, huh?

I remember it because, well, I recall a lot of the inconsequential, but also because my mother's parents were visiting and that was a rare treat.   My Grandfather had led a transient life until he met Elois. When he found her, he had found a home and never wanted to travel ever again.  And for fifty years or so, he hardly ever did.

We lived in Richmond, Virginia and my father had loaded us up in our Volkswagen Beetle for a trip to see the ponies do their bi-yearly swim across the river between Assateague and Chincoteague islands.  It had been a long day and I had fallen asleep in the cubby hole behind the back seat.  I started awake as the hatchback was popped up.  I pinched my eyes into narrow slits and peered at the fuzzy outline of my grandfather looming above me.  "She's asleep," he said to someone unseen.  "Pick her up, please, and bring her in," came the reply in the darkness.  I squeezed my eyes shut tight so he would think I was still slumbering.  He was a stoic man, not given to hugs and I wanted him to carry me in the house -- a stolen moment for a chance to have him embrace me, I guess.  "Is she still asleep?" my mother's voice whispered as we approached the back door.  "Well," he chuckled, "I think somebody's been playin' 'possum." 

Yesterday, Hud was doing some yard work.  He usually packs his large garden tools into one of the rolling trash bins and trucks them off to the garden to work.  Imagine his surprise when he propped the lid to find a baby opossum sleeping in the bottom!

Those ears are something, huh?

He called on the Furry Godmother to ask how to help the little guy out of his jam, but I wasn't sure.  I got him to call the Lichterman Nature Center.  The help center said to give him some water and dog food and shut the lid back down.  We couldn't let him out until night fall, because opossum are legally blind in the daylight. 

The problem is, that once you feed them, they will return.  So apparently, we have a new member of the Andrews family.  Meet "Mousse".  I think he could use some to get that hair under control.  We've surmised that his mother had brought him to the trash cans when they were full and they had pigged out on the groceries they found.  We guess him to be about six months old and on his own now.  He must have come back to the restaurant to order more grub and to his surprise, found it had closed.

Hud moved him to the shade of the wisteria.  I checked on him from time to time, to make sure he wasn't stressed or overheating.  He had curled up in the corner on some soft paper towels and napped the day away.

Once, in the late afternoon, I opened the top to peep at him and he jumped to his feet, arms flying over his head, gesturing, "Jeeze, Lady!  Let me get a shirt on or something!"

It was pitch black dark when Hud got home from work around 8:30. We tipped "Chez Garbage" over to the side so he could wander back to the great outdoors. Only he wouldn't leave.  He liked his new abode with room service delivery.  He's having his mail redirected tomorrow.  I've been asked to make a decision on drapes and an ottoman. 

This morning, he had checked out.  Maybe it was time for him to play 'possum again.

 

Random Acts of Photography

Just in case you wondered if she actually got to have her CAKE and eat it, too...

She about got the paper, to boot.

TODAY Is Your BIRTHDAY!

duhnuhnuhnuhnuhnuh nuh!  Happy Birthday to 'ya!  duhnuhnuhnuhnuhnuh nuh!

Simone is one year old today!

Yay! Simone!

To celebrate we had --TA DA!  CUPCAKES!  Little tiny ones, just like precious Simone.  She held the festivities out on the patio.  There were pony rides (okay, Zoe rides), games and everybody sang "Happy Birfday!"

Well, at least that's what they were trying to sing.  it sounded more like, "Murppy Munchay Doo Mah!" because everybody's mouths were full of icing.

Zali convinced the Fahzur to get a beret.  He chose a jaunty red one that Zali says fits in perfect with the "brights" theme of fashion week in Milan.

Doesn't he look handsome?  And it covers the stitches so nicely!  No one would ever know that he had been in a terrible weight lifting accident.  Ummm, well, except that he is having trouble remembering things. 

I had to tell him a couple of times that it was Simone's birthday and not his, even though he got to wear the hat.

At least he's not saying that stuff about the space/time continuum being broken anymore....

 

Carmen was a might disappointed in the size of the cupcakes.  She had delusions of them being larger. 

She guessed they tasted just as good.

I say, "Ease up, Cupcake!"  It's a party!  Your little sister's a whole year old today!

Le Boo Boo

Zee Fazher heet his haid on zee weight beench this week.  Ees very sad.  He has, how you say?  "Le Steeches" in his forehaid. 

We are all very concerned for ze Fahzer.  Muhzer says he will be all right.  She says that she will get him a tiny leetle hat to cover it.  You know, like the reporter that was on Ze "Daily Show"?  He wants a small sombrero. I think it should be a beret. But what do I know about ze fashion?   That's right!  EVERYTHING.  I am French.

Ze muhzer.  She likes ze fall.  I sink ze Fazher does not.

As We Like It

Ah!  The Fall!  I love the transition of the seasons, new plants are breaking through the ground and old favorites are starting to bloom.  Zali could not resist hopping up on the bench by the patio to smell the golden yellow Angel's Trumpets.

The smell of them is so intoxicating it will make your head swim.  The bees are not quite sober after they stop in for a drink or two.  One hit me in the head on his way out.  Slammed right into my temple and hovered for a moment.  I swear he slurred, "Schoose me, ladee!"  And then he hiccuped.  Twice. 

After a lunch of curried cauliflower and okra and brown rice with lemon/tangine spice grilled chicken, Hud and I went to check on the new veggie seeds I planted a few days ago.  Speaking of drinking, they may never have to be watered ever again.  I, well, forgot that I had turned on the sprinkler yesterday as I locked up the studio and, sheese.  I left the damned thing on all night.  Didn't remember it until 8:30 this morning.  Tee Hee!  I'm a pretty, pretty girl...

It's not the first time that's happened either.  It's as if I check "water the garden" off my to do list and it promptly flies like a bat out of Hell right into the furthest reaches of my mind and perches, waiting  to embarrass me.  I should write,"stop watering garden" directly after "water".  Check!

But it did help the new sprouts crane their tiny green heads out of the soil.  These crops must really want to grow!  Already, the broccoli, lettuce and spinach have broken ground.  The turnip greens are well on their way.  I'll need to put the second planting of the turnip greens in the beds very soon.  It's not hot enough for the okra and it's finally not producing as it did in the heat of the Summer or even a few days ago.

It all changes so quickly.  Isn't that nice? 

Fine Dining

Everyone around the Hudarosa likes the food.  Any food.  All food.  All the time.

Here's a picture of Carmen and the little kids taking down a giraffe.  Just kidding.  They're eating my other foot.  Again, with the kidding...  Actually, they're snarfing up some crackers that had fallen on the floor.  Not kidding. 

I never have to clean the floors.  All I have to do is point to something and some hungry beast will come over and gobble it up.  Zoe usually gets the last pick.  She is the smallest dog in the pack, after all.

The only one of the group who would be the recipient of the "Emily Post Fine Dining Award" would be Simone.  Every morning and evening, Hud feeds the kids their meals. Each time, he sets down Zoe first, Zali second, Carmen third and Simone last.  It's obviously not a pecking order.  It's a "Speed Eating" order.  Zoe has the most quantity.  She goes to town.  Zali has the least quantity.  He scarfs like he's been on a hunger strike.  Carmen is still on a maintenance diet.  She licks her bowl for a half an hour after it's finished.  But Simone... daintily takes a bite, removes it to the rug by the sink, chews thoughtfully and returns for another morsel, savoring every crumb.  Hud serves her last because he has to be on watch for the skulking snack thieves, Zali and Carmen.  They lurk about the tiny diner, waiting for her to leave the bowl.  Hud barks them away. 

It takes Simone forever to finish.  I think she keeps hoping that one day, we will stop being heathens and give her the wine list.  Or at least some fine silver and a decent cloth napkin.  A charger and a glass of ice water would be nice.

I'm not sure any of them would have joined Tatia at the Scottish festival, the Clanjamfrey, for a serving of haggis this last weekend.  It got a very tepid rating of "not awful" and "I've had worse, like some really vile alligator sausage". 

That's not really "fine dining", is it? 

Maybe it would have been better if she had asked for the wine list.

(Oh, and maybe we don't really like ALL food...)

 

 

Say Cheese!

Put on a happppy face...

Ahhh, Simone!  Nothing is more lovely or hard to come by than Simone's smile.  Not one to abuse the muscles on her grin, she keeps it for special occasions and when you least expect it --SURPRISE!  A thousand butterflies are unleashed into the air and all earthly joys are swept up by their wings onto your face.  They curl the edges of your lips until you realize that you are smiling, too. 

It's the most elusive of expressions.  Odd, as she is so lively and full of mirth.  I had to chase her around for a long time to capture this.  Funny, huh?  It usually happens after she goes into the full-on "crazy run".  The happy bug will nip her on the butt and suddenly --she's off!  Running around the yard or house at lightening speeds, haunches tucked under, head down, ears folded backwards, gleeful grin spread across her visage.  I can't imagine why she doesn't get dizzy.

Zali used to do something similar as a baby, only the noise would cease and we would find him, spread eagle, sound asleep.  He wouldn't know when to take a break and simply stop in mid-play. Zonked. 

Aida  Velveeta does it, too, only it's in that very bizarre cat way.  You know, she's sitting in a blade of sunshine serenely licking her forepaws, when out of the blue, she looks startled, jumps up and races to the dining room.  You can hear the voices in her head asking, "Why didn't anyone tell me the time?!?  I'm laaaatttteee..."

And then you find her in the dining room, asleep on a chair.

I've made out her schedule for tomorrow.

6:30   Finish ratting Mother's hair so that she looks like the chick from "Dilbert".

7:17  Eat breakfast. last meal was 5:43 - starving!

8:32  Nap w/ sweet dreams of kicking Zali's bootay

9:06  LATE FOR STRETCHING APPOINTMENT IN FOYER!!!  RUN!

9:10 Nap w/ sweet dreams of scaring Simone into wetting herself

9:33  Eat -famished

Ex-cetera.  You get the picture.  She is way over scheduled as all of our children are today, but as CEO of Annoy the Papillons Enterprises LLC while maintaining her hairdressing credentials, she has a lot of responsibilities.

That's why we call her the Big Cheese.

Random Acts of Photography

BLOOM DAMMIT!

I believe this to be self-explanitory, but please write me if you have a head cold

and it confounds you...

Falling

"What, Muhzer?  I did not fall here.  I plopped down to chew a stick.  Really! Ze grass of ze Monkey is so soft and cozy.  Ze Zali Lama does not fall!  Okay, once when I was ze babee, I tried to get on a potted plant to make myself larger than Zoe and fell off and pulled ze groin muscle, but I'm all grown up now!"

Non, Monsieur.  I was speaking of the weather, not you. It's not really all about you.

"Eeeese not?  Why not?"

Okay, Dear, chew your stick and let me blog...

With the coming of the first day of Autumn, it was time to change the spent petunias for another p-annual, the PANSY!

Well, Hud did the work.  The kids and I watched him work.  He'll go to work (at Rhodes College) tomorrow and I will till the vegetable gardens and plant the fall crops.  There will be sugar snap peas, two types of lettuce, spinach and brocholli.  He got to have the fun today. 

Simone loves to garden.  She can't wait to help me add the new seeds to the already sprouting turnip greens we started last week.

 

She'll dig and dig!  I will replant and replant.  Can't wait to get that cycle of silliness started started.  We've had to wait until now to plant for fall because the summer veggies have refused to stop producing.  I still have okra, peppers, globe eggplant, Ichiban eggplant and tomatoes!  I KNOW.  Tomatoes in September.  That NEVER happens.  One stubborn nightshade still has about a dozen or so fruit on it.  If I wait for her, I'll never get any fall plants in the ground.  The craziest thing in the garden of the endless summer veg is -wait for it- WATERMELON.  Yes, watermelon.  The proof is in the picture.

That's the giant purple garden "Schicken" guarding the illicit late Summer treat.  We call her the "Schicken" in honor of our friend Helen's mother, who was French and legend has it, that's the way she said it.

"Here! Here!"

Thank you, Monsieur.  I get it.  You're French, too.

"But I'm not schicken or anything."

Oui, Monsieur.