More signs of spring

It's been a crazy week following a crazy weekend, so I haven't much time for either blogging or collecting blog material.  That's quite okay with me, though, as the forecast for this coming weekend looks positively glorious, and I've been slogging through another cold, gray rainy week riding high on the promise of back-to-back 18 hour days of sunshine outside this weekend.  

I don't much care what we do on Saturday and Sunday so long as it's outside.  We've tossed around ideas as wide ranging as massive yard work, vacuuming the detritus of winter and about a pound of trail mix out of the footwells of my car (best not to ask), bike rides, hikes, jogging, or just sitting and roasting our bones in the sun.  Any of those is fine with me.  Seventy five degrees and sunny!   Bliss.  With the promise of that kind of deliciousness ahead, I can endure nearly anything this week, so long as it doesn't interfere with my weekend.

As an aside, I am generally very concerned about global warming and watch the changes in my climate with mounting anxiety.  I confess, though, that at the moment I care not a smidge if 75 degrees is unseasonably warm for the start of April.  Bring it on!  I shall resume caring once I stop shivering.

Although there was little time for fun last weekend, on Sunday morning we darted out to Baltimore Woods for a quick look at the wildflower gardens to see if anything else had sprung.  There wasn't much change from the previous weekend as far as flowers go.  I only have one flowering shrub to add to the list of blooms at Baltimore Woods.  This gem was positively glowing at the entrance of the trail:

I don't know what it is, and don't have a flowering shrub book to look it up in.  The most exasperating thing is that there was an identification sign.  Right there.  In front of the shrub.  I even read it, and informed my husband that I needed to remember the name of the plant.  I made a mistake of not photographing the sign, and now have zero recollection of what this lovely shrub is.

I shall have to make a mental note to check the sign this weekend.  Let's hope the mental note to check the sign will be more effective than the one I made regarding the name of the plant.  Sometimes I feel like a squirrel diligently hiding nuts all over the yard - I make so many mental notes that I can't possibly keep track of any of them.

In a slightly more sheltered area, the hepatica is making a brave leafy showing in a few spots, although it didn't have any blossoms yet.  Surely next weekend there will be some flowers.

Do you remember this little patch from my post last weekend?

There were probably half a dozen clumps just like it.  Here's how they've progressed in just one week:

Although it's no kudzu, that's still a lot of new plant cells in roughly 168 hours.  They'll probably shoot up an alarming amount in 75 degree warmth and sun this coming weekend.  In fact, they're probably shooting up right now, as I type, even though it's still chilly.

Although it is still cold, the rain dried up sometime in the course of the day and the clouds were starting to break up this evening, giving a teasing glimpse of the glory that is allegedly to follow.  Just two more work days to endure...

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Nothing Like a Healthy Serving of Steaming Fresh Guilt

The dogs have been needing to get their teeth cleaned since we adopted them (eh hem) ah, two years ago.  We speculate that they had been fed nothing but canned food or perhaps human scraps before we got them.  We feed them Taste of the Wild dry food, which they love, but which they also gulp without chewing as much as I'd like.  Lucy also gnaws on Nylabones like they're going out of style, and between the bones and the crunchy food her teeth have improved significantly.

Not so much Simon's.  Not only was the tartar bad for Simon's health and longevity, but it caused his breath to be toxic.  Seriously, when he yawned in my face I could feel my eyelashes and eyebrows curling as the reek of putrid rotting canine decay washed over me.  They were the maws of hell.  He could stop conversation with that breath, and would leave people staggering and gasping.  No amount of brushing or trying to remove the tartar ourselves could get through it.

In short, I have never smelled such bad dog breath.

Finally, after putting it off for way too long, we finally got around to taking him in for a pre-dental appointment and a subsequent cleaning.  Yesterday was the big day.

If you've been following my post for any length of time, you know that my dogs are neurotically inseparable. While I would ordinarily have considered taking a day off work so Lucy wouldn't have to be alone for the day, I had a big conference that I had been preparing for for months, and my husband had some significant projects to handle at work.  Time off wasn't really an option.

But heck, I thought, we've been working with them to build up their confidence and to make them more independent ever since we got them, and they've been doing pretty well.  So, while we were worried about how Lucy would fare without her brother for the day, we also figured we had to try separating them to find out how they would do.  I worried that Lucy would perhaps bark herself hoarse locked in the crate she usually shares with Simon, but had some degree of confidence that she would manage to cope. 

How wrong I was.

I came home around 6:00 to hear Lucy barking.  Nothing unusual there, but I raced up the stairs to rescue her.  As I reached the stairs to the third floor where the dog crate is, I was nearly bowled over by the smell.  Good God, had a farmer fertilized my attic?  And then I reached poor Lucy.

There she was, standing trembling in her crate with the most frantically worried expression on her face.  The floor of the crate was covered in a slurry mix of urine and liquid feces.  Apparently in her panic Lucy had wound up with severe diarrhea, and had spent her day pacing through it.  She was covered.  Head to toe. 

I have never felt like such a jerk in my life.

My first instinct was to take the crate with her in it and carry it all out to the back yard to hose them off, but there was no way I could carry her and the awkwardly large crate down two flights of stairs. No, I had to open that crate door and let her walk through the house with those dripping, poop covered feet. 

You, dear readers, I am certain, are glad that I have no photos with which to illustrate this post.

My husband came home with Simon about 10 minutes later, and as soon as she saw and sniffed him, Lucy returned to her usual perky self.  The shaking and pacing stopped, and she started trying to wrestle with him in the yard.  She did a little happy dance.  All was well in Lucy's little neurotic head.
 
I guess the story has a happy ending.  Lucy got a thorough bath, as did the crate, and the carpets got a good scrubbing to remove all the poop prints.  Then Lucy and a still groggy Simon slept in their usual spot in front of the fire all evening, and seemed completely normal this morning.  Lucy went into the crate this morning, with Simon, with no hesitation whatsoever.  And probably best of all, Simon's breath when he yawns has no smell whatsoever - completely fresh and healthy.  His pearly whites look gorgeous.
 
Whether there's lasting damage to Lucy's psyche I shall never know, but I can certainly attest that some permanent damage has been done to mine.  When I close my eyes I can still see poor trembling poop-covered Lucy standing in that crate, looking desperately forlorn.  In retrospect, of course, I see that it was very unwise to leave her alone for the day.  Ah, hindsight. 
 
My poor Lucy.  I'm glad she's such a forgiving soul.

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Spring Garden Inventory

Since it's suddenly spring, I spent a few minutes on Saturday wandering about my gardens and assessing what's up.

The tulips are appearing, which isn't any real surprise:

Snowdrops are out in the lawn:

And hooray!  The peonies are starting to push up.

I love peonies with abandon, and was no end of delighted to discover them in my gardens when we first moved in.  I highly recommend buying a house in winter, so that whatever emerges in the gardens in spring is a complete surprise.  It was like a daily and weekly treasure hunt.  Of course, it helped that someone who lived here before us was an avid gardener, and had selected a variety of hearty and beautiful plants that survived years of neglect with little ill effect.

The bear's breeches appears to have survived and is already emerging in a few spots.

It had a rough time last summer, as we transplanted it from my boss's garden rather late and didn't water it enough when we went on vacation.  I wasn't entirely sure it would make it, but thus far it appears healthy.  I hope it isn't up too early and in for a rude awakening should the weather turn cold again.

Tucker is back to rolling luxuriously in sunny patches of dirt, which is a sure sign of spring:

I was surprised to see that my kale actually survived the winter and is shooting up healthy new growth.  I had no idea the stuff was that hearty.  Looks like we may have really early spring greens from the garden this year, unless it turns out that it's bitter or something from having overwintered.

And oh, great delight!  As I wandered through my yard I heard my first red winged blackbird of spring.  So often I think the only purpose of winter is to make spring seem so much more wonderful for its contrast!

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By Request...

... Mermaids!

Actually, they don't look much like mermaids to me, they more resemble some poor grimacing maiden with really small hands and a cowlick being swallowed whole by a giant fish (click on the photo to enlarge it for maximum enjoyment).  I don't really mind the floral wallpaper, but find the mermaids a titch creepy.  There's nothing quite like relaxing in the bath looking at encircling rings of girl-eating fish.

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