I banned all snow related things from the house today. The snow globe with the Sophie dog gazing at a cardinal, the snow men from the bathroom shelf, the deep green glittered evergreen trees…all went into the box marked “After Christmas”. I keep these things to put out in the bleak and barren days fowling the holidays when the house seem colorless and drab.

I couldn’t take it any more. The sun is shining. I want it to be warm. I’ve cleaned the green house and planted the earliest seeds in their respective flats. Now, I wait for them to sprout. But….there is still snow. True Spring is months away.

What do you do in the meantime? The house is still drab and smells of dog. Ostera with it’s bunnies and eggs and flowers is two months away. The bright green moss covered topiaries look garish and out of place when there is still snow and gray and mud on the days that it thaws.

I need an in-between brightness. Something that will transition me from the desire to hibernate and the need to get in the garden. I need something between snowmen and daffodils. I need fresh air moving through the house…but the windows stay closed against the cold and I smell dog….and turtle.

When I was sculpting, I would do a show in South Carolina during the first week in March. Afterwards, I’d sneak down to Folly Beach, just outside of Charleston. That’s my favorite place in the world. A five mile strip of beach, uncluttered with tourists, with only seagulls and pelicans for company on my walks. It’s never really warm in March, but there isn’t any snow and it smells like ocean and wind. Not like dog.

When I would come home at the end of the week, the rest of the winter seemed bearable. I’d had my walks on the beach and seen the sun, I knew it would only be weeks before the forsythia bloomed and the grass started to green. Then it would be baby season and the house would smell like squirrel pee and formula and pine shavings. I wouldn’t notice that the house was messy or drab and the wind would blow away the smell of dog.

I don’t go there any more. I miss it. I don’t really mind being home. I’m just tired of snow and turtle poop and dog. It’s supposed to snow this week and it will cover what bare ground we have, but it will also cover the mud and the mounds of dog poop in the back yard that look like someone had a battle with a catapult and poo.

Maybe this weekend I’ll set the taps in the maple trees and then, at least on the back deck, it will smell of sweet syrup. If it warms up enough some bees may show up, hoping for a few drops of sweetness. I’ll give it to them and watch them lick the spoon.

Maybe I’ll paint the kitchen, lord knows, it can use it. I could always finish that curtain that still isn’t hemmed. If I’m ambitious, I’ll clean the fridge and pantry and give this turtle a good scrub. Maybe…. maybe, I’ll wash the dog.

Or the dog and I can curl up on the couch and watch an old movie. She doesn’t smell that bad…..

I went out to get the mail this afternoon and noticed a change in the wind. For the past few days it has been a brutally cold wind from the North. Even just a few hours ago, it felt harsh and grains of snow slithered into drifts. Not now. This new wind smells of spring and sap and sunshine.
For the past few nights, I have not heard the lonely, pleading calls of the male owl in the walnut tree. They have been replaced with the flirty calls back and forth between he and a female out in back. Soon they will steal one of the Pileated Woodpecker holes in a snag in the woods and start to nest even before the snow melts. It takes a long time to raise an owlet to an owl and need to get an early start.
Even the African tortoise that sleeps under my desk in the winter senses spring. He gets restless and I have to take care in locking the sliding door, lest I find him out in the snow. The squirrels know it too. They play chase and tag in the back yard, to see who gets to mate with whom. The mothers will soon be kicking the grown kids from last fall out into the world on their own. No couch in the basement for these young adults to fall back on, new babies will be born in late March and April. She’ll have no time or patience for their shenanigans.
I smelled a skunk one night last week and have seen two that didn’t look both ways while crossing the road. (It didn’t end well for the skunks) The boys are on the move right now looking for women instead of cars. Here, they creep silently between the houses and when they encounter a rival, they feel it necessary to mark their territory with a quick spritz of “Essence du’ Spring” If a female chooses to den under my shed or woodpile, I’ll give them time to raise their kits till they are old enough to be out and about. If I’m cautious around them, and don’t get nosey like the dog, I’m usually ok. (Did you know that skunk spray glows in the dark? Seriously. I can personally attest to that. I also have an excellent deodorizer recipe)
Raccoons, possums, and muskrats are among those who really don’t hibernate, but spend the harshest weather sleeping, venturing out on nicer days and evenings. They will hit the snooze button more often than not for a few more weeks, then they too will be on the move, looking for love in all the right places. (Hopefully on their own side of the road) Please watch out for them while driving.
Right now, the hares and ermine have their white winter coat for camouflage. It helps them to hunt unseen and keeps those that hunt them from seeing them. An early spring leaves them pitifully exposed and often hungry.
The sturdy old men of winter are the bobcats, porcupines and cottontails. They never seem bothered by the cold and spend the winter doing exactly what they do in the summer. The porcupines are especially important to the wellbeing of deer and rabbits as they snip off tender twigs high in the trees and drop them to the ground for the others. Even with their help, the low hanging branches of the old apple tree will be stripped of bark as high as the rabbits can reach.
We’ll know when the neighborhood bobcats mate. It begins with the female allowing a male into her territory. There will be a thankfully brief courtship of shouting to each other, an even noisier coupling and then she’ll chase him back to his solitary life. Raccoons are almost as noisy and a lot more frequent around here. Each will find a private, out of the way spot to give birth between April and May.
I can hardly wait for the robins to come back. I so miss their songs in the morning. Usually the first to arrive in the Northern Realm, there will inevitably be a late snow and I’ll run outside with chopped apples and raisins mixed with hamburger and mealworms. Once spread in the driveway, they will come out of hiding and fill up to keep warm. The snow won’t last though, and the other birds will follow with hummers and orioles being last.
The yard will be full of song and then it will be time for the first fawns. There is nothing as achingly beautiful as the first fawns. It takes a rehabber’s breath away and breaks her heart at the same time. By that time though, the house will be filling up with baskets, cages and crates, each with hungry mouths to be filled and sleep will be hard to catch.
Maybe wildlife rehabilitators should be like the chipmunks…we’ll snuggle in a warm hole, snacks within reach, sleep a lot and wait for spring.

Good Lord. Talk about coming home to a disaster. I thought someone had robbed us and ransacked the house.

Every pillow and blanket in the living room was on the floor, the couch cushions were askew. All the books from the lower shelf were dumped on the floor and a plant was knocked over. Over in the corner, the stained glass terrarium was broken on the carpet.(Unfortunately, it was filled with glitter snow at the time…try and get that out of a carpet.) Even the kitchen table has been pretty much swept clear.

My hand to my throat , I gasped “Who could have done this? I have no enemies?” (well I do, but try to stick with me)
Just them a squirrel (not one of the bathroom squirrels, I swear) bounded past me and ricocheted off the fridge with a bobcat and Labrador retriever in hot pursuit.

Ah. I get it now. I netted the squirrel and dumped him out the back door. The cat and dog followed.

I started cleaning up, when it dawned on me (give me a break, I’m slower in my old age) The back door had been open when I went to throw the squirrel out. That probably explains why the squirrel was INSIDE in the first place. I kept cleaning up.

The plant was pretty much trashed and since it is one that Roomba, the tortoise likes to nibble, I went to dump it in her dish.

No Roomba. NO ROOMBA? I franticly looked in all his favorite hiding places. Still No Roomba. Then I remembered the open door. It was sunny, Roomba tries to get out in the back yard when it’s sunny. Roomba is from Africa. There just aren’t enough brain cells in that little turtle head to realize that we are not in Africa and it’s WINTER.

I found shoes and headed outside. It really isn’t all that hard to follow a turtle in the snow. He was about 100 feet out in the back yard. My heart sank. I had no idea how long he had been out in the snow. He could be FROZEN.

He wasn’t. In fact he was rather pissed off that I was picking him up and putting him inside. Luckily he hadn’t been out long and only his feet and bottom shell were cold. I brought him in and put him on his recharging pad (A heating mat used for seedlings) He showed his displeasure by immediately peeing on my socks.

Sigh*

All in all I was lucky. The squirrel is obviously fine and sitting in the tree shouting profanities at the dog. The cat has found other , more entertaining things to be occupied with (I don’t even want to know what) I only lost a plant and a terrarium. In a few years all the glitter will be out of the carpet and I got a chance to dust my books.

I will have words though with the person who didn’t shut the door. I think I’ll sprinkle some glitter on their rug. That will fix them.

My mother, sister in law and niece and husband were all here last night. Ki Ki usually, walks into the house, sees strangers and walks right back out.
But… her best friend dog was there so she came in with her. Now, she pretty much ignored everyone else in the room, but focused on my mother. She even went to the stairway to get a better vantage point, near where Mom was sitting. It was like she just couldn’t quite figure her out and even at one point, came close enough for a quick sniff.
When Ki Ki was a tiny kitten, she reacted similarly with my sister. She even allowed my sister to give her a bottle, which she never allowed anyone , but me, to do. When my sister held her, she kept pushing back so she could see her face.
Now, what is it that she recognizes in us as related. We have somewhat similar looks (though mother is almost 90). Our voices are also somewhat similar. but there must be an additional element with smell. I did not realize that smell was a genetic thing, however I believe it must be, even though I am rarely in close contact with the other two.
Is this why she has always accepted Levi as part of her “family” ? She does not view him as an authoritarian figure or food provider. She never asks him for food (Nor does she Jimmy, my husband). No, the guys are more like siblings and playmates, as she plays much rougher with them than me.
I wish Jimmy still had family so we could see how she reacts with them. I really need to get my brother over here. We would definitely know if it were a smell over appearance.
It just shows us that there is so very much going on in a wild animal’s brain than we realize. They are sentient beings and deserve to be treated as so. I am absolutely convinced that the working of a wild animal’s mind is different than say, a domestic dog or cat and even more so different from a chicken or cow.
It’s always been apparent to me that prey animals have different thought patterns than predators , but this is the first apex predictor I have been able to be on such imitate terms with. She doesn’t have the expectation, nor acceptance of being a meal for another animal or human. Maybe this is why allows her to develop a more complicated and varied thought process, rather than simple instinct.
This has definitely been a fascinating experience to raise her from such an early age (one week old). No matter that she has been raised in a house or that her best friend is a dog, she has retained her wildness. Other than her obsession with a ball of yarn, there is very little resemblance to our house cats.
I’m now realizing that raising her with all the freedom she wants was probably the right choice (at least for her), rather than let her finish growing in a pen. My chicken may not thank me and the local squirrels aren’t too thrilled, but I think her development is right where it should be.
The rest remains to be seen.

The bobcat is sitting with her back to me. I am dead to her. (At least till she wants food)

I still had one squirrel and one pigeon in my studio. We have already gone over the dangers of the squirrel and indoor plumbing. I still have two Band-Aids to prove it. Squirrels and pigeons are messy buggers, throwing seed everywhere and in the case of male squirrels…holding tight to the bars to see how far outside their cage they can shoot pee.

Not unlike human males, I guess.

Anyway, The pigeon seemed to be all healed from her wing injury and the dead toe has fallen off (Long story). There is a hot little female squirrel in a cage on the enclosed porch, whistling at Jimmy and giving him the eye, every time he walks by. Maybe it’s time to introduce Short Fat and Black Squirrel to her. I could see if the pigeon could fly at the same time. Then hopefully, I can release said FEMALE pigeon to the head humper boys that live in the back yard.

So….I convince the SFBS (Short, Fat, Black, Squirrel) that I am not removing him to feed him to the bobcat or put him back in the terrifying bathroom. He lets me pick him up, give him a quick snuggle and put him on the cage in the porch where our sexy lady squirrel is still asleep. Then I go for the pigeon.

Now I need to be sure that the pigeon can fly…..we live with a bobcat after all. I take her out to the enclosed porch and open my hands. She can fly. She can fly really well. Too Well. I can’t catch the damn thing again.

I come in the house to get a net. The bobcat says “Ah Ha! I have my opportunity to get involved” and slips out the door un noticed. All hell breaks loose. The pigeon knocks over Mary and Joseph and kicks the baby Jesus onto the top of the squirrel cage. Sexy Lady wakes up and thinks there is an intruder in her cage. SFBB automatically goes into “Bathroom Battle” mode.

The cat is thrilled. This is better than TV or the pine tree in the living room with all the dangly things. (that’s a story for something stronger than coffee) The bird is franticly flying about bashing into the clear plastic walls that she cant see, the squirrels are still screaming at each other and trying to kill the Baby Jesus and I am running franticly with a net trying to catch the pigeon before that dam cat does..

It was ugly. I need more Band Aids…and a bourbon…lots of bourbon…..it’s only 10:45 in the morning.

All said and done. The pigeon is now flying free outside with two desperate male pigeons playing Rock .Paper. Scissors to see who gets her and who has to wait for the next human head that comes out the door. Baby Jesus has been rescued
albeit, missing a few toes and Joseph and Mary are still shell shocked. The squirrels are at opposite ends of the cage glaring at each other (I don’t think she likes fat men) And the cat…..Well, she was unceremoniously grabbed by the scruff of the neck and thrown out into the snowbank.

She’s back inside now. Straightening her fur with her tongue and plotting my death.

Just another day in the Gaskin house.

I really must do something about the squirrel problem in the bathroom. It’s starting to get out of hand,
This morning I was sitting at my desk, on facebook, minding my own business (I know, don’t go there…) when I heard the distinctive plop of a squirrel hitting the floor. Before I could even turn around, the bobcat came zipping through and I heard said squirrel screech.
“Shit.” I thought,”There goes that squirrel…..”
I tried to get around the table, but said squirrel was simply a blur with Ki Ki tight on his ass. I figured the squirrel was already a gonner and since I value my fingers, I know better than to try and take it away. I heard banging and crashing from the other room and then silence.
Pretty soon, Ki Ki came in and flopped on the rug by the door. I assumed that I would find half a squirrel somewhere later.
I went about my day, a little laundry, baking some cookies, cleaning. Pretty soon, I had to pee. Usually this is not eventful, but remember where I liv. I didn’t turn the light on,,,I’m pretty confident where my toilet is by now.
Halfway through, I felt a little paw on my shoulder. I screamed. Whatever the paw was attached to screamed, Sophie ran from the bathroom. (I never get to pee alone) The paw tightened its grip and was joined by three more and a pair of teeth in my neck.
It was the squirrel. The squirrel was frightened. The squirrel was pissed, The squirrel was out for blood. It would settle for mine. “Not today squirrel, not today”
I managed to reach around in the dark and get my hands on the squirrel. It screeched again. Enter the bobcat.
It’s actually a good thing that this was taking part in a dark bathroom with no one around, remember, I was PEEING. That means that my pants are now down around my ankles and the only thing that the bobcat has to get purchase on is my bare leg. I screamed again. Sophie stood in the hallway and barked. It was NOT a pretty sight.
Somehow, the details are a bit blurry, but I know someone was swearing loudly, I managed to hold the squirrel over my head while I shuffled towards the cage with a bobcat hanging by his claws off my butt. I dislodged the squirrels teeth from my thumb and stuffed him in his cage, The now disappointed cat leg go of my lower regions and sulked off.
After searching for band aids, dry underwear and pants (I must have jumped up rather rapidly off the toilet) and putting a new, non chew-able metal clip on the door of the squirrel cage, I started to calm down. I apologized to the cat and gave her an alternative meal and I can finally get back to facebook.
Then maybe I’ll look on Amazon for a motion detecting light for the bathroom.

I am amazed how much more often people hang up on me; especially after waking me from a sound sleep.
The phone rang a little after six this morning and the woman on the other end told me her location (at least 30 minutes away). Two foxes were evidently struck by a car. One could not stand and it appeared that it’s hip was broken and the other was holding it’s front paw off the ground. The downed fox had a good deal of blood around it.
She DEMANDED that I come right away. After telling her to get back in the car so she did not get bitten, I gathered enough information to know that the fox on the ground would probably be dead in a short time. I started to explain that the other fox might not be badly injured, but in shock.
She still DEMANDED that I come and get them.
I told here that unfortunately, I really couldn’t do much as I don’t have the equipment (Or stamina) to catch an adult fox and that I have no vet who would treat them.
Before I could explain that I am only one person with limited funds and expertise, not to mention pretty basic facilities, she said some nasty things and hung up.
I picture these people violently punching the “End call” button on their cell phones, trying to express their anger and distain. She certainly sounded old enough to remember the satisfaction of slamming down a receiver to make her point.
What she doesn’t know, nor would she care, is that I have scars up and down my right arm and hand from foxes who didn’t know I was trying to help them. She doesn’t know the feeling of putting stiches in your own thumb, because if you go to a doctor, law requires that the animal be immediately killed and tested for rabies.
She also doesn’t know that even if you can get a bone set on a fox and casted, it will often chew it’s own leg off because it believes it is trapped and must escape. I don’t have access to the drugs that would knock it out or keep it calm and pain free.
She doesn’t know that that fox has a diet requiring a lot of fresh meat (or expensive specialty canned food) and that I would need to be feeding it for the rest of the winter.
She doesn’t know that it requires a small recovery pen and then a large pen where it can begin exercising the leg. Not only does this require pen space, but shoveling snow to and from the pen, heated water bowls and the risk I face every time I check the leg, remove the cast or transfer the animal. That’s a lot for one old lady who is already caring for other animals.
She doesn’t know that I would be putting a fox back into the wild (after all the time and expense), that might have a severe limp, or feel the pain of the break in the winter cold. She doesn’t know how many nights I’d lie awake and think about that fox and worry how it was doing.
She doesn’t know that I feel just as badly and even more helpless that she does that I can’t help that fox.
She also cannot understand that the more I hear the words “Well, what good are you then?” before someone hangs up the phone, the closer I get to giving up and not going through this any more.
I hope she can let go of her anger and frustration. I hope she can find the acceptance that sometimes, there really isn’t anything you can do. It’s been a long tough lesson for me to get to that point and it doesn’t get any easier each time I have to get there. It also doesn’t get any easier to let go of the words “Well, what good are you anyway” Especially at six o clock on a winter morning.