Category: Pets

Only about half the yard is visible in this shot. It’s big. It’s also deceptively hilly and strewn with treacherous mole tunnels. And then there are the holes the dog has dug. And the grass is more like hay. What I mean to say is, it’s a royal pain in the arse to mow, which is why I feel justified in complaining about doing so, as well as doing a happy dance when I’m finished. So, this is me, dancing happily. Ya-bloody-hoo.

Miss Brown, however, is more demonstrative with her exuberance (shameless, too!). Whenever I mow, she likes to enjoy a little roll in the freshly cut grass. Thankfully, that is the only thing she likes to roll in. A dog who smells like grass is one thing. A dog who smells like road kill would be quite another, thankyouverymuch.

The last photo is of Harriet grazing beneath a black walnut sapling. I love my little trees. There are, I think, twelve of them altogether, including one lone maple and two sassafras, with the rest being black walnut. This one is medium sized. The largest one is about 7-8′ tall and quite sturdy. I can’t believe how quickly they’ve grown! And the smell as I brush against them is heavenly, like fresh lemon zest.

The grown up area in back was Elliott’s raspberry patch. I mowed it down last summer, but have let it grow wild again. I’m amazed at how tall this Johnson grass gets. It’s strong, hardy stuff, too, with thick, fibrous seed stalks. You can’t kill it, and it’s a really difficult to mow. If you look at the center photos, you can see how uneven and coarse it is. I don’t recommend walking on it barefoot!

Harriet Brown Gets Comfy

Harriet enjoyed herself while I mowed. It’s nice to have a dog who can be outside with me while I’m working. With Elliott, I always had to worry about what he was up to. He was just as apt to get in the way of the mower, or plop himself down where he was in danger of flying rocks, as he was to tunnel out while I wasn’t watching. Harriet, though, does none of those things. Instead, she runs around, doing the butt-tuck-zippy-zoomies with an ecstatic expression on her face. When she runs out of steam, she flings herself to the ground and flops around on her back, like a long-legged trout. Harriet, thankfully, prefers to roll in freshly mown grass instead of dead animals. I dodged a bullet there. Not only does she come up smelling, if not like a daisy, then of hay, but she also is quite entertaining in the process. I win!

I took the above pictures while I was mowing the section outside the dog yard. Harriet wasn’t too amused with that. She doesn’t like being locked in while I’m out. She paced and whined for a bit, then gave up and grazed on the tall grass along the fence. Apparently, the very tenderest blade was juuust beyond her reach. At one point, a rabbit ran across the driveway. Harriet turned on the charm, hoping, no doubt, that if she produced the correct rabbit call, it would hop into her waiting mouth. I tried to tell her that it doesn’t work that way, but she was unfazed.

Harriet and I visited my family over Easter. To be truthful, I’d forgotten it was Easter weekend. My main purpose in visiting was to pick up an oak table. It was one my mom grew up with, then my brothers and I, so when it looked like it might be my turn to snag it, I jumped at the chance. The finish needs some work, but it’s a really nice size and has a lot of sentimental value.

Anyway, while we were moving the table out to the car, I shut Harriet in the downstairs bedroom. She’s good about honoring open doors and gates, but with all the chaos, I wanted to be on the safe side. One of the cold air exchanges for the furnace is in that room, so there is a cut out on the bottom of the door, to allow for air circulation. Harriet took advantage of the opening to keep an eye on the to-ing and fro-ing. I think she was hoping she could stuff her whole head and body through the gap, but she hasn’t perfected the art of bending space. Yet.

I’ve never been good at letting sleeping dogs lie. I’m more apt to poke them, just because I can.  Make of that what you will.

In the literal sense, this is why Boxers are one of my very favoritest breeds. They just do not care. If there’s nothing better to do, they’ll sleep, but as soon as it looks like there might be something more interesting on offer (poke, poke), they’re ready to go-go-go.

Right now, Harriet is crashed out behind my computer chair, napping away and generally being lazy.  Tomorrow is her 7th birthday, which is not an old age for a dog.  Boxers never grow up, but they don’t generally have a long life-span, so it’s a little sad to think that she’s getting on in age.  She’s been greying around the muzzle for quite awhile now, and yesterday I noticed that her front legs are starting to turn grey, too.  She’s also developed white patches inside her ears

So happy birthday a day early, because I’m likely to forget tomorrow, what with my swiss cheese brain and all.