Honey, I Shrank Humanity!

The armadillos are still ravaging the lawn and the birds are still after the windows. We are under attack by two ancient species.

Interestingly enough, the armadillos haven't changed for eons, but you know what the birds evolved from, which makes Fio wonder if homo sapiens will ever dwindle down to one tenth--or even one-hundredth--their current size. Interesting idea. It would mean we'd all take up a lot less space and consume a lot less food, which might save the planet. But we'd also be more vulnerable to predators. And Husband thinks we might start breeding like rabbits in the bargain.

But for a more immediate question, if the titmouse's pecking makes our windows crack, can we sue?

Quoth the Raven

Who's that knock-knockin' at my door? And windows?

Fio runs to the front door to see who's rapping while Wendy Dog charges up the stairs to the window on the landing. But no one's there. Returning to the den, they settle in again, Fio on the couch to continue working on chapter fifteen, Wendy on her raised bed to recover from her strenuous labor.

Tap. Tap-tap. Fio and Wendy rush to their stations again, still to no avail. Fiorella steps outside to see if a FedEx delivery person maybe dropped a package at on the porch and sped silently back up the drive. But no package, no nobody, no nothing.

Tap-tap-tap. Wendy rushes all over the house, barking and looking out, but Fio heads straight to the glass front door just in time to catch a glimpse of a lavender-colored bird sporting a dramatic black crest.

When Husband gets home, he hauls out his mother's old copy of Field Guide to Texas Birds and looks for likely candidates, but none quite fit the--uh--bill. "Is there such a thing as a black-crested titmouse?" Fio asked. Where that came from, she'll never know, but it was spot on, pages 172 and 141.

So now Fio has an identity for her avian visitor, but why the constant visitation?

Armadillo Repellent

The armadillos are back so Fiorella is using the same no-cost repellent as last year, and it's working. In fact, it's working better this year because Husband has devised a dispenser that allows Fiorella to walk along the edges of the planting beds, dribbling the repellent out in an even stream as she goes.

What he did was hammer a nail through the lid of a one-quart plastic milk bottle to make a small-diameter hole (adding another, tiny hole because of something to do with air pressure). So simple, so clever, so economical. All Fio has to do is fill the bottle with home-produced repellent, snap the lid back on, and walk the walk.

Ah! Country living!

Wounded!

Fiorella has a blister! From honest labor, no less!

Fio and Husband's long gravel driveway is majorly messed up,thanks to the recent torrential rains, so much so that they blocked the north end of the drive with a saw horse and placed a stool, a big yellow bucket, a wheelbarrow, and a dolly in the big rut along the edge of the south end. Then, when Fio and Husband walked up to the street to pick up their mail yesterday, they took a rake along, and Fio worked at grading some of the gravel back into the ruts whence it came.

Within five minutes, she discovered the burning sensation on the vee between her thumb and finger was a blister that had developed and broken open. Dropping the rake in the ditch for future reference, she scurried back to the house for the Neosporin.

Sympathy cards would be appreciated.