My favorite album of hers is Sincerely, but Orbiter is a close second.

Walking in the door after a long day at work, I noticed an odd smell, vaguely reminiscent of wet poultry. I turned on the light, closed the dining room window and went to turn on the heater when I discovered the source of the smell. Hamlet had brought home dinner. There on the living room floor was a bird, or what remained of a bird, surrounded by feathers spread all over the carpet. He had neatly plucked it (or not so neatly) and stood by my side gazing at his prize. He looked up at me with a serene expression.

I thanked him and cleaned up the mess. Hopefully he thinks I ate it.

The wasps are not aggressive, which surprised me. I have no idea how long they were there before I looked up one day and noticed them. There were two then, tending to their nest which appeared ready to hatch. I considered spraying them, but then it occurred to me that they were not acting aggressive because they did not perceive me as a threat, so I left them alone.

I soon forgot about them and only glanced up occasionally by pure accident. However, today I knew something was buzzing about my head so I waved my hand before I looked up to see the Tibetan bell full of wasps! They had certainly hatched and there was a constant buzz of activity with at least half a dozen wasps flying in and out. I think the youngsters were not as comfortable with me as their parents and had to buzz closer to check me out before entering or leaving the nest, but as soon as I stopped waving my hand they seemed to relax.

It was an important lesson to me about learning to live and let live, a subject I consider on a daily basis. Having grown up with a parent who kills any predator that enters her property, I on the other hand, have chosen to live peaceably, when possible, with my wild brethren. Living on a small a ranch in a rural area, we regularly have a number of wild animal visit us both during the day and at night. Most recently, a nocturnal skunk, who I think is fascinated with my garbage can…although, in its defense, it has never knocked it over.

The resident coyote pack is more of a concern. They will boldly walk down the driveway at night and howl outside my bedroom window. I have made a habit of walking up the drive past the garage talking loudly and clapping my hands to scare them away before letting the cats out in the morning. If one is in hiding, it will jump up from the brush and run away, but I’m wondering how long before it just continues napping, thinking, “Its just that crazy lady again. She’s no bother.”

My dogs have taken up sleeping spread out along the perimeter of the fence at night. I suspect they are guarding the border…

In 1998 I found myself divorced from my high school sweetheart. He was a very good man, but we had grown apart. I felt I was lacking something in my life and couldn’t find it without breaking free. I had always belonged to someone. Now I wanted at last to find my own way, a scary prospect with no degree or career, but I chose to plunge head-long into the unknown.

My husband left me the house and a kennel full of Siberian Huskies which we had shown and bred for many years. Supporting myself with only a small import store, I soon discovered I could not manage on my own. I was forced to put our home of 12 years up for sale and found homes for all of the dogs except my 4 favorite girls, Ciran and 3 of her daughters.  Ciran was my favorite of all the dogs I had ever owned. She was a kindred spirit and the Alpha.

During this time I became involved in a very exciting, but tumultuous relationship. He wanted me to move in with him, but not with the dogs.  The girls were my family and I could not imagine living anywhere without them, so after much searching I found a small, charming cottage surrounded by an acre of lawn, fruit trees and a view of a small lake filled with water birds. The setting was peaceful and although far outside my price range, I moved in with faith that I would eventually find a career that would allow me to stay in this idealistic setting.

At the time I don’t think I realized how traumatizing the move would be for Ciran and her family.  Leaving the only home they had ever known and losing most of the large pack they had grown up with must have been a terrible shock. But the beautiful and quiet setting in which we started our new life was therapeutic for us all. They now had more freedom and interaction with me, beautiful green lawns to sleep on, fruit and nut trees which provided them treats all year long,  a view of the birds on the lake, the occasional visit from the resident coyote pack, and best of all ground squirrels galore which they chased across the lawn and hunted in the wood pile.

We were happy for several years, but the stress of losing the larger pack was hardest on Ciran. Although her mother had lived to the ripe old age of 16, by 12 Ciran had begun to show her age. Her hearing went first, then her sight, and eventually her mind. She would get lost in the yard, collapse in the weeds and cry until someone came to rescue her. It was increasingly difficult for her to get around and she lost control of her body functions. When she lost interest even in her meals I made the decision to have her euthanized. It was a heart wrenching decision.

Her three daughters took Ciran’s death as hard as I did. They were lost without their pack leader, and spent most of their time lying under the kitchen window, looking to me for direction. They lost interest in play and within the year the oldest daughter Kazi developed a bizarre gastrointestinal disease. She could not digest food and eventually stopped eating altogether. After extensive tests I was told there was nothing they could do. I held out hope until Kazi was too week to to get around on her own.

By 2004 all that was left of my beautiful dogs were half sisters  Sherika and Tahari. Tahari had been spayed at a young age, but Sherika had not. Seeing how desolate they were without the rest of their family, my boyfriend Don suggested I breed Sherika and start a new pack. Sherika was already 8 years old, which was quite old for a first litter. Although I was resistant at first, I decided this might be a very good idea. I started looking for a mate among the breeders that I knew and eventually found a cousin to Sherika which would be a close line-breeding on Ciran’s family tree.

Sherika’s suitor came to stay with us for a couple of weeks and they got along famously. Sherika, always a sweet and gentle soul accepted him as a new and exciting part of the pack. By the time he left, our little family had renewed hope.

to be continued…

Enjoy! I’ll write more stories soon…I promise

Hamlet with an Alligator Lizard

Great White Hunter is what our groundskeeper calls Hamlet. Hamlet is my 20 month old Siamese. He often stalks the groundskeeper, but when caught in the act will look the other way, as if to say “I just happened to be going in the same direction, I’m not really hunting you.” If he is approached he will then run away. As far as I know, out of doors, I am the only one he will allow to touch him.

Hamlet supports his family well, regularly bringing home a wide assortment of dishes…lizards (including a skink), gophers and mice. Usually these creatures are very much alive and I rescue them when I can.

Hamlet

His recent trophy was a blue bellied lizard which he brought to the lawn and made a great game, holding it with his paw (claws sheathed) then letting it go so he could chase it again. Realizing the lizard would not survive this game for long, I sat down beside him to attempt a rescue. Hamlet is always happy to share his prey with me and I do not want to destroy his trust, so I waited until he was momentarily distracted, then picked up the lizard and set it on my arm. Returning to his game, Hamlet was confused by the lizard’s escape, until he spotted it on my arm and pounced. The lizard quick as a flash, ran around my back and then up on to my head. Hamlet raced around behind me, but thought the lizard had gone under me, rather than over, saving me from a serious scratching. The lizard then jumped back down to my arm again. I stood up to show Hamlet that it was not underneath me, that I simply did not know where it was, and carried the blue belly to the nearest tree. It was difficult to convince it to release the safety of my arm and climb the tree, but eventually it did and is now safe… from the Great White Hunter.

You can hear more at Playing for Change.

Any ideas would be appreciated.