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| Yard Visitors |  |
I set out seed for birds. Sometimes that food attracts other wildlife. For example, there was the skunk who took exception to Scooby’s attentions, an encounter I was reminded of every time it rained or I gave Scooby a bath for the next six months. Six months. I am SO not kidding. Our daytime visitors include gray tree squirrels, little chipmunks who dart around like they mainline espresso and, for the last two years, a rockchuck. All of these and many more are considered enemy combatants by Scooby, the Jack Russell Terrier, the Dog of Very Little Brain. We have a shed in the backyard because we all know visible hedge trimmers cause property values to plunge at least ten percent. When critters are making their escape, it is often near the shed which makes it a frequent target for Scooby. If allowed, he would spend all of his time in this area barking and/or digging holes under the fence. I have found him so involved with hole digging, only his stubby little tail and half a leg are visible. For years, we have blocked off access to the areas behind the shed with various items we have found around the yard. Scooby has eventually conquered every effort. At one time, I wanted to move the shed to the middle of the yard so he wouldn’t find the area so fascinating but Beloved Spouse went into this completely irrelevant rant about how hard he had worked to prepare the area by moving dirt and rocks and leveling it with sand and putting down a brick foundation and how many neighbors he had to beg to help him move the shed into place and concluded with the statement: “That shed is not going anywhere.” Recently, he rearranged our barriers. A brick wall was stacked on one side and it was reinforced with our other previously-used materials. It has worked very well. In keeping Scooby out. The other day, I heard Scooby barking like mad at the brick wall. In between his yaps, I could hear repetitive squeaks. Well, obviously, he had trapped something and so I went to pick him up to give the critter a chance to leave. But as I got closer, I could tell the squeaks sounded...off. There seemed to be an echo of some kind. Straining to look over the brick wall, I saw that Beloved Spouse had braced it from behind with a large, about six inches in diameter, white pipe. I have no idea where this pipe came from. But it was there, wedged in between the wall and the fence, surrounded with packed dirt and other bricks. This is where the squeak echoes were coming from. I peeked down the chute and at the bottom of it, half curled over on itself, was one very upset rockchuck. Apparently, he had run up the brick wall and then, of all the possible escape routes available, chose to dive into a large white pipe. I should have just left it there to die. After all, I believe in evolution and this guy was clearly not the brightest bulb in the chandelier. But, you know, soft head, soft heart. I thought it might be able to dig its way out but the pipe was really in there. If it dug down, the pipe would just fall with the dirt. So, I had to help. But how? I only had one arm. As you know, I have tennis elbow on the right arm which is entirely the fault of Beloved Spouse. He plays tennis and I do not so clearly this injury was intended for him and the elbow gods need to work on their aim. So, I pushed on the pipe to dislodge it with my left arm. It did not move. I thought it might be likely that Beloved Spouse had cemented it in place but then I remembered we didn’t have any cement and I tried again. It moved a teeny, tiny bit. I tried again. Scooby was going wild because not only had he trapped Something, now Mom was in danger of being eaten by the Something. The rockchuck squeaked even louder because in addition to the racket being barked his way, he was stuck in a Dark Spot, covered in dust and every now and then, the light at the top of the tube was being blocked by a giant eye. Eventually I got into a rhythm of push at one spot, say a bad word, rest and push at a different spot. Push, cuss, rest, push. I got it loose but now I had to pick it up. I then discovered the pipe was very heavy. After a few false starts, finally I was able to lift the pipe about four inches. The rumpled rockchuck waddled out with as much dignity as it could muster. Rockchucks are really bad at mustering. So, we’re good for now. Until the next time. Maybe by then I’ll have two arms.
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