How I Manage the Wildlife in Our Yard

You may know from previous posts that I feed the small birds in our yard as well as the crow family, Bertram, Corvina, and Ned. What you may not know is that I've learned a lot about wildlife management this way. Here's my story.

Front Yard Bird Feeders

1. To attract some feathered friends to our yard, I installed several feeders designed for small birds on a pole in front our house. 
2. As soon as it was up, a squirrel climbed the pole and emptied the feeders.
3. I added a squirrel baffle to the pole.  
4. The squirrel turned his attention to the backyard feeder (more on this later).
5. A family of northern flickers began hanging on the feeders and gobbling up the food, eventually breaking the feeders under their weight. 
6. I replaced the feeders, and to distract the northern flickers, installed a suet feeder, which attracted an enormous flock of starlings who drove away all of the small birds and finished off the suet as well as all of the food in the rest of the feeders.
7. I decided not to refill the suet and discovered that screeching loudly at the starlings drives them away, without perturbing the small birds in the least. 
8. My neighbors, however, now give me frightened looks and run indoors whenever they see me coming out of my house.
9. Another broken feeder inspired me to install a “Starling-Proof” suet feeder for the northern flickers. The starlings enjoy the suet very much. 
10. I began screeching again. The little birds cock their heads for a moment and then go back to eating. The starlings and my neighbors flee the area.
11. Some birds manage to get more seed onto the ground than into their beaks, which attracts the black-eyed juncos, who are ground feeders. Ground-feeding birds in turn attract the neighbor’s cat, which hides in our rain garden whilst waiting for a junco to stop by for lunch. 
12. Unlike with starlings, screeching at a cat is completely ineffective (see Bad Bad Bad Kitty).
13. I now keep a Super Soaker, full and handy for watering any cats that come into the yard. This doesn't endear me to cat-owning neighbors any more than does the screeching, or perhaps even less so. (Super Soaker:  $15.99 The look on the cat’s face: Priceless)
14. I put up a seed hoop to catch the seed that the sparrows shovel out of the feeders and keep the seed and the juncos above kitty’s reach. I’ll keep you posted about how the seed hoop works after I install it. Bill predicts that it will make a nice platform for the squirrel to use to reach the feeders. 

More Stuff

Hummingbird Feeder

Note: This is a separate item, even though it hangs on the main feeder pole, because (1) hummingbirds do not behave like other birds, and (2) squirrels couldn't be less interested in hummingbird food.

1. I installed a multi-hole hummingbird feeder based on the package illustration, which shows three hummingbirds peacefully sipping together on it. 
2. Turns out a large Anna’s hummingbird owns the feeder. When another hummingbird approaches, she zooms in hot pursuit of the interloper, buzzing “ratatatata” like a machine gun. 
3. Realizing that only one hummingbird at a time can ever eat at the same feeder, and that approaching a guarded feeder can be life-threatening to the interloper, I have installed several additional feeders on different sides of the house, none in clear line of sight from any other.

Back Yard Bird Feeder

1. So that Bill and I can get away for the occasional day or two without my worrying that the little birds will starve to death, I put up a large, squirrel-proof feeder in the backyard that holds 20 lb of sunflower seed. (See it here: http://www.duncraft.com/All-Weather-Feeder-With-Wire-Cage.)
2. The squirrels can shake food out of the feeder by swinging on it. If they swing persistently enough it flies off the hanger entirely and lands on the ground, dumping most of the seed. 

Crow Feeding Stations

1. I decided to see whether a curious crow who hangs about the house watching me garden would eat some peanuts that I set out for him. (He would.) 
2. After a few days of getting peanuts from me, he brought over his mate. I named the two crows Bertram and Corvina.
3. Bertram and Corvina now land on the neighbor’s roof each morning, peer through our dining room window, and caw while I eat breakfast until I get up and put out their peanuts. 
4. And they bring their child, Ned, who occasionally brings his girlfriend along. 
5. The squirrels (plural now, as the original squirrel had babies) also show up at peanut time, so I give them a few, too. They've become good at corralling all of the peanuts, preventing the crows from having any.
6. To keep the peace, I experimented with a number of crow feeding stations and settled on the roof of the garden shed, in an attempt to foil the squirrels.
7. The squirrels leaped from the plum tree to the roof of the garden shed and gobbled up all of the peanuts. 
8. To distract the squirrels from the peanuts as well as the backyard bird feeder, I put out a squirrel corn cob feeder that holds two corn cobs. As of right now, less than 24 hours later, the squirrels have eaten all of the corn and are still getting most of the peanuts.

No squirrel on the seed hoop (yet), although a starling was sitting on it earlier, trying to pass for a goldfinch.

Well, that's what I've learned so far. I hope this has given you some good ideas about how to manage the wildlife in your own yard. 

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Meet Bertram

Gardening for Wildlife

Artists Are Not Like Software Engineers

As mentioned in a previous post, last year I joined an artist studio after having spent more than 20 years in high tech. While I've rubbed elbows with artistic types in the past, I've never been in a work environment with them before, and although this may not come as a surprise to you, what amounts to a revelation to me is this: Artists are not like software engineers.**

This fact first dawned on me during the studio annual meeting (required by regulation because of the studio's LLC status), which was held right after I joined. I'm used to business meetings being called and driven by a major stakeholder or owner of the project under discussion, or at least someone who has a lot of skin in the game. This person sets a formal agenda and keeps people focused on its points during the meeting. The goal is to reach agreement on how each point is to be addressed, and to assign action items to participants. Following the meeting, the owner follows up to make sure each action item is addressed and closed on and the results circulated to the meeting attendees according to an established timeline. (And of course, the fact that time is of the essence goes without saying.) 

I submit that if you're a business professional, you've probably read the previous paragraph and thought, "And...?" But if you're an artist, you're likely squirming in discomfort entertaining the image of such an environment, and mentally looking for the Exit door. I could be wrong about this, of course, as I'm just in the learning phases about how artists experience such things. But at least based on my observations so far, artists don't tend to be nearly as linear in their thinking and their goals tend to be somewhat open-ended, allowing for unexpected things to occur. Serendipitous Things. Not that either approach to conducting one's particular type of business is better or worse than the other. The two are just very, very different. 

So, back to my first studio meeting. There was a suggested time for us to get together, and when everyone had arrived, about 20 minutes or so after the suggested time (I was probably the only one who noticed), someone suggested that we look at the LLC documents to see what we were supposed to do. The documents were found and dug out of their folder, and it was determined that we needed to elect officers. The current president called for volunteers, and one person volunteered for each spot, while another person wrote down their names and positions on a piece of paper. Because we had a new treasurer, there was some discussion about the bank account and how money was collected and deposited. The departing treasurer indicated that people new to the LLC should go to the bank and sign the signature card. Next, the discussion turned to our studio party and somehow (I was unable to sort out how it happened) the date was picked, and a menu decided upon. 

During the entire meeting, I was certain that nothing was going to emerge from this loosey-goosey approach but chaos, but fortunately had the good sense to keep my mouth firmly shut. After a surprisingly short period of time, the business part of the meeting faded into a purely social time, and that was that. Six months later, I can report that everything was carried off flawlessly, and with no fuss whatever. In fact, the way the studio operates is awesome, but I won't take more time for that here. I think I'm still a bit shocked. 

So here's my attempt at a visual illustration of the two types of meetings. Interestingly, both software engineers and artists like to draw pictures (although software engineers like to call them "diagrams").

Typical Business Meeting in High Tech

Annual Studio Meeting

** Disclaimer: Of course, I realize that no person is purely artist or purely software engineer, or purely anything else for that matter. Individuals are always a mixture, and imposing stereotypes ensures that nuances will be missed. Nevertheless, I'm going to do it anyway because, taken as a group, IMHO artists are in fact very different from software engineers.

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• Overcoming Fear of Paint  -  Someone once said to expand your abilities and horizons, you should do one thing a day that makes you afraid.
• More Fear of Paint - I'm still putting lots of paint on the page while holding my breath.

Bad BAD BAD Kitty

My neighbors got two adorable kittens this summer which have since turned into cats. I'm becoming very familiar with these animals because their favorite place is our yard, where they stalk the little feathered creatures who come here to eat and drink.

This is a dilemma. I love animals, but I don't love cats eating my little friends. So on seeing one getting ready to do this, I rush into the yard hissing, arms flapping, yelling "go away you stupid cat," and all sorts of other things that probably chip away at my local reputation.

The typical scenario goes something like this.

1. I look out the window and see this flat cat shape in the bottom of the rain garden (the best stalking spot when it isn't raining).

2. I burst out the front door, pretending to be a very VERY dangerous person.

3. The cat calmly gazes up at me.

4. My voice gets louder and louder. My arms flap harder and harder. This finally inspires the cat to move.

5. The cat begins walking towards me purring loudly. I don't think it's getting the idea.

6. The cat begins rubbing against my legs.

7. I pat it.

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The Yard Robin Liked Me Better

Sharp Metal Objects

How I Became a Favorite Great Auntie

I'm great auntie to a passel of little boys belonging to various nieces and nephews. There are seven in all. I love each of them, but one in particular tugs at my heart strings -- a middle child like me. His Dutch name sounds like Out -- at least that's the way it often sounds when his mother says it.

One day Out came to visit with his mother and baby brother. The circular layout of our home is perfect for running, it turns out, and by lunchtime, Out's whirling socks had given our floors a high polish. I was glad when it was time for him to sit at the table to eat. While Out listlessly toyed with his food, I began returning freshly washed knives to their magnetic holder on the wall. I'd raise one up, and when it got close enough, the knife would snap onto the holder.

SNAP went the first knife.

Out perked up.

SNAP went second knife.

Leaping from his chair to my side faster than you could say "Don't jostle me when I'm handling knives," he began peppering me with questions about just how that knife holder worked. Could he try it?

"Umm, no. Maybe in 10 or 15 years."

His eyes remained glued to the knife holder.

This seemed like a good time to go downstairs to the family room, where some art projects were set up. Although the art stuff was a bit dull, the hand cords of my Nordic Track Classic Ski Machine were not. Seems they're good to dangle from.

After a few minutes of dangling, while his mother was occupied with changing baby brother, heading for the stairs, Out declared, "I'll be right back.". After a brief exchange of raised eyebrows with his mother, I followed. In the kitchen, I found Out staring up at the knife holder. Appeased with nothing less than a full description of how it worked, Out learned that metal things such as knives stick to the holder because it's a magnet.

Out began muttering to himself.

"What are you thinking about, Out?" I asked. This might be important information.

"My trucks!" he said. "My red truck is metal. My green truck is metal. My orange car is metal. They'd stick to the mang-ga-net!"

"Why yes!" I agreed, relieved that the subject had turned from knives to trucks. "Metal cars and trucks would stick to the knife holder, if they're made of the right kind of metal."

His curiosity finally satisfied, Out allow me to coax him away from the kitchen and back down to the family room.

Later that afternoon while Out was on his way home with intact fingers and eyeballs, I sat down at the computer and ordered a magnetic knife holder for him. It would be shipped directly to his home, so I emailed his parents to let them know, adding that they might want to mount it on Out's wall to hold some of his trucks and cars.

It's a very fortunate thing that Out's parents have a sense of humor, for when the knife holder arrived, Out opened the package, and -- to his vast and astonished delight -- it contained not only a magnetic knife holder, but real knife as well!

And that's how I became one of Out's very, very favorite great aunties.

Out's passion for sharp metal objects, which I had unwittingly loosed, led his parents to give him an impressively large  plastic sword. It flashes and makes a lot of noise to compensate for the fact that it doesn't cut things. I feel a teensy bit guilty about this. 

Postscript: Since this story was written, two great-nephews and two great nieces have been added to our crowd. AND a girl grandbaby. Now that she's two, she displays a similar attraction to sharp metal objects--in her case cooking knives like her mum uses. Glad I didn't start this one!

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Leo and the Drive-by

Here's another animation about Leo, the Occasionally Good Dog. There are so many different ways to say his name!




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Leo, the Occasionally Good Dog, Can't Seem to Stay Out of Trouble

Leo is rudely interrupted while reading the menu.

1. Leo, The Occasionally Good Dog  - Leo isn't always bad. Plus, he really, really wants to be good. 
2. One Time When Leo Was Good  - Liz and Jenn disagree. They don't think Leo really wants to be good at all. So in this story, I document how good he actually is.
3. Biker Bob Goes for a Walk  - A simple walk isn't all that easy.
4. Seals are Smarter Than Leo  - A pair of seals has a laugh at Leo's expense. 
5. Ways to say "Leo," Part 1: Reading the Menu  -  Animated cartoon.
6. Another Way to Say Leo  - Another animated cartoon.
   

The Last Great Ladybug Eviction

It's spring, and the weather's warming up a little bit in Seattle, reminding me of how I used to evict the ladybugs from the farmhouse at the end of each winter. It also brings to mind the story of the last great ladybug eviction.

Docile, aphid-loving, innocent little ladybug

To tell this story, I first need to make a confession. My little farm on the Key Peninsula was really a plant nursery. I just call it a "farm" so people won't confuse it with a nursery for children, my being a woman and all. But, to clear up the record, the farm had greenhouses full of plants and fields full of rhododendrons and azaleas that were being grown for market, so it was in fact a nursery.

Anyway, to control the aphid population and keep the rhodie leaves from getting all chewed up, the previous owner had imported boxes of ladybugs from California and released them on the property. Lady bugs love to eat aphids the way I love to eat chocolate.

If you know anything about the winter weather here versus in California, though, you'll realize that in spite of plentiful aphids, those ladybugs were in no way happy about the change in their fortunes. Feeling sorry for the poor cold ladybugs, I'd allow them to over-winter in the farmhouse, as the previous owner had also done, judging by the fact that the house had never been caulked. When the weather cooled each fall, thousands would find their way in through the many cracks and crevices of the 100-year-old structure and nestle in the corners between the ceilings and walls. Because they slept through the long winter months, they were no bother at all. In fact, I could ignore the cobwebs guilt-free all winter. After all, I couldn't disturb our house guests, could I?

Quietly sleeping, peaceful little ladybugs

When the weather warmed up in spring, and the ladybugs began stirring in their corners, I'd open up all the windows and begin shooing them out. It might take me several sessions, but finally they'd all be outdoors again, happily eating aphids.

The year Liz started high school, though, the ladybugs' fortunes took another turn for the worse. Brian had decided to switch things around and stay with me during the school week and his dad on the weekends, so now both kids had a 25-minute commute to school down a winding two-lane highway. With all their school activities requiring lots of back and forth trips, this just wouldn't do. I decided to rent out the farmhouse and move into town, close to the school.

After meticulously screening 10,000 people to find the perfect couple to live in the farmhouse, I picked Simone and Dave. They were so excited about living out in the country in such a beautiful setting, that I fell in love with them. As time went on, though, I realized that while Simone was enamored with the idea of country life, (it went with her country decor) the reality of it didn't quite meet her expectations.

If you've ever lived in the country, you know that doing this takes a considerable amount of self-reliance. At first you may try to get service people to drive out from town, but eventually you realize it's fruitless and learn how to fix things yourself. Or else you just live with them being broken, a perfectly viable alternative in many cases. Going to the store can take a good part of a day, so you plan ahead, and make sure to bring a complete list. And you don't go very often. Also, there are lots and lots of natural things out in the country that country folks just learn to live with. Like dirt. And insects.

Simone and Dave never really warmed up to any of this. For one thing, they were used to having their landlord fix things -- apparently promptly -- so I got called about every little thing that malfunctioned. Which was okay. I understood that I was on the hook for this stuff. I just wished they would learn to do one or two things themselves to save me the many long drives out to the farm. But at least they weren't trashing the place, as I'd tell myself during yet another emergency run down to the farm.

Here's a typical conversation:

Ring ring. "Hello."
"Hi Megan! This is Simone."
"Hi Simone, what's up?"
"Dishwasher's broken. Please come over and fix it right away."
"What's wrong with it?"
"I don't know, it just won't start."
"Have you tried some different things to get it working?"
"No. You need to come over right now and fix it."
"Tomorrow? How about tomorrow?"
"No, now!"
"Why not tomorrow?"
"Because the dishes are piled up and need to be washed."
"How about hand-washing them for today?"
"No! I can't do that. It would break my nails."
"OK. I'll be there in an hour."

Simone had a strict "No Sinks" policy.

One day I left work early, in plenty of time to get to Liz's evening band concert. When I got home, I made the mistake of checking my voice mail.

"Megan!! This is Simone! Are you going to get an exterminator?!!!!" Click. Dial tone.

Uh oh.

"Hi Simone, I got your message. What's up?!"
"LADYBUGS!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"What about the ladybugs?"
"They're IN THE HOUSE!!!!!!!!!!!"
"And.....?"
"They're swarming everywhere!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"Okay. That's okay, they do that every fall. They settle down in the corners and sleep through the winter."
"NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"What's the problem?"
"They're buzzing me. And they're biting Dave. Get an exterminator RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!!!"
(What's this about biting? How weird! Since then, though, I've heard other people say they've been bitten.)
"No exterminator! Those ladybugs have a job to do. They eat the aphids. And they need a warm place to stay in the winter."
Sobbing sounds.
"All right. I'll come over and get them out of there for you."

I left Liz a note to bum a ride to her band concert, picked up a case of caulk at the hardware store, and headed down to the farm. With tears in my eyes and a heavy heart, I scooped up every ladybug I could find and put them all outdoors. They'd be spending a long cold winter in the barn. Then I caulked every crevice they could possibly sneak back in through. Finally, covered with caulk and feeling a combination of guilt and sadness, I set out for Liz's concert.

I was only 30 minutes late, and the auditorium was dark, which was a good thing because my attire and state of grooming weren't exactly perfect. The chorus was still singing, and the band hadn't come on yet, so at least I didn't have to bear the guilt of missing Liz's performance on top of everything else.

After the concert I planned to sneak out before anyone actually saw me, realizing that Liz might be mortified by my appearance. But my latest attempt to avoid embarrassing my daughter came to the usual ill-fated end. In this case, heading for the back door, I was corned by some of the band parents wanting to chit chat, which forced me to explain my appearance. My story was met with laughter, and more laughter, and then some more. There was so much laughter, in fact, that I ended up laughing too, even though I wasn't sure why. I thought to myself, "If this story makes people so very happy, then I want to write it down some day, although I'm not certain why those people were so happy about the poor little ladybugs." But laughter is nearly always a good thing, and I try not to question where it comes from too much.

Me explaining things to the band parents

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I evicted those cute, docile, helpful little ladybugs for good.

Another Way to Say "Leo"

For all you Leo fans...




See another short animation about Leo...

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Naughty Leo is at it again.

Ways to Say "Leo" : Reading the Menu

For a name having only three letters, there are a great many different ways to say "Leo," for example:



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Funny animation about Leo, the occasionally good dog.

Dear Bessie

Bessie had a thing or two to teach me...

Dear Bessie,

It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you, and I often wonder how you’re doing and whether you remember our time together as fondly as I do.

   We met because of Dennis Mickey, who used to do my tractor work. He was a retired Texas rancher who lived near my small farm on the Key Peninsula. The farm had been neglected for years, and I relied on Dennis a lot at first. Old fences needed pulling down and blackberries, brush-hogging. It was soon apparent, though, that there was enough work to justify having a tractor of my own. So with Dennis’s help, I began the hunt for a good used one, combing through the Little Nickel Farm Machinery section and calling dealers.

   One morning Dennis phoned me. His friend over at the Stokes Auction knew of a fellow selling a Ford 8N. Did I want to go have a look? As soon as I saw you, I knew you were the one. You wore a coat of medium gray semi-gloss paint, neatly spread over many under coats, unmarred by rust. Your compact form promised to have a short turning radius, just right for the small projects I had in mind. Behind your bonnet was a large black steering wheel, an old fashioned manual apparatus that would turn hard, I later discovered. On your back perched the shallow red bowl of a seat and behind it, the PTO. Your crowning feature, a bright orange front loader, completed your ensemble. 

 When I climbed up onto the seat and turned your key, you coughed and then settled into a steady, low rumble. Not quite the purr I had hoped for, but you sounded healthy enough. When engaged, your PTO whirred impressively, and I knew you would be good at handling power tools. And your front loader was irresistible. Although no particular use for it came to mind, I was certain that I would find one. Up and down, forward and back the bucket went as I pushed and pulled your levers.

   Your owner explained that your 28 horsepower engine hadn’t been rebuilt in your nearly 50 years, which gave me pause until Denis explained that old 8Ns like you were hard to find, not because you broke down and became junk, but because you were so easy to fix and rebuild that folks tended to hang onto you. With that reassurance, I drove you up onto Dennis’s trailer and carefully tied you down for the trip home. 

   First on my list of projects was to smooth and level the ground where some field-grown rhododendrons had been dug up. Using a single-bottom plow, we’d first break up the soil. Then, once churned up sufficiently, we’d go over back over the ground with the blade. The area was small – about ¼ an acre – roughly circular and surrounded by mature rhododendrons. To avoid running over them, I decided to plow in a spiral. Around and around we went, making large circles at the outer edge that became smaller and smaller as we worked our way to the center. You responded readily to the levers, and I enjoyed raising and lowering the plow, turning it this way and that, changing its angle to match the changing level of the terrain.

   To thoroughly break up the soil , we made three passes with the plow, all in the same direction. Thanks to your heavy front loader, turning your steering wheel was an energetic task, becoming harder and harder as we drew closer to the center of the field. By the second pass, I noticed a slight stitch in my side, and my left shoulder canted downward. But I was having so much fun that I didn’t think about changing direction, steering you to the right rather than the left to even out the strain on my back. By the time we’d finished the third pass, my spine was tilting to port, and I couldn’t straighten up. After barely managing to climb down from your seat, I hobbled to the house, each breath so painful that I took my time before the next one. I got into bed alright, but the following morning found me flat on my back on the floor. Liz called the chiropractor, who was fortunately a small-town type of doctor who made house calls. With his help, I was able to stand up and walk around again. 

   Then it was back to work! Your implements were awkward and heavy, weighing hundreds of pounds, and difficult to change. Dennis had helped me attach your plow, but he wasn’t around to help take it back off and attach your blade so we could level the ground that had been broken up by the plow. I wasn’t sure how to proceed at first, but after pondering for a while, came up with a plan. Using a massive wrench borrowed from Pete’s Home Texaco, I loosened and removed the bolts attaching the plow. Then I drove you slowly away, leaving the plow behind on the ground. Next I backed you up to the blade and hopped down to attach it, but the bolt holes on the blade wouldn’t line up with the ones on your 3 point hitch. I couldn’t get the bolts through them. I tried moving the blade to line them up, but it was too heavy for me to budge. Softly cursing under my breath, I pushed and pulled, but to no avail. Tears of frustration clouded my eyes, and I wanted to give up. But real farmers don’t give up when facing far more daunting tasks than this, I remembered, so taking a deep breath, I began thinking. And thinking and thinking and thinking. Finally I knew what to do.

   I rummaged around in the old lumber stored under the workshop and found a sturdy two-by-four board. Kicking the dirt away from underneath a section of the blade, I wedged the board under it. Lifting the opposite end of the board I set a large rock under it about two feet from the blade. Then I sat on the board about three feet from the blade.  This lifted the blade a few inches from the ground, and I was just able to reach over and stick a rock under the blade to prop it up. The holes were now aligned well enough to thread the bolt through them. Triumph! Mind over matter, woman over machine!

Not all problems were this easy to fix. Remember the time you got stuck in the mud? Brian and Liz, who were teenagers at that time, wanted to drive you around the property, so I taught them how to operate you, warning them to stay away from the muddy patch near the fire pond where you could get stuck. You got stuck in the mud anyway, but it was when I was at the wheel. Plowing the adjacent field, I cut too close to the muddy spot, and in you sank. There was nothing solid nearby, such as a building or a tree, to attach a comealong winch to, so digging you out was my only option. It took three long days. You could call this a triumph of “Woman over mud,” although I must admit that I was too tired to feel very triumphant.

   Finally the day came when we’d done all of the tractor work that was needed, and you were left sitting idle for days on end. Dennis could do the seasonal brush-hogging in just a few hours, and it didn’t make sense to keep you anymore. Dennis quickly found a new owner for you, and I let you go with a heavy heart. As you rode away on Dennis’ trailer, I told you that I would never forget you, or the lessons you taught me, such as “A woman using her brain can do unexpectedly brawny things” and “A woman not using her brain can end up with very sore muscles.”

Fondly,
Megan

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Bessie teaches me a few lessons about using my brain.

Rosie and the Bear

Leo has gotten a lot of attention on this blog, so I thought it was time to give Rosie a turn. As I mentioned in an earlier post, both dogs got high scores on the Dog IQ Test; however Rosie always struck me as being a skoche or two (or three or four or ten) smarter than Leo. This is because Rosie had common sense.

If it surprises you that common sense isn't measured by an IQ test, then just think about all the really bright people in the world who don't have a clue about how to get along. Anyway, Leo always lunged straight into situations any sensible dog would have avoided. Like the time when Liz's band council was meeting at our house, and someone let Leo out just as a large Husky was walking by. The Husky outweighed Leo by at least twice and had a thick, heavy coat. Leo charged, snapping and snarling. The Husky calmly chomped his leg. By the time I got to the front door, ready rush out and save the poor Husky, a panicked and bleeding Leo was hurling himself at the front door. Unfortunately, this experience had no impact on his future large-dog-charging choices.

On the other hand, Rosie had street smarts. She'd size up a situation and take appropriate action. Like when I was remodeling the farmhouse, we had temporary stairs without risers, so you could see through them to the floor below. Rosie knew that she would fall through, so refused to go up the stairs, even though her and Liz's bed was at the top of them.

One time at my sister Jenn's house where there were, as usual, lots of little Yorkies running around (with their hair done up), Rosie began staring at the slowly turning overhead fan. After frowning at it fixedly for several hours, she realized that it was part of a dangerous Yorkie plot to kill us all and that the proper way to deal with this issue was to take out the Yorkies. Liz grabbed her before she could.

So you can see, Rosie was acutely aware of life's many dangers and knew how to handle them. One time, though, stands out above all the others as a demonstration of her good sense.

We lived on a remote farm. Deer roamed in our pasture, river otters paddled in the stream across the street, and red fox prowled the fields for pheasant.The most notable local wildlife, though, was a black bear. In the evenings we'd hear deep grunting noises outside, and figured it was the bear coming around for apples. The dogs would look up and softly growl. Once when exploring the dense woods behind our fire pond, Liz and I stumbled on the bear's sleeping place in a matted-down thicket. There were a bunch of apples from our orchard there, and a strong, gamey odor. It took at least a minute for us to vacate the woods.

For many  months, that was the closest we came to an actual encounter with the bear--until one dark winter night.

Our farmhouse was heated by an ancient wood stove, and I took many trips to the woodshed during the cold months. Rosie always came with me. We went through back porch, which had two doors: one leading out to the woodshed and the other providing doggie-door access to a fenced area where the dogs could hang out while I was at work (the Puppy Prison).

One night after dark, Rosie and I were in the woodshed when I heard a guttural grunt. Rosie tensed, nose in the air, sniffing wildly. The fur down her back stood on end, Mohawk-style. (If I had fur, mine would have been in a Mohawk, too.)

Then, rather than standing by me and barking at the intruder to keep him at bay (or charging at him, like Leo would have done), Rosie turned tail and disappeared into the house. I couldn't believe it. My protector had abandoned me!

A moment later, hearing frantic barking and growling coming from near the house, I looked over to see Rosie behind the fence of the Puppy Prison, giving that bear all she had.

Rosie knew when get out of the way. I quickly followed suit.



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Brave Rosie protects me from a bear, sort of.

On Being Friends

Friends, as we all know, are one of life's greatest blessings. Friends celebrate our joys, mourn our griefs, and sometimes even laugh at our jokes. Friends keep us company in this big huge world. Friends also teach us new things, for example, my best friend and husband, Bill, is trying very, very hard to teach me how to golf.

Of all the wonderful things that friends do, though, the one I like best is the way they broaden my perspective on life. The people I end up spending the most time with are very different from me. Many of them come from different parts of the country and the world and represent the gamut of backgrounds, interests, religions, political and sexual orientations, and so on.

For example, one of my dearest friends shares my love of ballroom dancing and photography, but in lots of other ways is quite different from me. While I'm always changing houses and jobs, she keeps hers for years and years. And even though working with technology is my profession, I'm uncomfortable with tech gadgets. My friend, however, is always trying out the latest ones. She has a magic pen that records the person speaking while you take notes, a picture frame that flips photos automatically, so you don't have to break your fingernails turning album pages, and a little thing that looks like a book that also turns the pages for you. You just have to tap something, I think. It's all a bit mysterious.

You'll not be surprised then, to learn that my friend and I also differ in our preferences for pets. While we both have outdoor pets, they are quite different types. I have two pet crows and a yard squirrel. She has a pet wisteria.

My friend is very fond of her pet.

You might think it a bit odd that someone would keep a wisteria as a pet. I certainly did. After all, they don't eat things you put out for them or poop in your yard. But as time goes on, I've learned that wisterias actually make excellent outdoor pets.

For one thing, they keep roving bands of children out of the yard.

Wisteria bravely defending the yard from hordes of children.

For another thing, they keep marauding animals out of the yard.

Wisteria guarding against animal threats.

Unfortunately, they don't do as well with neighbors' cars. Neither do bushes, for that matter.

Wisteria even allied with bushes are no match for an automobile.

 So, you see, this friend with the pet wisteria has broadened my perspective on what makes a good pet, and I've learned a new appreciation for her pet wisteria ...

... from a distance.

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Friends broaden my perspective on things such as what makes a good pet.

Seals Aren't Smarter Than Leo

One day in Barnes and Noble my daughter, Liz, picked up The Dog IQ Test by Melissa Miller. This book helps you evaluate your dog's intellect and social skills. Of course, the results confirmed that our dog Rosie was extremely intelligent and socially adept, but we were shocked to learn that Leo also scored high.

You see, Leo had been keeping his IQ under wraps with clever tricks to make us think he was dumb. For example, he had the habit of swimming through the frigid Puget Sound towards a flock of sea birds floating on the water far off shore. Invariably once Leo was within 10 feet or so, the birds would fly to a new spot, and Leo would paddle after them. He would repeat this act over and over again, day in and day out, to fool us into thinking he wasn't all that smart.

Leo would also bark incessantly at the base of a tree in which a pair of great blue herons nested, as if he expected them to hop down for a visit.

Then there was the waiting room cat. Lord of the vet clinic, he quickly earned the respect of all who entered. Except Leo. Leo lunged, and I, fearing for the cat, lunged after him.

I wasn't fast enough, though, and copious amounts of blood and yelping ensued. Although this ought to have ended Leo's interest in the cat, he continued lunging. To save his life, I fastened his leash to the arm of my chair until our appointment time thankfully arrived. Clever Leo of course knew all along that I'd do this.

One incident stood above the rest, though. Liz and I used to take the dogs to Maple Hollow, a closed Department of Natural Resources park, where the ranger had given permission for the dogs to run off leash. A trail wound through a maple forest and down to a deserted beach. Rosie and Leo would take long detours through the woods and still beat us to the water, running and swimming until they got tired enough to take home. We rarely saw any land animals in the park because they fled for cover when the dogs crashed through the woods. At the beach, however, we'd often see a pair of seals, lolling on a raft off shore.

One day the seals decided to swim over and have a closer look at us.

1. The seals came close to shore.

Leo went nuts. The seals turned around and swam away. Leo followed.

2. Leo plunged into the water to pursue the seals.

After swimming out so far that I could barely see them any more, the seals disappeared under water. Leo swam in circles looking for them. "Duh, where'd they go? Where'd they go?"

3. The seals disappeared under water.

Eventually giving up, Leo turned towards the shore. Two seal heads popped up out of the water and trailed him all of the way back.

4. Leo swam back to shore, the seals close behind.

To make a long story short, steps 1 through 4 above were repeated three times. Then the seals, apparently bored with the game, disappeared for good. I breathed a sigh of relief, believing that Leo would have become exhausted and drowned before ever giving up the chase. Leo was far too smart for that, though. I just didn't know it at the time.

My sister Jenn used to say, "Leo is all brain stem and no cerebral cortex" and until that IQ test, I thought so, too. Now I know better.

Find out what happens when Leo reads the menu...

You might also enjoy:

• Leo, The Occasionally Good Dog  - Leo isn't always bad. Besides, he really, really wants to be good. 
• One Time When Leo Was Good  - Liz and Jenn disagree. They don't think Leo really wants to be good at all. So in this story, I document how good he actually is.

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Leo gets high marks on the IQ test, but that doesn't mean he has any common sense.