Sunday, December 19, 2010

A Whole Lotta Nature, And Oh Boy. It's Sunday. With Themes

I swear to GOD that if my dogs don't drive me batshit crazy it's a fucking Christmas miracle.

Hey- around here you stay in bed until dusk, waiting for the other person to get up first because whoever gets up first is greeted by all the damn dog poop in whichever room the dogs have decided to use as their personal toilet. Don't we all just want to clean up dog shit as our first act on a Sunday morning? And oh yes, piss too.
Don't we? Don't we all just wish with all our hearts that we could get up and brush our teeth and pull on our overalls and cashmere of the day and then go clean up dog shit? And piss?
It's like a fucking dream come true. The scent of poop, Fabuloso and white vinegar.
Then they want out. Then they want in. Then they want out. Then they want in.
Then they bark. And want out.

Okay. That's enough of that.

Yeah, it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas around here. Mr. Moon put the tree up yesterday and draped it with two vastly mismatching strings of lights. It's done as far as I'm concerned. It smells real nice. It's in the Glen Den so there are deer heads peeking around it. I find that very seasonal. Don't you?

Just lovely. Just like the winter woods. Just like...oh hell, you know. A fucking Christmas card.

Which I have not written one of yet. Not one. Nope. No cards, no presents for anyone but the family, no baking. And of course the dogs ate the cookies and treats one of my friends in the play brought for us on Thursday night. Those calories will not be settling around MY hips! And does chocolate kill dogs?
I wish!
It didn't even give them diarrhea, and for that, my friends, I am eternally grateful.

Sorbitol, it would appear, does give certain sensitive individuals gastric problems though. I am not going to name any names but Mr. Moon will never again buy No-Sugar-Added orange sherbet. He had a terrible night.
I wouldn't touch that stuff. I mean, I like sherbet fine but No-Sugar-Added? No way.
Bless his heart.

So it's Sunday morning and all I'm doing here is talking about poop and Sorbitol and deer heads and okay, here's something else:

No. That is not lichen or moss. It is a tiny frog. I think he came in on the Christmas tree. He's probably some sort of frog from Wisconsin or somewhere. I hope it's not a pregnant female who will introduce thousands of tiny non-native frogs to North Florida which will result in some sort of environmental catastrophe because after we took his picture, we set him free outside. Probably should have squished the poor little thing but we did not.
Ah, something ate him anyway, I'll bet.

I was talking on the phone to Kathleen this morning and I heard a huge fuss involving chickens. I sent Mr. Moon out to check and the next thing I know I see a hawk the size of a Volkswagen taking off from the ground, screaming his displeasure at being interrupted in his hunt for the perfect Christmas Chicken dinner. His mate was screaming up in the sky so I assume she was pissed off too. She probably already had the pot boiling.

Kathleen, in case you haven't heard, fought off a possum the size of a Cadillac a few mornings ago who had one of her chickens in its jaws!

She is a brave woman. The chicken lived and laid an egg in her bathtub. After she made the chicken slow-cooked steel-cut oats with grapes in them. Now THAT is a woman! I real chicken-tendin' woman! My hat is off to her.

But yes, it's a life fraught with danger around here for chickens. I suppose it is everywhere. Everything alive likes to eat chickens from wolves to foxes to coyotes to dogs to owls to hawks to bob cats to possums to raccoons to baby humans who love to gnaw on their yummy fried legs.

So what else do I have to report on this lovely, gloomy, poop-filled Sunday morning before Christmas?
Not much. To continue on with our shit-theme, I need to clean out the chicken house of the poopy straw and replace it with clean. Chickens actually poop a great deal. For some reason though, chicken poop does not offend me very much. It's a nicer poop than dog poop. At least in the relatively small amount in my hen house. I mean, if I had a chicken house the size of a Stretch Limo (I'm just carrying through with my themes here, people), it would be a different matter.

So. Okay. Sunday. I've made the breakfast and washed the dishes. The kitchen is tidy.

No obvious poop but believe me- the mice have been having a party so it's there. You just can't see it. And for those of you who gag at the thought of rodents in the house, let me say this- YOU TELL ME WHAT TO DO! I need either a pet snake, a bunch of cats or a hundred or so traps.
I can't put down poison and even traps are iffy with the baby and the dogs, although poisoning the dogs might just be a solution to my problem.

And the dogs would eat the cats and a snake would scare me to death every time I opened a cabinet. Which is worse? Mice in the drawers or a snake coiled up on top of the stove?
I'll have to ponder that.

Meanwhile, Merry Christmas. Happy Sunday.
Nature is a beautiful thing and I celebrate it. Yes, I do.
Just not when it comes out the back end of my dogs or rodents and not when it involves birds of prey preying on my beloved hens.

God, I wish Rick's Oyster Bar was still open. Well. It's not. And neither is Posey's, the best, most down-home, tilted-floors, redneck, biker-bar, great, over-the-water oyster bar ever in creation in the Universe.
It's a wonder I ever get through a Sunday any more at all without Rick's or Posey's.
Life goes on.
Shit happens.
Clean it up.
Chase the hawks.
Clean the chicken coop.
Learn your lines.
Stay in bed as long as possible whenever possible.

And if want to smile and if you want to see Bruce and The E-Street band back when they were all stringy muscle and snaky hips and glorious, goofy grins and fine, fine New Jersey noses, (well, except for Clarance who was a mountain of a man even then with biceps the size of Hummers) AND get a seasonal feeling right where it counts (in the groin, of course), check this out.

Who loves ya, baby?
I do.

Ms. Moon, Proprietress of the Church of the Batshit Crazy
At Your Service, Now and Forever.


  1. I think you need Cesar Millan the dogwhisperer for your dogs. Sounds very annoying to get up and find all you find. It would drive me nuts...
    Good for Mr Moon to put up the tree, I love the smell of a fresh pine. Sadly enough I am bound to use plastic trees now as Mr Wonderful is allergic to real pine. One can suffer. Hope the dogs work it out! Outside!

  2. I think this post should become a children's book -- if you take out the profanity, that is.

    I'm laughing.

  3. I hope all this dreariness clears by Friday.

  4. Photocat- I know. It's my fault the dogs do this. All my fault.

    Elizabeth- If you take out the profanity, there is nothing left! Otherwise- I'll consider that.

    DTG- I know. It's a bit uncheerful out there, isn't it?

  5. only one who has been here can truly understand...and the WI frog would like to come home, you can send him to me...i'll drop her off next time i'm there...

    we just got rid of...errr.ah..put to sleep...our dog..what a fricken relief...i can TOTALLY husband and son want another one, a BIGGER ONE...i'll have to have them read your;ll be a permanent bookmark...

    sorry i can't help with the mice..

  6. Guess what...I AM still in bed!!! Yes that's right. Bumming the day away.

    Because it is Shit Sunday, when I do get up, I will scoop the cat litter boxes. I really fucking hate doing that.

  7. How about crates for the dogs? No shit to clean up.

    Mice--I really don't know. Haven't had those. I have 3 cats of which only one is a killer. The other two are fat and too lazy. And probably afraid of mice.

    Nice tree. I am glad that you saved the toad. It is a little toad in a foreign land. Probably lonely too.

    Happy Sunday. It isn't shitty or micey here yet.

  8. I'm with you on the whole christmas thing, wanna come sit by me and we'll bitch about it till it's over?
    That frog looks like dirt encrusted dog poop... just sayin

  9. What a lovely winding road of a post, all hilltops and turns with different views but connected.

    I'm betting that's your own N.FL tree frog, hopped on during the tree's long sojourn on the back porch. So glad you let him loose out back.

    I think Bop needs to build the dogs a house outdoors. Something civilized with insulation and heat and warm beds for winter, of course, and ventilation for summer cool. They'd probably shit/piss outside if they had their own house.

    Then you could have cats indoors to rid the mice.

    Or not, as they prefer.

  10. What a tiny little frog. We've had a warmish rain through here the last few days and the frogs have been very happy.

    I vote for the snake. Not really. We've caught 8 mice this month.

  11. Ah my favourite subject. I feel so bad for you because of the excrement. Our cats generally only vomit in the house. Except when they have diarrhoea. But now that there's snow they're pooping on the terrace again, so when the snow goes we'll have a poopy terrace to deal with. Well, I say we but I mean Babes. I hope your shitty shit gets cleaned up by your marvellous husband too.

  12. are accumulating good points for doggie heaven...hang in there...

    Possums that eat CHICKENS? I guess our australian possums must be a different vegetarian breed..mangoes and pawpaws....

  13. My house also gets jacked up with random poos. Ah... the price of love, or something.

  14. When I moved in to my beloved New Orleans apartment, there were mice. Oh lawdy, there were mice.

    I used traps - just those simple cheap ones. And I stopped putting food on them (because the cockroaches would scurry out to eat the cheese or peanut butter or whatever), just placed on places I knew they'd like. All night long I'd hear SNAP! and in the morning I'd pick up the carcasses. I killed a good dozen mice that way, and went from regularly sightings of them to none.

    My friend suggested glue traps, and oh soul I will never ever ever do that again. It was the most horrific thing. Traps snap and kill them, but glue traps cause mice screaming. Horrible.

    Then I got those little green cubes of poison and shoved them far back in behind things, places where I knew little children could not reach under any circumstances (while I have no grandson, many of my friends' kids would visit me often).

    The mice left and never came back. I have no idea why. I just know my story.

    The cockroaches, though. Sheesh.

    How sad that I've had to move to Africa to get away from rodents and roaches. And probably they're only not in my apartment because of excessive amounts of poison that I don't ask about. There are mice in our office, and one climbed up the curtain the other day and then peeked its head over the top and peered and me and I swear I'd think it cute if I didn't think of all the very real diseases it spreads here.

    Lawdy. To the office I go.

  15. Love the vid. Clarence does a great santa chortle. Not enough Vanzant footage though!

    I thought the frog was a nugget of Fools Gold.

    Love the shot of the tree. It IS a crhistmas card, and you should make it your christmas card!!
    xo vf word: "diphip" ... I swear!

  16. jean- Well, as the old joke goes, life begins not at conception, but when the last child moves out an the dog dies.
    Remind your husband of that.

    SJ- Did your cats tell my dogs about Shit Sunday? Damn.

    Syd- I love your pragmatism. I really do.

    Tiffany- Yes. Move over. Let's bitch. And in real life, the tiny frog was quite beautiful.

    Kathleen Scott- Good idea but I don't think Bop wants to occupy his time with building a heated dog mansion. And if I had indoor cats I'd just have to clean out a litter box. There is no perfect solution. Just like most of life.

    Stephanie- I bet we could catch eight mice in eight minutes.

    Mwa- Yes. Mr. Moon cleans up shit, too. He does.

    Screamish- Yes. Our possums eat anything. First they eat the eggs, then they go after the chickens. They are fierce.
    And have fangs.

    Lisa- Or something.

    NOLA- It is the human fate to coexist with vermin, no matter where we are, isn't it?
    I guess we better get some little traps. Snap!

    Ms. Fleur- Please. Don't say "Christmas Card." Please.

  17. Forgive me Ms. Moon but I had a giggle at your expense. I suppose it was just the way it was written.

    Love the tiny little toad. We had a hatching in our backyard this summer and you should have seen me trying to dodge them with the lawnmower.

    I love the way it looks like the deer is peeking around the tree. Hang in there!

  18. I recommend cats, of course. I had mice before the cats, but they killed them ALL. Puppine even beheaded one of the fuckers. They are fine hunters.

    Please DO NOT get the snake. I will not be able to come stay. I have a very serious snake PHOBIA.

    I adore you.


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