Dog Poo!

I have three dogs that I walk each day.  Marco "El Pollo" Polo, a found shepherd and doberman mix, weighs 106 pounds, and his two friends, Zoot! and Fat Cow weigh 35 and 45 pounds respectively.  As a citizen, I go to great efforts to pick up after them when they visit a neighbor's yard on the walk.  It has become quite a process.

You'd think this was pretty straight forward a chore.  No.  As a tightwad, I refuse to use more than one bag per trip if I can help it.  And, I want my neighbors to know that I am acting responsibly to keep dog poop off their feet, out of their yards, and out of the groundwater.  So, each day I start out with bags and chalk and dogs and set off on one of several routes around my neighborhood.

I have discovered several things about the technique and have worked hard to develop my Kung Poo (with apologies to the martial arts).  At the first squat, I prepare a bag.  First, my hand goes inside so the bag itself serves as a glove.  I pick up the pile, or in Zoot!'s case, piles, and turn the bag inside out, careful to keep the poop away from the top edges of the bag.  It is warm, yes, it is soft, yes, it is stinks, yes, so I twist the bag closed and bend its neck around the fingers of whichever hand can take it in my juggling of three leashes.  But wait, there's more!  With a bit of chalk, on the sidewalk, I draw a heart and put in the initials of whoever was the author of this incident, then carry the bag along to the next stop.

It gets a little tricky if everyone goes, especially Marco, and sometimes I wish I could just let go and use more bags.  But what are ya gonna do; don't we all have an obsession or two?

Three Dogs Walking

When we moved here two years ago, I began walking our three dogs around the neighborhood with chalk in my pocket.  I drew stick figures of the four of us and labelled them "three dogs walking".  Chalk, of course, is easily removed by rain, which we don't have, and regular wear, which we do, so my grafitti is neighbor freindly.  Eventually, I adopted a symbol, adding a date and arrow signifiying the direction we were going.  Occasionally, I might add a cartoon greeting  to whoever came by or an eye keeping "neighborhood watch" on an empty house. Through four or five routes I might scatter a dozen signs as I collected poop, put trash in bins or passed homes of friends I've made.

A few weeks ago, I began to see other symbols; a lightning bolt descending into a low arc over three circles.  It appeared at some of my  own marked corners, in front of my house, and in the drive of the home of its maker.

A strange trespass that I hope to encourage.  South Austin has a reputation as the home of weirdness.  I like to think we have a little better sense of friendliness and camaraderie.  It is just one more sign that I am truly home.

Feathers of a Bird

Since I came to Austin, I have become a busy birdwatcher.  My own backyard is visited by the ever-present Mourning Doves and the occasional Grackle, who sound like winding and clanking machinery when they roost, but better birds visit each day.  For three years now, Mockingbirds, Robins, Blue Jays, Cardinals, Black-crested and Tufted Titmice, Chickadees, House Wrens and a variety of sparrows have visited my two feeders and birdbath placed strategically within view from the couch as we watch television.  While the Green Parrots that I have seen about Austin have never visited us here in Mauserica, I do have a returning pair of Golden Headed Woodpeckers, a pair of Downy Woodpeckers, and a Ruby Throated Hummingbird who regularly checks out the flower stickers my wife put in the window to keep the stupid doves from breaking their necks (at least one crashes the window every day!).  We even see the occasional Red-tailed Hawk's shadow as he glides over the canopy in our backyard.

All that to say this.  All those birds crowded around a feeder drop a lot of feathers.  Downy pin feathers, long pinions, and everything in between.  As a compulsive collector and artist (anything you have enough of can become art), I pick up every one and drive their quills into the tops of the palings in my fence.  Every paling gets one, and when they are full, I add a second or third.  When the wind blows they wave, wink in the mottled sunlight, and sometimes even bow like grave Japanese.  I like to think of each one as a salute to finding joy wherever it happens.

 If I found enough feathers, could make my own bird?

An Accidental Garden

I can't be the only one.

Last spring I gathered my carefully chosen seeds, created a sprouting bed of worm-dirt, compost and potting soil.  Planted row upon row of flowers; eight varieties of color and bloom.  I watered assiduously, weeded and thinned my little plot.  Soon I had a dozen or more in each row, strong sprouts.  I planted them in my yard with a shovel of their potted dirt all along the edge of my garden. 

None bloomed.

However, I have eaten two pounds of butternut squash and four tomatoes from plants I never put down.  In all, five pepper plants, one butternut squash, a giant sunflower, and five tomato plants of three varieties have grown to bloom and are beginning to fruit.  Suddenly I actually have more of some vegetables than I am wanting to eat.  Good for me. 

Now, if I could accidentally grow money....