I love to garden. And I can do it all year. In the winter, I will move plants around that may not have done well in the particular spot I planted it. When the plant tag says full sun—does that mean full sun in Ohio, or our incinerator blast furnace heat we have in South Texas. There is a big difference. So I work on doing native and xeriscape planting. If you have been reading my blog you know that I compost like a mad woman. Mulch, too. And boy do the Texas critters enjoy it. I get ravaged by fire ants, stung by wasps, threatened by Palmetto bugs and here is what happened to me when I went to move the Bulbine.
I did not notice anything strange until the plant root flicked its tongue at me. Yes, that is a snake. Baby, albeit. 
And lucky for it (and me...) a harmless brown garden snake. I was grabbing for the hoe and jumping backwards at the same time. I am hollering for Sam to bring the camera. Blog material. He is asking "why inthehell do you want me to take a picture of plant roots!?" Sweet Jesus, he says, when he sees the root/snake curl around.So I toss the snake out in the field, plant the bulbine, refresh my iced tea and call it a day. Hope you all have a good weekend out there.
One happy momma dog and her girl.
We love our hounds, they become part of our family nucleus. I have enjoyed teaching my grandchildren that bassets are special. And they agree. My grandkids can spot a basset faster than our eyes can adjust. I believe it is impossible to be depressed if you have a basset in the home. Or lonely. Or be bored. And you will have basset stories to last a lifetime.Here is one: I discovered a cluster of children sitting indian style around basset in the yard. They were taking turns using the long ears to rub on their checks. "Look!" "Her ears are just like that velvet stuff!" So I had to sit down and do an ear rub also. Yep, velvet.Here is another: I have church guests over, we are sitting in the living room visiting. My big KatieBelle saunters in to the middle of the room, gives a brisk shake, and a large globule of saliva goes soaring across (in slow motion) and splats on the front shoulder of the victim. Luckily my good friend works for a veterinarian, so we mop her with a dish towel and all is well.I have been bassetless for about 4 years now and it is time for me to move forward. I had some wonderful news this week, and I think by the end of May my life will be dominated by a basset. We cannot hardly wait.
I had been eye-balling this chicken crate for about 3 weeks. It sat in front of one of the antique shops by my home. Each night I drove past and it was still there—waiting patiently for me to buy it. As you can see, I had to bring it home. The door still works and even has the patent pending information stamped on it. I Googled the maker, W. J. Carpenter Company and they are still in business over in Virginia. No web site, just old fashioned wooden country goods if you want to drive over there. 
My crate is old. I knocked the dust off with a hard jet of water and let it dry in the sun. My boyfriend looked at it and started the "What the Hell..." and my look stopped him right there. I informed him it was "art" and I am going to hang it in my studio. Right next to my cool paper wasp nest still stuck on the branch—minus the wasps.
