Author: keres

The evidence.

(Ever wonder what a cell phone looks like after a dog has had it for awhile?)
The shifty-eyed suspect.

Show us your “crimes in the home”, or just the criminals, if they’ve completely destroyed the evidence.

Lily has perfected the “aw, please” face.  She’s rarely sure what she’s asking for, but just in case anything might potentially be on offer, she’s already there.

Whatever you are celebrating, even if it’s only the time off from work, be sure to make it a happy one!

(Pen and ink with watercolor of “Bart”, the dopiest Pyr I ever owned.)

What?
If you look closely you can see that lily’s left forepaw  has been shaved in the middle.  That’s because it’s grass seed season here.  She got one stuck under the skin between her two middle toes last week.  I took her to the vet again this morning because Lily continues to limp a bit, but the vet couldn’t find anything by feeling around – so, we’re doing more of the “wait and see” thing.  

Bud – 1999-2009 – RIP
A Memorial to Boatswain
by
Lord Byron

Near this spot
Are deposited the Remains of one
Who possessed Beauty without Vanity,
Strength without Insolence,
Courage without Ferocity,
And all the Virtues of Man without his Vices.
This Praise, which would be unmeaning Flattery
If inscribed over human ashes,
Is but a just tribute to the Memory of
BOATSWAIN, a DOG
Who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803,
And died at Newstead, Nov 18th, 1808.

When some proud son of man returns to earth,
Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth,
The sculptor’s art exhausts the pomp of woe,
And storied urns record who rest below:
When all is done, upon the tomb is seen,
Not what he was, but what he should have been:
But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend,
The first to welcome, foremost to defend,
Whose honest heart is still his master’s own,
Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone,
Unhonour’d falls, unnoticed all his worth,
Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth:
While man, vain insect!  hopes to be forgiven,
And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.
Oh man! thou feeble tenant of an hour,
Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power,
Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust,
Degraded mass of animated dust!
Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat,
Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit!
By nature vile, ennobled but by name,
Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame.
Ye! who perchance behold this simple urn,
Pass on — it honours none you wish to mourn:
To mark a friend’s remains these stones arise;
I never knew but one, — and here he lies.

It’s Spring in the Antipodes.

Our latest native orchid find – the Tiger orchid.

Whaddaya mean ‘leave her alone, she’s sleeping?’

Mum? Mum!? Wake up, I’m bored.

Luna can now sleep through practically anything.

A family down the road from us has a wombat, named “Wombie”.  He was rescued from his mother’s pouch after she had been killed by a car. He’s still fairly young, so they’ll continue to look after him until he decides to strike out on his own.

Bob the dog was jealous that Wombie was getting all the attention.

Spring has officially sprung in the Southern Hemisphere and the flora and fauna are definitely doing their thing.  We have been in drought for most of the year, only to see it broken with nearly deluge levels of rain in the last two months.
The native plants on our property are making use of the bonanza by putting out copious amounts of flowers.  So far we’ve identified fourteen species of native orchids, and from the looks of it we’re going to have more of them this year than ever before.   Here are some of the things we saw on this morning’s walk through our woods.

Tasmania is sometimes referred to as “The Roadkill state”.

Where I live it is nearly impossible to drive 10 kilometers of road without seeing a carcass of some sort.

I rescued this little possum from its dead mother’s pouch Wednesday night.  I took it to the vet the next morning where they’ll look after it until they can pass it along to a registered wildlife carer.
To Tasmania’s credit, we actually have thriving wildlife populations near people, which cannot be said of the other states.  Another factor is our twisty-turny shrubby and tree lined roads – which contrasts with the dead straight dirt-bordered roads of much of the mainland.  To Tasmania’s shame is our horrifically bad drivers.  Add all that together and hundreds of thousands of native animals die on our roads every year.