Archives | Buy Photos | Subscriptions | Submissions | Advertise | Contact

Monday, February 13, 2012

By Doug Cabral
Published: May 28, 2009

It's been a cool, swampy spring. The pocked road, the grass that the easterly wind whips at the windows, the mold gobbling the shoes in the closet - all have conspired against us in this very Vineyard spring. And, as if that weren't enough, tensions grow between the critters and the humans at our house.

We're optimistic about June, though we've no reason to be. It may be one of those Junes when the grass is as high as an elephant's eye (Or was it the corn? It was the corn, wasn't it?), but the hay won't make in the rain, mist, and fog. Easterly wind, drizzle, 40 days and nights of rain in a couple of hours, a few promising mornings giving way to overcast and thundery afternoons: one hopes for something more. I know the gloominess has me in a mood. I'm thinking of joining In Treatment, the HBO thing where the dark, demented, depressed psychiatrist fights with his patients, each of whom should probably offer him counseling, if he'd only open himself (to use the favored modern phrase, whatever it means) to advice. Or, maybe they should just flee. Who wants a mooning, moaning shrink adding to life's already intimidating load?

Indoors, Diesel, the English mastiff, is a very sweet dog, but he's a mess. He is indifferent to rain, snow, heat, cold, smells, and most commands.

He is out of communication with some of the distant parts of himself, so he lets these parts do as they choose. Mostly, they like to get filthy, lying in the perennial garden in the rain. Then he likes to paw at the screen door, come in, beg for a treat, shake, and jump on the sofa. The sofa now smells so bad that visitors wince and blink when they enter the house. They ask, What is that awful smell? We say, What smell?

Outdoors, there are the squirrels. They and the crows have been messing relentlessly with the bird feeders, which are across the lawn away from the house. Through the everyday mists and fog, with my bird watching binoculars, I've seen a crow and a squirrel hanging upside down and side by side from the big feeder's perch. My usual treatment for squirrels, crows, skunks, and raccoons is a pheasant load, but when the critters are in close proximity to the feeders, which are expensive and, in this case, innocent of wrongdoing, I just let the gun sound off heavenward, which disperses the pests and lets the Big Guy know that at least one of his constituents is not happy with the behavior of the lesser orders.

The other day, we had an indoor squirrel problem. How he or they got in, or rather why he or they decided they would intrude, is a mystery. But their comings and goings, and their scrabbling presence was unambiguous. The squirrel expert, shaking his head sympathetically at my problem as I shook my head despairingly at his bill, fashioned some wire chutes at the various exits and entrances our visitors had used. Each chute had a one way - out - flapper valve on the inboard end. He said we have to leave them up for a year, or else void the squirrel-free warrantee he offers.

He also told us he roamed throughout the house making squirrel noises and listening for replies. He heard none, so he thinks we're all set. I wonder what he said to them. Did he say something like, It's me, the squirrel whisperer. Don't reply. Just keep quiet for a few days, then you can raise a ruckus. They'll have to call me back."

The deer, apparently appalled by the weather, have left the gardens alone this year, knock on wood. All our carefully tended weeds are flourishing. We did some gardening this weekend, yanking out the plants and mulching the weeds and, in our knowledgeable way, adding to the greening of Chilmark.

The knock, knock, knocking yesterday was a woodpecker, trying to break into the house through the vent in the gable end under the peak of the roof. I thought it was the kids, home from college and rocking (or rapping) out to their music upstairs. But the entire building wasn't quivering as it does when the bass is honking in the bedroom over our heads. And, the pots and pans in the kitchen weren't clanging from the musical (I use the term loosely) vibrations. So, I had a look around the house and found the culprit, a redhead. He saw me, disliked me as much as I disliked him, and winged it.

Diesel, indifferent to gross discomfort, doesn't mind the rain, loves the mud, especially the mud that was the perennial garden. Let it rain, let it rain is his motto. He says, This is the day the Lord hath made; I'll go with it. In fact, I'll go with it is his reaction to almost everything, except a request that he jump in the back of the car. He despises driving trips.

We keep towels near each entrance to the house. When Diesel approaches, we rush to swaddle him as he marches through our arms toward the pantry, where the dog treats are. Getting him to stand for the toweling is futile. Moll and I towel ourselves off afterwards, which takes longer, is more effective, and can be fun.

After shaking and then internalizing a dog bone, Diesel wants out. To prevent the paw thing on the inside of the door, we acquiesce. Of course, sometimes he says out, but doesn't go out. I guess he just wants sniff the air in search of something fetid to investigate. In such cases, as the wind-driven rain floods the floor, we wait till the spirit moves him. In or out, it's a debate for Diesel sometimes.

For nearly two and a half months now, Diesel has been damp. Because everything about him is big, that damp aura of his has inflated to become our indoor aura. I'm reminded of a line that was common in coming attractions at the movies years ago. It went like this, "It's a love story as big as the West itself." It brings Diesel and his aura to mind. Would that our house were big as the West, because Diesel's aura is wasted under our roof. It could absolutely dominate the atmosphere over a north-south swath of red states west of the Mississippi and east of the Rockies.

Diesel is a damp-weather dilemma. He is the mushroom cloud of doggy odor, and although we are repulsed by his aura, he has apparently found common ground with the squirrels, deer, skunks, raccoons, crows - even the UPS man. I think he wonders how they can be so lucky as to stay outside all the time and still get fed and petted. They, in turn, marvel that a critter so large and smelly as Diesel is ever let inside. I suspect the squirrels said to themselves, If that bozo can get in there, so can we.