Aphid Armageddon

We have aphids.

APHIDS!

This is a tragedy and a travesty and an emergency of epic proportions!

Which, again, might seem a little over the top but the thing is I’ve pretty obsessed with my garden.  I spend hours out there with the dogs every day in the spring and summer, fussing over the plants, weeding, mulching, composting, and satisfying my inner need to nurture. In winter months, when gardening is on hiatus, that need manifests itself in insane hours perusing Petfinder and sending Opie emails about getting more dogs.

If we didn’t have the garden, there’s a pretty good chance we would end up about 1 dog away from a really frightening episode of animal hoarders.

I have long suspected that this, more than anything, is the reason Opie got me a green house.

But I digress…

I was talking about aphids.

I discovered them the other day when I went out to the garden and realized that the lilies (which I have planted all around the vegetable garden as companion plants to draw bees and butterflies) were looking a little brown and saggy--unusual for spring. I took a closer look and saw this:

And then I took a closer look and saw this:

 And then, driven by some sick sense of horrid fascination, I got even closer and saw this:

Disgusting, right? I’m not too proud to say I jumped back and shrieked like the aphids were going to fling themselves off the lilies and attach themselves to my helpless body, sucking the lifeblood from me like evil insect vampires.

At this point, Sassy and Bubba came running over to see what all the ruckus was about and, of course, to add to the ruckus by jumping and barking at the top of their ridiculous lungs.  I suggested that they could be more useful if they would grub down and EAT the aphids but they were completely uncooperative.

Seriously, these dogs are so selfish.

In any case, I’m sure there are a ton of different things I could spray to get rid of aphids but I’m kind of a tree-hugging hippie so I immediately began researching the best NATURAL way to get rid of aphids.

A surprising number of sources assured me that all I really needed to do was spray the infected plants with a good burst of water.  The aphids would be knocked senseless, flung from the plants in an epic flood, and peace would be restored.

So I tried that...but the aphids were relatively unimpressed. In fact, I’m pretty sure I saw them laughing and splashing in the spray like it was a day at the beach.

Jerks.

And then I read about ladybugs.  I mean, I already KNEW about ladybugs—they’re little, they’re cute, they’re good luck—and I knew they were good for the garden but I didn’t realize that, to aphids, they are like some horror movie killing machines. A developing ladybug larvae can eat something like 400 aphids and an adult ladybug can eat 5000 aphids in its lifetime.

Doesn't look at all like a horror movie monster, does it?

 “Etymological warfare!" I shouted to the dogs.  "That's what this situation calls for!"

The dogs were, of course, very confused by this pronouncement...possibly because I had said etymological instead of entomological. And they just couldn't see how studying words was going to affect the aphids' enjoyment of the lilies.

"Bugs!" I clarified. "We need bugs to fight bugs!"

It is interesting to note that all the guides I found said that the best way to draw ladybugs to the yard is to provide them a food source (the disgusting aphids) and plenty of pollen producing plants.

Which, based on the infestation level, means that we should have literal clouds of ladybugs hovering around the lilies like one of the plagues of Egypt.

But we don’t.  I mean, we have a few, maybe 10 or 15, but nowhere near enough to get the aphids under control.

"You know, that field by the park always has a lot of ladybugs in it," I told Opie later that night.

"Are you telling me you want to STEAL ladybugs from the park?" He countered.

"I really consider it relocating more than stealing," I assured him. "Besides, we pay taxes and that's a community park so they're community ladybugs. I'm a part of this community so essentially those are MY ladybugs too."

Believe it or not, he was unswayed by this argument.

"I guess you just don't care if the lilies DIE," I said. "And don't think they'll stop there! They're going to trash our tomatoes! Pulverize our peppers! Brutalize our beans!  It’ll be Armageddon!"

Opie's ability to stay calm in the face of drama is one of the cornerstones of our relationship.

"You know you can order them online, right!" he asked. "I just texted my friend Tom and he got a bunch from some place called High Sierra Ladybugs."

Which is way less exciting than a covert ladybug relocation mission. So, the long and the short of it is, 500 ladybugs are being delivered to the house this week and I am already dreaming of a horrible aphid massacre…and if you think releasing 500 ladybugs is going to occur in this house without drama, then you don't know me at all.

Stay tuned.

Crime and Canines

My life is weird.

If you're reading this blog you probably have already realized this; however, some days really drive it home more than others. Thursday was one of those days.

It actually seemed to start pretty normally...just a woman and her dog heading out to get their routine beauty treatments.

Sassy to the groomers for a trim and a touch up to her trademark boot puffs. Me to the salon for a trim and a touch up to the irritating grays that come not from age but from living a weird life.

See?  A perfectly puffed pup!

I was running a touch behind, so I grabbed Sassy, ran to the car and hurried on our way without really looking around. A minute or so into the drive I realized that the overhead light was on. "That's odd," I thought. And then I saw all the junk from the glove compartment was on the passenger seat.

"Someone burgled the car!" I told myself, glancing around. "Just the tire pressure kit and a whopping seventy-five cents in change. Unless..."

And I put my hand down into the console where I usually keep a set of keys.

They were gone.

If you are anything like Opie, you are now saying  "You kept KEYS in your CAR?"

It is interesting to note that Opie did NOT say "I have asked you 500 times not to leave those damn keys in the car!" even though he has, in fact, asked me about 500 times not to leave my keys in the car.

Opie, you see, is a very wise man.

Besides, when I called him I was already well into a a panic attack. "I hardly ever use those keys, they're for the vacation place.  But I can't remember if I had house keys on the ring.  What if I had house keys on the ring? What if I had house keys on it and the thieves have been watching the house, waiting for me to leave so they can break into the house?  Do you think that Bubba would scare them off?"

"I'll take care of it," he sighed and hung up.

But I had already jumped on that train of thought and was following it all the way to crazy town. "The sketchy neighbors!" I shouted to myself in the car.  "What if it was the sketchy neighbors who broke into the car, specifically to get the keys, and were waiting for me to leave the house.  They know about Bubba. If they're planning to break in, they must have some sort of plan to subdue Bub!  What if the neighbors are planning to BREAK IN AND KILL BUBBA SO THEY CAN BURGLE THE HOUSE?!"

And just as I was trying to decide if I should go into the salon, continue hyperventilating in the car, or dash home and save the Bub, Opie texted to let me know that he had called Janet (a good neighbor) and asked her to put one of their cars in our driveway and keep a general eye on the house until I got back.

Seriously, the man is a genius.

My mom is also a genius because she suggested later that random thieves wouldn't keep keys they couldn't use and maybe they dropped them in the lawn or street or someplace...and she was right!  The lazy thieves hadn't even taken them out of the car; when I got out of the salon, I found the keys on the floor between the passenger seat and the door.

I'm not going to lie, I actually danced around the parking lot a little when I found them.

In any case, this should be enough drama for any one day but, as I said, my life is weird.

See, Opie and I both thought I should call the police and file a report, just to make sure they know about crime in the area. So I did as soon as I got home and they sent an officer over to take a statement.  He was pleasant, said he'd have the overnight shift up the patrols of the neighborhood, and that it was probably just kids.

Overall, he thought I could kiss my seventy-five cents goodbye.

If I had a normal life, we would have said our goodbyes and continued on our merry ways.

But the entire time we were talking, there was this huge brown dog running around the neighborhood like a maniac.

"Do you know who's dog that is?" The officer asked me, interrupting himself to turn around and stare at the dog.

"I've never seen it before," I said.

"I don't like the looks of it," he muttered..

"I don't think it has a collar," I said. "It's probably just a stray."

And then the dog ran across our lawn, loped across to the backyard, turned around, ran back across our yard and across the street.

"I really don't like the looks of that dog," the officer said. "We haven't had a case of rabies in years but did you see all the drool around its mouth?"

"Maybe it's part chow," I suggested.  "They're big droolers."

At least that's what I THOUGHT I said, what he apparently heard was "Yes, that dog looks 8 kinds of rabid! Come on, cop, what are you waiting for?  Protect and serve, mister, Protect and serve!"

Because as the dog made another dash across the lawn, THE OFFICER GOT OUT HIS GUN.

I will now pause and let the ramifications of THAT sink in....and I will repeat for emphasis.

THE OFFICER GOT OUT HIS GUN.

Ever supportive of law enforcement, I did NOT scream "WTF are you doing?"  Instead I said, "You are NOT going to shoot that dog."

"I don't want to," he agreed.  "But if it's rabid..."

"It's not rabid," I assured him. "It's just hot from running around so much."

Oddly, the officer seemed unwilling to accept my diagnosis (he must not realize that I read A LOT of WebMD and therefore know all there is to know about rare illnesses). But the dog took off running again and, as the officer wasn't a lunatic, he obviously wasn't going to just spray the neighborhood with bullets...

Anyway, he put the gun away, called Animal Control to come deal with the dog, and suggested that I should go inside, just in case.

Which means that I had to spend an inordinate amount of time at our front window with my binoculars, looking for signs of a rabid dog and listening for gunshots.

I also had to spend a disturbing amount of time explaining to Bubba that he couldn't go into the backyard until I was sure the threat had passed. It is interesting to note that telling a whining dog "I'm saving your life, Bubba! Just like I've been doing all day!" and asking him "Do you want rabies,  Bubba?  DO YOU?!" does almost nothing to convince him the house is a better hangout than the backyard.

This is NOT the face of a dog who understands his peril.

So the long and the short of it is, my life is weird and our neighborhood has apparently become a seething hotbed of crime and questionable canines...and don't even get me started on the snakes!

Motivation to Move

We have to move.

I understand that this may seem sudden but once I have relayed the events of my day to you all, I think you will agree that it is time to drop everything and start researching realtors.

Here's what happened:

After a few days of rain, today was finally clear and since the ground is very soft at the moment, I decided that this would be the perfect time to go out and transplant this enormous shasta daisy that is taking over the rock garden. After moving it, I went back to smooth everything over etc. Unfortunately, while doing this I accidentally flipped over a rock and guess what was under it?

Another freaking snake, that's what!

One of those small snakes that for a hopeful minute I thought might just be the King Kong Godzilla Monster of earthworms but then, just like our last snake adventure, realized it was all coiled up, snake-like and evil.

And, of course, it had six inch fangs that were dripping blood and venom in copious amounts.

At this point, I screamed a very offensive curse word loudly enough that I'm pretty sure they could hear me at the church down the street.

My normal reaction would, obviously, be to run shrieking into the house....but Bubba was outside with me.  And because my life is one giant catastrophic coincidence after another, it was at this exact moment that a stray dog decided to meander up and bark at the dog next door.  Which means that Bubba ran over in a frenzy, jumping all over the exact same garden that had just given rise to the serpent from hell.

Therefore, I couldn't run inside because:

A. The snake could go slinking and sliming and slithering to some other spot in the yard, just waiting to jump out and attack another time.

B. I'm a firm believer in "No Dog Left Behind" and, since there is no calming Bubba when there is a stray dog in the vicinity and he was jumping around in a manner that just begged an evil predator to notice and attack, I knew I wouldn't get him in the house with me.

But I also couldn't just go into a frenzy of my own and started chopping the snake to pieces with my shovel like some whacked out snake serial killer because that's bad for my karma..

So, fueled by adrenaline and maternal instinct for the ridiculous dog next to me, I scooped up a huge shovelful of dirt with the snake on top, scurried to the other gate like a maniac, ran out to the front and flung the dirt and snake and rocks and whatnot into the street.

I'm not too proud to say I was crying and screaming all the curse words I've ever heard as I was running.

What the neighbors thought of this display is anyone's guess...but I suspect their opinion of me is none too flattering.

In summary, I have become the lunatic of the neighborhood, our rock garden is, apparently, a teeming hotbed of serpent activity, and I don't think I can live in these kind of conditions.

Horrifying Complete Strangers

The first thing to remember is that I work from home.

I work from home, I never see people (except Opie) and it's not like I have a freaking dress code.

The second thing to remember is that I'm trying to get in shape.

I'm trying to get in shape, we just bought a Fitdesk (combo exercise bike and work desk--more on that later!) and I try to ride it at least an hour and a half a day.

The final thing to remember is that I have tiny little Cinderella feet.

I have tiny little Cinderella feet so I have to buy tiny little Cinderella shoes however I don't have tiny little Cinderella calves so all boots need to be broken in in the calf area before they can be comfortably worn.

If you keep these 3 things firmly in mind, you will understand that I did not intentionally horrify the Jehovah's Witnesses who came evangelizing yesterday afternoon.

Here's what happened: I'm off for most of the weekend so had to work a crazy number of shifts yesterday. So I got up, threw on a pair of hot pink bike shorts (don't judge me, they're comfortable!) and a long t-shirt (because I'm not DELUSIONAL about the way I look in hot pink bike shorts), and put my hair--which the substitute stylist dyed a horrible jet black on Friday--in a messy bun. Then I jumped on the FitDesk, signed onto my work account and began pedaling away.

After an hour or so of that, I needed a break so I got off the bike and decided this would be the ideal time to start breaking in my new black boots. Thus, the following addition to my ensemble:
2 pairs of thick, knee high socks (white) and black leather mid-calf boots.

How Opie keeps his hands off me the moment he walks in from work is a mystery for the ages.

But I digress...

In any case, it was at just this moment that the evangelists came a knockin'!

And because I have, apparently, lost all sense of decorum, I went right ahead and threw the door open in all my black haired, bike shorted, booted glory.

In addition, because I have limited control over the 2 most ridiculous dogs in the universe, actually stepped out onto the porch to get  away from the barking.

That's right.  I stepped out on the porch in hot pink bike shorts, long t-shirt, knee high socks, boots, and Wanda Witch black hair in a messy bun.

May I mention that I also didn't have any make up on yet?

I think it's safe to say, the evangelists were horrified. They gave me a some watchtower pamphlet, mumbled something about coming to their weekly service but when I said "Thanks, but I'm cheerfully Catholic." They flew from the porch like they'd been shot from a gun.

Honestly, I've never gotten rid of evangelists so fast in my life...I suspect they were worried about what I might WEAR to services.

Wondering what today will bring....

Firsts This Spring

I can’t believe I haven’t posted yet about the fabulous new camera lens Opie got me for Christmas. 

It’s a lens for extreme close ups and portraits; in professional photography jargon it’s best described as “very zoom-y” and “wicked cool!”

I hope that’s not too technical for you lay people.

In any case, we’ve taken it on a few of our morning hikes/walks and the pics it takes are simply amazing…as evidenced by this picture I like to call Duck Berries:

(Duck Berries...hope that's not too abstract for you non-English teachers!)

But, best of all, I was able to capture some awesome shots of a few firsts of the spring.

Like the first toad of spring who was hiding in the garden:

And the first iris of spring that popped up a few weeks ago.

I did not, obviously, capture a picture of the first snake of spring that slithered sneakily out from under a rock a few days ago because it is very difficult to take good pictures while running away screaming.

Opie maintains that this is “over-reacting” and that “you’re going to see snakes outside” and that “it’s a tiny little snake, you should be able to deal with a tiny little snake.”

Which just goes to show you that, once again, Opie is very lucky my fear of snakes is only topped by my fear of prison.

Though, I will admit, it was a small snake.  And while I didn’t get my own pic, I found a representative pic on Google images:

Small but obviously an inherently vicious creature that would kill you as soon as look at you!

It is interesting to note that, when telling our friends Fred and Susan about our snake adventures, Susan mentioned that she had found a snake in their pantry a while ago (It is further interesting to note that I was sitting within FEET of the alleged pantry when this revelation was made.  The fact that I didn’t immediately dash from the home is a testament to my strength of character). In any case, snake in the pantry is the clearest argument for moving I have ever heard, even if this is their dream house that they designed and had built.

So, in summary, the new camera lens is awesome, snakes are evil, Susan is one of the bravest women alive and if we get a snake in this house we’re putting it on the market within the hour.

The Scariest Woman Ever

If you've spent any time with me in the past few months, you know my phone has been a disaster.  Which is a problem because I am as attached to my phone as a teenager.  I have an iPhone 5 and it was one of those in the batch that had bad batteries. Unfortunately, when I took it in to the Apple store last year, the tech guy told me it wasn't bad enough to qualify for the free replacement.

This did not go over well.

Particularly since I can hold my breath longer than my phone can hold a charge.

"Take it back to the store again," Opie said after one particularly entertaining phone meltdown.  "See if it's bad enough now...but try to stay calm."

Which is so unfair. I am the soul of calm.  It's not my fault that people often confuse my stoicism for insane rage.

Anyway, first thing this morning, I headed over to the mall and actually got there 10 minutes before Apple even opened. And there was already a line to get in the door. Which I expected but it's still annoying because I hate lining up to GO INSIDE A STORE like it's some sort of concert or exclusive club.

However, as I said I was expecting it so I got in line and actually struck up a pleasant conversation with the older lady in front of me. She was my mom's age or a little older and was obviously a little uncomfortable with technology. She confessed that she'd never been in Apple before but was just there to pick up some "I thing" she had ordered for her grandson.  I told her not to worry about it, that she just needed to tell that to the Apple employee at the head of the line and he would send her in the right direction.

So all was right with the world... Until some jackass decided to showcase his talent for jackassery and tried to cut the line.

RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE OLDER LADY!!!

Who was a much nicer person than I could ever hope to be because she just kind of smiled at me and shrugged in that "what is the world coming to?" kind of way.

I didn't just shrug but I did decide to exercise some restraint and instead of yelling "What the hell is the matter with you?" I pretended like maybe the guy was just clueless and not a complete jerk. So I said, very politely, "Excuse me but the end of the line is over there." And pointed.

Unfortunately, the guy decided he WAS a complete jerk and snapped "I have an appointment!"

"That's great," I said. "But most of the people in this line have appointments. This lady you just stepped in front of has an appointment.  We're all just waiting in line to talk to the Apple guy to see which person we''re supposed to meet with."

And then he did the bad thing...the thing where instead of trying to actually explain, he just said the same thing again in a louder voice, stressing a different word. "I have an APPOINTMENT!"

"Not for the LINE." I told him. "You can make an appointment to the store but the line doesn't take appointments. You still have to wait in the same line as the rest of us to get checked in."

Then he just stood them, staring at me and making faces like he thought I was an idiot.

Wow do I hate it when people treat me like I'm an idiot. It causes me to get ever so slightly over-dramatic.

"Not jumping the line is an established rule of polite society!"I told him. "You can't just go around breaking the established rules of polite society!" Then, since his stare had changed from contempt to mild horror, I smiled and said "It'll be anarchy!"

And, since no one wants anarchy, he went to the end of the line...though, to be honest. that might have been more because all the other people in line were nodding and saying yeah than because he was actually swayed by my stellar logic.

Still, it was a victory.

So 20 minutes later I got in to see a tech of my own. I explained about my battery, said it was on the recall list and explained "I came in with it about a year ago and they did some diagnostic test and told me it wasn't quite bad enough to be replaced. Which surprised me because I thought it was pretty bad then."

"And it's worse now?" He asked.

"Now it sucks out loud," I told him. "People all over the mall probably hear how bad the phone is sucking even as we speak. Walking in from the parking lot, I sent two texts but otherwise have had no other applications on. The battery charge has gone down 30%"

"That's bad," he agreed. "But we still do have to do that diagnostic test."

"I understand," I said. "And I want you to know that I used to work in retail so I know what a pain it can be to deal with the public... And my husband is a computer programmer so I know how nasty people can be when they are having troubles with their technology."

"That's true," he said with a nice smile. "Thanks for understanding."

"Which is why," I went on sweetly "I really hate to tell you that if you say there's nothing wrong with this battery, you're going to be telling the story of this customer service experience for the rest of your life. And that story will always start with the sentence 'she was the scariest woman I've ever seen.'"

Then I smiled...though not quite as nicely as he had.

He pushed a couple buttons said he'd run the test--though it lasted about 1/10 of the time the previous diagnostic test took--then smiled again and said "Let's get you a new battery."

It's been a victorious day, make no mistake!

When Good Gifts Go Wrong

It seemed like such a good idea for a Christmas gift...a fleece blanket for Opie with all his favorite pictures of the two of us and our fur babies.

And then, of course, it all went horribly wrong.

Largely because I said to myself, "Self," I said. "I want these pictures to be clear.  I want us to show up.  I don't want our faces to get lost."

So, I cropped all the pictures and got nice, tight close-ups of all of us.

Then the blanket showed up and I almost cried.  "I didn't order THAT," I screamed.  "There has to be some sort of horrible mistake!"

And you might be saying the same thing that a lot of my friends and family said when (after checking the computer and realizing that I had, in fact, ordered such a thing) I sent a picture to them "Oh, that's not so bad. Sure, that black dog's a little big but it's nothing to cry about."

But that's because you are seeing this picture small on the computer screen, much like I saw it when I ordered it online not in all its full, over-sized glory.

It's just when you get it in person that you realize that your head in the picture is at least TWICE the size of your head in real life.

And then, when you decide to throw caution to the wind and give it to your husband anyway, you see that he almost looks like a tiny little pin-head in comparison to his head on the picture:

And while your little, fluffy Maltese doesn't look crazy out of proportion

Your hairless cat  (who, of course, refuses to cooperate with being photographed) looks downright freaky-deaky huge.

And--far worst of all--your poor Rottweiler mix looks like he's roughly the size of a COW.

This, my friends, is just one reason that we have champagne BEFORE opening our gifts here at The Yates' Estates.