Are we in the dog days yet?

The Better Half called me outside this morning to show me the evidence. During the night, visitors had munched or nibbled their way through the front flower garden. Many of the violets were reduced to stems, their leaves neatly clipped off. presumably by whitetail deer based on the hoof prints we noticed. But, I’m not discounting the possibility that a cottontail or two might not have enjoyed a few leaves.

Meanwhile, yesterday we saw a chipmunk scamper past the front of the garage, the first one we’ve seen around the house in a couple of years or so. I’ll bait a live trap with peanut butter later today.

This morning’s fog held on until late. The combination of humidity and bugs took lots of the pleasure out of dog walking. According to some sources, we’re already in the “dog days” of summer. Others place the beginnings of summer’s hottest days sometime over the next few weeks. I’m not quite yet looking forward to autumn but it won’t take much more in the way of political attack ads for me to look forward to the depths of winter, after the elections.

milkweed beginning to bloom

Photo by J. Harrington

We enjoyed a relatively quiet Independence Day and shared it with the Daughter Person, Son-In-Law and Granddaughter Person at their house. On the way, we saw roadside milkweed flowers turning from bud to bloom. Too many others, for too many reasons, had a less than pleasant holiday. May we all do better next year, after November’s votes are counted.

Milkweed

Helen Hunt Jackson

O patient creature with a peasant face, 
Burnt by the summer sun, begrimed with stains, 
And standing humbly in the dingy lanes! 
There seems a mystery in thy work and place, 
Which crowns thee with significance and grace; 
Whose is the milk that fills thy faithful veins? 
What royal nursling comes at night and drains 
Unscorned the food of the plebeian race? 
By day I mark no living thing which rests 
On thee, save butterflies of gold and brown, 
Who turn from flowers that are more fair, more sweet, 
And, crowding eagerly, sink fluttering down, 
And hang, like jewels flashing in the heat, 
Upon thy splendid rounded purple breasts.

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