After October's drought, when the ground was dry as cocoa powder without the flavor, and dust clouds followed our every footstep, the rain on our hilltop this week was a welcome relief. Unfortunately, not everyone benefited; storms caused roads and bridges to wash out and damaged fields and fences, but that's a story for someone else to tell.
By Tuesday, we had accumulated 12 3/4 inches, and envisioning the streams and tiny rivulets down the hill, I couldn't resist the call of the hollow. Gus and I headed down the familiar trail to a slope overlooking the broad valley. Two brooks rushed over the recently dry rocks, then merged to form a swollen stream flowing to the lake. From my vantage point, the enchantment of it all took my breath away. I knew the valley teamed with ticks, stick tights, and cockleburs, and my better judgment told me to turn back, but the beauty before me beckoned me on.
Down the hill, Gus sprinted across the creek as I picked my way over slippery rocks, the water rushing over my water-proof boots and squishing between my toes.
Once across, I called Gus, and my heart sank as I saw his head pop up from the midst of a field of ripe cockleburs. He limped my way, but the damage had already been done. Many of the small, thorny fruits of the plant were attached to his coat, and every step he took toward me attracted more.
When he reached me, I stooped and extracted a few from between his paws and others I could get quickly; the rest had to wait until we got home. Armed with cuticle scissors, I began the painstaking removal process, which took nearly an hour and a half and gave me plenty of time to regret my decision to venture into the hollow. Despite the discomfort, Gus remained remarkably patient and trusting, and when it was over, he was free of the thorns and handsome again.
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| Gus's tail before |
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| Gus's tail after |
Except for his tail, that is. He noticed the chop job the next day, and if you see him, please don't mention it; he's a little chagrined about his new haircut.
