Today is a good day, warm, but not too warm, and while I was using the freedom granted to me by Spouse taking the dog for a long walk this morning to attack the unstoppable masses of dandelions that in the cracks between paving bricks in our driveway, I heard the most wonderful sound: that of someone who wasn’t me scooping alpaca poop out of their stall and pens. Yes! Barring any further accidents befalling my neighbor, I am no longer on the hook for taking over alpaca care and feeding (and poop scooping) during the half of each week her husband is away for work.
And if that wasn’t cause enough for celebration, I also, thankfully not literally, stumbled across one of the Freds who lives in our front garden. (Don’t ask me why any escargot snail that lives in my garden (or anywhere else I see one (and by this I mean more hanging out on the side of a tree than swilling in garlic butter on a plate) is named Fred. It just is.)
Fred was chowing slowly down on some dandelion that was growing in the lawn instead of the driveway.
That’s my index finger for scale. I don’t know why anyone eats Freds. Because, A- you could eat a rubber tire instead, which are just as chewy and just as palatable under enough garlic butter, and B- a lucky Fred (i.e., one not resident in France, or Poland, which is where the ones come from that the French eat now, because they’ve eaten through all of their own) can reach the ripe old age of 35. Needless to say, I’m terrified of accidentally stepping on one of my Freds. I’d hate to be the one to do in a snail that had been chugging happily along since 1995. Anyway, no one here is eating them, at least, because they’re rare enough as to be protected (however, no one has told that to the hedgehogs, although none of the our resident hedgehogs, nor our resident grass snake, have managed to find either of our two Freds in the year or so they’ve been living in our garden).
Yesterday was also a great day, although it started out with enough rain to making the scooping of alpaca poop, which I was several days totally over at that point anyway, even ickier and heavier than normal. There were not one, but two green woodpeckers boring holes in the back lawn all day yesterday and when I took the dog for a walk in the afternoon, the sun came out and the day was just warm enough to be pleasant given the insanity of humidity and the wind was exactly just right. The rolls of hay were out standing in the mowed, golden fields and you just had to think that sometimes it is actually quite pretty here.
Then, when Spouse came back from registering the van he bought as a company car for his fledgling enterprise, I had a peek at the license plate. Because of where we live, all license plates have to start with PLö, which you can write in English as PLOE, and is pronounced sort of like the love child of ploo and pluh. After that, you get to pick 2 letters, and because of the name of the company, he chose RD. (After that you get 2-3 numbers of your choice, depending on what’s available.)
So i was like, PLö RD! It’s the Ploerdmobile!!!!
So now every time I get to ride in it, I’m going to say, in my most serious Adam West voice, To the Ploerdmobile.
It is the little things that bring joy into one’s life.
In other news, this morning, I noticed that my two headed sunflower has become a three-headed sunflower, so I guess it’s now more Cerberus than Zaphod Beeblebrox or totally bonkers ending of A Canticle for Leibowitz. I have no idea what has gotten into that plant. And I can only wonder what tomorrow will bring.