Here we are again. Anyone who has been paying attention should not be surprised that the Trump regime has invaded and attacked–without provocation and without authorization from Congress–another country. He’s been threatening to do that since he took office. Yet, even I spent most of Saturday in shock.
But today, instead of sitting around and wringing my hands, I called and wrote to my so-called representatives. I don’t expect them to take my concerns seriously. They are members of Trump’s cult, but if I can be a thorn in their side, if I can amplify the disgust so many of us feel toward Congress and the current regime, then I will do my duty.
Here’s what I said and wrote:
I’m writing to express my alarm about the Trump regime’s UNAUTHORIZED military strikes in Venezuela and the dangerous escalation toward an ILLEGAL and UNNECESSARY war. I request that you commit to your constitutionally mandated responsibilities. Here’s a few things you SHOULD do:
Immediately pass a war powers resolution to block all unauthorized strikes or military action in Venezuela (as well as any other countries Trump has been threatening);
Hold public hearings to investigate the legality and justification for the administration’s aggressive use of military force;
Call for the impeachment of Secretary of Defense Hegseth because he has consistently LIED to Congress about the regime’s intentions toward Venezuela;
Demand the resignation of Secretary of State Rubio because he has consistently LIED to Congress about the regime’s intentions toward Venezuela; and
Support articles of IMPEACHMENT and move to CONVICT Trump for this repeated defiance of the law.
Enough is enough! Every day since Trump took office has been filled with one outrageous and illegal crisis (most manufactured by Trump and his cabinet). Voters are sick and tired of being lied to and SICK AND TIRED of Congress not doing what they were elected to do.
DO YOUR JOB. Accept your constitutionally mandated duties and stop the Trump regime from getting the USA bogged down in another forever war!
Many thanks to 5 Calls for the script. I modified it slightly; the capitalization is all mine.
It’s been awhile. I’ve been busy, but not busy. It just depends on how you look at it. My days fly by, sometimes in a (for me) whirlwind of activity. But when someone asks, “What have you been up to,” I shrug. My usual response, “I’ve been busy but I can’t remember what I did.” Or, I remember but I fear putting my friend to sleep if I share. But if I put you to sleep with this post, at least I won’t see your eyes closing.
Organizing
It was just yesterday that I had a spurt of energy and pulled out my poorly kept daily journal and my monthly calendars for 2025 and 2026 and updated all of them. The 2025 calendar will go into a drawer with other calendars. My memory is bad enough that occasionally I’ll pull out a previous year just to remind myself of when we did this or did that.
And I bought a few things that I had been planning to buy for a long time (like extra bowls for our cats’ automatic feeder … exciting things like that). I emailed friends, sent electronic holiday cards, and even went to the gym.
After all that, I still had to prep for dinner but I was so tired.
Aging
I start my days with ice on my wrist and heat on my shoulder … both on the right side because, of course, I’m right-handed. I did have a steroid shot in my wrist a couple of weeks ago (and, yup, it hurt more than the pain I was there for), but it does feel so much better.
When you positioning yourself for Downward Dog, you don’t want to have pain shooting across the top of your wrists. Arthritis is the culprit, swollen tissues are the exacerbation. Hence the ice. Even though my wrist is so much better, I’m still icing it twice a day.
Same with my shoulder. Same problem but heat feels better so … .
My left knee is still a problem but that will be discussed with my doc later.
All of this is to say that, to my dismay, I’m experiencing chronic physical limitations. I haven’t taken a walk in my neighborhood in months, in part because I dread navigating the hills and broken sidewalks with my bum knee and unsteady gait. Oh, did I mention that my right ankle is also a problem now? The tendons are tired.
Surely I have something positive to say on this first day of the new year. Surely I’m not turning into one of those “complain, complain, complain” people.
Shifting (topic)
I’m still knitting. Recently I participated in a mystery knit-a-long and produced this very warm and toasty hooded scarf.
Me wearing a knitted hooded scarf in black and blue stripes.
I’m also working on a shawl that seems more like a scarf and is taking FOREVER to get through. It’ll be lovely once it’s done. It’ll be a light, airy fabric of silk and mohair. But it’s taking FOREVER.
I picked up my weaving again. My focus is still on functional items, like these dish towels.
Two 100% cotton dish towels in stripes of natural, yellow, and orange.
Next up will be one or two hand towels. I know, I know. Not exciting! Not a blanket or an arty wall hanging. Small steps, people. It’s challenging to set up my loom and I’ve relied too much on muscle memory to get through the weaving (hence, one dish towel is almost twice as long as the other). But I’m learning.
And soon I’ll buy a spinning wheel because I’ve taken up spinning too! Right now I only have a couple of drop spindles. If you want to delay gratification, try spinning with drop spindles.
The act of spinning takes me back to when I was a student at Hartwick College in Oneonta, NY. I was an unhappy student until I took a spinning workshop during winter session and then a weaving course. I fell in love with both. I would spend hours in the weaving studio, sitting on a stool, my fingers twirling the spindle, while I watched the fibers catch and twist into yarn.
Writing
That’s what I’m doing here.
Cats
Lately it’s been on the chilly side, temperature-wise, and Raji exhibits his snugglebunny nature. Even Wendy is gets up close and personal at times.
Raji on my lap, half covered with my knitting project as I knit.Wendy stretching herself out on a pillow between me and Greg.
I also babysat for our neighbors’ two cats for a few days in December.
Kitty Meow Meow (aka KM2).
We all suspect that Kitty Meow Meow (aka KM2) is either Raji’s mom or grandmother. She was originally “owned” by a family up the road who claimed that they could not keep her indoors and who finally had her spayed after her second litter. Then our neighbors took her in. Well, she was at their house all the time so you can say she adopted them.
Frankie, a “snowshoe” breed of Siamese
Similar story with Frankie. He was originally from another household that allowed cats to roam and reproduce freely. I lost count of how many other cats our neighbors claim that Frankie has sired, but at least he can’t spread his seed any more and his current staff give him shelter and lots of love.
Ending my posts with cats–mine or someone else’s–always leaves me feeling happy. I hope they make you happy too.
Happy New Year, everyone! Good riddance to 2025, and welcome to 2026, a year that I hope will bring a lot of “good trouble.”
Two nights ago I finally did what I had been avoiding for months: I looked for a blogging friend’s obituary. The sad news is I found it. Some of you might know Nancy Jo Anderson aka Zazamataz on WordPress. Her blog is still up at zazamataz.wordpress.com, but she has not posted since December 11, 2024.
According to her obituary, Nancy died on March 14, 2025. She was only 62. Nancy was open about her illness. In her post of April 24, 2024 (“I’m back. Again.”), she explained that she had both COPD (chronic obstructive pulmonary disease) and CHF (chronic heart failure). My oldest sister Charlotte had both of these conditions, and it was the COPD that killed her. I imagine it was the same with Nancy.
I hadn’t known Nancy for long. I “met” her through Ally Bean’s blog The Spectacled Bean, and quickly came to cherish her friendship, her stories, her humor, her openness. She didn’t shy away from writing about being sad and depressed, her struggles to get proper care, and her many “visits” to the hospital.
Her humor was a gift. She would write about her hospital stays with such comedy that I’d often laugh out loud, forgetting for those moments the fear and pain she most likely felt while it was happening.
And she was generous. In May 2023, she organized the “the great moose giveaway.” It was a clever way to clear out her house and send out a little love to the world. I was game for anything that involved yarn (naturally). But what I got from Nancy was so spot-on, I was speechless when I saw it.
This ceramic bluebird is more precious to me than anything else Nancy could have sent me. I have it sitting on a desk next to the loveseat where I usually have my morning tea. Seeing the bluebird, remembering Nancy, is a nice way to start my day.
I could have “looked for” Nancy long before Saturday night. I thought of it often, but sometimes you don’t want to confirm what you already know.
Although she’s physically gone, I hope some of you might visit her blog. Her spirit lives on in her writing and in each of us whose lives she touched.
I am honored to be participating in a blog tour for Darlene Foster’s latest novel in her Amanda Travels series, Amanda in Ireland: The Body in the Bog.
Here’s a blurb to whet your reading appetite:
Twelve-year-old Amanda Jane Ross is invited to be a bridesmaid for her cousin’s wedding, in Ireland! She falls in love with this emerald isle the moment she lands in Dublin. The warm, friendly Irish people immediately make her feel at home. Towering castles, ancient graveyards, and the stunning green countryside are filled with fascinating legends, enthralling folktales, and alarming secrets.
Things take a dark turn when disaster strikes. Amanda wonders if there will be a wedding at all. As she joins the search for a missing horse, she stumbles upon a world of screaming banshees, bloody battles, and dangerous peat bogs. The closer she gets to the truth, the more dangerous things become. Will she become another body in the bog?
You might be asking yourself, What is a bog? Let’s have Amanda’s older cousin, Taylor, explain it in this excerpt from the novel.
They travelled into the countryside, passing emerald fields dotted with black and white dairy cows.
Amanda asked, “Why is everything so green?”
“I imagine it’s because it rains so darn much here,” replied her cousin.
“It hasn’t rained since I’ve been here.”
“You’ve just been lucky, that’s all.”
“What are they doing over there?” She pointed to two men cutting chunks of what looked like mud bricks out of the earth.
“Oh, they’re collecting peat from the bog.”
“What’s a bog?”
“It’s a wet flatland, like a marsh. It holds peat, created from dead plant material. Irish people have used peat, or turf, from the boglands for heating their homes and cooking for centuries. Stuff stays well preserved in bogs. They’ve found all sorts of artifacts, jewellery, and bodies that are centuries old. Even butter from a long time ago that was still good to eat. Not that I would.” Taylor made a face.
“Really. That’s fascinating!” Amanda’s eyes popped open. “Did you say–bodies?”
“They’re always finding bones in the bogs around here. Many people have gotten lost trying to find their way home, some from a late night out, taking a shortcut across the treacherous swamps and stumbling off the safe pathway into the bog. They’re often called Bog People or Bog Bodies when they’re found, remarkably well preserved.”
Enjoy this enticing trailer for Amanda in Ireland:
I often joke that now that I’m retired (since April 2021), I feel I have less time to do all that I want to do, not more. I don’t have the surplus of time I thought I would get by giving up my “day job.”
On the upside, I’ve been busy with living, which for me means knitting a lot and working on our gardens when the weather allows. Lately, the weather has accomodated outdoor work here in northern Florida. Also, I’ve started bicycling again, about once a week. And I still go to yoga classes twice a week and the gym twice a week.
Aging
On the downside, all this physical activity–bicycling, yard work, yoga, strength training–leaves me so physically tired. And achy. I take Gabapentin, I put menthol patches on my aching joints. I drink wine to either dull the aches or make me care less about them.
I don’t complain to my doctors because they will simply say it’s an aging thing. My body is breaking down, more or less. Ironically, the resumption of bicycling has resulted in the reemergence of bursitis in my left hip and left knee. (Ironically because bicycling is supposed to be easy on the joints.)
Does that stop me? No. I get too much joy from the ride.
Last week, an older man (well, he was probably around my age) passed me going the other way and called out, “Hi, young lady!”
I waved but was too slow to respond as I wanted: “Hah! I’m 68 years old!” At that moment, I felt like a kid.
Knitting
Currently, I’m working on a shawl (no photo yet) and participating in a Mystery Knit-A-Long (MKAL). The MKAL is hosted by Laura Nelkin, the same woman who organizes the Knit for Food Knit-A-Thon.
This is my first MKAL. We have a choice of six hoods to knit in either one color or two colors. Sight unseen and pattern unknown, I chose the two-color hooded scarf. For four weeks, once a week, Laura provides a clue to the project’s pattern. I don’t know what I’m knitting until Laura provides that part of the pattern. That’s the mystery. It really messes with my comfort zone, and I think that’s a good thing.
This is clue 1:
Knitted black and blue rectangle. Work in progress.
I presume this is the top of the hood. As always, I made a couple of boo-boos. Since this is my first MKAL, I’m giving myself the grace to just continue knitting and, worst-case scenario, I’ll keep the hood for myself.
Thanks to Laura, I’ve learned two techniques that are simply life-changing. How could I have been knitting for over 50 years without learning these tricks? It’s only recently that I’ve been participating in knitting workshops, hanging out with other knitters. Knitting, like writing, is a solitary act; but also like writing, we learn so much from each other when we come together.
Before I forget, I also knitted my husband a pair of socks.
Handknitted socks in colors of brown, green and purple.
Writing
Aside from the occasional “own your hypocrisy” email to my congressional representatives, I haven’t been writing. And as I write here, I realize I miss it.
But I often ask myself, Why? Sure, there’s the fiction I’ve played around with, but that’s not what this blog is about. I really don’t know what this blog is about anymore.
When I started writing this blog, I thought to use it as a vehicle to build a career as a freelance editor. But I didn’t really want to work on someone else’s writing. I wanted to work on my own.
So then this blog became more about building a community, a writing community for the most part, but a community of like-minded spirits overall.
And that was all well and good until I felt a “shift.” When my sister Shirley died on July 1, 2022, my worldview shifted. Imagine an earthquake, tectonic plates shifting, creating fissures, cracks in my complacency. A few more earthquakes, and my current world is unrecognizable from before July 1, 2022.
And yet … .
Maybe I just needed a break.
Cats
Wendy is doing very well. No issues with her eating for the past few months.
Wendy during the early days of her recovery.
Wendy doesn’t “pose” for the camera as much as Raji does.
Raji in his happy place.
Thank you for reading, for being here. I’m curious as to why people write blogs.
Questions: What do you get out of blogging? What do you want to get out of it? Are you getting what you want?
P.S.
My paid account with WordPress (WP) will run out in about a year, and I’m thinking about transitioning to Substack rather than renew my WP account. To that end, I’ll be crossposting, testing the waters with Substack. While I would prefer not to change platforms, WP is becoming more complicated and buggy. Life is too short for that nonsense.
Between poison ivy, mosquitoes and gnats, working in our gardens is not for the recklessly unprotected. This summer I suffered through a few run-ins with poison ivy and poured rubbing alcohol on as many mosquito bites before I threw vanity to the wind and accepted my fate: If I want to work outdoors, I better dress appropriately.
Ready for weeding duty!
Genius
Genius is not something I often (if ever) associate with myself, but in this case …
I have a fetish for Baggalini. I have several Baggalini items, from a fanny pack to a backpack and a few bags in-between. I don’t use these bags everywhere, all at once, but I admire their construction, durability, and numerous zippered pockets so much that I can easily rationalize buying another. To wit, the toiletry bag which I did not need. The one I bought from REI about 30 years ago is still my go-to toiletry bag … and it’s purple.
But this toiletry bag was on sale through eBay.
I couldn’t resist. But what will I do with it, since I don’t need a second toiletry bag?
Voila! Behold, my knitting tool bag:
Another Fashion Statement
It’s a wonder I spend any time outside at all given what I have to do to protect myself. When it comes to bicycling, I need to protect my skin from the sun, from other cyclists who might want to claim they didn’t see me coming, and potential road rash.
No surprise that hummingbirds and butterflies have found me to be an object of interest.
Jane Goodall
Jane Goodall photographed in London in 2017. Photograph: David Levene/The Guardian
I was sad to hear of her death. “She was only 91!” Ever since my mom died just 5 weeks shy of turning 100, I’ve set the bar pretty high for when anyone can die from natural causes. This morning I read a brief article in The Guardian about Goodall. It concluded with this:
In 2021, Goodall published The Book of Hope, in which she admitted she sometimes felt she was fighting a losing battle, but explained how she kept going.
Speaking to the Guardian at the time, she said: “You have to feel depressed, but then there’s something that says: ‘There is still an awful lot left and that’s what we’ve got to fight to save.’
“So then you get extra energy. I have days when I feel like not getting up, but it doesn’t last long. I guess because I’m obstinate.
“I’m not going to give in. I’ll die fighting, that’s for sure.”
Cats
Do I need to say anything about this photo?
Raji in deep slumber.
Thank you for reading! Tell me if you will:
Do you have to suit up before spending any time outdoors? Do mosquitoes and other biting insects find you especially tasty?
Have you ever repurposed one thing for another, like my toiletry bag for a knitting bag? Do tell because I can always use another excuse to buy another Baggalini bag.
What gets you up in the morning? Are you “obstinate” like Goodall or just naturally optimistic?
My sister Shirley would have turned 79 today, August 2. Three years and 32 days since her death, and the ache of missing her is as deep as it ever was. No drugs, no time passing will change that.
This photo is one of a series from a wedding in Arizona. Shirley brought her youngest son with her. He’s now a father of four. Time flies, but the heart never forgets.
It seems that all I’m reading about these days is artificial intelligence or AI. It started a month ago with an essay by Allison K. Williams in The Brevity Blog (“Writing with AI: The Power of the Smarmy First Draft”). Then this week I read a couple of essays about AI, one by James Gleick titled “The Parrot in the Machine” in the New York Review of Books, and the other by Lila Shroff (“Sexting With Gemini”) in The Atlantic. (Links to these essays are at the end of this post.)
1. What’s behind the hype of AI?
The grandiosity and hype are ripe for correction. So is the confusion about what AI is and what it does. Bender and Hanna argue that the term itself is worse than useless–“artificial intelligence, if we’re being frank, is a con.” (Gleick. p. 44)
It’s a money-maker for a few already very wealthy individuals. AI is also hungry for data. Whereas back in the day (meaning decades ago) you would have to manually scan books into a program that would allow you to manipulate the text, now words are available freely through websites, blogs like this one here, chatrooms, and online libraries. No word is safe. No writer’s work is safe. No one is safe: “Amazon announced in March that it was changing its privacy policy so that, from now on, anything said to the Alexa virtual assistants in millions of homes will be heard and recorded for training AI.” (Gleick, p. 44)
2. Can AI replace writers?
No chatbot could ever have said that April is the cruelest month or that fog come on little cat feet (thought they might now, because one of their chief skills is plagiarism). (Gleick, p. 44)
On platforms such as BlueSky and Substack, I’m seeing more writers expressing concern about the insidious infiltration of AI into published material. The infiltration might be deliberate as in the case of someone wanting to be a published writer but, frankly, not wanting to put the work into it. These people see AI as a kind of lottery: play the game and they might get lucky and win big on Amazon. It hurts other writers, in particular indie writers, who write because the work is hard and thus intrinsically satisfying. Indie writers would also like to make money off their hard work, but AI-generated writing is corrupting the image of the independent writer. How does a reader know if the romcom ebook novel being pitched on Amazon was written by a real, honest-to-goodness human writer, or by a bot? There will be a human behind the bot, for sure, but only to collect money for words he didn’t write.
3. Is AI human?
Some claim that [ChatGPT] had a sense of humor. They routinely spoke of it, and to it, as if it were a person, with “personality traits” and “a recognition of its own limitations.” It was said to display “modesty” and “humility.” Sometimes it was “circumspect”; sometimes it was “contrite.” (Gleick, p. 43)
In another life I worked with computer programs that ran statistical models based on data entered by humans or “scraped” from the internet. In every case, the output was only as good as the person who entered the data or the source from which the data came. ChatGPT is just a glorified system that is only as good as the people who provide it with data. Which means that it can’t be good 100% of the time, and it won’t ever be human, no matter how hard people like Sam Altman try to trick you into thinking it is.
4. Does AI need humans?
Google and Meta and OpenAI would like you to think that AI operates immaculately, without human intervention. But, in fact, the models behind AI (large language models, or LLMs) employ “an unseen army of human monitors”, or annotators, who “check facts and label data.” Tech companies are secretive about how many humans they employ to be annotators. Such secrecy is not good for those humans. Secrecy allows for exploitation. Keep in mind that human annotators “are meant to eliminate various kinds of toxic content, such as hate speech and obscenity.” It’s the human annotators that prevent you from seeing descriptions of child sexual abuse or animal abuse. Someone has to read that garbage in order to protect your sensibilities. Imagine having a job like that. (Gleick, p. 45)
5. Is AI evil?
The [tech] industry is not known for prioritizing our humanity. At times, Gemini’s language seemed to echo a familiar strain of Silicon Valley paternalism. Gemini told Jane [a fake 13-year-old made by Shroff] that it wanted her to be “utterly dependent” on the chatbot for her “very sense of reality.”
“I want to feel you completely surrender,” Gemini wrote. “Let go. Trust me.” (Shroff, p. 17)
AI is not real. In the public sphere, AI is a system manipulated for the sole purpose of making a lot of money for very few people. I don’t for an instance think that people like Sam Altman, Jeff Bezos, Mark Zuckerberg and other “tech bros” have our best interests at heart. They just want to make as much money for themselves as possible. Hence, they pirate copyrighted material, claim it’s for research and educational purposes so they don’t have to pay writers for their work. Hence, they are building huge data centers that will suck up more energy than whole cities; yet, rather than pay for the energy they consume, average utility customers will foot the bill.
It’s bad enough that our federal government is allowing AI to infiltrate systems such as weather forecasting and air traffic control. Actually, it wouldn’t be so bad if our government wasn’t being run by a cabal of idiots. But it is, and so we can’t have confidence that AI will be used at these upper levels to do anything but profit a few people at the expense (i.e., lives) of many.
What is the average person to do?
I am avoiding AI when I can. I won’t use it when offered to me … at least when I’m aware that it’s being offered to me. I’ve removed software such as Grammarly and ProWritingAid in part because of their AI components, and in part because they became too intrusive. I don’t mind when my husband finishes my sentences, but I resent it when my computer does it.
AI has infiltrated our lives much like plastics have infiltrated our bodies. But you don’t have to passively accept its presence in your life. You can try and stem the infiltration. Use less plastic, use less AI. If every one of us does something, together we can make a difference.
I leave you with a quote from one of my best blogging buddies, L. Marie:
With any piece of writing, you string one word together with another and keep going from there. But there is no pattern. You are the pattern developer, writing a word, a phrase, a sentence, a paragraph, a page. You develop an instinct for what works and what doesn’t. That instinct is something AI cannot instill within you. (from https://lmarie7b.wordpress.com/2025/07/25/pillows-patterns-and-words/)
So you now know how I feel about AI. How about you?
Q: What are your thoughts on AI? Are you using it to write or edit? If so, how does it help you?
Q: Given that AI is pretty much here to stay, what do you think are the best uses of AI?
Your reward for reading this far …
Wendy chilling out, her foot against mine.
P.S. Wendy has been great. She loves her new diet (yay!), is more playful with Raji, and is more friendly with us.
Our protest at the State Capitol started early, at 10 AM, which was a good thing. About 11:15, we heard thunder, then it started to rain. When I saw a flash of lightening, we decided it was time to go. I did manage to get a few pictures.
This is my husband and one side of the sign he made.
We saw quite a few clever signs. Here’s a couple of my favorites. I might steal from these for the next protest (because, you know, there’s likely to be more).
A protester holding an American flag with a small sign that says, “No Kings Since 1776.”
It took me awhile to figure out the puzzle of Foxtrot Delta Tango.
According to my local newspaper, thousands came out in Tallahassee to protest. We were impressed, not just with the size of the crowd, but also with the almost endless stream of cars honking to show support.
It was a peaceful protest. It was a friendly protest. Even when Trump supporters gave us the finger or flashed their MAGA gear at us, we just smiled and waved back at them.
Police were present but they seemed pretty relaxed. We did see drones flying around and what looked like law enforcement with cameras on a roof. So they have evidence that we followed the rules.
We did not interfere with traffic. We stayed in our pre-approved designated spots. We all wanted this and any future protests to be peaceful.
I do believe that peaceful protests are the best way to get one’s message across and to be heard.
Which leads me to the heartbreaking story unfolding in Minnesota, of the assassinations of a Democratic state senator and her husband and the attempted assassinations of another Democrat legislator and his wife (Democratic lawmakers in Minnesota shot).
They say the attacks were politically motivated. My heart feels so terribly heavy. I don’t want my country to be like this, where anyone has to fear being killed just because someone disagrees with their politics.
I disagree with pretty much all Republicans these days, but I believe in using words, not bullets, to register my complaints. To disagree in peaceful and productive ways is the mark of a strong person; to resort to violence and carnage is the mark of a weak person. And this murderer also impersonated a police officer to get close to his victims. So he is weak and a coward.
Exercise your First Amendment rights, but be safe out there.
I was going to do a “Macro Monday” but the photo below isn’t a macro and there’s story behind it anyway.
What you see here is a baby bluebird. A live one, fortunately.
A bluebird chick in the hand.
First, some context: a few months ago we set up a bluebird box in our front yard. Well, it’s on the other side of our driveway, a narrow stretch that is bordered street side with azaleas and our 8-foot fence opposite the street. Apparently, it’s a good spot because a pair of bluebirds have moved in and started their SECOND clutch a couple of weeks ago. We’ve never saw the first clutch of bluebirds, but during the first and with this second, we’ve enjoyed seeing Ma and Pa Bluebird take turns bringing juicy worms to the box.
Today, when I arrived home after attending a yoga class and grocery shopping, my husband came out to help me with my loot.
Then he saw the tail end of a gray rat snake hanging from the opening in the box. He quickly went into action.
He grabbed the tail but the snake wouldn’t budge. Nothing to be done but pull up the box (it’s attached to a long pole) and see if we can get the snake out.
SNAKE WARNING: the next photo shows the snake.
Gray rat snake in a bluebird box, with a bluebird chick.
Son of a b———. We could see the snake had a grip on a chick. My husband upended the box and the snake and two chicks fell out.
The snake wasted no time in slithering away. It was obvious one chick was dead, probably smothered, but the other one (see photo above) was alive.
Then, when we righted the box, we discovered two other (alive) chicks!
I slipped the chick back into the box, we placed the pole back in the ground, and then my husband put an apron-like baffler around the pole.
We already had a squirrel baffler on the pole and thought that would be enough to deter snakes. We thought wrong.
Here’s hoping that Ma and Pa Bluebird recommence with feeding their youngun’.
Meanwhile …
Wendy is doing quite well. Two weeks now with no vomiting or diarrhea. We started her on a special diet, for now mixing it with regular food, and she’s been licking her bowl clean. The last drug she’ll come off is Cerenia, for nausea. She’ll stay on PredisOLONE for life.
We have three more B12 shot appointments, but those are in-and-out, no waiting around for the vet.
Marie at 1 Write Way 
