In late September last year, we received deep wet snow that downed trees and closed highways. This year has spun us in reverse. Even now, in early October, daytime temperatures creep into the 80s, hay is being cut, and our garden offers bounty for all.
Every golden sunflower thrums with bees
harvesting late-season banquet fare.
Alongside them, I fill my bucket with fresh sweet peppers and tiny stir fry-sized zucchinis. Now that the electric boundary fence has been removed from the garden—a barrier meant to discourage raccoons—Dozer joins me. A devoted forager, he beats me to most of the ripe tomatoes that are his favorite.
Every golden sunflower thrums with bees
harvesting late-season banquet fare.
Alongside them, I fill my bucket with fresh sweet peppers and tiny stir fry-sized zucchinis. Now that the electric boundary fence has been removed from the garden—a barrier meant to discourage raccoons—Dozer joins me. A devoted forager, he beats me to most of the ripe tomatoes that are his favorite.
The photo understates green-stained consequences
of his search for perfect slicers concealed amidst tangled
vines. Although he strips the clumps of cherry tomatoes with
delicacy—one bite-sized gem at a time—in total he
consumes dozens during our shared foray. Fortunately,
there are enough to spare, for I have a colander-full in
the house. Later, he gleans from the corn patch that
I’ve abandoned for the season. He tears out stalks by
the roots and carries them into the yard where he can rest
comfortably in the shade to gnaw on sugar-sweet stems,
peel cobs partially destroyed by earlier swarms of blackbirds,
and nibble whatever kernels they left behind.
of his search for perfect slicers concealed amidst tangled
vines. Although he strips the clumps of cherry tomatoes with
delicacy—one bite-sized gem at a time—in total he
consumes dozens during our shared foray. Fortunately,
there are enough to spare, for I have a colander-full in
the house. Later, he gleans from the corn patch that
I’ve abandoned for the season. He tears out stalks by
the roots and carries them into the yard where he can rest
comfortably in the shade to gnaw on sugar-sweet stems,
peel cobs partially destroyed by earlier swarms of blackbirds,
and nibble whatever kernels they left behind.
And then there are apples. Our shelterbelt has lots of crabapples and homestead era early-season apple trees, to which we have added a couple of Macintosh trees, one of which is pictured. All bore heavily this year and windfalls are plentiful. I remove those downed apples from under the trees in our yard and store them in buckets for later distribution to the sheep. If I leave the buckets in the garage, Dozer takes responsibility for the apples within, crunching down dozens by day, storing several in his man-cave for nighttime snacking, and guarding them from Toots, Dot, and the neighbor’s visiting guard dog with raised hackles and deep growls.
It would be a mistake to conclude that Dozer’s diet saves on commercial dog food. In fact, his trendy locavore gorgings, augmented by the pea/barley grain mix that he steals from the lambs, pass through unscathed by digestive action. The aftermath evidence might lead one to conclude that we run a sanctuary for bears.
Despite inconvenient depositional consequences, we welcome Dozer's gourmet gusto. It provides us with laughter and distracts us from political chatter and Covid-imposed anxieties. I only wish that he would whip up a loaf of crusty sourdough bread to accompany our garden-fresh dining. I’m sure he would oblige, if he knew that I would slather his share with butter.
Despite inconvenient depositional consequences, we welcome Dozer's gourmet gusto. It provides us with laughter and distracts us from political chatter and Covid-imposed anxieties. I only wish that he would whip up a loaf of crusty sourdough bread to accompany our garden-fresh dining. I’m sure he would oblige, if he knew that I would slather his share with butter.
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