Old Molly

          I have a lot on my mind this week. I hardly know where to start.

Old Molly. That’s Where I’m going to start and Old Molly is what I’m going to call her. I’m not going to call her Poor Molly like someone in this household has been walking around all day calling her. She wasn’t poor.

We adopted Molly from a shelter in Missouri in mid-January, 2004.

“Peg, how do you remember that?” you wanna know.

Actually, I don’t — didn’t. But do you know who was good at remembering dates? My mother. She remembered birthdays and deathdays of everyone — and I mean every one of her family and friends. She even remembered anniversary dates! She never ceased to amaze me.

Do you know how I remember stuff? I have to look back through my old letters. I knew about when we’d gotten her. After that it was a lot of page turning. It probably took me longer than it should have to find where I wrote about getting her because I stopped to read and re-live a few memories along the way.  I didn’t say in my letter how old Molly was, only that she was a few months younger than Tippy, another kitten we’d gotten. But if I remember correctly, Molly was seven or eight months old. Which means she was born in 2003. Molly was seventeen years old when she left us.

A week ago, I was doing exactly what I’m doing now. I was visiting with you.

“Peg,” Mike calls from his recliner.

I went to see what he wanted. “What?”

“I think Molly’s dying.”

“Why do you think that?” I wanted to know.

“She tried to get up and couldn’t. She just fell back down.”

I squatted and looked at her. She seemed to have a far-away, dreamy look in her eyes. “Well, if she’s dyin’ I’d better get something to put under her. Their bowels usually let go.”

We spent an hour or so stroking her and telling her what a good kitty she’s been. “She could be hours or even days like this,” I told Mike as I went back to my letter writing. 

Molly has been nothing but skin and bones for months now. She gave up eating most cat foods, instead choosing to eat off the dogs’ plate or wanting treats all day long. Even though she’d pester me a lot to shake a few treats out for her, a dozen times a day it seemed like, I didn’t get upset about it too often. I knew, even then, that her time was coming.

Molly was ambulatory or semi-ambulatory right up to the day before she died. Her favorite place to be was out in the dog run off the kitchen. She’d lay in the sun until she got too warm... 

...then the next time I checked she’d be in the shade, up under the awning. 

The birds didn’t seem to mind Molly being there and would pick at the fallen seeds under the feeder just a few feet away from her.

By Tuesday she pretty much stopped eating. Even her favorite, a can of tuna, couldn’t tempt her and I started the death watch in earnest. I spent hours on the patio with her. Sometimes I’d cuddle her and coo soft words of love as I stroked her head. Her eyes were just as clear and sparkly and beautiful as the day I got her — and I told her so too. I didn’t get much done those next couple of days but I did read two books on my iPad during my vigil.

I was surprised when I woke up Wednesday and she was still with us but not nearly as surprised as I was when I woke up Thursday and she hadn’t left us yet.

Thursday, she stopped drinking. Every half hour or forty-five minutes I’d leave the patio chair, get down on my knees (which is a feat all in and of itself for an old fat woman — not so much the getting down part but definitely the getting up again part!) and I’d check to see if she was still alive. She had become incontinent and I’d move her out of the wet spot. She had something sticking on her nose. A little pebble, I think. I went to pick it off and it was stuck as tight as if it’d been super glued there. She was dry. Really dry. The water bowl wasn’t far away so I scooped a little up in the palm of my hand and dribbled it in her mouth. She licked at it greedily. Later in the day I got a syringe (without a needle) and gave her a drink that way. She seemed grateful for it. It was then that I saw the flies had laid their eggs on her gums. It kinda grossed me out but I didn’t think she’d be alive much longer anyway.

After supper she was still with us and the thought of the eggs in her mouth was bothering me. I got some cotton balls and a mild wash of boric acid and cleaned them away. I carried her in the house and gently put her in a kennel I’d made up for her. She’ll be gone in the morning, I thought.

Mike and I are early risers. Five, five-thirty, as we’re stirring to get up, Mike says, “Will you check Molly? I can’t eat breakfast if she’s there.”

I knew what he meant. Not that Molly was there but that she’d be there and be dead would bother him.

It’s always been my job to take care of dead critters. But she wasn’t dead. She gave a weak little meow as I gently stroked her head.

“She’s still with us,” I told Mike as he came out to the kitchen still buttoning his shirt. “She’d probably be dead if I hadn’t given her water yesterday.”

On the other days I’d carried her to the patio once it warmed up but today I wouldn’t. She wasn’t strong enough to keep the flies off and I wasn’t going to have any more of that fly-laying-eggs bullshit.

That afternoon Molly slipped away and I laid her to rest up on the hill.

She wasn’t Poor Molly. We didn’t beat her or starve her. She always had a food dish full of food, treats whenever she wanted them, and a clean litter box. She always had a lap to lie in whenever she wanted and she had medical care when she needed it. She got to travel all over these United States with us and her last days were full of warmth and sunshine as she lay in her favorite spot in the whole world. I don’t think she was Poor Molly. I think it more likely it’s Poor Mike whose heart is so tender — but don’t tell him I told you that! It goes against his stereotypical view of what a real man is.

          Speaking of Mike and his tender heart, do you see what he does for me! He mows around the milkweed and bergamot patches — just for me! If he had his druthers, he’d mow them over. He likes the yard to look nice. But because I like the wildflowers and the monarch butterflies, he makes an exception. 

          The Rough-fruited Cinquefoil is blooming.

          And so is the Birdsfoot Trefoil. 

          I’m going to make concrete leaves with my beautiful and kind-hearted friend Jody just as soon as the Burdock leaves are big enough. I’ve been watching an especially large plant grow down beside my mailbox and the county took it out when they graded and widened the road.

          Speaking of which —

          Look at the dust! You can’t even see the car creating it! And it’s all blowing over to my side of the road! Mike called the county and they said they’re going to put calcium chloride on it next week. Until then we have to suffer.

          But anyway, we had a little rain that settled it some and I asked Mike to take me for a golf cart ride down to the lower bridge. “I think there’s a Burdock growing down there and I wanna see if it’s still there.”

          We scared up a deer.

          The neighbor keeps her place looking nice.

          “Stop!” I yelled. Not loud, just urgently. 

          “What?” Mike asked and stopped.

          “It’s Horsenettle,” I said but knew as soon as the words were out of my mouth that that was wrong. “I mean Bittersweet.”

          I puzzled over it as I was taking its picture. In my mind I compared it to the Bittersweet that grew on my hill and knew it wasn’t the same. Then it came to me. “It is Bittersweet but it’s Bittersweet Nightshade,” I corrected as I got back on the cart.

This wildflower has many other names like Bitter Nightshade, Poison Berry, Trailing Bittersweet, Snakeberry, Violet Bloom, and Woody Nightshade. The stems can be used externally for eczema but the leaves and berries are poisonous. 

          I found another patch of Burdock with some nice size leaves. Now I have to get together with Jody and find out when she’d like to come over and make concrete leaves.

          On the way home there was a stick near the edge of the road. “Is that a snake?” Mike asked even though he knew it wasn’t.

          Then on the road right in front of our house was this guy sunning himself.  “Is that a snake?” I asked when we were still some distance away. “It is a snake!” I said as we drew closer. “Is he dead?”

          “I don’t know,” Mike said. He drove around him and stopped. 

          I got off the cart. “He isn’t moving.” I touched his tail with the toe of my shoe and he curled up, ready to strike.

          “You better be careful,” Mike warned. “You’ll get bit.”

          “I just want him to get off the road.” Even as I spoke, he slithered into the weeds. 

          I saw a Silver-spotted Skipper. These guys prefer to fly in the shade which limits their habitat. The Paper Wasp is his natural enemy as well as a certain ant species. Males compete for territory to attract females which makes them a perching species. They prefer to visit blue, red, pink, and purple flowers, sometimes white or cream-colored, but almost never will they feed on yellow flowers.           

          A Tiger Swallowtail. 

                    And this little guy is called a Yellow Nutsedge Moth. He’s in a family of moths called Sedge Moths. The larvae feed on sedges and rushes. There are more than 500 species in this family.

A Metallic Green Sweat Bee on Blue-eyed Grass.

          And this guy wouldn’t let me get a shot of his top side — and I chased him all over the yard! He’s a False Crocus Geometer. Males have more brown spots than females.

          This guy was in the house. I picked him up in a tissue and re-homed him outdoors.

          “What is he?” I know you wanna know.

          This is a Parsons Spider. Called that because their dorsal pattern resembles a clerical collar that was worn by parsons in the 1800’s. These spiders have developed a fast, zigzag movement that makes them hard to catch. I find that if you break his legs when you go to pick him up, it slows him down some. Actually, I don’t know if I hurt him or not but he sure looks funny in the picture. I didn’t watch him go, I just shook him out of the tissue and walked away.

Parson Spiders can bite, which is slightly painful, but harmless for most people. Females guard their egg case until they hatch and can have as many as 130 spiderlings in them. These guys are hunting spiders so they don’t spin webs — but they could. They have spinnerets. They’re in a family of spiders called ground spiders but Parson Spiders regularly climb and stay above ground. And that’s probably more than you wanted to know.

We’ve been watching the Chickadee couple on our patio bring food to the youngins...

...and taking out the poop sacks. 

 The female Red-winged Blackbird built a second nest after the fracas at the pond a week ago. This one is close enough to the edge of the pond that I can see down in it. No eggs. She’s gone back to the first nest.

          

          While checking the Blackbird nest we scared up a fawn that had been sleeping in the tall grass at the pond.

          Oh my gosh! Speaking of youngins! Look at these cutie patooties! My nephew Farley has two little beauties with a handsome little dude for a caboose. 

          A picture of my grandniece was recently posted on Facebook. She’s showing attitude and this picture just makes me smile. Her father, my nephew Tim, gave me permission to share this with you.

          All I have to say is my family certainly makes beautiful babies!

           I’m happy with the chores we accomplished around here this week.

          We were riding around the back forty surveying the jobs we would tackle. We stopped up on the hill near the barn and Mike was telling me what he had planned. The wind was really blowing and I heard the distinctive sound of the metal roof blowing up.

          “We’d better get that fixed before it gets blown off,” Mike said.

          And just like that we got a job done that wasn’t even on the list! 

Something that was on the list was to clean out the cages of the fruit trees. I don’t know that we’ll ever get any fruit. The few cherries that the cherry tree produces disappear as soon as they’re ripe.

Neither one of us knows anything about the care of fruit trees. I know they need to be pruned but that’s something neither one of us knows how to do — but I bought a book! We’re going to have to tackle that job this fall when the trees go dormant.

We took down the old chicken wire fencing.

Mike mowed and I hand-pulled the weeds closest to the trees.

Once the weeds were knocked down, we put up fence panels the neighbor gave us. That’ll keep the deer from eating them during the harsh winter months. 

We had planted two cherry and two apple trees. We have one cherry and one apple that’re doing pretty well. The other little apple is struggling but I’m not giving up on him yet! And we lost the other cherry.

          The other job that was pretty important was to get supports under the chute so the wind didn’t take it down. We made a trip to Laceyville; a small town about eight miles from us. Road pictures?

  

          They’re repaving Route 6 out near Laceyville and hauling the ground up asphalt to a parking lot of a local business.

          Big machines working warrants a pull-over and watch-for-a-while for the big kid I’m married to! 

          I’ve never seen a truck like this white one that came in while we watched. The front section of the truck lifted up and dumped.

          There’s another section of Route 6 where the road collapsed. Cones turned to concrete barriers and now there are orange reflectors installed.

          “It doesn’t look like they’re planning on fixing it,” I said.

          “Maybe they can’t,” Mike speculated. 

          At home we got the tools around and Mike braced up the old chute. Now it shouldn’t blow down. 

I went out to water the tomatoes one morning and a very familiar, very lovely scent drifted on the breeze.

What is that? I wondered. And when I found out I was a little abashed that I hadn’t recognized it right away. The Multiflora Roses are blooming! 

          Considered invasive, you can use the hips of the Multiflora the same as you can from any other rose.

 

And look at this, would ya! This is what’s growing on the tree I thought was a volunteer cherry. These don’t look like cherries to me! They look more like an apple. See! I told you we didn’t know much about fruit trees!

  

          I saw two turtles at the pond this week. Mrs. Snapper laying her eggs.

          And a painted turtle. He peed all over when I picked him up. Luckily, I had the business end pointed the other way!

          Something I hardly ever see are squirrels. I don’t know why. We have them here. I just never see them unless they’re running across the road in front of the Jeep.

          Chipmunks, or ground squirrels, are something I usually see dangling from the mouth of a cat. This brave little guy has taken up residence in the dog run. I wonder how long he’ll live before one of the cats get him. In the meantime, he might find a walnut, or piece of fruit on a certain rock where he’s been known to hang out.

          Early in the week we made a shopping trip to Sayre. 

          It was Monday, the day they have a flea market set up at the old stockyards. The only thing I bought was a Bible study book for my friend Jody.

          I liked this guy’s hat.

Mike stopped for gas in Ulster. What do you think the buckets are for?

The banner reads 3 EMPLOYEES OR FORK LIFT. It looks like he chose the fork lift. 

Another day we went to Dushore to visit Momma and my brother Mike. 

They’re putting a new roof on St. Basil’s. 

There’s an old church that sits along the road. You can barely see it. Once when my oldest and much-adored sister Patti was here I asked if we’d ever gone to that church. She said no and if I’d bothered to look at the name on the pillars gracing the lane to the cemetery, I wouldn’t’ve had to ask. No way would my mother ever go to any church other than Catholic. 

 I only asked because I have a memory of coming out of a church, descending the steps, and my mother stepped out of the way and stopped. “Just look at that view,” she said.

I looked and all I saw was mountains and pastures and cows and stone fences. It didn’t impress me much at the time.

“I’d like to drive up there sometime,” I’d told Mike a long time ago.

And this day he remembered I’d said that.

 

An unusual headstone, or maybe it’s damaged. We didn’t stop.

“Peg, your photos like kinda blue today, and I don’t mean sad!” you say.

I know, right! I tried to fix them as best I could. I told you I was having trouble with my camera. This week Mike said, “Are you sure it’s the camera and not just the lens?”

Well, I wasn’t sure. Although I did change between my two big lenses I suppose it’s possible they’re both no good. “I’ve got a smaller lens that I’ve hardly ever used.”

I put that one on and all of my photos are too blue. Since I didn’t start downloading my photos until Friday, it was Saturday until I realized the problem. So now I’ve got an even smaller lens on my camera. So far it seems to be working. I just won’t be able to zoom in as far as I’m used to. But that’s okay! I can live with that. With everything else going on right now we don’t need the added expense of getting me a new camera. But this I will tell you. When I buy my next camera, I’m not going with the professional series that I’ve been buying. I don’t use 95% of the camera’s capabilities so there’s no use to pay for it all. In fact, I might even switch brands!

  

          I know that some of you are waiting to hear how our little Ginger is doing. 

I’ve forgotten what I’ve told you and who knows what so I’ll just start from the beginning.

Ginger started crying whenever you touched her. Mike thought she was crying because she was startled. I’ve always thought something was wrong.

We took her to the vet. Dr. Lori couldn’t find anything other than swollen glands in her neck. She wasn’t treated for anything. Ginger continued to get worse, crying more often, refusing treats and even refusing hamburger for goodness sake! She also wouldn’t bark and she stopped sleeping with me. I’m guessing because I move too much and it hurt her. I called for an appointment but couldn’t get one for weeks. I messaged Dr. Lori and she had me drop Ginger off in the morning and she’d look at her when she had a minute. This time Dr. Lori thinks it’s an infected salivary gland. She prescribed an antibiotic and some pain meds.

Now we go out nine days and Ginger isn’t any better. I messaged Dr. Lori again and told her the medicine wasn’t doing anything. She did some research and decided we should try a steroid. Ginger’s been on the that for a couple of days now and I can see a difference in her. She’s up and moving around more and she’s got more of an interest in food and treats. She’ll see Dr. Lori this week.

In my picture of Ginger, I don’t know what she sees. I went to look but didn’t see anything. Whatever it was, she watched for quite a while.

And, just in case you’re wondering, Mr. Mister is doing fabulous! I only treated him the one time with peroxide. His wound has pulled together and it’s almost healed.

 My Iris’ are blooming. I got the bulbs from a lady I used to take care of. Now, whenever I see them, I think of my sweet Miss Helen.

Black Medic is blooming too. It’s also known as Yellow Trefoil, Hop Medic, Black Nonesuch, Blackweed, or Black Clover. It has antibacterial qualities and can be effective as a mild laxative. The leaves and seeds are edible and plant historians believe the Native Americans roasted the seeds and ground them into flour.

Butter and Eggs, one of my favorite wildflowers. It’s also called Yellow Toadflax and a whole host of other names.

This wildflower will last a long time in a vase, I have this one in a vase right now. Like Snapdragons, you can make them ‘talk’ by squeezing them at the base of the corolla.

Butter and Eggs has been used in folk medicine. A tea made from the leaves was used for a laxative and strong diuretic as well as for jaundice and dropsy. They also used it for skin diseases and piles.

I have no idea who decides to try these things for the very first time.

Check this out! This is hackberry thorn gall midges.

Cleared that right up for you, didn’t I?

Gall midges or gall gnats are in the fly family. The larva feed inside the leaves causing these galls to form.

They were only on the leaves of this one tree.

We went to a yard sale Saturday morning. Something we don’t do very often. Road pictures anyone?

The yard sale was crowded. Mike told me that he was looking at some old metal sling back chairs that were in really good shape and only three bucks each. As he stood there contemplating them some guy nearly pushed him out of the way and grabbed all of the chairs. 

I didn’t buy anything but I took more pictures on the way home. 

Red Clover is also called Cow Clover and Meadow Clover. It has a deep tap root which makes it drought resistant. Like peas and beans, Red Clover is in the legume family. It contains isoflavones that are often used in supplements for menopause, high cholesterol, and osteoporosis.

Hey! You see this?

“Peg, I don’t see anything but your fingers,” you say.

I know, right! This is what’s left when a Crane Fly escapes while you’re trying to take his picture! I should’ve taken it when he was still on the wall of the bathroom where I found him. But I didn’t. But I also know you’re likely to see Crane Flies in an upcoming edition of the Life and Times of Me! We’ll talk more about them then.

Let’s call this one done!