After lurking in the pasture at odd hours of the night to treat poor Shy, I realized that time is quickly running out to find warm seasonal housing for all my exotic, tropical, Gene-can’t-believe-I-tried-to-grow-these-here plants. Last year I managed to cram everything in either the big greenhouse or the smaller plastic greenhouse, but my avocado trees had a growth spurt over the summer and are now about a foot taller than the roof of both enclosures. And even if they did fit vertically, the space they occupied last year is now claimed by an entire forest of new citrus trees, all of which are about three feet tall now. Even my papaya is two feet tall! That one stays inside all year round, though, as I desperately try to mimic Hawaiian soil by parking it on a heated mat. I don’t want to bring the avocado trees inside, because house plants tend to have life expectancies measured in mere hours thanks to our hungry and enthusiastically vegetarian kitties. My guess is the trees will end up inside the garage, next to the brooding facility. I seriously can’t remember the last time we even had a car in there.
I spent most of the day today wandering around the front yard, repotting root bound plants and tucking them into the greenhouse for the winter. I needed a distraction from thinking about poor Shy, whose eye unfortunately got worse. The trauma to his eye was more significant than the vet had originally thought, so sadly he will become a pirate alpaca. Gene said I can get him a cool eye patch, but I’m not allowed to bedazzle it because he’s a boy. The vet picked him up today, and will bring him back on Monday. I think all the other critters know I’m sad, because whenever I go into the backyard I get swarmed even more than usual. It really is hard to be depressed when I’m outside, though, watching all the content animals going about their various errands. Dimsworth and Hawthorne have uplifted my spirits more than anything, since they’ve recently discovered how much they love hanging out on the deck. I like sitting at the kitchen table and watching them roost on the deck railing, but Gene is going to freak when he sees the softball-sized bombs that mark their favorite napping spots. I would clean it up, but since he hid the spray nozzle for the hose from me because he said I was constantly losing it, I don’t have the proper tools for the job.