Friday, December 4, 2009
Photo Phriday: Mount Jasmine
There are some benefits to being under emerald ash borer quarantine.
Arborists, township road crews, and the utility company guys who turn street trees into hideous Suessian lollipops are not allowed to move wood chips very far. It can be challenging for a tree guy to find a legal place to dump a truckload of what I consider primo hardwood mulch.
The foster kennel is already mulched inside, but the outside run, which was originally turf, was starting to edge towards mucky.
So a while back, when I saw the big orange Asplundh truck parked outside a local mechanic's shop, I nipped in to see if the tree guy was there.
He wasn't, but the shop belongs to Professor Chaos' assistant fire chief (because, small town, if you haven't already got that). Neil said he'd mention it to the guy, and I put a note on his window with a map and phone number.
About a week later, this enormous truck just appeared. It could not have taken on even one more wafer-thin mint of a woodchip.
I opened up the side of the run of the foster kennel, and the guys dumped all the chips in.
Trouble is, I pulled an intercostal muscle last week, and what I certainly cannot do is rake. Or fork. Or be useful in any way.
My cunning plan is to lock up Jasmine and Cole for a few hours of puppy romping at a time, and get them to distribute the pile.
So far they seem willing and energetic, but are not making much headway.
Barry White isn't bothered by it, but doesn't see much point in the kidnicks' because it is there philosophy.
Wednesday night when I went out to bring Jasmine and Barry White inside for the night, she was curled up in a ball on top, fast asleep.