So with the hosta garden organized, I decided to put my garden clothes into the washing machine to soak out the ground-in dirt. They were a mess. I settled back on the couch to rest a bit, but within a few minutes I began hearing an intermittent banging that got alarmingly louder and louder.
Occasionally, my washing machine gets an unbalanced load which sets up a terrible racket. This time it sounded like the machine was bouncing across the laundry room floor and about to tear itself apart. I raced to the kitchen only to find that the noise wasn't coming from the basement at all; it was coming from outside the house. I looked out the window, and there was Bosca . . . dismantling the downspout. Bless her little, pea-pickin' heart.
As you can see, she's quite proud of her work. Bosca's job in life, apparently, is to rid the world of woosels (her word for any four-legged, furry varmint known to you and I as a squirrel, chipmunk, rabbit, vole, mole, etc. ). Woosels take their lives in their paws just entering our backyard. I don't even dare say the word around her lest she get that crazed, serial murderer look in her eyes.
But I do have some fabric picked out for her with woosels on it that I just know she will love as a bandanna when her birthday rolls around this fall!