Domestic animals. A few years ago, we brought a family of Barbados blackbelly sheep to live with us. We enjoyed them and were devastated when we lost almost all to a dog or coyote attack--we never knew which--that took place one weekend when we were up in Tulsa, doing a book program. This is the the survivor, a gelding named Mutton, who lives a companionable life with our two cows, Texas and Blossom, and a large white gander, the surviving member of a pair. In the spring, when the gander's testosterone level runs high (or the equivalent hormone in geese), he develops a crush on Mutton and stays as close to him as he can get. Funny sight: Mutton and his gander, grazing together in the pasture--although there's not much left to graze on here. We're supplementing their pasture grass with pellets. Cow candy, we call it, although it's not candy at all. It's a survival food to carry them through until the spring rains and warmer temperatures bring up the grass.
Wild things in our woods. A couple of nights ago, the dogs woke me up with wild barking and I got up to see what had roused them. In the moonlight, I saw a coyote ambling across our front yard, heading toward the creek; the next morning, I saw its fresh scat, thick with rabbit fur. He had dined well, and recently. Another night, an armadillo blundered noisily out of the woods when the dogs and I were out for their before-bedtime business. The dogs gave exuberant chase but the armadillo got away. Raccoons and possums and squirrels live here, too--the squirrels are an annoying competition at the bird feeders. Deer follow the trail along the creek. And yesterday morning, out just at dawn with the dogs, I heard a couple of wild tom turkeys gobbling, unmistakable evidence of spring. Can green grass and bluebonnets be far behind?
I'm driving to Austin today for a book group at Barnes & Noble, to talk about the memoir. Tomorrow, too, for SCN's regular reading circle. Then I hope to spend the rest of March working on MOURNING GLORIA. Writing through and around interruptions is hard--especially when I'm writing a mystery, where the plots all have to work and all the little bits have to fit together. I don't know how other authors do it, but I function best when I have a long stretch of unbroken hermit-time.
Reading note. Whenever I have endured or accomplished some difficult task--such as watching television, going out socially or sleeping--I always look forward to rewarding myself with the small pleasure of getting back to my typewriter and writing something. This enables me to store up enough strength to endure the next interruption.--Isaac Asimov