Episode 2-Attack of the Acorns
Rat. Tat. Rat-a-tat. Rat-a-tat-a-tat. Down come the acorns. Falling 60 feet from the oaks towering over the house. Ping! Ping! Ping, as the oaken pellets smash into the metal table on our deck. With each acorn hit, the dog shakes in fear not knowing when the next volley of attacking acorns will happen. He quivers on the floor on Virginia’s side of the bed. Whack! Whack! Whack! On the roof over our bedroom the assault continues and poor Cyrus dives under the bed. I coax him out with a trazadone embedded in peanut butter and place him gently in his bed.
Rat. Tat. Rat-a-tat. The onslaught continues. Cyrus crawls trembling out of his bed and leaps onto the bed next to me and goes to sleep.
This is fall in Corvallis. Acorns falling, rain moving in, temperature dropping, leaves turning color, dogs snuggling in for a long winter’s nap.
This year’s crop of acorns is bountiful. The squirrels are busy burying acorns in the flower pots on the deck. They are fat and happy. They will have a vast treasure-trove of nutty nutritiousness to last them through the long, cold, wet winter of the Pacific Northwest.
Cyrus, I should mention, is a little dog. 13 pounds or so. Part chihuahua. Part Jack Russel. Part who knows? This is a dog with attitude. Mostly a bad attitude. Despite my years of diligent training. He is fearless when it comes to attacking school buses, garbage trucks, any truck pulling a trailer. He rushes to the end of his leash as if he would attack dogs 5 times his size. Hackles raised. His slightly too-long neck straining forward to get to the passive golden retriever across the street. He sounds fierce. But terrified of falling acorns to the extent he needs to be medicated. Why is that we have dogs?
Husbandry 