Paradise or Purgatory?!

The town we live in is not entirely flat as it would appear.  Midway and through the center is the highest part of town—right on Manning and Fifth Aves.—exactly where our house sits on somewhat of a promontory.

Because of the unique layout(?) of our property, the neighbor to the left is higher, while the one to the right is lower than us.  For reasons unknown to me, it's much easier to maintain the left side of the property (the higher side).

Yesterday I was working on pruning our rose bush that sits on the much favored side.  As I have the tendency to do whenever doing yard work, I got so into it that the pruning of the rose bush led to more pruning of a neighboring bush.  From the pruning, I jumped over to raking under both bushes and to the under the small deck, giving the a area a full sweeping, then transferring some old planters from the left to the right side of the property.

When I turned the corner, I almost dropped the heavy planter I was carrying, as I unexpectedly came upon a dead animal on the ground--I almost stepped on it, had a bird not suddenly flitted out of nowhere and immediately flown away.  In the area which I had nicely cleared off only three weeks before, a faithful friend, lover, or relative had lovingly kept watch over what was obviously a bird.

I'm always upset when discovering a dead animal, more so if I find it on our property.  I tend to feel responsible for its death.  Either it died from ingesting lawn chemical, or it flew into the picture window, as has happened before.  The last time a bird crashed against the window, I felt so bad I  immediately called the county animal rescue team, who came and after much effort to retrieve it, took the bird away.

I don't handle death well (then again who does), yet it's not so much the death itself as is handling or rather disposing of the body that bothers me.  Burying anyone or anything is final!

I put the heavy planter down and in a somewhat robotic way found my way back inside the house—a feeling of sadness and helplessness.  Fortunately, while our Victoria might be deathly afraid of any flying bug/insect, she's somehow not afraid of burying a dead bird.  When she saw how distraught I was, without my asking she immediately volunteered to take care of it.  In no time, after specific instruction on how and where, the unfortunate bird was laid to rest.

The story should end here, but it doesn't.  You who have followed me, know about my misadventures with the infamous poison ivy in the back.  After over two years of unceasingly going head-to-head literally with the damn vine, it's back—standing quite smug and upright, and seemingly sneering at me. It's obvious that it's back to wreak havoc on my life.  Just the thought of it, sends chills up and down my spine and all-over body itch.

Now I'm up all night trying to figure (go figure) how I'm going to nip this monster bud once and for all.

Just the day before, Juls looked out the same window and brought to our attention just how blessed we are to share our backyard with so many different creatures.  We have the usual suspects—squirrels, birds of all kind, a groundhog or two, chipmunks, a family of rabbits, and the occasional skunk.  You name it, we have it.  All of which have made our property their home.  And I'm okay with that.

But, as for the poison ivy, that's where I draw the line!  Poison ivy is no friend of mine and must be gone!  I work very hard to maintain the yard at an aesthetically pleasing level (I would love to say, paradisiacal level).  And I'll be damned if poison ivy is going to cheat me out of this pleasure.

Our beautiful Prince Philip bush!  My pride and joy!