Greetings and salutations everyone; yes, once again it is I, Chess the purebred border collie, filling in for the guy I live with, and here to bring you what I personally think is some pretty dumb news from our garden. You may remember me from such posts as “Revenge Of The Rodents” and “The Worst Laid Plans”, among so many, many others.
Here I am in a characteristically sun-drenched pose.
It was a pretty rough day today, as you can see.
The guy I live with went out into the “way back” for the first time in months, maybe, and looked at stuff. 
You can see that the fence surrounding “the enclosure” is still seriously leaning, though I’m assured that it’s in the process of being fixed.
The thing that made him feel pretty good is the Arizona cypresses, one of which you can see leaning, in the center right, sort of. They’re still alive. Maybe two dozen cypresses have been planted in the back yard, and almost all of them have died. The guy I live with claimed that the root balls were too small for the size of the tree, and so last year he bought some with more or less the right ratio of roots to top, and they’re still alive. Right now, anyway.
And other things are happening. Here’s Hyacinthella glabrescens. It’s way tinier than this in real life. (Also more in focus.) The guy I live with likes gardening with a magnifying glass. 
The first of the porophyllum saxifrages, ‘Jiři Vesek’. (The leaves are supposed to look like that.)
Well, so, anyway, about the title of my post. It doesn’t have anything at all to do with spraying. Yesterday the guy I live with found a snowdrop “separated from the herd”
and so he decided to do a roundup. In fact, he decided to “wrangle some snowdrops” and started humming the theme to “Rawhide”, which really annoyed me, because I couldn’t get it out of my head for hours.
Here are the wrangled snowdrops. Of course we are vastly more sophisticated and urbane than this roundupping stuff, which is why we’re showing the snowdrops in a genuine Sussex trug.
The guy I live with re-planted the wrangled snowdrops and then re-re-planted them, because the first place turned out to be a dumb one (as usual), and now they’re where they ought to be, with the others.
You might notice that some of these are in pretty bad shape; that’s because they were in the middle of the path and kept getting stepped on.
None of the snowdrop pictures he took today came out. The focus issue again. Oh, one turned out okay, I think.
Lapwing
So that was our day. I didn’t do much, really, except think of the theme to “Rawhide”, when I wasn’t asleep on the patio. It’s supposed to be nice tomorrow, and then snow, and then be nice after that.
I’ll leave with with a picture of me showing my “totally wrecked nose”, which I’m sure will heal. The guy I live with was saying something, but I wasn’t paying attention, which is almost always the best way to deal with that.
Until next time, then.
the miserable gardener 
Chilling out or more appropriately warming up in the sunshine again today. Thanks for the Rawhide theme Chess. I tried to put it out of my head while I was taking in the words and pics and then you had to mention it again at the end. Guess what we’re going to be singing all day, hope you’re happy. Glad those hornery snowdrops were rounded up and placed with the rest of the herd, they will be a lot happier. You have to keep that nose out of the dirt Chess, still a beautiful portrait of you though.
Thanks, and, you’re welcome. The guy I live with associates this with being a little kid, because his grandparents liked the TV show so much. I didn’t eat much dirt today, though, because the salmon stew was excellent. I even ate the peas, carrots, and beans that were hidden inside it. Good vittles.
I am envious of all the snowdrops, they are really a beautiful harbinger of spring. But of course it really isn’t spring which makes it all the nicer since they remind us that spring is on the way and anticipation can be very pleasant in this case. Back east when I was a child these early blooms were a big deal after a long snowy winter like some parts are having right now. As dreary as the rain can be at times here in the northwest at least I don’t have to shovel it.
The guy I live with started acquiring snowdrops just because they flower at this time of year here, instead of having to wait for some time that may never come. (The snowiest months of the year in Denver are March, April, and May.) When he retired, he tried to talk my mommy into moving to Portland or some place like that, but she didn’t want to move, and so they didn’t, which is why we’re still here.
You need to eat your vittles, Chess, around a fire, perhaps wearing around your neck a bandana. I paint this happy picture to offset the damage you’ve done by passing on the contagious earworm of the “Rawhide” theme music. We’ve been replanting around here too, although without benefit of picturesque Sussex trug. The one “okay” photo of the snowdrop Lapwing is pretty stunning in my opinion. The nose, Chess, is *not* totally wrecked, although I wince each time I catch sight. Is the wound painful? You are handsome as always, dear dog. I believe the napping is your beauty sleep, in warm sun or wind. About the pictured porophyllum saxifrages, I so want to use those leaves in an arrangement with my rose “Beretta Street Rose,” a found mystery rose of ivory/buff velvety petals. Instead, I have to content myself with the leaves of a variegated geranium. You are such the lucky dog, living amongst such beauty, the lean of Arizona cypress not withstanding.
Thanks; I agree with everything except the bandana: https://paridevita.com/2012/12/24/making-a-list/ Oh, and I don’t like fires. We don’t have a fireplace here, but we do have the chiminea that you see all the time (my mommy bought that), and sometimes there’s a fire in it, once or twice a year, usually when it’s snowing, and it’s scary. Replanting at this time of year is excellent, according to the guy I live with. He wanted a genuine Sussex trug for years, being somewhat of an Anglophile where gardening is concerned, but my mommy said a trug was frivolous, since one of the dishpans would work just as well. After she died, the guy I live with bought one. (Well, as you can tell.) I’m really sorry about the “Rawhide” theme music.
I have an Arizona cypress that appears to be thriving. But then again, I have no snowdrops and few cyclamens. Life is like that. But the cypress is growing so fast it’s a little alarming. When I planted it I thought it would only grow to 15 feet but now of course I know I was wrong. Why don’t they thrive at your place? You know what, the “Rawhide” music doesn’t stay, but I can’t get the “Bonanza” theme out of my head. I hope everyone else enjoys it too, and especially you, Chess. Have you ever tried a baby food meat garnish when you don’t feel well and don’t want to chew?
There’s a really big cypress in the front yard, but the ones that were planted in the back had little tiny root balls and there weren’t enough roots to hydrate the above-ground parts before winter set in. (The same thing is true with other conifers here, as well.) Smaller ones, with root balls big enough to hydrate the plants, survive quite well, and then, yes, they do take off. The stew is kind of like baby food, all squishy and soft.
Chess! If you are still eating a raw diet of meat, tell the guy you live with to add Grizzly Salmon Oil if he isn’t already (we get it from Amazon.com) to your meal. It will help make your skin and nose soft. It is especially nice after sniffing scrapes, if you are being too nosy.
Thanks, but no, I’m eating cooked salmon now. With green peas and carrots and beans. It’s pretty good. I’ll probably change my mind tomorrow, and want something else. ….
Sussex trug: just goes to show you, there’s a name for everything. I used to deal with treen when I worked for an English antiques dealer, but never a drug. Must be a Westphalia root, having to do with useful things made out of wood. Tree/treen/trug…Chess!
Dear dog, basking in the sun, you look like the title of a poem by the great Rod McKuen RIP: Listen to the Warm. I had a Get Rich Quick idea a few years ago to contact Mr. McKuen to discuss collaborating on a new, illustrated edition of his book (pick one, any immensely popular ready for a re-boot one) because I remember not being disgusted by his work back in the ’70s. Then I re-read a few poems. Mr. McKuen was no doubt a kindly and thoughtful, lovely man, but hoo boy; those poems really explain a lot about life in the early ’70s (crap president, crap TV, crap music, crap clothes, crap poems).
I was only 14 in 1970 and can’t be blamed for digging Mr. M-Cue (that would be his hip hop name today).
Sorry about your sweet nose: my hands are in the same condition but I soften them up with Vaseline Intensive Care.
Thanks; the guy I live with says they make salves for it, as well as my paws, and I don’t know why he doesn’t get some. I think “trug” and “drag” come from the same word, or maybe “trough”. Trugs are excellent, or so I hear. I mean genuine Sussex trugs. You get them from Garden Talk. The guy I live with was an English major in college, specializing in poetry (reading it, not writing it), and remembers seeing the book on shelves everywhere. What an insufferable snob, huh. (That’s why we have a big metal chicken in the garden.)