A Question of Life or Death

The "Squirrelinator"

Is it ethical to shoot a ground squirrel who eats your grapes? When you're driving down the road alongside your property and you see that same grape-eating squirrel in the road is it ethical to run him over with your car? Who decides what lives and what dies? Who decides who lives and who dies? Isn't this a question for God? By taking the life of a squirrel is there a slippery slope to a hell where giants 100 feet tall are constantly trying to stomp me?

Is OwlGore Asleep On The Job?

There's a fresh gopher hole in the vineyard right underneath the home of OwlGore. What's that gopher thinking? And what the hell has OwlGore been doing? Is he asleep on the job? Did a GOP candidate just win a Congressional seat in a heavily Democratic New York district? WTF? Wait, the gopher trap Bluey and I set this morning is empty, and we're known for catching them with one shot, like the DeerHunter. And what's that small mound of fresh slimeytar rodent gunk under the owl's nest? Could that be the gopher? Tomorrow will tell.

Something Is Rotten In The State of Blue-Merle: Can You Guess What It Is?

What's in that bag?

This is a story about a foul smell at our doorstep and it's a hoot. I know about off odors in the winery (I've made my fair share of bad batches) and the vineyard (my nose detects the occasional bird rotting away in a net half devoured by Yellow Jackets or the rabbit that tries to hop through the squirrel trap, stupid rabbit). A similar scent greets me each morning as I open the front door of the house. What's that smell?! I check the netting in the nearby rows of vines. Nothing. I inspect the mouse traps outside the garage. Nothing. I search for nearby carcasses. Nothing. What is that smell? I glance at rotting greens inside a plastic bag destined for the compost pile and think, aha, this is it. Alas, not. And then something in the Starbucks bag next to the trash catches my eye (shown in the picture above). I notice the familiar scent coming from the trash can, open the lid to inspect and am overwhelmed by the stench and realize (with amazement) what the Queen has been collecting and putting into the trash by our front door. Can you guess what it is? I'll give you another hint: Owl Gore.

The Daily Mouse

Those of a certain age will remember a tune by Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young that begins, "Our house, has a very, very, very nice mouse...." Have you noticed since the movie Julie & Julia came out all of your cuisineista friends can't resist dicing bushels of onions and cooking gourmet chicken? It's the same with the mice in our neighborhood who saw the movie Ratatouille. They're donning little French berets, speaking with French accents and acting like vineyardistos among the vines discussing Dr. Guyot's pruning techniques and Dr. Durif's grape inventions. And, at the first sign of rain of which there's been plenty this year of the El Nino the mice jump the sinking ship of the vineyard plunging into the life raft of the winemaker's garage in search of refuge and a taste of the Blue-Merle's "Merleatage". Our routine each morning has become quite familiar. Put espresso on, take dog out, pick up newspapers at end of driveway, pick up mouse, keep barking dog from devouring carcass, admire cute look on mouse's face, dispose of properly, reset trap. Repeat.

Installing Grow Tubes: Protect Your Vines From Rabbits & Other Chewy Critters

I came home from work and toured the top of the hill where we planted 30+ Aglianico vines six days ago, and noticed wooden stakes had been driven next to each baby plant and the obnoxious pink grow tubes were neatly in place. For the 2nd time in a week I was tempted to say "this is the first time in my life that I've been really proud of my wife." I was amazed at the transformation that had taken place while at the daytime job. (And reuse of the wooden stakes we used to stake-out the vineyard was economical, as we had run out of the thin metal stakes used to support the young vines.)

I went into the shed to pull out the weedwacker to hack away at some foxtails before dark and I was startled to see a baby r-a-b-b-i-t in the corner. I can't say the "R" word because if I do, Bluey will immediately shift gears into "sheep herding mode", come to full attention, and search everywhere for the "R." I wondered how in hell did the R get inside the shed? I poked around, found a hole in the side, and what appeared to be a den. Wouldn't surprise me to find it occupied by a rattlesnake in a week or so. I was wearing gloves, so picked up the baby "R", put him in a plastic pot, threw in a generous amount of hay and laid the pot down on its side next to the shed (where I noticed a hole going underground).

The "Rs" I don't mind so much; the grow tubes do a good job protecting the vines. (Suggestion: don't remove the tubes during the first year, no matter how ugly they are!) It's the gophers who are a problem -- the word sounds like "tappas" in Mexican, and I'm thinking I'd like to make a meal out of the gophers, who are making "tappas" out of our vines. Just got a call 5 minutes ago from Pat Burke, The Owl Man of San Diego, and he's got an owl box all wrapped up for me, which I'll pick up in the morning. We are choosing the "Owl" Gore method of rodent control, to save the environment by cuting down on the use of poisons. Stay tuned.