We live in the city. But in the summer months we spend quite a bit of time at our summer house. It’s about 45 km from our apartment, and serves many purposes, not the least of which is sanity and a sense of grounding with mother Earth.Needless to say, the summer house is a virtual bounty of life. Everything grows, lives, dies, wilts, withers, blows, ages, wears, blossoms, suckles, spreads, and passes. It’s the circle of life, and it is everywhere at our dacha. Of course we (as “man”) are attempting to control our environment as best we can to make life “comfortable,” but when it comes down to it, we are visitors here just like all the other plants and animals. It feels inherently different in the City.

So as you might guess, we have snakes. Yes, some are poisonous, but many are not. I can never remember – do the small yellow dots mean they are deadly, or harmless? Anyhow, we were peacefully eating breakfast a couple of months ago (early June), and I glanced over at the sunlight beaming through the glowing lilys – right onto the belly of a green, slithering, legless, sniffing-tongue, scaly varmant. It didn’t scare me so much as it surprised me. I rubbed my eyes, opened my pupils a bit, and refocused my aging lenses. Nothing changed. It WAS a snake. We hopped up, took a closer look, and deemed the snake to be “harmless.” It was not like it’s highly poisonous counterpart (without the dots, I believe) – the meadow viper??? Not sure. Damn, just the viper attached to the name gives me the willeeees.

Here’s a picture: Sneaky, isn’t he?

So we got some sticks and a fishing net, and tried to corral it so that we could get a better look. Unfortunately, he was sort of deep in the flowerbed, and we couldn’t easily capture it. After about 15 minutes, and playing “catch me if you can” as it slithered between the bases of several bushes, we lost it. Great. Gone. Just what I wanted – to be thinking about the slithering reptile casing our gazebo while my back is turned towards the table, peacefully eating my oatmeal. I bet it’s hungry. I bet it likes human.

Then, another episode -

It was nightfall. The wolves were howling, the wind was blowing, the lightning striking. Not really, that was just for effect. But… The first star was peering through the stratosphere. We were starting our evening fire in our Russian standard outdoor iron oven (sort of a BBQ). We hear a croak. Several times. And then a whine. And then a croak, and a whine. And another.

The cats became equally interested and were moving about. It was emanating from the corner of the serai (our shed), which is connected to our old (but still functional) outside kitchen. It was near the steps, and coming from under the woodpile. Surprise, surprise.

It was dark and we couldn’t see, so we fetched our headlamp and double-A Mag-lite. Carefully inspecting the area we expected to see a toad or two. The chornie-belie (black-white) cat, a demonstrated hunter, had helped focus our inspection. We couldn’t place the sound, as it was definitely unusual for a toad to squalk like that. Anyhow, under the illumination of our flashlights, we lifted a small piece of plywood – and there it was.

Shit. A snake. I lifted it again and took a picture (so that I wouldn’t have to get too close). I’ve never heard a snake make those sounds before = “no way!”
Let’s look at the picture and see if it’s a viper. If not, we can catch it. Looking at the picture, the situation became far clearer. It was a toad… and a snake. But the toad was getting the wrong end of this deal — it was being eaten by the snake. Either the toad was bigger than the snake had anticipated, or the attack had just literally (5 minutes before) taken place and the deal had not quite been consummated yet.

Have a look at the picture: I didn’t want to disturb mother nature, so this is the best picture I got.

I guess that’s what they do around here… but I’d never quite seen it before. The snake was incapacitated by its appetite. We proceeded to go back and look several times, re-lifting the wood, and the animals hadn’t moved an inch. Caught in the throws of death, the frog was muttering its last sounds.

We returned in the morning, and (not surprisingly) no trace was left. But it goes to show that life is all around us.

Oh, I almost forgot. There was another snake I almost forgot to mention. It was INSIDE one of our bags of concrete, INSIDE our fourier, on the way into our main house. Yikes!  What am I doing here???
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I wrote this above post a little while ago, and between writing and physically attaching the pictures/posting the text, I came across a few other snakes during my brief trip back to California! All at my Dad’s house: first, a black racer (basically harmless, cool looking snakes) that was exiting the tomato patch – he was about 4 feet long; second a rattlesnake hanging out in a small culvert used for water drainage – it rattled at us and returned to its shelter; lastly, a rattlesnake relaxing next to the water tank right near the tub used to offer a bit of water relief from the desert heat.

The last example has particular relevance because it is very possibly the SAME snake that BIT my father about 6 weeks ago. Yep, he was walking by the tanks and stepped on the damn thing. If you know my father, you know he’s blind (or, for all intents and purposes, blind – he sees very, very little out of only one eye). Anyhow, rattlesnakes are supposed to rattle before biting, right? In fact, they are supposed to rattle before you even get anywhere close enough to step on them, RIGHT??? But this little bastard bit first and rattled afterward (admittedly, after being stepped on ). Anyway, thanks buddy. Thanks for the warning.

In the end, Dad had something on the order of 13 anti-venom treatments over the course of the next ~36 hours at 2 different hospitals. He is fine, and all is well — just a bit scary if you ask me.

Here’s my tribute picture:  Modified from a blind veteran’s golf tournament held in Iowa each year!

I’ve had more snake adventures, but those are either private, or for another post…

We rode the motorcycle out to the field the other day. Unfortunately the cows were on their way back home.

Download When Cows Attack

Thankfully the cows recognized us, and let us go about our business…

We (sorta) have a cat named Yoda; after the famous Jedi Master (of course) that helps to maintain the positive energy in the Universe. I hope you can see the resemblance.

Here she is chillin’ on Craig’s lap during his visit. I can’t tell which one was enjoying it more, can you?

Here she was about 2 weeks ago, pregnant and tired.

She’s not actually our cat: She belongs to the neighborhood, and probably more accurately, to the “peasants.” Yes, they are called peasants, for real.

In case you didn’t realize it, I’m referring to life at our Dacha again. Animals tend to roam freely out in the country – often from house to house in search of grub – and this one has taken a fancy to us and the sausage we routinely provide; kinda like we’ve taken a fancy to her. She’s sweet, has some sort of inner ear infection (shakes her head a lot), and possesses very strange meow… but hey, beggers can’t be choosers, and she sorta chose us. She’s not the most beautiful кошка (female cat), but she’s quite friendly, purrs when you pet her, and is a total slut. She had a litter last year, and I think at least two of the offspring (both males) are still hanging around the village. One of them, a black and white spotted one, is also friendly and loves the sausage we bring every weekend. We even make special stops just for those four-legged varmants. They like the bologna type, the meaty/grissly kind, and especially the liverwurst stuff.

Here’s the чёрный у белый кот (black and white cat):

Because of the relationship that we’ve developed over the course of the last year (last summer/fall and this spring/summer), Yoda has obviously come to like us a lot. She spends most of her time around our place, and one can tell, she has begun to think of our dacha as her home, too.

Here I am chillin’ with her:

I think she has shied away from the peasant’s house, because life is definitely more raw over there. (you should know the peasant’s house is not more than a mere 75 meters (and a fence) away).

Rawness… I’ll give you an example: In late May, Yoda was also pregnant. We were not at our dacha as frequently as we are now (which is basically every weekend for 3 or 4 days (Friday-Monday), with Mom being there almost full-time), and Yoda had no choice but to have her kittens where she thought they would be safe and where she could continue to obtain regular sustenance (particularly milk from the cow, and table scraps). The peasants, on the other hand, had (have) no interest in supporting any more cats, as they already have 6 or 7 — they usually see the animals simply as just more mouths to feed. So, as cruel as it may sound, they simply drowned the kittens a day or two after they were born (as soon as they were discovered). I don’t know how many there were, but they were all sacrificed. Wait, I was just told that there were supposedly 5 in that litter.
Anyway, life goes on… and as soon as the (dead) kittens failed to suckle, the mother began moaning again and roaming the dirt roads and back yards — through the night, and day, and night, and day…. She was obviously feeling the motherly instinct more than ever, and proceeded to get knocked-up again.

Unbelievable – it was the first time I had seen cats do it. Normally you hear their cries of passion under the cover of darkness… but no, not this time. This time I was working on my motorcycle in broad daylight, and she was parading around the yard, running around the house, from back yard to front yard, to the neighbors yard and back again – with a small gaggle of 3 or 4 males attentively following her every movement. She must have been wafting some hardcore pheromones from her hind end.

Here’s a pic. I couldn’t resist.

Awww… shoot. Sorry. I looked, but I guess I didn’t have my camera at the time. That’s right, no pic of the animal sex here, sorry. Move along…

Anyhow, to make a long story shorter… two months have passed since that fateful day: it was a naughty, brief, broad-daylight, semi-violent, neck-biting, move the tail to the side sorta passionate feline fling — right in the middle of our front yard with 2 other cats (and me, of course) cheering the big stud on.

So about 2 weeks ago we really got the sense that Yoda was about to pop; plus we had counted that ~60 of the 65 days (standard cat pregnancy, as I’m sure you know) had passed. Yoda was semi-frantically looking for a [new] place to have her kittens. She surely didn’t want to have them at the peasant’s house again, as the grim reaper (Valla, the Mom) lives there also, duh! I think she’s the one that milks the cow too. Nice lady, but cold hands. Good milk though. Damn good.

I guess I shouldn’t judge peasant’s behavior. That’s how life is out here in the countryside of Ukraine. Raw and Real. They simply don’t want any more cats around. That’s it. It’s simple. There’s no such thing as spaying or neutering out here – it’s just life. Peasants own a cat to catch the mice; which, incidentally, love to live in the haystacks that are all over the place. See below.

In fact, our local peasants (the ones we are the closest friends with) have a couple of cats to catch the mice and other undesirables. When those cats begin procreating, the only recourse is to eliminate the offspring you don’t want/need. So, they do, and without conscience. No shit. I understand it on an intellectual level, but damn, it seems pretty cruel on an emotional level — to me, that is.

That being said, and as I previously mentioned, Yoda has befriended our family and house. Indeed, while we were in Kiev last week, and my mother in law was at the dacha, Yoda snuck up into our attic and made a comfy little nest on a warm bed of exposed fiberglass insulation (hopefully they won’t mind a bit of glass on their asses).

Have a look… this week, she had the KITTENS! 4 of them!

and another pic, just for fun.

Here’s one of them at about 2 days old:

We took off for Monday-Friday, and returned this past weekend. I took this picture when they were well-fed and sleeping. Yoda was downstairs relaxing. I think the flash woke these guys up Actually, I’m not sure whether they are girls or boys, I haven’t looked.

You can see that their eyes are open, and they are starting to cruising around the make-shift den, thanks to the microwave we just bought.
What are we going to do with them now, I asked my genius wife?

Her response: “I think we will bring them to the market, and have them sold. If not, I guess we’ll keep them for a while. But winter is coming… and there’s no way they’ll make it out here without some help.” I said, “Ugh.”

Nevertheless, they are really cute, and I’m happy that they weren’t drowned by Valla-the-peasant-reaper.

So far, so good. The kittens are growing rapidly!

I’ll keep you posted. Cheers!

Whoa…

where’d she go? I lost Mom.

Baby, where did Mom go???

Oh… there she is… it was so hard to spot her with her big cat camouflage on.

but seriously, this is one of her favorite outfits. She wears it all over the place. Here’s a pic from last night, in the kitchen.

And trust me… she’s not the only one in Kiev to dawn such patterns.

I routinely see hot chicks (thankfully), grandmothers, kids, moms, peasants, and businesswomen… seriously, it’s quite funny. They love the animal patterns. The BIG CAT patterns. I think they see it as sexy. You know, like Farah Fawcett kinda sexy.

Not only that, but you see this dress everywhere. In the country, in downtown center, at the market, at the open-air markets, restaurants, shops, bus stops, beaches, airplanes, park benches, etc… It really cracks me up when I see what must be a 90 year old lady at the bazaar wearing all leopard. I’ll try to snap a pic next time.

Cheers!

So recently I’ve been saying this to my wife. I don’t think she likes it, but it’s true, and I know it strikes a nerve – so I keep doing it to reiterate my feelings.

I feel like a DOG ON A LEASH.

I’m trying to learn Russian, and I’m getting better. However, I’m often times just led around and told what to do:

go here.

buy that.

watch this.

eat that.

look here.

stay there.

sit here.

stand there.

hold this.

carry that.

we’re going here.

we’re buying that.

let’s go to the store.

let’s go for a walk.

It’s time to…

blah, blah, blah…

Kinda like this: 

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I also occasionally feel like an American on Parade.

It’s nice and all, to know that the friends we have like me, and want to get to know me. But in reality, I’m starting to realize that I’m not just me. I’m the American [husband]. We occasionally go to some friends’ house for dinner and drinks. It’s fun, and I like them… but I’ve come to realize that they obviously go out of their way to make it nice for THE AMERICAN. I didn’t feel like going last week, but Helen was in the City (Kiev) already, and she stopped by. Of course, we told them that I wasn’t going to attend — so it became a very average and typical Ukrainian meal. Which of course, there’s nothing wrong with — and it’s still very nice for them to be our (often quite generous) hosts for the evening. But in doing so, I now realize that they only go out of their way because the American is coming! Alright… maybe it’s not just because I’m an American, but being an fully red-blooded, California native, American citizen does inherently possess a special sort of status – for better and worse.

Whatever…

I just wanted to air out my feelings a bit. I really hate sticking out so much, and feeling like either a dog on a leash, or an American on parade.  (Maybe I’ll tell you more about my experiences later, but I’ve got to go eat my zavtra. Ofsanaya kasha dla zavtrak sevoydna utrum. Spaciba dla chitat.

I was hanging out on my balcony last evening. It was a beautiful evening, with a clear view of the orange setting sun in the distance.

We are on the 5th floor, and I’m watching the life outside. I spot a couple of very large Grey Crows hanging out on the ground, looking for worms to eat. About a minute later, I see one of these crows sweep from around the Western edge of the building, apparently chasing another smaller bird. At least that’s what I thought at first glance…

But wait… they are nearly on the ground. And the first “bird” is hopping around – and IS on the ground. The crow continued flapping just above the ground by 20 cm. “Holy Cow!” I exclaim to my wife… “look there, it’s a RAT! The bird is chasing a rat!” The crow was chasing the rat around in circles: off the grass and onto the driveway pavement; onto the dirt strip along the side of the road; back across the sidewalk; and then disappeared around the corner of the building.

All the while during the chase, the crow would flap its wings to catch up, and attempt to grab the rat’s body with its claws – while pecking at/around the rats head with its enormous and quite intimidating beak.

I had never seen anything like it. I’m sure it happens everyday, everywhere. But both my wife and I were quite astonished to see a rat hopping around in broad daylight (fleeing for its life, apparently), with a giant menacing bird filling the role as big brown rat predator.

I say… more power to the crow.

“Great big gobs of greasy, grimy gopher guts.” How about a nice, cool drink, varmints? Scum, slime, menace to the golfing industry! You’re a disgrace. You’re varmints. You’re one of the lowest members of the food chain and you’ll probably be replaced by the rat crow.