I've hardly even put up a fight. But I know when I'm beat.
Last night I was terrorised during my evening solitude. There's a noise at the front door forcing me to launch myself across the room to check it's locked lest the scratching be made by some B-grade horror movie type intruder.
No. It's not Leatherface coming to get me. It's just a bloody possum. Trying to climb up our hardwood cladding. A possum who has eaten it's way through all attempts of mine to start a garden.
I hope my pak choy was delicious.
I know how I want to spend my time here. Gardening, cooking and looking after some farmy pets (...and my family of course). I don't want to wake up every morning swearing for an hour because a possum has eaten all of yesterday's vegie seedlings.
The only solution is a fence. A big ugly floppy possum proof fence.
I swore blind I wouldn't need it. That I would find a new way that much more experienced gardeners than me hadn't thought of yet. I would invent a system of animal proofing that allowed for a beautiful garden free of wire fences and ugly nets draped over polypipe. This system would make me a millionaire.
Ah...nuh. I need the same hideous looking rampart as everybody else. Sigh.
So I'm meeting a fencer tomorrow to get a quote. We'll actually fence the whole house, orchard and vegie garden. It will provide a bit of safety for the chickies as well as contain the future Daffodil Hill canine companion.
So here's to knowing when you're beat before you even enter the ring.
 |
| How I imagine the possum eating my vegetables. |
No comments:
Post a Comment