Uncle Bud shared his wisdom on eliminating prairie dog infestations, one of those subjects on which everyone has a theory and no one has an answer. He regaled us with stories of burying used cat litter in the prairie dog holes, second only to spreading mountain lion scat around the perimeter of an orchard to keep out deer. The idea appeals to me, using the scent of a natural predator to spook those industrious little guys.
The prairie dogs have turned the front slope into moonscape; the ground is easily dug now. MJ generously donated a full box of used cat litter from upstairs and promised to hold a future supply in reserve. We filled every hole we could find including a major shaft under the colleanema. We will see how this works.
As we sifted through a box of papers, we found letters that Jerry wrote to the lad who was away at camp. His love of the land was in every word. He wrote about the news from the Wild West, purple skies at sunset and the singing of the coyotes. Jerry found a bird’s nest when addressing the face boards on the Little House, and was ready to remove it until he saw three eggs. Instead, he built a shelf to shore it up. Nothing could tell you more about Jerry. I still feel him with me when I walk the land.
A Year at the Snake 