Dripping

It rains, rains, and rains.
I like rain. It makes everything around us turn green, and green is my favorite color. I can hear it tapping on the roof and windows, and that makes me feel cozy and warm. I think about the poppy and sunflower seeds we planted last week, and I imagine them germinating away out there around the bodega door and the back gate, out on the N120.

Heavy rain makes the Peaceable into a sticky, golden-brown mess. Our shoes, paws, jackets, floors, and walkways are coated in mud, and will remain that way until the world dries out again. I hope no one comes to visit. Una and Tim can´t seem to dry out their coats, and our single-room living space reeks of wet dog.

The barn roof, which we spent major money on fixing last fall, has three leaks. Antonio the Roofer said he´ll come and fix them, but somehow we need to pinpoint where the leaks are exactly. The roof timbers are a good 15 feet over our heads, and the vast space is lit by a single bulb. I think we might´ve been better-off replacing the whole business: timbers, tiles, and tubes, but regret is a waste of time.

The chicken house roof still leaks, too, but I periodically go out and do what I can to minimize the damage. The chicken girls, meantime, have taken up daytime hours in the window well that looks into our new living room. It´s relatively dry there, they can see some of what´s going on... they want to be where the action is. If you open the back door into their yard they are there, man... streaking past your ankles, down the hallway, and into the inner patio. (nothing is more funny than a running chicken.) They love the patio. It´s got greenery to peck at (including all the new plants we are starting or resurrecting), lots of other birds to cluck at, people moving around. And dogs.

The dogs aren´t crazy about the chickens, but they are under strict orders to leave them in peace. The chickens, meantime, love the dogs´ food bowls. Small as their beaks are, the chickens can swallow kibbles whole. They´ll clear out a dog dish in just a few minutes, their beaks banging out a rhythm on the stainless steel. They leave behind the big soft bits, which the dogs don´t much care for, either. Our chickens are pigs, really. Una hates that.

Poor Una. She has those hens to deal with out back, and now there´s a canary in the kitchen. She very deeply longs to eat them all. Bob is way up atop the fridge, but Una is clever enough to find a way to him, I know. Tim the "bird dog" stares up at him, but is otherwise nonplussed.

As for Bob, he very much enjoys musical accompaniment. We noticed this morning he sang extra loud when an Edith Piaf song came on the box. He must know they called Piaf "the Little Sparrow."

Work has slowed on the Peaceable, as one craftsman waits on another to do some needed job before he can finish up. The kitchen installers are due Monday. The bathroom "furniture" arrived in the wrong color, but it looks like we´ll just get on with it, as will take a month to get the problem put right. I went out in a howling gale yesterday and did the hateful job of shopping for furniture. I bought a bed and side tables and a dresser, in a style called "Zen." It took for-bloody-ever to find it among the god-awful clunky ´rustico´stuff and the garish laquered chrome disco lounge suites. Even then I had to order it. A month, they said again. Good thing we already have mattresses and a couple of beds here.

Good things, among the mud and gray skies. Right as rain.