My dogs are old, and when it rains they can’t be bothered to go outside. They don’t like to get wet and they don’t like to get cold. When there is nasty weather outside they just stay in and get old.
I, for one, was happy it rained. We need the rain badly. But I’m just a foolish human who actually goes for walks in the rain.
Since it was one of the first rains of the season, I ran up the hill last night to save newts from car tires. I saved four newts. This morning I went searching for newts again. I brought a camera because I don’t have a picture of a newt for my blog.
I walked a mile and a half up our road and saw none. I was soaked to the skin but I was on a newt-finding mission—a salamander safari, if you will. Some guy finally pulled up along side me and asked if I was alright. I found this so funny. Just because I was soaked to the bone, hiking up a fairly deserted stretch of road at least a mile from any house with my camera dangling around my neck, why would he think I wasn’t O.K.?
Alright, I see his point.
He was just sitting there in his brand new heated black SUV with the paper dealer plates still on. His slicked-back, black wavy hair and his nice suit, his handsome face smiling at me with those white teeth. Damn, why did I say, “Yes, I’m fine, just taking a walk in the rain.”
Why didn’t I start limping? “Well, my ankle does hurt a little.” “Well, hop right into to my brand new SUV with the nice toasty butt heater, little lady, and I’ll give you a ride down the hill.”
Enough of that fantasy, I had to find a newt, take it’s picture, and then save it from black SUV tires.
Alas, I never found one. (As you can probably tell by the picture of my dog.) The last two winters have been very dry so I’m guessing this has really affected the newt population.
Sometimes I think that maybe I shouldn’t be so fanatical about rescuing newts. Then I read this passage taken directly from Answers.com about Taricha torosa (the California newt):
In some places, road kill is an important cause of adult mortality. Important stretches of road sometimes are closed to allow newts to migrate safely to ponds and streams.
Well, I can’t close the road, but I do my part, one newt at a time.
One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish:
My hat is old. My teeth are gold.
I have a bird I like to hold.
My shoe is off. My foot is cold.
My shoe is off. My foot is cold.
I have a bird I liked to hold.
My hat is old. My teeth are gold.
And now my story is all told.
Posted by: Rich Binell | January 14, 2008 at 10:32 PM