Tristan brought Jake over for Father’s Day. Jake is a five year-old Great Pyrenees/Golden Retriever cross. Jake is very well behaved, but all the cats are totally traumatized that we let a DOG!!!, can YOU BELIEVE IT? A DOG!!!, ¡¡¡Un PERRO!!!, UN CHIEN!!!, UN CANE!!!, come inside the house. I tried to get a photo of Spunk’s despising look, but Jake was being too rambunctious and Spunk ran for cover before I could get a photo. We took Jake to The Beach, and he got into the river for the first time, all recorded in the video below.
Jake is giving Spunk a serious run for the money in the modeling department.
Meet Wilma Wasp, a Toltec Scoliid (Dielis tolteca) that is native to the southwest. I normally only see the butts of Toltec Scoliids sticking out of the trumpet-shaped flowers of the Chitalpa tree. However, this afternoon, Wilma Wasp was really working the Shasta Daisies totally ignoring my phone camera just inches away from her.
The temperature was only 100º F (37.8º C) when I prepared this meal of a salad (made by Laurie), extra sharp cheddar cheese, hot salsa, corn chips and blueberries.
Betsy Bunny
Scattered clouds tonight.
Muted colors on the clouds in the east at sunset.
Tonight was the first night it was clear enough to see the moon from our property.
You might remember that back in early April we demolished and recycled the cubicles that came with our new office: https://wp.me/p1yQyy-6b4. The above three photos are of our new cubicles in early June a few days before we moved all the staff in.
What do cats do in the heat of hangdog daze of summer? They be cool. As everyone should know, cats are always cool. Spunk knows he’s “Hot” based on his kitty good looks, but he has always been, and there never was a time that he was not, a super cool cat. But when it’s hot, the cats like to “hangdog” around and look cool.
Spunk putting on the cool hangdog daze look.
Silver in a hangdog daze.
Sasha hangdogging in style.
Spunk knows a cool place to be on a hangdog hot day is in the cooler. Marble thinking about joining him.
Loki enjoying in the airflow from the cooler.
Spunk daydreaming, while Marble naps on the cool glass top.
A thunderstorm blew in around 5:00 pm with a lot of noise and about 4 drops of rain. However, the temperature dropped from 103º F (39.4º C) to 89º F (31.6º C) in a matter of minutes.
Glenda hangdogging and planking at the same time.
The thunderstorm produced some cool clouds.
A hangdog daze tail wag from Glenda.
Gwendolyn hangdogging on a worm rug.
Sunset lights up Resa’s tree.
Glenda: “What’s your problem Paparazzo?”
Not a good mix it.
Good colors, anyway.
The painter broke through the hangdog daze pallor of gray overcast skies at sunset.
Glenda: “What’s up with you going back and forth to look at the sky? Enough already. You’re bothering me boy!”
When I got in my car at the office, the temp read 116º F (46.7º C). I started driving and it dropped to 112º F (44.4º C) and I thought it seemed really warm, at the next red light a few miles down the road, I checked the weather app on the phone, and it showed the temperature in Corrales at 108º F (42.2º C) at 17:22 hours. When I got home at 17:30 hours, the temperature was a cool 102º F ( 38.9º C) on our outside thermometer. Many of the roses were loving the heat. At sunset, the temperature had dropped to 88º F (31.1º C). There was a warm wind blowing cotton off of Resa’s Tree. I finally got a decent shot of Resa’s tree with the cotton on it, but I wasn’t able to get the blowing cotton to show up well in still photos.
We have an old Peace Rose out on the east 40 that I wasn’t sure was going to make it since it only gets water from the irrigation ditch. I noticed it was really rallying this afternoon. That remote bed, which has Color Magic, three other roses and a Dr. Huey are all rallying the best they can. I bought more soaker hoses this morning, so I cut a lot of dead canes out of the roses, and wrapped a soaker hose around all the roses in the remote bed this afternoon. I stretched a long hose over to them, and gave them a good long soak. We should be seeing a lot more fine roses from that bed as the hot, dray dog, cat, gopher and squirrel days of summer drag on.
When the assassin bug on one of the Peace Roses saw the Bazooka pointing at him, he raised his little bug arms and said “Don’t Shoot!” before I shot him. After his initial shock of staring down the barrel of the Bazooka, he took flight and buzzed me as he flew by.
