Russell would be missed around ranch. He had just entered his ninth season, helping us to keep varmit population in check and scaring wits out of trespassers by hissing and shaking his tail at them.

Over years he survived a blizzard of caliber .223, .38, .308, 11 buck, .45, rocks, bottles, bulldozers, lawnmowers, dunebuggies, and dirt bikes, but it was sauce, disguised in a FAT MOUSE BURRITO, that finally got him! He was best security snake I ever had.

Elmer, golden eagle, couldn't believe his good fortune either when he spied Russell from 2,000 feet. They had grown up together, but were mortal enemies knowing that someday one or other would eventually succumb to fangs or talons.

Elmer was suspicious because by this time of morning Russell should be resting under a rock or in wood pile at back of garden. Elmer, who fancied himself as a hot shot flyer, cut power and lowered his flaps as he circled above cold, hard body of Russell who was stretched out stiff and rigid on lawn, looking like a three foot long rolled taco.

Elmer wasn't as sharp or as aggressive since he lost territorial dispute with Sheriff's ASTREA helicopter last spring. Most of his feathers have grown back, but he still has dizzy spells from time to time. Ah, but that is a story in itself for another time.

Elmer suddenly swooped, throwing caution to wind, making a fast snatch and grab on rolled taco that once was a very handsome red Diamondback buzz tail.

Twenty minutes later, while cruising at 5,000 feet, Elmer's eyes began to cross and a fire suddenly erupted in his tail section when he began to feel full effects of combination plate lace salsa.

The end came swiftly, as he spun into lawn near garden shed. At last possible second he managed to spread his wings enabling him to crash land near riding lawn mower. He tore up 30 yards of grass, leaves, and mud before coming to a halt upside down.

The impact saved Elmer's life. The force of it knocked air, Stumpy, Russell, and salsa right out of him.

When Elmer regained consciousness, he managed to hobble over to pond, with aid of a broken tree branch under one wing, to put out fire in his beak.

Coy, coyote, at first thought he had seen a meteorite because he had never seen an eagle up close before. He could eat anything, and often did just to survive, but this bird looked and smelled bad. "Yucka!"

Elmer threatened to brain him with his tree branch crutch if he came one paw closer. Coy decided he wasn't THAT hungry anyway. He did an about face, scratching dirt and grass from lawn all over Elmer like any sensible animal covering up a mess, before trotting off across lawn.

Elmer eventually recovered to become a reborn vegetarian and anti-helicopter activist.

Mother nature (aided by my gardening skills) required a full season to purge lawn and garden of awful evidence that claimed two critters and nearly a third. Gerry wanted to move half-completed house to another site, to avoid large, blackened and charred area of dead ground that was now part of our front lawn. I stood firm, though. Two years of construction workers tramping back and forth over our landscaping was enough. Besides, half-life on salsa is fairly short.

Meanwhile, yup, back at ranch, Snuffy adopted a new roommate, Augie and they moved into newly completed greenhouse. Gerry insisted that dead area be covered over and greenhouse was just thing to bring life back to that part of landscape. Augie's sort of a clutze so they compliment each other. Rastus, Russell's cousin, moved into garden to take over Russell's old job; and Pancho's was closed.

The Fire Chief told Pancho they would let old stand burn to ground next time, after putting down sixth incendiary fire in as many months. On top of that, insurance company tore up Pancho's policy; and Environmental Protection Agency launched an investigation. It was too much for Pancho who returned to land of his ancestors, Aztecs.

And our house? Well, even though we managed to cover up damage of salsa environmental attack with a brand new greenhouse and refurbished lawn (ain't sod great!), house is still unfinished. Not to worry, though, our ranch is a work in progress that takes me away from hubbub of my landscape business... so I can get involved in hubbub of doing same landscape and construction work for myself that I do for others all week long.

Well, that's tale. My neighbor is indeed a real landscape contractor with a large grounds maintenance company. I've been to his ranch a few times and can confirm that place exists as described, greenhouse, lawn, grounds, unfinished house and all. But as he related this story to me, on that hot, summer day, he had a strange twinkle in his eye. So, is it true? I can't say for sure, but after a chance meeting with Rastus by riding lawn mower, I'm willing to believe it.

__________________________________________

About Author:

Rich Showalter is a Contributing Writer for ProGardenBiz Magazine, an online magazine for professional gardeners and landscape contractors. Once Upon a Time... A Gardener's Daydream is a regular feature in ProGardenBiz Magazine. Visit ProGardenBiz to find out how you can get a free subscription, start-up guidance, business ideas and inspiration at http://www.progardenbiz.com. __________________________________________

You have permission to publish this article electronically or in print, free of charge, as long as bylines are included. Must be published complete with no changes. A courtesy copy of your publication would be appreciated.

Begin with fine grit sandpaper, and gently buff your legs in a circular motion. If you’re lucky enough to have access to a belt sander, start on low and slowly work to a medium setting. Those pesky bumps will disappear in no time.

Winter clothes, and layering, can make us lazy, so practice holding in your stomach and tucking in your bottom, at same time. Remember, our goal is to make shopping day a happy day, so suck in that tummy, and for good measure, tuck a fifty cent piece between your cheeks. If you practice holding it for only twenty minutes a day, why, in six months you’ll be able to crack walnuts with those little beauties.

One Week

A week before big day; shave, wax, or slather on your favorite depilatory. And no, not just on your legs. My dear, there is nothing more unattractive than appearing to have a Jimi Hendrix-like wig stuffed in your pants. It simply won’t do. Remember, we want to draw eye to our best features.

Purchase a pair of polarized sunglasses. It’s a little known fact, but polarization cuts down on demoralizing effect of dressing room florescent lighting.

Weather permitting; get some sun on your legs. A bit of color will work wonders on loose flabby skin. Or, you might try one of new sun-less tanning agents. Splurge, buy a name brand. By cutting corners with an off brand, your legs may truly resemble orange peel.

The Night Before

Pamper yourself with a pedicure. Yellow-y toenails and dried cuticles have spoiled more than one bathing suit shopping day. And don’t forget those crusty heels.

No under eye bags for you missy, get a good night’s rest. If possible, watch “Beach Blanket Bingo” as you drift off to sleep. It will put you in mood, and remind you that real women jiggle.

The Big Day

Sneak out of house before anyone else is even awake. And for heaven’s sake, no matter what “experts” say, do not take a friend. A true friend will lie.

So my darlings, go forth, flaunt your newfound confidence and buy that swimsuit.

One last warning - Should you run into a twenty five year old, sunglass-less vixen, modeling a thong, retreat, but not before making eye contact.

Indicate, in that special, wordless way that women around world recognize, that she looks fat.

“Sometimes, being a bitch is all a woman has to hang onto”. Kathy Bates in Delores Claiborne

Copyright 2003 D. Gustafson All Rights Reserved For more really swell aspects of mid-life, visit Mama's Secrets, http://www.mamassecrets.com

D. Gustafson is a mother, grandmother, daughter, ex-wife, artist, accountant, webmaster, and published writer.