The new digs...

How did we end up here?

St. George (and the adjacent suberb of Santa Clara) has five major National Parks and countless state parks within a 5 hour drive, and also met Stephanie's requirements for a distinct lack of snow.

Neither one of us had ever been here before so we had absolutely no idea what to expect.  It was only when we started looking down at the town of St. George through the lofty eyes of Google Maps that I started to become relatively concerned.

It looked a lot different than anywhere we had ever lived.  First of all, everything looked orange and covered in dust.  There was a complete absence of the green that blankets Charlotte, Hilton Head, Newfoundland and everywhere we’ve lived in between.  Instead of vinyl siding and peaked roofs, these houses are a random collection of cubic shapes covered in plaster and painted brown. Instead of big yards full of grass and pleasingly shaped hedges, there are tiny lots filled with rocks and cactus.  Having a big yard in North Carolina means lying in the grass, listening to the crickets and chasing fireflies.  A big yard in south west Utah simply means there is more space for rattlesnakes, scorpions, cactus and other nasty things designed to poke you with something painful.

Finding a house that had a big private yard, would accept a six month lease, would allow a giant fluffy dog, and was fully furnished (several things that don't normally go together) was exceedingly difficult.  When we finally found one we were ecstatic.  When the rental agent inexplicably leased it to someone else three days before we were to drive to Utah we were in a pickle.

How we finally ended up in THIS house is a long story. but let's just say God had a different plan in mind than we did, and as usual, his plan was much much better.

As for the desert life? We’ve adapted well. Maggie? Not so much.

The first time we let her out into the yard she lasted a grand total of 30 seconds before she appeared back at the door exhausted, confused, and with cactus needles sticking out of her at every possible angle. (I’m still not sure how she got them in her butt – did she back into one?) Just petting her that first week was a hazard. We had to buy leather work gloves so we could find all the needles sticking out of her fur without impaling our fingers on them in the process.

That said, she is getting fewer all the time, and between the lizards, chipmunks and slow moving fat little birds who look like they are wearing baseball caps, she has plenty to keep her entertained out there.

Maggie’s real nemesis however, lives in the front yard. Grass is a luxury here and our house has a small patch in the front yard about the size of a queen size mattress. Munching down on this grass endlessly day and night are no fewer than four, spastic, white tailed rabbits. Day by day our tiny lawn is disappearing and being replaced by a thick layer of rabbit turds. Stephanie is in heaven. Maggie is verging on a heart attack.

Maggie just sits by the front window and vibrates. Her whole body shivers with the hope that maybe once, just once, we might understand her endless pleading and let her out the front door to go “play” with them.

I’ll admit I’ve considered it. And while Stephanie thinks that’s mean, my theory is that these aren't ordinary run of the mill bunny rabbits.  These are hard core desert bunnies.   Maggie is no match for them. I’m sure they have outrun more than one coyote in their day, and coyotes have survival instinct on their side. Our fluffy Goldendoodle, her generally sedentary lifestyle, and the fact that she doesn’t need to actually catch a bunny to feed her starving family, means that she hasn’t got a shot. Her head just isn’t the game.

But try she does. Her latest attempt was while we were out for a bike ride. A bunny appeared about 300 ft down the trail and just sat there. Maggie was already running at a pretty good clip and went after it like a shot, not slowing down even when the rabbit finally darted out into the treacherous black lava rock that dominates the landscape in this area. For her efforts, Maggie lost a pretty good chunk of skin on her front paw and earned us a night at the After Hours Animal Emergency Clinic (can you say cha-ching?).   It was her first bunny chasing injury.

Ever since she has been doing her best to look pathetic, milking her bandaged paw for treats, favors and (you guessed it) the hope that we might finally give in and let her out the front door.

From now on, her bunny chasing will be in doggie boots.

Up next… the flood.