There’s nothing like looking out your window to see a parade of critters marching by.
|Betsy watches as Jazzy & Molly trim the bushes.|
Yesterday I let my llamas, horses, donkey and goat out of their three-acre pasture to roam my remaining 25 acres. I used to do this once a week to relieve their boredom and allow them access to the grass by my pond. But I had to stop a few months ago when I got a 6:30 a.m. call from a deputy sheriff at my gates. “Ms. Miller, your horses are out,” he calmly informed me.
Apparently Mallory, Jazzy or both had tripped the underground sensor that opened my gates from the inside. Theoretically, it opened only when something heavy, such as a car or truck, rolled over it. But that blasted electronic gizmo could be as annoying as a toddler in a toy store. Whenever the critters were grazing by the pond, I had to be extra careful, because the sensor would trip going out and coming in. Rather than wait for the gates to close when I left, I would use my electronic key to close them. Coming in, I had to drive just above the spot where the sensor was buried before pointing my key at the gates. All of this to ensure that my critters didn’t escape.
I kept after my gate-man, Fred, to dismantle that widget. Guests can open the gates as they leave via a doorbell mounted in a birdhouse, a clever contrivance that Fred installed when we ran the wiring that supplies electricity to the gates and light fixtures. (Another of his crafty ideas was the doorbell that opens the gates from inside my house. Anyone with a cell phone can call me from outside the gates and I can buzz him in. This sweet little button keeps me from having to give everybody and his uncle my not-so-secret code.)
He finally listened to my plaintive pleas this week and disconnected the sensor wires. Now, my critters can nibble on the fresh shoots of grass by the pond without my worrying about another call from a deputy sheriff. As a bonus, they can keep my azalea bushes trimmed (see photo above). Maybe Betsy the goat will rid my woods of briars on her way to and from the pond. One can dream.