Seen My Garden?

I must be in the wrong house. This is not my garden. My garden is a lovely swath of dirt with splendid growth of brussel sprouts, cabbages, and rows of multi-colored beets that would be the envy of the 'Victory Garden' cookbooks.

Above are two photos. One shows a helpful Bear working dilligently with me yesterday to weed, thin, and prepare the last of the garden produce for harvest; including those lovely, lush, and plentiful brussel sprouts. The other photo shows the same garden this morning, after a very naughty creature spent the night feasting on what must have been a delightful salad of said vegetables.

We were awakened around 2 a.m. by the growls and barks of Jasper, who normally sleeps through fire trucks, earthquakes, and crying children. This time, though, he would not settle down, even after I walked through the house peering out windows and doors to see if indeed some intruder was stalking the property. Didn't see anything, so I declined to let the dog out and instead took us both back to bed, where occasional growls still rumbled for another hour.

Yukon was firm in his belief that a moose had been in the yard, based upon recent sightings in the Anchorage area now that autumn is here. Like clockwork, the moose seem to know that now is the time to move into the neighborhoods, where they will survive the winter on the fruits of our labor.

Taking Bear to preschool this morning I was momentarily sidetracked by the skeletal remains of my brussel sprout plants. It was not until after lunch that Bear and I took a closer look at how much he/she really did eat. The other cabbage, every single brussel sprout leaf, most of the kale in the garden and front yard, and all but three of my beets. Nadafinga.

We spent about an hour plucking the baby brussels off the stalks, trimming the three beets and gathering up the rest of the rubbage for tonight's Moose Dinner Impossible, since I am sure he/she will be back.

This time, though, I'm releasing the hound, who, despite his own shortcomings today, (he ate half a loaf of blueberry bread and trod upon my clean white floor with muddy paws, does deserve some credit for trying to warn us.