The back forty

It's been a little bit since the lawn got mowed. Like, oh, say, 10 weeks.

There are unforseen consequences of not mowing - beyond the scraggle, the blooming, the reseeding, and the pissy neighbors - there's the dog shit and toads.

Crisfield the dog, evidently, does not appreciate the sensation of having her butt tickled as she poops. Therefore, she carefully places traps on the new flagstone pathway that we just got in this spring. Oryx heads to the back, by the fence, where she always has...but Crisfield likes to stay safe and unmolested by nodding grasses.

In spite of this (or perhaps because of it), our overgrown lawn has become a haven for toads. So much so that you must scuffle along slowly to avoid squashing them. As the grass is disturbed, toads of all sizes leap away and into the safer parts of the underbrush.

So...no mowing for us. The scattering of dog poop I could handle. The scattering of toad parts, I could not.