Listen to the music of the night

From the back porch you can see our shop and horse barn
thanks to our security light. If you live in the country,
you just need a security light.

I've been sitting on my back porch with little Ellie the Silky Terrorist for her last visit outside for the night. She is mesmerized by the sounds—I like to call it my night music. She forgets why we are out there. Cash the lab is asleep in his Igloo doghouse with only his nose sticking out. Jilly, the shepherd I got from the shelter, is standing at the gate, ready to play. She has enjoyed this cold winter. Every time I come outside, she assumes her play position—rear end in the air, front end down, tail wagging, and she's smiling. She is 10 this year, but when it is cold, she plays like a puppy. When it's Mississippi hot, she moves with her head down and pants every breath. You would too if you had to wear a white fur coat that weighs 10 pounds.

So, while I'm waiting on Ellie to focus and remember why we are out there, I listen. A few nights ago I heard a female fox. We have heard the scream before, but this one was especially loud and really close. By the time I ran upstairs to get my phone to record it, of course, she quit screaming. It sounds like a damsel in distress shrieking out by the propane tank. I'll try to get a sample recording before the season is over.

Speaking of seasons.......Every frog in Tate County is down at my lake and they are all singing. If this means what I think it means, well, I don't want to think about it. I can just see all the tiny frogs-to-be dipping and diving in my swimming pool before long.

Looking into the dark with her special night vision is Lilly, the dilute calico cat. She is 14 and has never sat in my lap. My daughter found her in a wood pile, abandoned by her mother. When they moved, she didn't want to take her with them. My daughter is a dog person, not a cat lover. Her first word was DOG, not MOM. So, Lilly came to live with me. She has always been skittish. After all these years she will let me scratch her on the head. One move of my finger past her ears, and she's gone. When I go walking she follows about 10 steps behind me. If I stop suddenly and turn around, she freezes and looks away, like she is embarrassed that I caught her being somewhat social.

Almost time to go in when I hear a horse snort right at the backyard fence. This gray, wet, muddy winter has been hard on the two horses. My barn has been in a state of renovation, so I haven't been able to put them up on stormy nights. "What do you think the wild Mustangs do when it storms?" says my non-horsey husband. "They get hit by lightening," I reply. Come on spring, I say.

The horses look horrible, like big goats. Since the weather has been so cold, they grew extra hair. The long hairs under their chinny chin chins looks like a beard. They roll in the mud at least once a day. I dream of clipping their ears and giving them a warm soapy bath. "Quit being horse show Nancy," says one of my friends. "Be trail riding Nancy." I say, "Life is too short to ride an ugly, hairy horse."

My Memphis daughter-in-law is right—it is loud out here. Besides the sounds my animals and frogs make, I hear my neighbor's coon dogs baying. A distant siren blares, making my big dogs throw their heads back and sing. I'm so blessed to have night music and country dark. It makes my stars brighter.