Oh the joys of owning dogs and living in the woods! My male Labrador Retriever has been more fun and excitement than a horror film. He is a killing machine, efficiently ridding the yard of pesky armadillos. About a month ago I had just put the kids to bed, when both dogs began barking wildly at the edge of the woods, just south of the house towards the pond. There was a horrible shrieking noise and then the sounds, in unison, circled around to the front of the house. The kids were up and peering out their windows into the darkness. For the next three minutes the horrific sound of something cried as the dog shook his catch. We went out with the flashlight to investigate, but he grabbed the kill and ran into the woods.

The next morning, as we got ready for school and headed out to the car, the dog was resting at the side of the driveway, using a dead, but intact, raccoon for a pillow. It was almost cute, the way he cuddled it in a protective manner. Not a drop of blood or tear in its coat. The raccoon looked peaceful, as if sleeping.

After a day or so of trying to get near him, the dog finally decided to come in for some real chow, leaving the coon unattended. I dropped him over the fence line with a shovel.

A week later, the dog caught an armadillo and left if for us in the front yard. I had a project due and steadily worked at the computer for the morning. Vultures landed in the trees above, gathered around, and fought over the carcass. At one point about 20 of the dirty beasts were on my car, then all over the front yard right up against the house. I called the dog to chase them off. He caused this mess, right? The dog looked up from his position on the front steps, as if he was amused and disgusted by them as well.

Two weeks later, the coon shows up again in the dog's mouth. He's equally talented as an escape artist, or perhaps the vultures moved the raccoon back into the yard. But now the coon was ripe. The dog hid it in the yard, and over the next few days he perfumed himself intensely in it, and ate the rest. All I found were little tufts of fur and a leg bone. The dog was banished from the porch because he smelled so foul.

Today to dog showed up prancing wildly with a rotten horse skull. He sat in the yard, by the swing set and crunched on the black skin and cheek bones.

I guess I won't be going out barefoot this summer.

We've lived here, in what was called "Tuscawilla Hammock" on old maps, for 14 years. This small bit of natural woods in North Central Florida is our sanctuary. The children know nothing else of home, other than when we travel for business and set up in an apartment some place else for a few weeks or months. Traveling is an adventure, but so is living here. God provides amazing creatures, and new plants push their way up through the leaf mulch every spring. The house is in a small clearing, where we have enough sun to keep the mosquitos at bay during the daytime. The driveway is long, and occasionally we can't get out because a tree has fallen during the night. The children run wild and barefoot through the woods. They have named their favorite play locations and drawn highly accurate maps from memory.

My first garden was prematurely leveled by my mow-happy husband who thought pepper plants were weeds. He also thought the azaleas were weeds. I took a decade-long hiatus from gardening. Last year I tried again. We had plenty of Roma tomatoes, small yellow squash and zuchinni, anaheim peppers, and beautiful okra. A handful of pole beans grew up a bamboo teepee, but the deer nibbled what they could reach. The deer also took the tops off two dozen sunflower plants. One lovely plant in the corner nearest the house survived to produce a bright yellow flower.

This year the garden is in a new location. The compost is enclosed within the garden fence, but the two labrador retrievers pried the wooden pickets off the fence to plunder the rotten onions composting amongst the coffee grounds and mellon rinds. We've reinforced it with chicken wire. Watermelon plants are in the ground, along with grape tomato plants and Early Girl tomatoes. We are using newspaper and hay to battle weeds. My 15-year-old son has taken a big interest in helping this year. He worked for 8 hours one weekend, hand tilling and pulling weeds.

Last week I ran a few miles with Maggie. The orange blossoms were blooming, along with the azaleas, wisteria, violets, and spider worts. We ran from one intoxicating fragrance to the next. The limerock road was dazzling white, the sky an amazing clear blue, and trees the promising green of spring. The breeze is cool, for now. Soon it will be hot - too hot. But for now, it's spring!