A Bobcat in the Front Yard

There's a bobcat in our front yard.

My four-year-old called it a "wildcat," as in,

"Wow, Papa really is moving a lot of stuff with that wildcat."

But really, it's a bobcat.

And we're completely tearing up our front yard, and in a few hours have ripped out plants that have been there since we moved in ten-and-a-half years ago. We'll carefully dig out more tomorrow, like a rose bush that I estimate to be about 15-20 years old.

When I say "we" I mean the corporate, spousal "we." But since I've done my share of picking adobe in the last few years, I don't feel too much like just a spectator.

The plan is to put in a courtyard off the front of the house, with a very tasteful fence separating it from plants that are as carefully planned as a Japanese garden while still being indigenous and drought tolerant. The nice thing about plans is they're plans - they're not yet realities that didn't live up to expectations.

But I think this really will be nice. It's one of the first home-improvement projects where D. and I share the same vision of what we want. He envisions a much thicker slab of concrete than I would have thought one would ever need (except to dispose of nuclear waste), but it's all right.

I just have to find a good new home for that rose bush.