We interrupt this Monday's Creature Feature (though if you look closely, you will notice a misnamed critter) to document the effects of an ill-placed monsoon-driven downpour.

First, the good news.  Our home, as far as we know, did not take on water.  Mud lapped the back doors and made the piles of towels and blankets work for their keep but, other than a mess of mud tracked indoors, we are surviving, a little unbalanced, but surviving.

Shades of "The Beverly Hillbillies," we once jokingly called this the cee-ment pond.  Now it it the muddiest of swimming holes I have ever seen.

Under the layer of mud are the tiles we carefully chose when designing the pool and to the right of them is the channel which holds the now-ruined pool cover, installed to prevent toddler mishaps and allow us a good night's sleep.

Nature wastes no time in reclaiming its territory.  In the pool/mud bog languishes this Sonoran Desert Toad, commonly known as the Colorado Bullfrog.  His skin is psychoactive and has enough venom to kill a large dog.  Sometimes college kids lick them to get high.  We typically only see and hear them during monsoon season.  They are known to cause mass insomnia with their sexual exploits.  Just the other night, Jessica had company over late and, when asked what that noise was, she replied, "Fucking frogs" and then tickled herself because that's exactly what it was.

The animals are in as much of a daze as we are, wandering the new, not improved farmyard and checking out their seemingly new digs.  Everything looks different.

The main wash changed from a sandy expanse measuring anywhere from two to six feet to fifteen feet plus.  What was covered with scrub, weeds, and small animal nesting grounds on our untouched acre is now a black sand beach (which some asshole lookie-loo had to mar with his quad, private property, bub) .

Trees lost root-saving soil, concrete fence supports cracked and lost their strength, and chain link farmyard surrounds relinquished their usefulness.  All these areas had at least three feet of rip-rap and dirt surrounds protecting them.

Walking the neighborhood this morning, we found others who fared worse.

A mud river ran through Elmo and Virginia's garage.

 Someone's dumpster learned that not only powerful trucks can relocate it.

And someone's block wall disintegrated, witnessed by numerous concrete masonry units scattered among the post-flood detritus.

As I stated as I began this post, we are alive and if not totally well and that is what matters.  Although a troubling early mornng phone call confirmed we have no flood insurance, we plow on, renting a bobcat and a sump pump, purchasing dirt and rip-rap, and employing all the parental and teenaged elbow grease we can muster. 

 And just in case you thought we'd completely lost our sense of humor and frivolity, Calf Wars 2008 lives on.