Some people look to the groundhog to signal the start of Spring. Others check for the first crocus buds and daffodil heads. As for me, I know that it is officially Spring when the Mole arrives. The Mole has been a visitor (and the bane of my gardening existence) for many years. Neighborhood dogs, feral cats, and even Ryder, our neighbor's mighty tabby, have all conspired to bring him down. But, the Mole survives year after year. He's a wily creature—apparently immune to the mole-busting bulbs sold at Lowe's. And, even though my lavender will eventually look like a very small and determined train plowed through it, I can't bring myself to employ any harsher methods against the infamous Mole.

I have to admit that after the endless pet food recalls of 2007, any recall puts me on edge. The recent salmonella recalls aren't as frightening (or widespread) as the melamine-contamination recalls six years ago (Has it really been that long?) but they are still a cause for concern. Two of my favorite organic pet food manufacturers are included in the recall, so I've cracked out my pet food cookbooks and recipe cards (once again.)

It was a dark and stormy night—one of those early autumn thunderstorms that rattles the eaves and deposits a hundred stray branches in my yard. A wet and noisy night that sends cats scurrying to the basement to hide under the pool table or to form shaky little cat-lumps under the bed-comforter. Thunderstorms were always Lady's great fear—the combination of thunderous booms with the occasional light show sent shivers through her little Cockerspaniel heart. As for myself, I always worry that the lawn furniture will end up in the street and usually awake to find that one or two terracotta pots didn't survive the night.

I brush my dog's teeth everyday and she's actually come to enjoy it. True, it might have something to do with the peanutbutter-flavored toothpaste, but regardless she opens her mouth whenever she sees me reach for her toothbrush. For many years, dental hygiene for pets was a matter of snickers. If my friends caught me brushing my dog's or cats' teeth ten years ago, they'd laugh into their hands. Now, they all have toothbrushes for their own pets and most of them bring Fido or Fluffy in for more professional cleaning once or twice a year.

Pepper liked to jump. And, unlike my other cats, Pepper jumped with grace and beauty—as well as a good deal of planning. My fat yellow Tom, Lothario, an advocate of leaping before looking, often missed his target completely or skidded across the side of a low table.

“That’s one fat bunny,” the vet said as he examined Coolwhip, my niece Sarah’s nine-month old rabbit. I had to admit that although I didn’t know a lot about bunnies, I didn’t think they should have double chins. Coolwhip, oblivious to comments on her personal appearance, only sat and twitched her nose. Sarah, the person most responsible for the “fat bunny” since she fed CW strawberry yogurt chips by the handful, said nothing. After a few more pokes and prods, as well as a thorough examination of bunny ears, claws, and teeth, the vet announced that the bunny must lose weight.