In Our Backyard

We spend a lot of time on the patio in the evening during the spring and summer.  It faces northwest and offers a great view of some spectacular sunsets.  There is a small Crepe Myrtle tree next to the patio that is a favorite nesting site for a pair of cardinals.  We noticed babies in the nest in May of this year, then only a week or two later, they just disappeared.  We didn't see the parents around either and were afraid they had abandoned the nest because something got the babies.  But a week or two later, we noticed the parents were back.  So I decided to do some research on cardinals.

I found out they raise two or three sets of babies every year and always nest within a mile of where they themselves had been born.  The babies leave the nest at only 14 days old, but have very poor flying skills at that age.  They usually fly from the nest to the ground or a low shrub and rest for several hours before trying again.  Within a few days, they gain their strength and skill to fly back up to the tree tops.  Until then, their parents watch over them, providing food and encouragement and as much protection as possible. 

Yesterday when I walked past the little tree by the patio, I noticed the male cardinal flitting nervously from the tree to the roof to the ground and back again.  Cardinals have a very distinct call, a sharp chirp.  The male was on the roof, chirping away and I was sure I heard a chirp on the ground too.  I looked and on one of the lowest branches of a volunteer under the little tree was this tiny little baby cardinal.  When Yeoldfurt came over to see what I was looking at, we found the other one on the ground under the tree.  Though they are both more fuzz than feathers at this stage, I was pretty sure one was a male and one was a female.  The one that was on the branch had fuzz on top of his head that was distinctly pointy on top, like a male cardinal.  The other baby just had smooth fuzz on top, probably a female.

We worried about them being out of the nest overnight, but I told Yeoldfurt what I had read about the parents watching over them and we decided to let nature take its course.  This morning, I went out to check and found both of the babies up on a low branch about a foot off the ground.   Our fifteen year old cat, Charley, hangs out in the backyard but her hunting instincts have never been keen.  This cat used to roll over on her back, look at you upside down and beg for food if she liked what you had.  But chasing food had never been in her repertoire.  She would barely chase a toy, even when she was a kitten.  Too much work.  Now that she's older, she's more lazy than ever, so we didn't think she would be a threat to the babies.

Charley was sitting on a plastic step this morning about fifteen feet from where the babies sat on the low branches.  As I stood there admiring the babies, the female suddenly took off and flew toward the yard.  Her trajectory took her inches from Charley's nose and she landed on the ground about fifteen feet beyond Charley.  I was startled and amazed and happy to see the little fuzzball take flight, but then I saw the look on Charley's face.  Apparently, her hunting instincts were aroused, possibly for the first time in her life.  Her eyes were huge, her ears were pricked and she was crouched in front with her butt slightly elevated.  Her tail whipped once to the right, then once to the left and just as I yelled, "Charley, NO!!!" she launched.

I launched a split second behind her but before I could reach her, she was on top of the little fuzzball.  Fortunately for the baby bird, Charley had been an indoor cat the first ten years of her life and due to a disagreement she and I had about her using my pool table for a scratching post, she no longer has front claws.  That fact didn't do much to reduce the terror the little fuzzball was feeling though.  As I grabbed Charley by the scruff, I was aware of  the baby's frantic chirps from below me and the parent's angry chirps behind me.

PETA might be after me for this but all I was thinking of was the baby bird.  I grabbed Charley by the scruff of the neck with my left hand and by the scruff of her butt with my right hand and tossed her to the side.  It was a gentle toss, it really was ...more of a lob, really.  My only motive was to save the baby bird, not hurt the cat ...I swear.

As soon as I lifted Charley off the ground, the little baby bird was free but didn't move.  I wasn't sure if it was hurt or just scared but I didn't have time to investigate because Charley, being a cat, had landed on her feet about ten feet away and was making a beeline back.   I intercepted her in the same double scruff fashion and carried her across the yard to the garage.  I deposited her inside and shut the door.  I knew and she knew that she wasn't trapped in the garage.  We keep one of the overhead doors open about six inches so the cats can come and go, but I knew it would take her some time to think of the other door and make her way to the backyard again.

As soon as I shut the door behind Charley, I looked back to check on the baby bird and was relieved to see it half-fluttering, half-hopping across the yard in the opposite direction.  Its two parents were doing their best to herd it to safety.  One of them would land a few feet in front of the baby as if to show it the way, and the other was diving and chirping from behind, as if trying to hurry it up.

Charley made her way to the backyard again sooner than I expected, but by then both babies were safely perched on the chain link fence, a good ways from where all the drama had started.  Charley being new to the role of predator seemed fixated on the spot where she landed on the baby bird the first time.  She seemed to know she had missed out on something, but she wasn't quite sure what ...and she sure didn't seem to have any idea where that something might be now.

The Second Day Went Much Better ... (Only Four Days, conclusion)

At least it started out much better.  The hotel provides an awesome breakfast buffet from 6:00 to 8:00, Monday through Friday.  Everything from hot or cold cereal to bagels or fresh baked waffles and scrambled eggs.  There is usually link sausage, patty sausage, bacon and sometimes even grilled ham slices.  They also always have a large assortment of fresh fruit.  That's what I usually go for.  I grab a bagel and some orange juice to eat for breakfast while I'm checking email, then grab some fruit to take with me for lunch.  A very no hassle way to take care of lunch when out of town on travel. 

I was well-rested from having slept in an extra two hours and could take my time getting ready since it was an easy fifteen minute commute to the training class.  The class didn't start until 8:30 but I left at 7:45 so I could work on some of the cases I brought with me.  By the time the other students and the instructor arrived, the case I started the day before was finished and I had a good start on the next case.  I knew I would work through lunch each day and was feeling pretty optimistic that I would easily be able to keep my real workload in check even with a four day absence this week. It was going to be a good week. 

Class was dismissed at 4:30 and I had accomplished even more than I hoped during the lunch hour, so I headed for the hotel.  It's only about four miles from the class site to the hotel but the route takes me through a fairly busy retail section of town, lights every other block or so.  I was stopped at a light and decided to turn on the radio.  Since I was out of range for my usual stations, I glanced down to press the Seek button and that's when I noticed the brake light on my dash was lit.  Hmmm.  I didn't recall having set the parking brake any time recently, but I reached down and pulled the release just in case.  The light was still on.  I'm thinking it's got to be something simple. 

The traffic light changed and I started to move with the traffic, leaving maybe just a wee bit more 'stopping space' in front ...just in case.  The next light was a block away and had just turned green.  I'm not familiar with the timing on these lights and have no idea what my odds are that it would still be green when I get there ...but I did notice it's on a hill.  A rather steep hill.  I was still not convinced I had a true brake problem but really didn't want to stop on an incline to find out.  The light turned red long before I got there and I was the third car back from the light ...still very much on the hill.  My brakes felt normal but that red brake light was still staring at me, unrelenting.  I was only a mile or so from the hotel by then.  I figured I could make it that far even if I had to walk. 

I glanced down at the dash again just as the light turned green.  The brake light was still on and now the ABS light was on too.  Ruh-roh ...definitely not good.  I still couldn't detect any oddities in the feel of the brakes but obviously the truck thought something serious was amiss.  I decided I would get on the Internet as soon as I got to the hotel and google some answers ...and maybe the location of the closest Mazda dealership.  I parked, went to my room to change clothes and headed back down to the Business Center.  The Internet was down.  The computers were functional if you just needed a spreadsheet or a wordprocessor but there was no Internet.  Great.  Access to the Control Panel had been disabled (typical on these hotel computers) so I couldn't even troubleshoot anything myself. 

I went to the front desk and asked if there was a problem with the Internet.  They were not aware of it until I told them, but called tech support for their provider right away and offered to let me use a computer behind the desk in the meantime.  If I just wanted to check email or read some blogs, I would have just gone back to my room.  But under the circumstances, I was very grateful they offered.  I'm telling you, this hotel is top notch. 

The information I found on the various forums and Mazda tech sites was less than helpful but I did find a dealership one exit south of my training location.  So I printed their contact page and went to my room.  It was a few minutes after 6:00 by then but I called anyway thinking at least a salesman would still be there and be able to tell me what time the Service Department opened in the morning.  A switchboard receptionist answered and said sometimes the service writers are there for a while after closing so she would put my call through. 

Sure enough, Angel Martinez was working late that night and picked up on the second ring.  I explained the symptoms my truck was having and described my predicament with being out of town and no alternate transportation.  He gave me some safety pointers on deciding whether it was safe to dive if it was safe to drive the four miles to the shop in the morning and told me the doors open at 7:00am.  When Yeoldfurt called me that evening, I filled him in on the situation.  He told me to just use my judgment but not to take any chances ...if I needed to have it towed, have it towed.  

I decided the less traffic there was, the safer we would all be ...so I set my alarm for 4:30am with the intention of driving to the dealership at 6:00am..  I was dressed and in the parking lot by 5:30am.  The master cylinder was low but not empty and I made a couple of test runs through the parking lot to see if I could feel any difference.  The brakes were a little mushy but still there.  So I headed out and was at the shop by 6:15am.  When the doors opened, I was the first one checked in.  The mechanic I'd spoken to the night before told me that if the parts were in stock, they could get it in and out that day.  If not, they should be able to get it out by close of business the next day.  A shuttle driver took me to my class and I tried to put it out of my mind and concentrate on the class.  One of the ladies from that office gave me her direct line and said she'd drive me to the shop to get my truck or to the hotel if it wasn't ready, or anywhere else I needed to go that afternoon.  Very sweet lady!

Unfortunately, I did end up having to rent a car because a couple of the the parts did not come in that morning.  I was promised that my truck would be first in line the next morning and they would get it done the next day even if they had to stay late.  The rental car only cost me $30 which was a drop in the bucket compared to the repair bill I was expecting on the truck. 

Class was over at 4:20 on Thursday and I was at the dealership by 4:30.  My truck was not finished but they assured me they would be done that day, probably within the hour.  Keep in mind the shop closes at 6:00pm.  When I sat down int he customer waiting area, there were about four other customers waiting with me.  One by one, they left with their vehicles.  By 5:45, I was getting nervous.  Finally, a few minutes after 6:00, my mechanic came through the door.  He wasn't smiling and I was really expecting him to say they found something else wrong ...or they were just quitting for the day.  I admit it, I was expecting the worst.  The lenses on my Pollyanna glasses were cracked ...it had been that kind of week.  But he was just coming to tell me that they were almost done and that he wanted to test drive it on the side road by the dealership because he knew I had a long drive home.  He said he and his mechanic helper were staying late because they knew I was in a bind.  As grateful as I was for their willingness to stay late, I sure was anxious to get back on the road.  If you're ever in Austin and need a Mazda shop, call Mazda South and ask for Angel Martinez.  He will go over and above for you. 

Finally, at 7:15pm, my truck was ready.  I paid the bill, thanked Angel profusely for staying late to finish, transferred all my luggage from the rental car to the truck and turned the rental car keys over to the shop manager.  I called Yeoldfurt and let him know I (finally) on my way.  I was very cautious with the brakes for the first hour or so, but honestly, they felt fine to me.  When I pulled into the driveway, Yeoldfurt met me at the door and helped me get everything into the house.  I had only been gone four days, but it felt like an eternity. 

I learned two important lessons from this trip: 

Make sure the corporate credit card is working before I leave

If the State wants me to travel, they can sure enough provide me a rental car

Silly Me, the Day Wasn't Over Yet ... (Only Four Days, Part II)

Class was over at 4:30 but I ended up staying until 5:00, working on some real cases I'd brought with me from the office.  My job is to review and assess new applications and I have a 20-day deadline to get them routed on to wherever they need to go.  Does 20 days sound like more than enough time to assess a ten page application?  It might be except for the sheer volume of applications that come through.  I receive an average of 30 new cases every day, even weekends because in addition to paper applications, they can be submitted online 24/7.  That 20-day clock starts the day the application is date stamped as Received and doesn't stop for anything ...not for weekends, not for holidays, and certainly not for four day training trips.  So I'd brought the four applications with me that would have been older than 20 days when I got back from trip.  The class was from 8:30 to 4:30 with an hour break for lunch.  I figured I could come in at 8:00, bring a sack lunch and work until 5:00 each day to get these four cases done before the deadline.  It sounded like a good plan...

Monday was a long day because I'd worked from 7:00 to 10:00 that morning, then spent three hours on the road to get to class, and another three hours in class.  I was tired.  But by 5:00, I had a good start on the first case so I packed up and headed for the hotel.  I've stayed at this hotel four times in two different towns and it's always a nice place.  The rooms are immaculate, the staff is always courteous and professional and the location is always within a few miles of my class.  Because I normally have a 45 minute commute to work and the class started an hour and a half later than my normal workday, I was even going to get to sleep in a little the next three days.  I was looking forward to it. 

I got checked in, unpacked my suitcase, put on some comfortable clothes, then headed back to the lobby to use one of the computers in the Business Center.  This hotel has a complimentary dinner buffet from 6:00 to 8:00 in the evenings.  Nothing fancy ...fajitas or burgers or spaghetti and meatballs, always salad and fruit on the side.  It's always good and there's always plenty.  It was almost 5:30 by the time I sat down at the computer, so I figured I would catch up on email and read a few blogs until the buffet started.  About 6:15, I looked up from the screen and noticed there wasn't the usual clatter and chatter you hear in a restaurant.  Hmmm.  I went to the front desk and asked and was told that as of January, the complimentary dinner buffet is only offered Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays.   Budget cuts, you know. 

I had stayed at this very hotel for a three day training class earlier in the month, but that class had started on Tuesday, so the buffet was on every evening I was there ...I didn't know anything had changed.  By this time, I was really tired.  But as much as I dreaded the thought of going back out to find food, I was hungry enough to talk myself into it.  I went back to the room for my car keys and headed out. 

I detest eating alone in a restaurant. I seldom go to a restaurant that I don't see someone else at a table or booth by themselves and think nothing of it.  It's really no big deal but I just don't want to be that person.  My usual habit on these trips is to go to a grocery store the first evening and buy enough food for however long I'm staying and just cook in my room.  The rooms are really more of a suite ...they have a two burner stove, a microwave oven, a full-size (but small) refrigerator/freezer and even a dishwasher and disposal.  With my aversion to eating alone in restaurants, cooking in the room makes the evenings more relaxing for me.  But that night, I was exceptionally tired and I decided I'd just do fast food.  A drive-through would be quick and I could take my food back to my room.  I would be able to sleep in almost two hours past my normal wake up time the next morning and I could make a grocery run the next evening.  Another good plan.  But you know what they say about plans...

None of the drive-throughs I saw looked good enough to stop at and when I came to the grocery store I usually shop at, I pulled in and parked.  It was 6:30 on a Monday night and the people were thick as flies.  I took a deep breath and waded in.  I got a cart and started in Produce.  I was in the Express Lane twenty minutes later with my purchases and very happy to note there only two people in front of me.  When it was my turn, the cashier rang up my items and I handed her my (new) corporate Mastercard. 

IT      WAS       DECLINED. 

Apparently, I had learned nothing from my Whataburger experience earlier that day and was sure it was just a fluke.  I was actually confident when I said, "That can't be right.  Could you try it again, please?"  She tried it again ...then again ...then she tried entering it manually.  The line behind me was getting longer, so I said, "Nevermind ...use this card" and gave her my personal credit card. 

My personal credit card company is very vigilant about suspected fraudulent use and have been known to decline purchases if they are more than 50 miles from my home address.  So when my corporate card had been declined earlier that day, I had called my own card's Customer Service and informed them I was traveling and where I was and that I did NOT want to have any issues with my card while I was on the road.  But still ...after the day I'd had, I think I held my breath while the cashier swiped my card.   I think the long line behind me held their breath too because when the transaction was approved and she asked me to sign for it, we all let out a sigh of relief. 

My total was only $26.34 for the food and I had enough not to have any other meal expenses on the trip.  I got back to the hotel, carried my food to my room and sat down to call the Customer Service number on the back of the corporate card.  I couldn't wait to find out why the NEW card had been declined.  Again with the seemingly endless number dance on the keypad to get to a real person, I was informed that 'grocery stores are not on the list of approved establishments' for purchases.  WHAT?!  Common sense and minimal scruples would tell you going to a bar or a sporting goods store would not be an 'approved establishment' at which to use your corporate credit card on a business trip.  But this was the first I had heard of a list of 'approved' establishments. 

I was a speechless for a few seconds.  Before I spoke, I reminded myself that the person on the other end of the line was not responsible for the policy or the list or the kind of day I'd had so far.  I took a deep breath and in as reasonable a tone as I could muster said, "Then could you please tell me what establishments are on the approved list?  For instance, if I go to a drive-through eatery and try to pay with my card ...will it be declined?"  He replied with, "There's not really a list ...we can only see a reason code after a card is declined.  So you'd just have to try it and then call us if it's declined to find out why."  Oh that SO did not sound like a good plan to me!  I thanked him for his assistance and hung up.

The clock said 8:30 but it felt more like 10:30 to me.  So I cooked a little something for supper and crawled into bed.  I remember thinking at least I have enough groceries now for the duration of the trip. There need be no more humiliating moments with my card being declined.  That actually did prove to be the case.  I didn't have any more credit card issues on the trip.  But Tuesday ended up being even more 'interesting' than Monday. 

...to be continued

Only Four Days

That was how long I was supposed to be out of town this week for a class.  When you lead a critter-intensive lifestyle like we do, having one of us away from home even just overnight leaves a lot on the one who stays behind.  But, fortunately, travel is a rare requirement for either of us these days. So when it happens, we just take a deep breath and deal with it.  We can do anything for four days, right?

My class was starting at 1:30 in the afternoon in Austin, a seventy-five mile drive west of where we live.  My office is a forty mile drive east of where we live.  So when they told me about the class a couple of weeks ago, I decided to take comp time in the morning and drive straight to the class from home, leaving around noon.  That was my plan right up to quitting time last Friday. 

Last week had not been very productive because we are short-staffed right now and I had been pulled off my own work to help in some other areas for two whole days.  Everything that crosses my desk is time-sensitive so when I miss two out of five days in a week, it piles up fast.  By 5:00 last Friday, my own workload was out of control.  I knew it would pile up even more this week since I'd be gone four days.  So I decided I would go ahead and drive the forty miles east on Monday and work from 7:00am to 10:00am ...then head to class from the office.  Being that much further east made it a two and a half hour drive to get to the class, so leaving at 10:00 left me enough time to grab lunch somewhere along the way and be at class by 1:30. 

I dreaded the new plan all weekend but I ended up accomplishing a lot Monday morning, so I was in a pretty good mood when I stopped at a drive-through burger joint in Bastrop.  I was about 45 minutes from my destination, still a little over two hours before class started so I was feeling pretty good.  We are supposed to use the corporate credit card for all meals when we travel so I ordered a kiddie burger and drink and whipped out my State of Texas Mastercard. 

IT WAS DECLINED.  I said, "That can't be right.  Try it again please?"  The girl tried it again ...and again ...then tried entering it manually.  Same result each time, it was declined.  By that time, I was more than a little embarrassed and the cars behind me were probably getting annoyed.  So I gave her $5 in cash and paid for my meal. 

I pulled over to a space in the parking lot and called the number on the back of my corporate card.   After the seemingly endless number-punching routine, I finally reached a live person and ...wonder of wonders ...he actually sounded like English might be his first language!  Things were looking up. 

Still convinced it must be a mistake, I explained my predicament to him and asked him if he had any idea why my card was being declined.  He put me on hold for a minute and then came back to say the card had been canceled ...that very morning.  What?!?  I asked him if there were any notes as to why and he put me on hold again to check.  It's frustrating enough when you have to call these customer service lines but it always amuses me when they ask to put you on hold 'so they can check' on something.  They are, after all, a Call Center.  They never leave their cubicles when they're covering phones.  Everything is right in front of them on a computer screen ...complete with scripts of what they're supposed to tell customers in almost any imaginable situation.  If they put you on hold, it's because either they are new enough not to be familiar with the scripts or they are uncomfortable enough with what the scripts are telling them that they want to consult with their co-worker or a coach to confirm.  If they put you on hold twice or three times during the same call, it's the latter.

He came back a minute later and said he was sorry but there were no notes as to why, but he could give me the name and number of a person at the State Office who would know.   I wrote down the name and number and thanked him for his time.  Then I dialed my supervisor at my office, hoping she had not left for lunch yet. 

She answered on the third ring.  "Hi!  Aren't you on your way to Austin?"  I said, "Well ... I stopped for a quick lunch in Bastrop and was just wondering if you might have heard anything ominous through the grapevine like maybe that I'm being FIRED??" 

Brief silence then she laughed, probably thinking I was kidding.  She said, "No, why?"  So I told her about the card.  Thirty minutes had passed by now and I told her that if I didn't get back on the road, I'd end up being  late to class so would she please call the State Office and find out what was going on.  She said of course and not to worry ...she'd straighten it all out and call me back. 

I didn't hear from her again, but when I arrived at my class an hour later, the receptionist gave me an envelope with my NEW corporate card in it.  It seems that someone with Decision Making Power and Authority had determined that our Mastercard through JP Morgan was no longer the best deal and a Mastercard through Citicorp was now the way to go.  This decision had apparently been made several weeks ago because the receptionist told me 'they were supposed to mail this to you at home two weeks ago.'  Nice. 

It was still 30 minutes before the class was due to start so I asked to use a landline so I could activate the card ...a tedious but fairly simple automated process that only took a few minutes.  I was about to go on to my classroom when it occurred to me that I should check on my hotel reservations.  Good thing I did.  I no longer HAD reservations.  It seems that when your room is booked three weeks in advance and guaranteed on a specific credit card, canceling that card also cancels the reservation.  Makes sense. 

I sure am glad I called because it took them a few minutes to finally find a room for me.  I gave them the new credit card number and thought 'well, things can only get better from here.'  

SILLY ME .... to be continued

A Little Levity

At the request of my friend, Modern Day Redneck, I have been working on a serious post about how to calculate quantities in your preps.   I tend to get wrapped up ...and then tangled up ...in details when I try to be serious, so I thought a little levity in the meantime was in order. 

I can't take credit for the following but it sure fits the bill.  I received it from my sister in Colorado and who knows how many hands it passed through before landing in her inbox.   So take it for what it's worth and enjoy a laugh break on me. 

NOT A GOOD IDEA TO ROPE A DEER
(Author unknown, probably for good reason)

I had this idea that I could rope a deer, put it in a stall, feed it up on corn for a couple of weeks, then kill it and eat it.  The first step in this adventure was getting a deer.  I figured that, since they congregate at my cattle feeder and do not seem to have much fear of me when I'm around, it should not be difficult to rope one, get up to it and toss a bag over its head to keep it calm. Then I would hog tie it and transport it home.

I filled the cattle feeder, then hid down at the end of my rope.  The cattle, having seen the roping thing before, stayed well back.  They were not having any of it.  After about 20 minutes, my deer showed up - three of them.  I picked out a likely looking one, stepped out from the end of the feeder, and threw my rope.  The deer just stood there and stared at me.  I wrapped the rope around my waist and twisted the end so I would have a good hold.  

The deer still just stood and stared at me, but you could tell it was mildly concerned about the whole rope situation.  I took a step toward it, it took a step away.  Then I put a little tension on the rope.   Just a little.  That's when my education in deer wrangling began. 

The first thing I learned is that, while a deer may just stand there looking at you funny while you rope it, they are spurred to action when you start pulling on that rope.  That deer EXPLODED!

The second thing I learned is that, pound for pound, a deer is a lot stronger than a cow or a colt.  I could handle a cow or a colt in that weight range on the end of a rope and still retain some dignity.  A deer, however?  No chance!

That thing ran and bucked and twisted and pulled.  There was no controlling it and certainly no getting close to it.  As it jerked me off my feet and started dragging me across the ground, it occurred to me that having a deer on a rope was not nearly as good an idea as I had originally imagined.  The only upside is that they do not seem to have as much stamina as a cow or a colt.  A brief 10 minutes into the struggle, it was tired and not nearly as quick to jerk me off my feet again when I finally managed to stand up.  It took me a few minutes to realize this, since I was mostly blinded by the blood flowing out of the gash in my head.  At this point, I had lost my taste for corn-fed venison.  I just wanted to get that devil creature off the end of my rope!

I figured if I just let it go with the rope hanging around its neck, it would likely go off and die slowly and painfully somewhere.  At the time, there was no love at all between me and that deer.  At the moment, I hated that deer and I would venture to guess the feeling was mutual.  But despite the gash in my head and the several large knots where I had cleverly arrested the deer's momentum by bracing my head against various rocks, I could still think clearly enough to recognize that there was a small chance that I shared some tiny bit of the responsibility for the situation this deer and I were in.  I didn't want the deer to have to suffer a slow death, so I managed to get it lined back up in between my truck and the feeder ...a little trap I had cleverly set beforehand ...kind of like a squeeze chute.  I got it to back in there and I began moving up so I could get my rope back.

Did you know that deer bite?!?  

They do!  I never in a million years would have thought that a deer would bite somebody, so I was very surprised when I reached up there to grab that rope and the little fella grabbed hold of my wrist.  Now, when a deer bites you, it is not like being bit by a horse.  When a horse bites you, they come at you fast, bite and then let go.  When a deer bites you, they bite hard and hang on ...and then they proceed to shake their head like a pit bull.  Trust me, it hurts!  

The proper thing to do when a deer bites you is probably to freeze and draw back slowly.  I tried screaming and shaking instead.  My method was ineffective.  It seemed like the deer had a hold of me, biting down and shaking for several minutes but it was probably only several seconds.  But I, being so much smarter than a deer, tricked it. While I distracted it with letting it try to rip the tendons from my right arm, I reached up with my left hand and pulled the rope loose.  

That is when I got my final lesson in deer behavior for the day.  

Deer will strike at you with their front feet.  They rear right up on their hind legs and strike at you right about head and shoulder level, and their hooves are amazingly sharp.  I learned a long time ago that, when an animal is striking at you and you don't think you can get away easily, the best thing to do is to make a loud noise and make an aggressive move toward the animal.  With cows and horse, this tends to make them back away a little, giving you a chance to escape.  Deer are different.  

In the course of a millisecond, I could tell my plan wasn't working so I devised a different plan.  I screamed like a girl and tried to turn and run.  The reason I had always been told NOT to try to turn and run from a horse that rears up to strike at you is because there is a good chance that it will hit you in the back of the head.  Deer may not be so different from horses in that regard.  Besides being twice as strong and three times as evil as any outlaw bronc, this deer had wicked accurate aim.  The second I turned to run, it hit me square in the back of the head and knocked me down.

Now when a deer knocks you down, it does not leave.  I suspect it does not recognize that you are no longer a threat.  But instead of knocking you down and taking off, they paw at your back and jump up and down on you while you lay there crying like a little girl and trying to shield your head.  

I finally managed to crawl under the truck and the deer went away.  So now I know why when people go deer hunting, they don't bring a rope.  They bring a rifle with a scope to sort of even the odds.  All of these events are true, so help me God.

The letter was signed, simply "An Educated Rancher"

I guess this story was especially humorous to me because I happened to witness a similar incident in our very own driveway involving a rope, Yeoldfurt and a neighbor's stray emu chick. Seriously, I kid you not! No blood was shed, either by Yeoldfurt or the emu ...though the latter did have a few feathers ruffled before it was all over. But that's a story for another day.

And Now for the REST of the Story

We had the big pasture fertilized and seeded with rye on Tuesday.  It's a big deal because it means the horses will have to be kept off the pasture until the rye is well-established, probably some time in January.  The other reason this is a big deal is that we haven't been able to afford any pasture maintenance/improvement while Yeoldfurt was out of work for so long.  Now that he's working again, we are really looking forward to being able to have  'greener pastures' ...literally. While the seed and fertilizer do their thing, we have to confine the horses to the smaller areas.  We normally confine them to a small paddock every evening and then give them access to an adjacent small paddock during the day.  They have a round bale of hay available to them at all times, night or day, but they love the big pasture so this will be a long six weeks for them.

Yesterday was the first day.  You'd think we could get through ONE DAY without a hiccup.  But when I got home, the first thing I noticed as I came down the driveway was a big buckskin butt standing by the garage.  Not good.  As I drove past the garage to check on the chickens, the dog did her usual thing and raced down the yard to follow the truck.  That was normal, but the Paint horse that was running along with her wasn't.  Oh, boy.  I knew I had seen at least a couple of horses in the front paddock when I first turned in the driveway but was beginning to wonder how of them might be in the backyard.  Turns out there were only two, Lucy and Lyric.  Lucy is Yeoldfurt's buckskin mare.  She's half-mustang and all shenanigans.  Don't let her big doe eyes and long lashes fool you, she's always got mischief on her mind!  The other culprit was Lyric.  She's a Paint mare out of my horse.   Lyric is the youngest in the herd and, wouldn't you know, she picks Lucy to emulate. 

I had just come from my office job and wasn't exactly dressed for wrangling, so I went in the house, changed clothes and came back out to check the fence.  It's chain link with a hot wire along the rail.  Looks like they had walked it down in the corner.  The hot wire was on the ground which meant that none of the fence was 'hot' anymore.  Oh goodie.  Lucy had walked down that section of fence one other time ....which was one of the MAIN reasons we invested in the electric fence.  This time the rail was broken, the post was bent and the chain link was canted at a 45 degree angle to the ground at that corner.  I was relieved to find that neither horse was cut or injured.  That would have been icing on the cake  ...vet bills on top of the cost of repairing the fence.  Satisfied that they were both unscathed, I proceeded to give them a verbal tongue lashing that might have even impressed Busted Knuckles.  Well, maybe not ...but it was sure a rant coming from me!  It reduced my stress level a notch or two but made no visible impression on Lucy and Lyric. 

The setting sun waits for no one so I decided to go on and feed the other horses and make the two hoodlums wait.  Pecking order is a big deal with horses so they weren't too happy about that.  When I got the other four in their stalls, I decided to use the lunge whip to drive them back to where they belonged.  But remember the old 'mama is gonna spank the kid so the kid runs around and around the dining room table so mama can't catch him' routine?  Try playing this game with two 1000-pound 'kids' running laps around a brick house while 'mama' flails at thin air for ten minutes.  About the third lap, the thought occurred to me that if Dr Phil were here watching, his comment would likely be, "So ...how's that workin' for ya?"  We're pretty far off the road, but I am sure my antics would have been amusing to the neighbors too.  I decided to try a different tact.  It was time to re-strategize. 
 

So next I tried the "I promise you're not in trouble if you just come here" routine.  That worked on Lucy.  Nothing really scares her ...not even me.  Probably especially not me!   But Lyric acted like I was a three-headed monster every time I got within ten feet of her.  She wasn't really scared, just enjoying the game.  Tail in the air, snorting, and charging off for another lap around the house.

All the other horses, including Lucy, were stalled by now so as a final resort, I decided to appeal to Lyric's hungry self.  Of course, I had no real intention of rewarding her with FOOD at this point but she didn't know that.  When she wasn't looking, I put a few handfuls of acorns in one of the empty feed pans.  Then I turned my back to her and shook and rattled that pan so she would think there was feed in there.  Ha!  Worked like a charm.  She followed me through the gate and into her stall and I latched her gate.  Then I told them both they could FORGET SUPPER TONIGHT.  They looked at me for a few seconds, blinked and dropped their heads to munch on the MILLIONS of acorns at their feet.  Their two stalls happen to be under one of the bigger oak trees and we've had a bumper crop of acorns this year.  The horses LOVE them.  It's like gummi bears falling from the trees as far as they're concerned.  So much for me punishing them.

I feel sorry for the four horses that behaved themselves and stayed on the appropriate side of the fence yesterday now because Lucy has ruined the fence for the time being.  All of the six horses are confined now to only the side yard until they can go out on the big pasture again.  It will be at least four weeks if not six.  Lucy and Lyric will never make the connection that THEY ruined it for the whole herd.  But I'm pretty sure the other four know who's responsible!

The New GM 

 

(Governmet Motors)  

Proudly Introduces

The 2011 Obummer

This car runs on hot air, and broken promises.  

 
It has three wheels that speed the vehicle 

through tight left turns.  

It comes complete with two Tele Prompters 

programmed to help the occupants 

talk their way out of any violations.  

The transparent canopy reveals 

the plastic smiles still on the faces 

of all the happy owners.

 
It comes in five sizes ...S, M, L, XL and 2XL  
 

It won't get you to work, 

but hey, there aren't any jobs anyway!

Today's Inspirational Lesson

I received this in email from a friend.  Anything that can make me chuckle when I'm this tuckered out is worth sharing!

Never irritate a woman who knows how to operate a backhoe...

Thus endeth the lesson.

Women are angels.  

But when someone breaks our wings, 

we continue to fly 

...on broomsticks.

We're flexible like that!

Some Advice for the New Year

The past year has sped by.
Sometimes, we could barely keep up.

Now we need to be ready to face whatever lies ahead.

There are bound to risks and surprises.

But we must press onward and upward.

 

Always alert, always at the ready.

The Buddy System is still a good idea.

Charge over obstacles.

But keep your balance.

Ever cautious.

 

Face your Goliaths.

But remember to laugh often.

 

Stick together through thick and thin.

And most of all, take good care of each other.

In Honor of Our 44th President

In honor of the 44th President of the United States of America, Baskin-Robbins Ice Cream has introduced a new flavor ...'Barocky Road'

Barocky Road is a blend of half vanilla, half chocolate, and is surrounded by nuts and flakes.  The vanilla portion of the mix is not openly advertised and usually denied as an ingredient.  The nuts and flakes are all very bitter and hard to swallow.  

The cost is $100 per scoop.

When purchased, it will be presented to you in a large beautiful cone.  But then the ice cream is taken away and given to the person in line behind you.  

You are left with an empty wallet and no change, holding an empty cone with no hope of getting any ice cream.  

But don't you feel stimulated?!?

 

The Chainsaw Massacre

It was a bright sunny Saturday in the early fall of 2006. Since we both had day jobs that monopolized our time during the work week, we each usually had a laundry list of chores to get done Saturday mornings. Sometimes we combined our lists and spent the whole day together. Other days, our chores were too many or too diverse to be accomplished together ...so we each tended to our lists separately. This was one of those Saturdays.

My big chore of the day was to give a first full bath to our two yearling Paint fillies. First baths can be a little bit of challenge since young horses are naturally fidgeting and cold hose water tends to make them even more fidgety. But learning to accept a bath is an important part of the 'education' we try to give our young horses. Standing tied is another important lesson that teaches patience. So I had decided to combine lessons (bath and standing tied) and bathe both fillies, one after the other, this particular morning. One would stand tied while I bathed the other, then the first one would stand tied and air dry while I bathed the other. Yeoldfurt's big chore was to get out the chainsaw I gave to him for Christmas the year before and clean up along the fence lines. We were living on the Gulf Coast in Brazoria County at the time. Living in that part of Texas in the hot seasons was like living in a terrarium. The humidity is like an invisible heavy wet fog that you can feel but not see. It's an ideal climate for vegetation though. Dozens of 'volunteer' Chinese Tallow saplings (weed trees) were always springing up along the fence lines. Like most 'weed' vegetation, Chinese Tallow trees are hardy and incredibly fast-growing. The saplings needed to be cut down regularly or they would compromise a fenceline in just a couple of seasons. I figured it would be a full morning for both of us. We got an early start, hoping to be finished and back in the air conditioning before the day heated up.

I walked out to the barn which was about 50 yards from the house and Yeoldfurt headed for the tool shed to get started on his fence work. By the time I got set up to start bathing the yearlings, I had all but forgotten what was on Yeoldfurt's agenda ...so I didn't notice that there was no chainsaw noise from a distance. I got the first yearling soaked and soaped and was getting ready to rinse when I thought I heard Yeoldfurt holler from back toward the house. I tied up the yearling and went around the corner of the barn to look. The smaller of our two trucks was blocking my view so I couldn't see Yeoldfurt. But every once in a while, I saw him raise something that looked a whole lot like the sledge hammer high up in the air and swing it back down with a fury matched only by the tone of his ranting. Without the barn between us and now that the water was turned off, I could hear him more clearly. He was definitely MAD. I don't remember exactly what he was saying but it was not nice and I would probably feel compelled to bleep it if I did try to quote him. Having learned from experience that it was best to be VEWY QWIET (Elmer Fudd voice) when Yeoldfurt was in one of these moods, I just said a silent prayer and went back to bathing the yearlings.

About an hour and half later, the yearlings were clean and dry and turned out with the rest of the herd. I cleaned up after my mess in the barn and peeked around the corner of the barn to see if Yeoldfurt was still in a rage. All seemed quiet. Maybe too quiet. I walked to the house and noticed that the front fence line was still dotted with volunteers. I walked up the three steps to the front door but paused to listen before turning the knob. The only sound from within was the drone of the television and the hum of the ceiling fan in the front room. I opened the door and found Yeoldfurt relaxing on the couch with a big glass of tea. He looked calm and he seemed in a good mood, so I decided not to ask about his morning. Instead I asked if he was hungry and wanted some lunch.

The rest of the weekend was easy. After we ate, we headed into town for some errands and came back home with a couple of movies from the video store. By that evening, I had forgotten all about the chainsaw. I don't remember what we did on Sunday that weekend, probably nothing in particular and certainly no more chores.

Monday morning, I was walking out to the truck to go to work and noticed an odd colored patch of grass near the shell drive circle. I looked closer and was baffled at first to see a brownish stained circle, irregular and about 8 inches in diameter. It wasn't brown like dead grass ...it was brown like coffee. Then, half buried under the stained carpet grass was a small shard of green plastic. It looked foreign and familiar at the same time. It was such a distinctive chartreuse green but it was small, a jagged half inch piece of something ...but what? Then it hit me. The chainsaw I bought for Yeoldfurt last Christmas was a Poulan. There was a country song a couple of years ago that railed about "John Deere green" as a distinctive color, but I'm telling you ...Poulan's green is far more distinctive!

I smiled to myself, tucked the shard in my purse and kept walking to my truck. On the short drive into work, I started piecing together what must have happened. The chainsaw had been packed away since early spring and was probably reluctant to start. Yeoldfurt has little patience with things that don't fire up right away and the sledge hammer was probably just a little too handy when his fuse got lit. After the first blow, the chainsaw was dead for sure and Yeoldfurt just finished venting his frustration on it until only this tiny little shard of casing was left. I toyed with the idea of asking Yeoldfurt when I got home that evening, but decided it was better to let him bring it up ...if ever. I got braver as time went on though. A few months later, I casually mentioned some of the deadfall we needed to clear in the back pasture and the ever present volunteers along the fence line. He ignored me the first few times but then finally said, "I don't have the chainsaw any more."

I looked him with as much innocence as I could muster and said, "You don't?" Yeoldfurt has very expressive eyes and it has always amazed me that he can portray two contrasting emotions almost simultaneously. This was one of those times. The look he gave me was both defiant and sheepish at the same time. He was annoyed with himself for smashing the chainsaw, nervous about telling me he smashed the chainsaw that I bought for him and poised to defend himself if I took offense at the news. I let him bake in his emotions for a few seconds and then smiled and said, "I know." I told him I heard him when I was out at the barn and knew he was using the sledge hammer on something but didn't figure out what until I found the sad little shard of chartreuse green casing in the oil stained patch of grass the next day. I didn't mention it to him then because I figured if he wanted to talk about it, he would bring it up ...and if he didn't want to talk about it, I sure didn't want to bring it up. I told him I had come to think of it as "The Chainsaw Massacre" and we both had a good laugh about it. Have I mentioned Yeoldfurt has mellowed a lot since then?

~Published with permission from Yeoldfurt~

I've Still Got It!

I got back to the hotel after a particularly intense day of training one evening, changed into my comfy jeans and headed down to the lobby to catch up on blogs and email. There are two computers set up in what the hotel calls their 'library' ...a little alcove near the lobby and around the corner from the reception/dining area. It's private enough for email, but if there are people in the dining room, it can be loud. There was a handful of people in the dining room when I passed through on my way to the library this particular evening. Most of them were business travelers but there was also one lady with three small children.

I had been at the computer for about 15 minutes when I heard a cell phone ring around the corner in the dining room. I heard a man answer and start a conversation with what sounded like a buddy of his. For simplicity sake, I will refer to the caller as PhoneBuddy. The conversation was pretty tame at first. They talked sports for a little while and then the guy on this end started talking about the possibility of getting another friend of his hired on with PhoneBuddy. Now I can only hear one end of this conversation, but PhoneBuddy must have started telling about something really bad that happened at his end of the world. The man on this end stopped mid-sentence and went into intense listening mode ... only interrupting PhoneBuddy occasionally with a dramatic, "NO!" or "Oh, my God, no!" every few seconds.

I was only half listening at that point, not wanting to listen at all ...but not having any choice since I was on a public computer in a public place and therefore did not have the luxury of choosing my company. PhoneBuddy finally wrapped up his shocking tale (whatever it was) and then I started to hear some real language. It started out with a few more or less benign explicatives but soon accelerated into what I consider very inappropriate language for mixed company ...especially when three small children and their mother are an arms length away. I could hear the kids jabbering just as plainly as I could hear the man on the phone and, maybe I'm just old and cranky, but it had gotten to the point it was beyond inappropriate. So, very slowly and deliberately, I leaned back in my chair and gave the guy my LOOK.

Now my kids have been grown and out from under my roof for almost a decade, but back in the day, I could have given them "the look" from across a crowded room and brought to an immediate screeching halt whatever behavior they were engaged in at the moment that had elicited my disapproval. I did not really expect the man to react at all and I would probably not have had the guts to follow up with anything more if he had ignored me. I would have just gone back to my room.

But much to my surprise, as far as "the LOOK" goes, I've apparently still got it! The man stopped mid-sentence and with wide-eyed expression said, "I'm so sorry ...I didn't know you were there, ma'am. Please excuse me!" It was not the least bit sarcastic, it was immediate and heartfelt. He then spoke to PhoneBuddy in a hushed tone and said, "Man, I just really screwed up. I've been mouthin' off and there's a lady right around the corner ...I didn't know she was there!" Even his explanation to PhoneBuddy did not sound the least bit resentful or sarcastic. I smiled a thank you and went back to my email.

A few minutes later, the lady with the three small children came into the library and got on the other computer. A few minutes later and again much to my surprise, the man who had been talking on the phone came and joined her. He was pushing a double stroller of the cutest little four month old twins and leading an equally cute three year old by the hand. The woman and three young children were his! He had been talking that way in front of his own wife and small children. I smiled at the three year old and commented how cute all the kids were. The man looked at me and said, "Thank you, ma'am, and please forgive my rudeness earlier." I held up my hand and said, "It's okay ...it's so commonplace these days, hardly anyone notices. But the fact that you reacted with such remorse after a mere disapproving look from a total stranger tells me you were raised right. I used to use that 'look' on my own two children but they are grown and on their own now. I'm just glad to know I've still got it!" We both had a good laugh.

A Horse, a Boy and a Hay Ring

When we moved up here three years ago, I had the privilege of not having to work a day job for six months. It was great! I was a full time 'mom' to the eight horses we had at the time, two dogs, and four cats. It also happened to be during a time of year that I could invite our then 7 year old grandson, Ricky, to come spend his Spring Break with me. Yeoldfurt was working out of town for a couple of weeks so it was just me and Ricky and all the critters. It had rained almost every day that week, but usually let up enough in the afternoon that I could saddle a horse for Ricky to ride. Unplanned adventures are often the best though and this is the story of just such an adventure.

For any non-horsey readers I may have, let me lay some ground work here. Everyone knows what a horse is but if you don't have much experience being around horses, you might not know how incredibly ingenious they can be about finding ways to get into trouble. You can wrap them in bubble wrap and put them in a padded stall and they will find a way to get themselves in trouble. Boys can be the same way, but most everyone knows that. Some city folk may not know what a hay ring is though. It's an 8-foot round metal ring, usually with three rails, and is designed to sit around a big round hay bale and keep the livestock from trampling the hay before they get a chance to eat it. Being constructed of metal and fairly big, hay rings are heavy and awkward. So it's common practice when they're not around a bale to stand them up on their side and roll them from location to location. It had been too muddy to move a round bale into the paddock for a while, so our hay ring had been standing on it's side over by the tree line for over a week. It didn't seem to bother the horses and they didn't bother it ...at first. A few days earlier, I did notice that a couple of the younger horses were making a game of running through the middle of the ring, chasing each other and having a good ol' time. Lucy was one of the ring leaders and the game seemed harmless enough at first. Then Lucy decided to spice things up.

To give you a little insight on Lucy, is our buckskin mare, five years old at the time this story took place. She is half well-bred Paint horse and half wild mustang ...our own piece of Americana. But her heritage and how we came to have her is whole 'nother story and I'll save it for another time. Just know that her mama is one of the smartest horses we own and her mustang daddy must have no slouch either because Lucy is always thinking. What she thinks up usually gets her in trouble, but you have to give her credit for thinking.

Since Ricky was out of school for the week and I wasn't punching a time clock at all, we got up when we woke up and did morning chores together before breakfast. Ricky was always eager to get outside in the mornings, so he was usually the first one out the door. I could lag ten or fifteen minutes behind him and he would just amuse himself playing with the dogs or feeding the cats until I got there. This particular morning though, he had barely been outside two minutes when he came running back into the house yelling, "Gramma, Gramma ...Lucy is down, she's stuck!" He sounded truly panicked and having seen first hand some of the hairy situations horses can get themselves into, I hurried out the door behind him to see what was wrong.

Ricky was right, Lucy was down ...sort of. She had her head and shoulders wedged through the side of the hay ring. Her head and shoulders were on the outside of the hay ring, her front legs folded under her, her nose on the ground. Her butt was up, her hind end still in the middle of the hay ring and she looked for all the world like she was kneeling, almost as if she was praying. The other six horse were gathered around her with the most incredulous looks on their faces. They looked like they didn't know whether to be alarmed or annoyed or amused, they were stunned. I wish I had the foresight to have a camera ready before I went out the door ...but with her in this predicament, it didn't seem the time to tell them all 'hold that pose, I'll be right back!' So I instructed Ricky to get me a halter and lead rope. While he was busy with that, I went to put the other horses in their stalls. I wasn't sure how we were going to get Lucy unstuck from the hay ring, but I didn't want any help from the other horses while we were working on it.

Once the rest of the horses were in their stalls, I haltered Lucy and looked her over real good to make sure she wasn't hurt anywhere. She seemed okay, she was just stuck. Once assured she wasn't injured, I did take a minute to go get my camera, so I would have some proof for Yeoldfurt. I could tell him the story, but this ...this was the kind of thing you really had to see to believe.

My first idea to get Lucy unstuck was to have my 80-pound grandson hang onto the back of the hay ring and I would try to pull Lucy on through. But Ricky didn't like the idea of being behind her, he was worried about her kicking him. I told him she was a lot more concerned with that hay ring than with him and I was pretty sure he would be out of range for her to kick him as long as he was on the outside of the hay ring anyway. Maybe it was my use of the phrase 'pretty sure' that got him because he set his jaw and just said, "No." Just a poor choice of words on my part, but there was no convincing him at that point. So, okay, next idea ...I was still mulling over the situation and Ricky said, "I have an idea. Let's call the horse people!" I chuckled under my breath and just kept on mulling things over. "No, really, Gramma, I think we need to call the horse people!" God love him, he was just trying to help. As gently as possible, I said, "Ricky ... honey ...I know you might not believe me right now ...but your Grampa and I are the horse people in these parts. People call us when they have a problem with a horse." I could tell by the look on his face, I was right ...he didn't believe me. Ha!

We finally did get Lucy free. Fortunately for her, we feed our horses real good and, probably due to the mustang in her, Lucy is a real easy keeper. So she's got a thick, spongy layer of fat over her ribs. I let Ricky hold the lead rope at her head and encourage her forward while I stood on the edge of the hay ring to keep it from going with her. Meanwhile, I worked my fingers over her fat to get the hay ring past the widest part of her ribs. I'm not sure who was more surprised when she was finally popped free ...Lucy or Ricky. They both just stood there for a minute looking at each other like, "Whew ...that was not fun!" Then Lucy shook from head to tail like a dog after a swim with Ricky holding the lead rope out at arm's length and looking surprised and wary, not too sure if shaking was all she was going to do.

Adventure over, disaster averted, I suggested to Ricky that he walk Lucy on up the hill to her stall and I would go get the horses' breakfast ready. He started up the hill, then turned around and looked at me, smiled and said, "You really are the horse people, Gramma!" I'm sure that day will be one of his favorite memories 'from the farm' when he gets older.

The Chicken Whisperer, Tales from the Coop

Most of the time, Yeoldfurt is the one taking care of the chickens morning and afternoon. Things ended up that way partly because my day job has me away from home 11 hours of the day and partly because the whole chicken venture was his idea, but mostly because he enjoys it. When the responsibilities fall to me, I rinse and refill their waterers and top off their feed and I'm done. It only takes me about 15 minutes and that includes walking down the hill to the coop and back. Okay, it's not really a 'hill' ...just a sloped part of the yard but my point is, taking care of the chickens takes very little time when I do it.

Most evenings, however, we split up the chores and Yeoldfurt takes care of the chickens. He'll put the feed in the buckets for the horses and then head down to the chicken coop while I bring the horses in, fill their water trough, make up their feed for in the morning, feed the barn cats and the dog, water the vegetable garden and then turn the horses back out. In the thirty minutes or say it takes me to do all that, Yeoldfurt is usually just finishing up with the chickens.

His routine goes something like this. As he begins his walk down the hill, he starts 'talking' to the flock. Now we all know that roosters crow and chickens cluck, but chickens make a lot of in-between noises too. Yeoldfurt seems to have mastered quite a bit of their vocabulary. It's very hard to spell chicken talk, but I will try. The sound Yeoldfurt makes when he heads down the hill is an 'r' sound, very low, very quiet, very drawn out, then crescendoing to an abrupt halt ...errrrrrrrRRRRRRR! (long pause) errrrrrrrRRRRRRR! It's very similar to the cooing sound that pigeons make. It's a comfort sound for them, I guess. Anyone who has been around chickens when they're relaxed and not worried, just doing chicken stuff, has probably heard this sound. But he starts talking to them like that on his way down the hill and darned if they don't answer him.

When he steps into the coop, they don't scatter and head for the far corners like they do when I walk in. They keep out from under his feet, but he can walk among them without making them scatter and get upset. Maybe it's the chicken talk he's using, I don't know. If Yeoldfurt is feeling content and complacent, he might reach down and pick up one of the hens from the flock. She squawks a little when he first lifts her up, but he holds her with one hand up to his chest and very gently cups his other hand over her head. Meanwhile, he drops his chin and makes the cooing comfort sound to her. Within seconds, the hen is completely relaxed in Yeoldfurt's hands. Still 'talking' to her, he then sets her up in one of the nest boxes up on the rail. Sometimes, she wants to pop right up and jump down, but Yeoldfurt just keeps cooing and strokes her until she relaxes. The three big bully roosters, however, see another side of Yeoldfurt.

One day while we were sitting out with Hoppy and after he had regained quite a bit of mobility and balance, we decided to see how he would do back with the flock. Yeoldfurt gathered him up and walked into the coop with him. The chickens moved off from Yeoldfurt but not far and not in a panic. Yeoldfurt set Hoppy down in the middle of the coop and just stood with him. The three big roosters moved to the front of the flock and just stared. Hoppy raised himself up and stared back. As much improved as Hoppy was, he was half the size of the three roosters still with the flock. But he did his best to fluff up and look confident. They all just stared at each other for a minute or so and then the three roosters moved toward Hoppy almost in unison. Hoppy stood his ground, surely reassured the fact Yeoldfurt was standing right behind him. Then it got ugly.

The biggest of the three big roosters pecked Hoppy hard right on top of the head. Hoppy squawked, I don't know if it was pain or just surprise or perhaps a little of both. But Yeoldfurt moved like lightning to scoop up our little friend out of harm's way. Startled by Yeoldfurt's swift movements, feathers flew as the big roosters scrambled back to the hens and the whole flock moved as far back as possible. Yeoldfurt stood with Hoppy cradled against his chest, cooing comfort sounds while he made sure there was no blood or obvious injury. Then he handed Hoppy to me outside the coop. I brought Hoppy back to the grassy area by our chairs and sat down to wait for Yeoldfurt to join us, feeling bad for Hoppy that we had put him in that position.

The next thing I knew, I heard a ruckus in the coop. I looked up and saw Yeoldfurt standing with his back to me, but I could tell he was holding something close in his left arm and looking down. Whatever he was holding in his left arm, he was 'spanking' with his right arm ....smack, smack, smack ...in rapid rhthym. The other chickens were in the far corner, looking wide-eyed and on the verge of panic. I said, "What are you doing? Are you spanking that rooster?!" Yeoldfurt didn't slow down or even look around at me. He just said, "Yup" and kept swatting. I said, "How do you know you got the one that pecked Hoppy?" He set that first rooster down, snatched up another rooster, and said, "I'm gonna spank all three!" Knowing the roosters weren't in mortal danger, I laughed. It was that moment when I began formulating the story in my head about the day I caught Yeoldfurt spanking his rooster in the chicken coop.

I'm Going to Miss Hoppy Hour

One of Yeoldfurt's and my newest venture in our efforts toward self-sufficiency is to add chickens to the menagerie. We wanted enough eggs for ourselves and maybe a dozen or two a week to trade. So we bought 12 chicks in early April, 12 little yellow balls of fluff. Each one a tiny fragile handful of life. We got a heck of deal on a small broodbox at the local Tractor Supply. Someone had apparently been less than careful with the forklift and the box looked like it had been shishkabobed on corner. We got it for only $50, half price ...what a deal. We bought the broodbox, a bale of shavings, a heat lamp, a waterer, a feeder, 10 pounds of chick starter and 12 chicks for $140. As I wrote out the check, I was having a slap fight with myself in my head about 'how many eggs I could buy for $140!' Shut up, Self, I said ...it will be an adventure. Little did I know. Ha!

The adventure began as soon as I got home with all the goods and we peeled the cardboard away from the unassembled broodbox. The labels on the box promised 'Easy Assembly' and sturdy construction. Well, the hardware is sturdy for sure but the wood was soft. I remembered popsicle sticks as having more surface tension. Fortunately though the damage to the outside of the box was very much exaggerated to the actual damage to the broodbox. One of the side members had a hairline split, but it wouldn't affect the strength of the box once it was assembled so we were pleased with having gotten it for half price.

Now Yeoldfurt and I have collaborated on many projects together over the years, and generally speaking, we get along well and work great team as long as everything goes smooth. But if things start going awry, Yeoldfurt ...being of the male persuasion ... tends to get loud and vocal with his frustrations. I know, I know, he's not mad at ME but ... being of the female persuasion (or maybe it's just me) ... I tend to take it personal after a while anyway. So in the decade or so we've been together, we've both made an effort to evolve. He's developed a lot more restraint (longer fuse?) than he used to have and I've developed a somewhat (okay, only slightly) thicker skin when he's on a rip about something. I would like to say the spirit of cooperation was born solely out of our love and respect for each other and that's sure a big part of it. But the crux of the matter is, deep down we both know that most of the jobs we have to tackle require (at least) four hands and all the patience we can muster. I like to think we've both experienced some personal growth from our efforts.

An hour or so after we started, we were both sweaty and dirty but the broodbox was standing square and sturdy and ready for the chicks. We spread some shavings in the bottom, filled the water and feed containers and set our little golden fluff balls in their new quarters. They cheeped and huddled together in the corner for a few minutes and then slowly, the more adventurous ones started exploring. We kept the light on them since the nights were still in the 60's and they were less than a week old. They stayed in the broodbox in the garage for the first several weeks, growing more than few feathers and, yes, even personalities in that time.

At about four weeks, we moved them to the chicken coop outside. The nights were warmer by now and the chicks seems delighted with their new surroundings. All of them had real feathers now, but there was one that was smaller than the others. It was a Rhode Island Red and seemed to be laying down a lot. The other chickens, especially the three bigger Rhode Island Red roosters would peck on the smaller one. Yeoldfurt brought the smaller bird out and set it down on the grass. It only seemed to be able to stand on one leg. We couldn't really tell that the other leg was broken or dislocated, but the bird didn't want to bear weight on that leg. Yeoldfurt started calling the poor little bird Hoppy because when he really wanted to move, he could hop pretty good on that one leg. We decided to move the broodbox down by the chicken coop and give him a chance to get better.

Hoppy lived in that broodbox for almost two months. Every evening when I got home from work, we would have supper and then go out and sit by the chicken coop with Hoppy. Yeoldfurt would lift Hoppy out of his cage and set him on the grass, hoping some fresh greens and a few bugs would get him interested in moving around. Our Boxer dog, Maggie, did her part to encourage Hoppy to move too. If Hoppy sat down for too long in one spot, Maggie would whine and nuzzle Hoppy's tail feathers as if to say, "Come on, quit bein' lazy!" Hoppy would squawk chicken insults back at the dog and would even reach around and peck Maggie on the muzzle every once in a while. But neither one was very serious about hurting the other. We began to refer to the hour or so we spent like this in the evenings as Hoppy Hour and it was a nice down time for all of us. As the days rolled into weeks, Hoppy got stronger. He went from hopping to hobbling and finally developed a pretty good scratch and strut. Hoppy was growing up, but he was still smaller than the other three Rhode Island Reds and he's definitely a wimp. So the three big roosters are banished to the smaller section of the coop and Hoppy has the three hens all to himself ...only for another few weeks though. Only hens live long and prosper around here. Roosters have it good while they're around but they're freezer bound as soon as they're grown up and big enough to eat. They started crowing for the first time about a week ago. It won't be long now.

It doesn't bother me to eat meat I've raised. We knew when we bought the chicks that our goal was to keep a few hens for eggs. Any roosters in the bunch would end up in the freezer. I'm sure going to miss Hoppy Hour though. We used to sit out in the evenings fairly often before Hoppy came along. But somehow, making it all about Hoppy ...a sort of physical therapy for the little lame bird ...made it more important, more of a routine. Ending the toil of the day with an hour or so of quiet time with Yeoldfurt was a good habit to get into. I hope we keep it.

Never a Dull Moment

Living in the country has many advantages, not the least of which is the lack any formal dress code. When you're 50 to 100 yards off the road and your closest neighbor is twice that distance, what you're wearing doesn't matter much. Now as far as I know, there are not 'clothes police' in the cities and suburbs yet, but when homeowners associations routinely tell you what you can (and cannot) park in your driveway and what color you can (and cannot) paint your house ...well, a dress code doesn't seem that far fetched.

My day job during the week is a 40 mile commute and requires that I'm up before the chickens and gone by first light. So, on the weekends, the first thing on my agenda is sleeping in. The advantage to a 5:00 a.m. wakeup time during the week though is that even without setting the alarm, we wake up around 7:00 a.m. and feel like we've had a real treat. And yet 7:00 a.m. is still early enough to beat most city slickers to town if you have errands to run. So on Saturdays and Sundays, we don't set the alarm and whoever wakes up first usually does the outside chores. This morning, Yeoldfurt woke up first and I must have been really tired because I didn't hear him at all. Instead, the first sounds that registered for me this morning were three loud blasts of a shotgun, definitely outside but not far from our bedroom window.

There was a time when that might have startled me, might even have scared me a little or at least got my adrenaline up. But I've been married to Yeoldfurt for nearly a decade now and it takes more than a '20-gauge' alarm clock to stir my juices in the morning. My first thought was "I wonder what he's shooting." My second thought, "Oh, Lord, I hope it's not another skunk." I'm dreading the day when one of these polecats is gonna 'shoot' back and hit Yeoldfurt or the dog. It may not be lethal, but it's sure gonna stink! Sooner or later, it's bound to happen.

I got up, got dressed and wandered out the back door to find Yeoldfurt sitting on the bench on the patio, our good ol' dog sitting next to him on one side and his trusty 12-gauge on the other side. He was wearing only his briefs and a pair of moccasins, smoking a cigarette with the slow satisfaction of a man who had just dispatched yet another pesky varmint. I said, "What were you shooting?" (No need to ask if he hit it, he always does.) He smiled and said, "A skunk up in the front paddock. I'll take care of it later." I smiled back and said, "Uh-huh ...and did you go traipsing after that skunk in your boxers?" He looked down at his own scantily-clad lap and grinned and said, "Uh-huh."

I wish I'd had a camera with me. Both he and the dog looked so pleased with themselves. I could tell this was just a hunky-dory way to start the day as far as those two were concerned. I gave a kiss and then laughed and said, "Well you've got to be a redneck if you're shootin' skunks in just your boxers and moccasins." And, with that, I went back in the house to figure out my day.