Something to Squee About

This is a picture of Trouble the Jack Russell Terrorist and Lucky the Cat to lighten things up.

If a dog and a cat can get along like this, I can get unplugged from Fear TV and keep sorting all the information I've gleaned from news outlets over the last few years.

I'm really concerned about the protests and riots taking place around the country and ticked off about the Alt-Right's acts of domestic terrorism.

Saccharin for the Mind

The old mare and me

Just got done watching an old movie - a gooey saccharin horse story.

You know the kind - Wild Black Stallion can only be ridden by Sweet Young (virgin) Girl. Family farm under attack by the Evil Business Man who will cheat to win.

Yawn.

I've been around horses all my life. Had my first pony at four and still have horses five decades later. In five freaking decades, the story's plot hasn't changed. The tropes are ALWAYS the same.

Wild Horse, Evil Man wants to Break the Wild Horse. Only the Virgin can Tame the Wild horse. In many, many ways this is the Tale of the Unicorn. You know, where the Wild Unicorn can only be Tamed by the Virgin.

I wrote 'Impressive Bravado' because I was sick of the Myth of the (Magick) Horse Whisperer. Well, I'm just about as sick of the Magick Horse, too.

Pop culture has reduced the relationship between human and horse to Magick, where the horse is a Unicorn in disguise. Humans have become so detached from nature, in my lifetime, and horses so Disneyfied, that a true relationship between our species is nearly impossible. (I will stop there with the Disney Rant, I promise.)

The average person can't comprehend the complexity of equine/human relationships.

They are a prey animal. We are a predator. In order to have a relationship, there has to be trust. In order to have trust, there has to be communication.

Words are great, when the horse is trained to recognize words. Most horses don't even know their own names. What horses understand is body language.

They read us, like we read books...or computer screens.

A horsewoman, who has passed now, used to call it "Black Stallion Syndrome" which references a series of books by Walter Farley about a boy shipwrecked with a 'wild' black stallion. The boy 'tames' the stallion - they get off the island and they have an unbelievable racing career that isn't possible for a 'wild' horse.

The only horses who race in Thoroughbred races are...guess hard now...Thoroughbreds.

Oops.

Later in the series, it's revealed that this 'wild' stallion is actually a registered Thoroughbred, the pampered pet of a Sheik.

Okay...all better now.

My point, and I always have one, is that by passing horses off as 'Magick' creatures we sell them far, far short...and set humans up to get hurt mentally and physically when we interact with this powerful, complex and fundimentally gentle species.

Here's something I wrote after an encounter with a "PETA" person.

A Real Horse Story – What PETA Doesn’t Know

4/26/01

I was reading a PETA pamphlet about horses in a store the other day. A nice young woman came up to me, seeing the pamphlet, started to talk. She echoed the pamphlet's wrath about the treatment of horses by humans. There were a few issues that I agreed with her. But then she said something I found really foolish:

          “Horses are so beautiful, they should be allowed to run free, without humans bothering them. Humans are so cruel. Riding horses is torture! Did you know that they actually pound nails into a horse’s foot? How horrible! Horses are such timid animals, they never would harm a human.”

          I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

Horses were timid?

They should run free?

Being ridden was torture?

Horses never hurt humans?

I was nursing a couple of small bruises on my thighs where my mare Oppie had tried to buck me off. I’d been thrown into the kneepads of my saddle. I considered myself lucky, the last time she had managed to dump me, I’d gotten a concussion and broken two teeth.

There was a rope burn on my hand where her year old 500 lb., baby Tanamara had tried to drag me down the pasture instead of following me like a lady. I also had a bruise on my leg where my gentle old gelding Ned had objected to the way I tightened the girth around his belly so he had cow-kicked me in the leg.

          I was nice to this innocent person. I swallowed my laughter. “Have you ever owned a horse?” I asked her, already guessing what the answer would be. She was happy to bubble over with her experiences with horses.

         No, she hadn’t. Nor had she ever ridden a horse as an adult; but a pony ride as a child of five had made her fall in love with horses. I guessed it had been one of those carnivals where very, very gentle ponies were put in a walker to go around in a circle. But she had read a lot of books about horses.

In the face of such an expert, I was hesitant to open my mouth.

          At the same impressionable age, I had been given a small, untrained pony as my very own. It took all my eight cousins to train him to accept a rider. As the canny little beast tossed one of us, another had climbed aboard. It had been a rodeo on a very small scale. Only by sheer numbers and adult supervision had we been able to survive the carnage. After a week, the pony had learned to tolerate a rider, while most of my cousins were turned off horses for life.

         Then there was my herd of three registered Quarter Horses. If my horses had been "allowed to run free" they would die horribly.

Ned who stood 66 inches at the shoulder, ate 40 pounds of good hay, a gallon of sweet feed, all the grass he could chew, PLUS drank 10 gallons of water per day, would waste away to a skeleton in a week on a diet of just grass. Who would carefully tend his brittle hooves? He needed special plastic shoes, dietary supplements and twice-weekly treatments with expensive oils to stop his feet from cracking so badly he couldn't walk. Turned out on grass, without my care, he would die.

Oppie, fastidious as any Queen, would be highly insulted if I wasn't around to keep her bedded down properly in straw or shavings. She went so far as to do her "business" in her stall so her pasture wouldn't be dirty. Her kidneys would rupture if she hadn't had a place to potty in descent privacy!

As for our 500 pound yearling Tanamara, she was known to throw tantrums if not the center of attention. She would even try to chase off her "uncle" Ned, twice her height and weight in order to get a human to pet her. She could also be a terrorist; snaking her head and threatening to bite if she thought she would be shorted a treat.

Timid was not a word that I could use to describe any of my pampered herd. But the horse expert from PETA was still talking.

I wondered if she knew how many bales of hay a horse ate in a month or how much grain or how many loads of manure one produced. My herd ate 30 bales a month while on winter pasture, 300 pounds of grain, drank 900 gallons of water, they got their feet trimmed or shoes reset every 45 to 60 days. They also produced about 3 - 100-pound wheelbarrows of "compost" that forked out in 30-pound increments every week.

My life revolves around horse care, feeding schedules, shoes, and vaccinations then once every couple of weeks; I get to ride for an hour or two. I returned to college to get a better job so I could afford to keep my horses. I have worked as many as three jobs to support my horses.

I never told that young lady that I owned horses. It would have been a lie. I am their servant.

The truth is always much messier than fiction.

Grumpy Has a Job!

Meet Grump the Alpaca and Evil Ian the Buff Orphington rooster. Grumpy lost his life-long companion, and I was afraid he would pine away. Oddly enough, Grumpy has taken a shine to the poultry in general and the lovely, but nasty Evil Ian.

The top picture shows Grumpy on guard. My Jack Russel, Trouble has come out to play. You can see Trouble in the second picture. That's Grumpy stamping his foot, warning Trouble to keep his distance, or else.

This is the 'or else' I was talking about. Grumpy targeted the little chicken-chasing dog for a bad stomping. Luckily for Trouble, I was there to protect him. He zipped around me, barking like a big bad dog, but hiding under my feet. 

"Don't worry, little buddy. I'll protect you!"

Trouble was still at my feet in this picture, and Evil Ian was coming in for the kill himself. Once Evil Ian was my favorite. He would sit on my arm and eat from my hand. But by the time this picture was taken, Ian had earned the 'Evil' by attacking me, the dogs, and anyone he could target.

It is great fun to watch the animals interact. That is, as long as Evil Ian didn't attack me. However, there was just one more species that needed to make itself known...

This is Tanamara, the young mare, who is in line to be Queen and doesn't let any of the other animals forget it. The alpacas were the newcomers, so they were the lowest critter on the totem pole. 

The young mare didn't want that fuzzball alpaca to get too close to HER human (that's me). And the old gelding came around to back her up.

Sorry Grumpy, you aren't the Alpha of this herd. This is Mare territory.

Stay tuned! You never know what I'm going to see and what I can get photos of. The animals here have their own world, and a strict pecking order.

Renovating Chicken World

The last few weeks have been cold, and windy.

I've been unhappy with the fact that Chicken World is bare metal in the inside. It was supposed to have sheets of paneling against the walls to buffer against freezing wind and burning heat. But that didn't come to pass. So, I'm working on it - by cutting up used pallets and nailing the boards to the wall.

There are a lot of ways to reuse pallets. Google opened up a rabbit hole that sucked me inside for several hours.

I'm going to finish up Chicken World before I try to expand our shed using pallets. (hehehehehehehe!) Seriously, this is a very slow progressing project. The pallets have to be taken apart - not easy! Although, we did buy a crowbar/wrecking bar/nail puller and a rubber mallet, to make it a bit easier.

Still, it take raw muscle to pry the slats off the pallet. Then there are the nails - dozens of nails that can't be allowed to escape. I've got a huge plastic jar about 1/3 full of nails already.

Anyways - I'm putting new nest boxes up, and making more roosting space. Alot more roosting space. Then, if I can figure out a way to do it with a sprayer, I want to whitewash the walls.

What I've got done, so far, is a partial take down of the old nest area, and one half of one wall completed. It's been SO slow, I'm dismantling, because I want to re-use the wood and the screws. This will be the 3rd go-round for some of these materials. Nothing like recycling - saves me a buncha money.

The top third of the wall takes about 33" slats. I've got some that were already painted white, they look like siding. They are going by the window, to reflect the light. The thickest boards are going where I'm putting up nest boxes and roosts.

The center third and lower third will require 24" slats. These won't need to hold any weight, so they can be thin. I've got a few center boards in place. These slats seem to make the most difference in the temperature of the air. I think it might be because I use a deep litter - enough to heat up. Heat rises.

The window was on the outside - a couple of chickens banged into it, nearly knocking it down. It leaked air instead of keeping the wind out after that. I've tried a couple of times to put it right. Until I finally took it completely down and put it inside, I couldn't get it secure.

Now, there are just little gaps around the window - can't put a finger between it and wall any more! Of course this means that the hole outside the wall needs to have some kind of framing. Don't know what yet, but I'm working on it.

The goal is to moderate the winter temperature - so cold snaps don't stop the eggs from hatching. We'll have to see how that works out. So far the window made the most difference. I'm looking forward to moving the roosts and the nest boxes. I think I can predict where the ducks will lay and where the hens will lay. The geese will lay on the ground...need to leave space for them!

Stay tuned!

Holiday Happenings

Though I didn't deck out my house this year, I did put seat to chair and spin up a mile of yarn. Including a 4 oz. braid of jewel-toned green and blue alpaca that I bought in summer, back before I could spin on a wheel. I finished that last night, it's a magnificent skein, 230 yards!

I also knitted and crocheted some lovely gifts. Hats, scarves, and a purple & white snood that was really lovely. That's counting the hat that grew wings and flew away. I'm going to need to replace it.

There are still a few more skeins to spin. Hubby and I carded three batts of fiber: white, chocolate and black, all enhanced with some firestar fiber.

In chicken world, I started a major project: Paneling the walls with wood salvaged from pallets, redoing the nest boxes and adding roost space. There's also the matter of the window that isn't flush against the outside wall. I want to move it inside so it lets in light, not the wind. (We'll see if I can pull that one off. Might be beyond my skill level.)

At present, all the nests are against a metal wall. The hens don't get any relief from the cold or the heat. It's mostly just a wind break. The warm spot is the roost across the way. But not all the chickens are welcome there.

I think this has a lot to do with my losses in the winter. The chickens who need the shelter from the cold can't get it. The eggs get chilled and will crack in the cold, which means I don't get many hatchings in the spring.

So, Chicken World gets a make-over, it might take a year to "get'er done." But it's a worthy project.

I'm not going to promise anything on the writing front, but I have been looking over my WIPs. Winter is always my best writing season. Now that I'm not at the Farmer's Market two days a week, I might just have time to finish up a story or two.

It's good to have goals.

Not Feeling the Holiday? Me, either.

I know, you expected a glowing post about the holiday - or a short story with a holiday theme. Not this year, I just don't have the energy to fake it.

I lost my faithful canine companion last week. I'm not feeling Christmas this week. There is always next week, or next year.

Instead, I'm going to write about the farm, our home.

As I've written previously, the horses aren't getting along with the alpacas. I'm a bit worried, though I know that I can smooth things over between the two species, in time. I think I'll give it a few more weeks before I push them together.

Tonka is getting a little more tolerant every day. He spits less and the tone of his grumbling is less strident. Sometimes, when I say 'touch' he will lean his neck in my direction, protesting vocally, but not physically.

The geese are fighting, yet again. It appears to be one of the yearling ganders and the gander hatched this spring. I'm getting tired of breaking them up, I started kicking the ensigator outside. My plan, as soon as I figure out which is which, is to bring the females into chicken world.

The ganders can stay outside.

The ducklings have suffered some major losses. I've got 4 little bitty ones and 2 young yellow ones in the tack room. The light bulb in the brooder burned out last night, they survived by huddling together.

There were eight or nine older ducklings, getting their feathers, but I've lost all but four. One is very bold, came right up to me and sat on my foot this morning. It didn't like being scooped up, but I didn't want the horses to step on it. They wanted OUT this morning.

The chickens are finally laying eggs in tune with the season. I got three eggs yesterday and two today. They lay just enough to fill my orders and still have enough eggs for us. I'm fine with that for a couple more weeks. As soon as the days start getting longer, production will pick up.

Which brings me to the horses. The old gelding is looking very sleek these days. I've already bought 2 round bales. The horses demolish the bales as soon as they are off the trailer. I think the bales last 2 weeks, but I'm not sure. This is really good hay, so I'm pleased to be able to get it.

The old mare is having foot trouble. She's got some nasty cracks in her front feet and a big chunk taken out of one back foot. The weather hasn't helped, the stalls are damp from outside water wicking in. It doesn't seem to matter that I've got 8 inches of gravel under those stalls and 5 inches of shavings on top. The wet ground doesn't stop at the barn walls.

I've got the hens inside the barn all day. They fluff the horse bedding and generally scratch around in the stalls. It's good for the hens and the horses. I keep throwing more shavings on top, hoping to get above the wet, without any luck.

If I can get a couple of dry days I can improve things. But there's no sense in getting the lawn mower and the manure spreader stuck in the mud until either the ground freezes or dries. It's a typical winter problem.

I can get around it by driving out the front door and spreading the soiled bedding in the lower front pasture. That's what I did today. Got the old mare's stall raked smooth, which was all it really needed. Then did some major clean up in the young mare's stall.

If tomorrow is as bright as today, I'll get some more work done in the barn.

Wednesday, the girls are coming over to bake cookies. This is the fourth year that I've invited others to come so we can have a cookie swap. I've got to pick up a bit more sugar and flour.

Still not going to put up a Christmas tree, but the house looks nice anyways.

Da Frizzy

Often animals come into our lives in different ways.

Frizzy is a little white fluffy dog, kinda cute, in that lapdog way.

He's the only dog in the bunch who is utterly clueless. I've got two Jack Russel Terriers and a JRT, Mini-pin, Chihuahua and Beagle mix. All three are much smarter than Frizzy.

For instance - Mocha the Mutt wants on my lap, but Trouble is already there. She goes looking for his favorite toy, or a chewy, gets up on the couch, plays with it to get his interest, then drops it to the floor.

Trouble knows better than to fall for it.

Frizzy never figured it out. Poor dog.

Old Dog and a Heating Pad

Hanging out on the heating pad - JR and Trouble

My oldest dog has a bad back. He's got a pinched disk, just like mine. We often snuggle together just for body heat. (Dogs are very warm.)

The other day I was on the heating pad, with some hanging over. Jr rolled onto the heating pad - and kinda melted in place.

Next thing I see, he's upside down, feet in the air, back planted on the heating pad.

If I ever get a photo, I'll post it here.

I know what I'm going to get him for Christmas - there are huge heated dog beds in some of the stores. I'm going to see what it will cost to get him one.

The Game of Musical Dogs

Frizbie the Bitchen' Frizzy

Often animals come into our lives in different ways.

Frizzy is a little white fluffy dog, kinda cute, in that lapdog way. Since he's been here he has learned a proper Terrier bark. Not his normal high-pitched, ear-piercing yap, but a deeper bark that sounds exactly like Trouble. It is uncanny.

He's the only dog in the bunch who is utterly clueless. I've got two Jack Russel Terriers and a JRT, Mini-pin, Chihuahua and Beagle mix. All three are much smarter than Frizzy.

For instance - Mocha the Mutt wants on my lap, but a dog is already there. She goes looking for his favorite toy, or a chewy, gets up on the couch, plays with it to get his interest, then drops it to the floor.

The other dog is supposed to jump after the toy, so Mocha can curl up in my lap.
JR will simply look at her, unless it is his ball. Then he HAS to get it.

Trouble fell for this trick - over and over - until he figured it out. Now he will get up if he's in the mood to play. Otherwise he stays put.

Frizzy hasn't figured it out yet. He falls for it every time. So he doesn't get a lot of lap time. No sooner does he settle in than Mocha will dig up something interesting and toss it to the floor.

Poor dumb Frizzy - he hasn't got a chance. The Jacks are too smart for him.

If I hold still, they will play musical dogs all day. Some times I will watch TV and have a different dog in my lap every time I look down. It's a little disconcerting.

Company gets the same treatment. You sit down, you have a lap, therefore you will have a dog in your lap in short order.

My mother can't sit down without having a dog on each side of her. She gets aggravated at Trouble because he always wants to lick her face. (I can't stand it either, I've seen them wolf down horse turds. No dog is going to lick my face.)

JR is the worst one for Mom to deal with because he's the heaviest and he leans on her. She doesn't want to pet him, but she doesn't have much choice.

Oddly enough she never tells the dogs to get off the couch.

I tell them 'off' quite often, only Mocha slinks away like she's been punished.  But she's dominant anyways, she needs to be told.

This canine ritual comes in handy when you have company. If the person is upset about something - they will have a dog to pet and they will calm down.

It never fails.

Tuesday, It Rained Kittens

Yes, it did.

I had a guest in the barn when we heard mewing from the loft, and a tiny kitten slipped from the loft to the shelf below. I wasn't quick enough to catch it before it tumbled down again.

That was how we discovered where Lucky hid her litter. My friend got into the loft, picking up the other four before they too, tumbled out of the loft.

We have five fat black kittens, with eyes open, teeth and claws, installed in the metal water trough where I raised the chickens. They hiss and spit at my every movement, I may not have gotten to them in time to tame them. We will see.

Lucky, as I have posted before, was a stray I picked up in a parking lot in Louisville. She had some kind of balance issue for the first months we had her. My vet called her a bobble head. Said it could be a birth defect caused by poor nutrition, or a virus caught from her mother.

Lucky is also very much in love with Trouble, rubbing against him and purring. For his part, he treats her like a chew toy.

I could make a sexist remark here, couldn't I? (G)

I've thought of showing the kittens to Trouble, to see if he will adopt them the way that Rowdy used to. Somehow, I don't think so, so we will wait on that.

I've seen dogs like Rowdy adopt cats, and cats nurse puppies, so the instinct is there. It is a matter of making everyone play nice.

I'm sure that Lucky will be glad to have me wean these little guys as soon as possible. I'll start tomorrow.

Spring at Jordan's Croft

Good news!

Brownie hatched out 11 little bitsy peepers two days ago. Today she got them out of the nest. My husband ran off with the camera, or I'd have some of the cutest baby duck pictures that you've ever seen.

The problem with a mixed species flock is the ducks and the chickens get into turf wars. The best thing to do for the ducklings is to move them and Mommy to their own space.

Until yesterday the nursery pen was full of 12 Dominaker pullets. I moved the pullets into Chicken World yesterday afternoon. This is actually a heck of a lot trickier than it sounds. The 'pecking order' wars can start, pullets can get cornered and beat up. I was counting on having 12 to chase would keep the casualties to a minimum.

When I moved the pullets, I put them off to one side, blocked from the flock of Sony and the four hens. This would give everyone a day get used to each other. As usual with these brilliant ideas, I got outsmarted. The pullets were loose in Chicken World this morning. Everyone looked pretty happy.

Sony should be in Rooster heaven. These are all females, except for one cockerel who is my backup rooster. Sony will have a harem of 16 hens by the end of summer.

We will be neck deep in eggs come spring.

Did I tell you that I'm funding my retirement by selling eggs?

Boomer - Update

Boomer is still alive, and still weak.

Yesterday she ate a great big breakfast, and was able to stand up. Last night when I can home she was on her back. But once I put her on her feet she was able to walk. This morning she was stuck on her back again, appears weak and can hardly stand.

This doesn't make much sense to me. If the problem was injuries from being trampled she would have been able to stand and walk this morning as well.

I put vitamins in her water. Maybe I should feed them to her?

Chicken Talk

I blogged about buying the little Dominque chicks in hopes of keeping the oldest American chicken breed alive. I purchased 12 pullets and a rooster.

Things went basically well - they went to the barn after a week in the house. Got a nice big trough for a home. But of course things went wrong.

One kept getting trampled by the rest. I would pick it up, dust her off and put her back on her feet. But the next time I looked, she would be down again.

I expected her to get over it, but the next morning she was down, and another chick was standing on her. She couldn't get up. I made sure she got water and came back in the morning.

She was breathing, bless her little heart. I picked her up, brought her back in the house and put her under a light. Then I made sure she got enough to drink (sugar water for energy). I gave her a strawberry then I left for work.

Let me state now that vets in Kentucky don't do chickens. They are very firm on this. The attitude is "get another one." Or my personal favorite: "Put it out of it's misery."

The pullet was alive last night when I came home. She couldn't stand up. But she drank more sugar water.

This morning she was sitting on her hocks, with help from me, to drink. She ate some chicken feed. When I left for work she was able to stagger to her feet for a few seconds.

I named her Boomer.

More Chicken Tales

This time the toaster oven is off. (tee hee)

As I was saying last week – the baby chicks arrived at the feed store in Rineyville. I had ordered a dozen Dominique pullets to replace my aging flock of four hens. In the meantime, I'd lost Sampson the old rooster.

Therefore, I picked up a baby rooster while I was at it. Doms are the oldest breed of chicken in the US. They have also gotten rare. They are off the 'endangered' list but still under careful watch. I've noticed that they aren't broody, (which means they won't set and raise their own young.) The fertility rate isn't what it should be. Last year, out of some four dozen eggs in the incubator, we didn't get a single live chick.

Over the last few years I've raised a couple hundred ducklings. My luck with chickens hasn't been anywhere near a good. One reason is my dogs are chicken killers. The other is that I had no experience with chickens when we moved here. I thought they were as hardy as the ducks. NOT – not in the slightest.

Over the last three years I've gotten a bit more chicken savvy. I have some nice panels that will keep the chicks enclosed and safe from dogs and hawks while they have some outside time. The 8-foot panels worked great last year. Where I ran into trouble was when I thought they were big enough for the poultry fence.

This year I'm keeping the dogs in the electric poultry fence. It is easier for a chick to get out of electric poultry fencing than for a dog to get out. So we corral the predators, and the prey, to keep them apart.

In case of snafus I bought a dozen pullets when all I really need is a half dozen. We had more than enough eggs for us, and to sell when I had six hens. I think the ideal would be to have one hen raise a brood every year. Until I get a proven mother hen, we are buying chicks every two years.

Yesterday we moved the whole flock out to the tack room. I turned up the heat in the tack room, and put the babies in a nice big metal tub with a warming lamp. Today they were in good shape, eating, peeping and running around.

(Looking around the house cautiously.) Nothing on fire? Good, it's time to get ready for work.

Later.

Spring has Sprung

The babies are here!

I picked up our order of chicks from Rineyville Feed today. Twelve little Dominique pullets, a rooster, four Rhode Island Red pullets and a rooster for my parents.

Oh shit the toaster oven is on fire!

Now that I've proven myself to be a complete idiot....

Ice Storm Part III

There are three dogs under the blankets. Smart dogs!

Second night without electricity, it is colder tonight. We can see our breath in the living room; the den is around 40 degrees. I was gone all day, had to let the fire go out.

Bad move.

I didn't get back until late, and the dogs were shivering in their jackets. I had some things to fax, and got internet at hubby's office. Of course I had to chase down the various items that have become impossible to get because of the weather. Batteries, candles, any type of fuel, it is all go.

I was able to get some chafing dish fuel so we have hot water for tea and washing. I have a traditional chaffing dish rack, with two burners. It took an hour to heat soup, not good. I created a camp stove out of a large coffee can and a 'church key' opener. That worked a whole lot better.

I can't, in good conscience, leave the farm without at least taking the dogs. So we can't go to a shelter, and taking this road show to a friend's house sounds like torture. We have a 50/50 chance of getting electric back tomorrow.

I will pray for electricity, or a small propane heater.

The feed store will deliver a round bale of hay, so I can let the horses out. They were kicking in the stalls tonight. They like the cold. The barn was warmer than the house, which figures with three hay burners.

Yesterday I wrote about the meatloaf on the grill. It was wonderful! I cooked it over the lowest flame setting, covered with foil. It was incredible. Okay, I was starving.

Night time temps dipped into the teens. Trouble woke me up every time the fire died. Yeah, really, it was weird. I had to stuff him back under the quilt a couple of times, because I wasn't going to get up and get cold.

We have wood and it must be green because the logs won't burn. When July comes we are going to get a propane fireplace. Wood is for the freaking birds. We have the technology for proper back up heat, no sense in suffering a second time.

The need for a shower has become critical. Beyond my comfort zone, though technically it is only my hair that needs to be washed. It's the IDEA of being 3 days without a shower that is driving me nuts.

 Ice Storm Musings

Ice Storm Part III

Doggy Dentistry

This time it's not Trouble, no it's my Jar-Jar whose got the problem.

I never really thought about dogs and their teeth. But when Jar stopped playing, sitting on my bed shaking, his face swollen, I took him to the vet.

Abscessed teeth was the diagnosis. At least one and maybe more. (It was more.) Dog dentistry is not up to root canals, and I certainly couldn't afford to pay cash for that kind of work. A week of pain pills and antibiotics followed. I figured out that his teeth had been bad for a while, when he was perky and playful again.

We took him in yesterday morning. All the tests came back fine, so they operated on his mouth. Nine teeth had to go. It sure as hell knocked a hole in the Christmas budget.

It had to have been hard on him. I gave him ice cream last night, and elk stew for breakfast this morning. (Yeah, he's the most spoiled of the three. He NEVER eats my earrings.) An hour ago, he got up from his nap and played ball for a couple of minutes.

So he's going to have to get canned food or soft food for at least a few weeks, maybe always.

As any pet owner knows, it's not a big deal to make a few adjustments for an older pet. As long as they are happy, you do whatever to keep them going.

I am a little worried about when he regains his strength. Mocha and Trouble may have to adjust the pecking order. I'm hoping they can wrestle it out. Trouble has been very servile to this point, but Mocha is dominant.

The last thing I'm willing to tolerate is a dog-fight. I may have to discipline my pack. Not sure the best way to stop this nonsense, but I'm watching.

They need to remember who's in charge here.

(I typed, as Trouble was trying to type with his nose. Then he chewed on Mocha's ear, pushing my fingers on the wrong keys.)

This may not be as easy as it sounds.

Drat!

Expensive Meal

He's at it again.

Trouble has now developed a taste for fine jewelry.

Literally.

The first snack was one of a very expensive set of earrings. Baby blue turquoise and opal set in silver. The ear piece appears to have been swallowed. The dangle is mangled.

These were my favorite earrings.

The yesterday he made a meal of an Irish bauble, a shamrock in glass.

I caught him chewing the chain. Before he swallowed THAT.

Brat!

Now he's pressed against my leg, licking my wrist. Giving me those soul-fully adoring doggy-eyes.

This has got to stop.

I may have to change his name in self-defense.

Trouble Keeps His Cred

Just as gangbanger must keep up his street cred, Trouble is busy living up to his name. Besides the normal puppy stuff, chewing my slippers and stealing my underwear, he's developed one heck of a horse manure habit.

I got in my car this morning to find a shredded a horse turd in the passenger seat. Three guesses who did it and the first two don't count. I'm wondering when he got into the car. Had to have been yesterday when I was moving vehicles.

Great big nasty horse turd shredded all over the seat cover.

Thank God I put down seat covers!

Sneaky little booger!

He took off with my husband's pills this morning. (I'm thinking we should go to childproof caps, only I don't think either of us could open them.) He will 'leave it' on command, about 10% of the time. Most often he's off to the races. Today I got the drugs back with just a 'Hey.'

But I'm starting to wonder if he's going to wear a bandana and those awful baggy jeans. I've got a – pack banger -- on my hands. An adolescent dog isn't supposed to steal drugs, or leave nastiness in mom's car.

I'm going to have to limit his TV viewing, as well. Last night I caught Trouble glued to the History Channel special on the Warlock motorcycle gang. He may try to get my husband to take him out on the bike.

One biker in the family is enough.

Note to self: Don't introduce Trouble to Roadie, the min-pin. Roadie has a spiked Harley Collar and an attitude. I may never get Trouble back if he joins the biker dogs.

Oh happy day.

New Addition to the Farm

We have a Jack Russel puppy named Trouble.

(I can see the grins already.) He is about 5 months old, and feels more than able to live up to his name. He gives 10 year old JR and 2 year old Mocha a real workout.

This morning I was sitting on the front porch, enjoying the breeze and my morning coffee when I saw Trouble and Mocha racing down the hill. Trouble was carrying something that was making a lot of noise.

It was a baby rabbit. Eye still sealed shut, the poor pitiful creature was screaming. It would take a harder heart than my marshmallow ticker leave the bunny to the dogs. On command Trouble obligingly spit the bunny on the ground, and got a good boy ear rub. Mocha got her ears ruffled too.

I cringed as I picked up the now silent bunny. It was breathing, and it tried to burrow into my hand. Two years earlier another set of pups had brought a bunny home, that one had lived for a week. It was much, much smaller.

I don't have much hope for this one. But I did show it to my husband, and put it in a nice warm sock, in a basket, on the kitchen counter.

I called home several hours later, my husband had tried to feed it. It leaped out of his hand onto the counter. Lucky rabbit, the dogs would have gotten it for sure.

He named it "Bugs" making it an official Croft Critter. He also called some rescue shelters, but they were all full up. Someone recommended puppy milk replacement, and feeding it twice a day.

I stocked up at Walmart. Puppy milk, kitten bottle, we have lots of old socks. I'm not holding out much hope for it, but who knows?

Stay tuned.

8/23/08 -- Bugs was too young to leave his mother. He didn't survive. Baby rabbits are notoriously hard to raise in captivity.