I Have Learned Much. And I Have Much to Learn.

I often say that life on the ranch is the equivalent of taking a college course, including the labs.  The grade you get is evident in the health, happiness and soundness of the animals and in the efficiencies, cleanliness, and the accurate anticipation of things to come around the ranch.

While I can say that I know quite a bit now about tracking and trapping raccoons, trimming goat hooves, the metabolism and digestive system of horses, recognizing coyote scat, the molting season of chickens and ducks, what to do when a dog has trouble pooping, how to nurse back a window-smacked bird, what a deer leg looks like--off the deer, the nocturnal patterns of feral cats, and much else that falls in between, I am still pages away from starting the next chapter.

I read this excerpt below and it struck me.  To paraphrase what I had just said to someone 20+ years younger than I, "You are young and there are things you just don't know yet and it is just that way."

Someone 20+ years my senior may say the same to me.

"A life story is like an impressionist painting, a riot of tiny brushstrokes when viewed up close.  There is a great deal we are unable to discern about our lives while we are still caught up in the small exertions of living.  Getting older allows us to step back far enough to recognize the overall shape of things, the full picture that can only be seen from the distance of an elapsed lifetime."
~~~~~Wendy Lustbader, Life Gets Better: The Unexpected Pleasures of Growing Older

Drakes in Eclipse

The local feed store is like a quick and easy trip to the reference section of the library.  They seem to know quite a bit about everything.

A couple of weeks back, Bill was loading feed into the 4 Runner, which was carefully guarded by cookie loving dogs, and we got to talking about his duck hunting.  Hunting of any kind isn't my favorite topic but I'm starting to understand the "food for the family" aspect.

I mentioned to Bill that all of my male Mallards, the drakes, have disappeared.  For some reason I have a pond loaded with females, hens.  He laughed.  "No," he said, "you have just as many drakes as before."

Drakes in eclipse is what I had plenty of in my pond.  After mating season, the drakes molt and lose their beautiful colorful plumage.  The look just like the hens!  Now, a real duck person can tell the difference.  Thankfully, I can now consider myself a "real" duck person.

Bill told me to look at their bills.  Drakes have yellow bills and hens have brownish/orange bills.  Their feet also are a clue.  The drakes have bright orange feet.  Sure as the day is long, I have a pond with a healthy mix of drakes and hens!

In the last week or so the drakes have begun to get their colors back.  It happens rather quickly.  Now, aside from a few late bloomers, their heads are a magnificent shimmering green once again. 

What a funny thing that happened at my pond.  It's another lesson learned.  It just doesn't stop.

Celestial Wardrobe

Tonight's moonless sky

 like a rhinestone-studded

soft

black satin dress

 adorned

with a blazing sash

of the spiral Milky Way

no beginning

and

no end.

The Eagle Has Landed and Just Took Off Again

It was nine days ago that my parents arrived in Bend.  How is it that they have left already?  These days flew by.

Often I am told, "you're lucky" when I mention spending time with my parents.  Many people I know no longer have one or both of their parents.  I don't know if it's luck; maybe they really want to say "fortunate" or "blessed" or "charmed."  Or maybe lucky.

Whatever it is, I am grateful to have both of my parents alive and well enough to travel to the west coast and spend time at the ranch getting to know--and getting lots of love from-- my animals.  I so enjoyed sharing my ranch and dance life with them.

It is with all of my heart that I hope they can return for another visit.  Maybe I'll be lucky enough for them to stay even longer.

Safe travels my eagles.

Note to Embrace Your Path

When a customer tells the owner what she wants her friend's bachelorette party to look like, he has two options:  smile and say, "absolutely!" or not.

And the savvy business owner opts for the former knowing the evening will go more smoothly if everyone is happy and when customers are happy, they generally come back through your door.

The organizer for the bachelorette party was the customer: the paying customer.

And I find enormous relief in the fact that the organizer had her own ideas for her girl party.

Thank you universe!

Embrace Your Path

Something on Wednesday told me to confirm the 8pm Line Dance class I was hired to teach for a bachelorette party last night.  The first email from the owner said "Yes, see you then."  Then I received another email saying, "Let me call them to confirm."  Then the third email, "No."

It was a strange occurrence.  His "organizer" went "outside the box" and hired another gal to teach.  Apparently she didn't realize that the owner had already contracted me and that I, another instructor, even existed and was on his contact list.  He mentioned not wanting to "cause ripples."

It was strange indeed.  I thought about it throughout the day, because it was fewer than 24 hour notice and why wouldn't the owner's agreement supersede the organizer's?  Why, if he had contracted me almost two weeks ago, was that null and void?

It just bugged me.

So around 7:45pm last night when, had plans gone according to the schedule of the morning,  I would have been doing a final review of my dance choices and getting ready to start the lesson with the squealing, giggling, jumpy bachelorette and her gal pals, I said my prayer of thanks over the meal we were sitting down to eat instead.

I said to the universe, "Okay, so today's events were a little strange and I don't get it, it's not that obvious to me.  For some reason, I am meant to be here and not there.  I trust in my path lined with daisies, satin, soft rounded stones and filled with flowing water.  Thank you for looking out for me."

A few bites into our take and bake pizza and salad filled with gems from our garden and hard-boiled pearls from our hens, I heard the goats crying.  It was filled with panic, with urgency and it was so loud, it seemed to be right outside the window.  We jumped up from the table, jumped into the golf cart and raced over to the barn.

Shadow came out to the gate crying for help.  There was Pippin with his head stuck in the metal hay feeder, screaming for help.  And he was screaming.  It was the kind of scream that bypassed your ears and went straight to your gut.

Fortunately, he is just tall enough that he didn't strangle himself; however, he was on his tippy toes avoiding such an ill-fate.  I lifted him up and Larry maneuvered his head out from between the bars.

The bars on the feeder are wider on top and narrower to the bottom.  I am sure he was standing on his hind legs to get to the hay and slipped in and when he went down, he was then between the narrow bars.  When the feeder is full of hay, his feet rest against the pack of forage.  They had eaten almost all of the hay, so there was nothing to push him back.

We returned to the house and sat back down.  My appetite was interrupted.  I looked up at the clock and it was 8:12pm. 

I once again looked up, but toward the sky, closed my eyes, and once again thanked the universe for lighting my path.

It's Official...the Goodles are Weaned

For my dad on his birthday.

A very big day for the goodles--no bottle.

Wow, it's a little sad and also exciting as well as liberating.  Tonight I went to the barn armed only with a bag of prepared salad mix and a lot of momma love.  No bottle bucket.

Shadow and Pippin ran to the stool where I sit, used to sit, to feed them but quickly turned back when they realized I wasn't joining them.  Pippin immediately dove into the bowl with salad mix and Shadow to the feeder just stocked today with very lush and tasty Orchard Grass hay from last month's cutting at Jeff and Barb's.

They didn't seem to be affected too much by the change in routine.

My boys are getting big, growing up.  They still call out "ma'aaaa" when they scare or are unsure.  I think I still need that.

Peaceful at Times

I say "peaceful at times" because at a moment's notice, that peace can transition to chaos.

Just now, while quietly writing a new blog post, I had to jump up and run clear across the porch. Shadow was eating my lavender plant. In response to my reprimand, he comes running across the porch, up onto the chair, onto the table and then across my keyboard!

I thought for certain my laptop was doomed, yet here I sit.

Next, Pippin pulled a big branch off the plant. He runs away and when he comes back for let's kiss and make up lovin's, his breath is herb fresh. Petunias are next on the menu.

Just as I push one 50lb goat out of the front flower planter, the other 40lb one jumps in. It's a circus.

No sooner do they move on do Bodie and Pinkie come charging across the porch in their afternoon chase and scatter the hens that are sprawled out behind me, protected from the breeze.

Pippin is back, under the table, pushing it up with his budding horns. Next on to pushing the reclining lounger across the porch to getting up into it. And finally, to rest and chew cud.

Peaceful at times.

Sunday on the Ranch

It's a late Sunday afternoon with a very agreeable temperature and a mild breeze, scattered cloud cover to dull the intensity of the summer sun, clear air quality with a reported low pollen count. It's peaceful. At times.

I'm sitting on the porch, grateful for wireless internet, passively accompanying the goats, Shadow and Pippin, on their afternoon pasture browse. They are becoming quite independent, relatively speaking, but they do still keep their rectangular pupiled-eye on their momma as a reassurance that all is well.

Looking back to May 11 when I went to Jennifer and Ed's to pick up my new bottle baby goats, I knew very little about how to care for two caprine creatures let alone the energy it would take. Immediately recognizing my short-coming, I ordered three books about goats from amazon.com. Two books specific to Boer goats, the breed of the little half-brothers.

Momma goats, or dams, only have two teats. When she has three babies, which is not uncommon, it's typical that the smallest kid gets pushed off the milk by the other two and doesn't thrive. For the kid's sake, this triplet becomes a bottle baby. Goats are herd animals, so getting one bottle baby is unthinkable.

For the first four to five weeks, the little ones required feeding five times a day. This meant heating the milk to 103 - 105 degrees, preparing the Gerber baby bottles with larger rubber farm animal nipples and heading to the barn for the evolving lesson in feeding baby goats. This also meant feeding as early as 7am and as late as midnight with quality time spent just cuddling the vulnerable ones. Another meaning: limited sleep.

Shadow was born May 1 and he is named such because from the time he came home with me, he has not left my side. A constant under my feet, he is my shadow. I pondered Spirit for a while as he has the soul of many in his deeply connected eyes.

Pippin was born May 5. He was originally called Latte because of his espresso and foam coloring. We had a dickens of a time for the first few weeks; he was a little sick here and there. Diarrhea and many an anal temperature read later, I started calling him Poopy, Pip, as in pip-squeak, and later to Pippin.

As the past few months have gone by, their need for bottled milk has decreased. Going from five times a day to now which is just one at night. Even now, instead of a full 10oz bottle, they are down to just 5oz. By mid-week, they will no longer take a bottle.

It's a strange transition. I was buying six gallons of milk each week at Costco when they were at their peak consumption of about 28 - 30oz each a day. It was momentous when I got only two gallons. And just this week, I bought only a half gallon at Trader Joe's. A little sadness set in.

There came a moment when I said to myself, "Wow, these goats are really attached to me!" Then I thought about that and said, "Yes, they are." For I am their momma, their protector, their nurturer, their stall cleaner.

And they are my kids.

Photos

Top: Pippin stretched out as Cleopatra on the hay trailer as Shadow follows behind.

Middle: Learning to bottle feed. Pippin on the bottle and Shadow smiling.

Bottom: Coming out of the carrier on their first day home with me. Pippin in the forefront.

Are You Kidding?

Goodles are like poodles

But with peaberry doodles

The fun comes in oodles

GALORE!

What's Up With That?

This is what I asked the universe yesterday. What's up with that?

Esperanza was our darling Ameraucana chicken who layed dainty blue-green eggs. Well, she was never a steady layer, but when she was on a roll, she would gift us one of her pretty eggs every other day. She frequently went on hiatus for weeks at a time and then out of the blue, there it would be in the nesting box, her blue-green pearl.

When she was a baby chick, she had a lame leg. Throughout her life of almost 2 years, she got along just like the other hens, but with one eye. She was bullied as a chick and we wondered if she'd make it as she often set herself apart from the other 5.

Her early childhood experiences made her the fiercely independent and almost fearless hen she lived to be. She made me laugh many times.

Just yesterday I was at the duck pond giving out the left-over brown rice tortillas. The ducks were swimming in closer to get theirs and the 4 hens and Red, the rooster, came to my feet asking for their share.

As Esperanza, which means hope in Spanish, couldn't always see what was thrown to her, it depended on which way she was looking, I put pieces down just right for her. The other hens are quick to grab. She gave up on them and walked to the pond.

There she was, chest high in the water, picking pieces of tortilla out of the pond. I had to remind her, she was a chicken after all. She came running out of the pond and scooted across the drylot toward the creek where the other hens had relocated themselves.

Coming out of the house from a cookie break with the dogs shortly after, I heard Red's alarming call. I hadn't heard that call before, but that's what told me something wasn't right. It was a constant and higher pitched call than his typical call to gather his flock.

Alice was with him tucked under the Juniper and with his eyes wide open darting from east to west, he drew me in to his dance of urgency. I looked to the west and saw a reddish dog running off through the neighboring field. The horses were all at the west fence, looking. Immediately I went off in search of my 3 other hens. I have been down this road before and if there was any chance of finding them, it was now.

With Alice and Red accounted for, I then checked off Baby and Juanita but was missing Esperanza. I called and called and walked the creek next door shaking a plastic bag of Dole prepared salad that she loves. (On a side note there are still some feathers from my dearly departed Black Top.) I couldn't find her.

Trying to remain optimistic as she could be almost anywhere on the ranch, I returned to my task of poop scooping, keeping my eye out for her or the returning dog. Then, Pinkie was trying to get at something on the other side of the fence. In fact, it was just under the noses of where the horses had been standing.

Oddly enough, right before this, I swore I heard this throat sound that the hens make. I looked and saw the hens off on the other side of the lawn, so it wasn't them. I spun around the other direction looking, could it be Esperanza?

I don't know if I heard her last call for help or her coo to me as she transitioned into a chicken angel or if I was just hoping I had heard her. I did find Esperanza, lifeless. A dog had attacked her from behind, bit right into her back. Coward dog.

My only hope is that she didn't see it coming, that she was being her happy chicken self with her good eye to the ground, relishing in a new find of hatching bugs. Please universe, let it have been that way.

We have now lost 3 chickens to other people's dogs. Why?

We have 9 new baby chicks, 2 of them are Ameraucanas, like Esperanza. They are named Marilyn and Squirrel, one for her blonde feathers and light eyes and the other for her puffy cheeks seeming like they are filled with a stash of goodies.

It's a tough reality with these animals, as I've said before. I try so hard to protect them and I care for them to the best of my ability. Yet in a minute they can be taken from me in the most abrupt and violent fashion.

What's up with that?

(Esperanza is the light brown hen in the foreground of the photo.)

A Great Story for Your Ears

This past weekend as I was running around gathering up ingredients for the 2 German dishes I was to prepare for our International Table: Gastronomic Style, I was listening to NPR between stops. An hour long program, Radio Lab, was on and I found it wonderfully moving. I had to delay myself a bit here and there to be sure I heard the next words that had me on the edge of my seat. If you have an hour to listen to this program, I highly recommend it. If you don't have an hour but you have about 15-20 minutes, move the play marker to about 23:30 and listen to the piece on Carnegie Heroes. I assure you it will bolster your faith in community. Click on the link below and let me know what you think. http://www.radiolab.org/2010/dec/14/

The Duck Situation

The duck situation needs a little updating.

As you know, I picked up 2 eggs a few weeks back. After reading about federal law and that the Mallard doesn't sit on her eggs until she has laid her full clutch, it made sense to return the eggs to her nest. I checked on her nest every day as she added an additional egg. She was up to 6 eggs!

The next morning I went out to admire the arrival of number 7 and found that some critter had raided her nest and eaten the eggs! Just a mess of shells on the ground.

Calcium devastation: destruction of 6 precious eggs and the calcium she depletes herself of as she lays her clutch. Honestly, I'm not cut out for the occasional cruelty of nature.

She started another nest with one egg. I thought I was doing the right thing by trying protect the egg and I put a bucket over it at night. I ran out at 7am the next morning to remove it so she could add her next egg. She didn't.

I guess she wanted to lay before I got out there, so she has abandoned that nest. For a few days I searched for her new nest but couldn't find where she was laying. I thought maybe she had given up.

Then the other day, I was out looking around...surely there has to be another nest somewhere. There are at least 20 female Mallards and our 4 domestic females. Someone has to be laying!

I found two new nests in a thick of cut tree branches. As of this morning, one nest has 5 eggs and the other has 3. But here's the thing, 1 of those 3 looks white like a domestic duck egg. So, if this is the case, whose nest is it? Who will sit on the eggs? If it's the Mallard, will she accept the domestic duck?

Lesson learned: I must admire from afar. No touching. No protecting. But there is that 1 lone egg that still sits up by the pond in the once bucketed nest.

I think when her nest has at least 8 eggs, I'll add that loner. I do believe it's hers.

Oh, and we did get 1 white domestic egg sitting on the ground by the pond. Those we can eat.

What is the Fine?

As you may recall, we have a rather healthy wild Mallard population taking residence at our irrigation pond--strike that--duck pond. All but about 4 fly off each evening but they are back here bright and early the following day.

Yesterday I was walking the perimeter of the pond and came across a duck egg! Our first duck egg. And I had no idea from which duck it came. I picked it up and brought it in.

Not quite knowing what to do with a duck egg, I started my internet research on duck eggs (I sure do miss pulling out a hard-bound encyclopedia, but I think this time, the internet may have served me well.)

First, the blue green egg is from the Mallards. A wild Mallard? Or our domestic Mallard, Mallory? They lay their eggs in ground nests, which in our case is a burrowed hole. This is impressive as ducks have webbed feet, not talons like a chicken or claws like a cat or dog.

Then this morning I found another egg. I wasn't sure if I just overlooked it last night or if it was from this morning.

After scooping horse poop for 2 hours, I came in to eat and I continued my internet reading.

Second, in the UK it is illegal to cull wild Mallard eggs. Gulp. What about Oregon?

Third, the shells of duck eggs are thinner than chicken eggs so the eggs tend to be flavored with the surroundings and possibly with the diet of the layer. So would that make these duck eggs sweet grass flavored? Hen crack flavored? Or with the taste of whatever more the duck eats when not eating at my pond?

Fourth, they say that because the shell is thinner, the risk of salmonella is present. So wash that egg nice and good!

Fifth, most research talks about incubating the eggs. Yes, duck eggs are fine to eat it seems, but incubating seems to be very popular.

Sixth, a clutch of Mallard eggs is 8-12 eggs and they lay one brood a year. Have I just reduced that number to 6-10?! Incubation is 24 - 28 days.

Seventh, our other domestic ducks, Blue Swedish, lay white eggs. I now am sure the eggs I collected are not from Fletcher or Max--well because they are drakes-- nor from Tuxedo Tina, aka Tuxey, Diana, nor Sophia.

Now I am in a pickle. What do I do with the two eggs I culled from the pond? Do we add them to our chicken eggs and eat them? I think I'm too late to incubate them. I can't really return them to the pond, can I?

And do I leave any new eggs that are laid? What about predators that eat duck eggs, such as cats (with the good quality feed these feral kitties get, I hope they wouldn't go after the duck eggs,) raccoons, dogs (they'd be in big trouble with momma,) birds of prey, fox, coyote, etc. We have these critters around.

I've been working on getting Larry to build a proper duck laying house that sits out over the pond. This would help protect them from predators, but can the ducks dig a nest inside a house?

I guess I have to let nature take care of itself on this one. Upon further research, I have discovered that I am in violation and would be in further violation of federal law if I intervene.

Shhhhhhh, please don't tell.

Check out this website: www.wildliferehabber.com/modules/wildlifesection/item.php?itemid=7

Quote for the Day

To have joy one must share it.
~~~~~~ Lord Byron

Catching Up on the Ranch

I'd like to say this is a quick update on the happenings of late on the ranch but quick may not be the right word unless you're a speed reader. But a read it is.

The cats. Well, my friend April convinced me that if I'm going to feed the feral cats that live in my hay shed and barn that I also should catch them and bring them in to be fixed. After some reluctance, I have embraced this challenge whole-heartedly.

I thought I had 4 feral cats. Then I started seeing these other 2. Then the other night I caught Mandy, one I hadn't seen before at all. So, really, I have no idea how far along in my project I am.

So far, Lynxie, Graysin (the beautiful mom with pretty babies--see photo) and La Negrita have been to Bend Spay and Neuter Project and returned home to spend a few nights at kitty recovery center. I brought Mandy in and they discovered that she had already been spayed so they vaccinated her and wormed her and she just spent one night in kitty recovery.

I have two recovery crates set up and the cats seem to do quite well in them. I think they really like the warm bed, canned kitty food, convenient water and clean kitty box. Mandy just curled up in her bed and looked at me through the slats when I put the crate in front of the door to let her outside, as if to say she'd like the extended stay package. Eventually she went out. La Negrita darted without hesitation. Graysin jumped out, stopped to turn around and look at me--I'm pretty sure with appreciation in her eyes--and took off. Lynxie, my first catch, was another sprinter. Although he has since been caught twice more.

My other hobby is cat tracking. With this snow and an occasional fresh dusting, coating or additional accumulation, I can see the kitty tracks and follow them to learn their habits. I think my years of Thursday night CBS watching has honed my CSI skills as I'm quite good at determining the "directionality" of the kitty.

Today, I saw precious prints going in to the pumphouse where the duck feed is stored, but no prints coming out. I went around to the other side and beneath a hole in the wall were dainty exit prints. My favorite is the collection of prints at the base of the heated water troughs. These troughs seem to be a favorite of cat and bird alike.

The ducks. We only have 7 ducks, well, 8 if you count Mrs. Mallard who joined the domestic flock several months ago. But we seemed to have attracted another 40-50 wild ducks. So, in order to feed our 8 ducks, I have to feed 50.

They were breaking the bank feeding them high quality Purina Flock Raiser at $14.95/bag. A kind woman at the feed store educated me in the economical choice of hen crack, I mean hen scratch. It's only $9.50/bag (recently increased from $8.95 due to the rising price of corn.) So, now I feed hen crack during the day to the larger flock and at night when the wild ducks fly off to wherever they go, I feed our ducks the fattening Purina. We seem to have a few regular overnighters--wild ducks that is. At least it's not 50.

This morning I was out there and saw Maxwell grab Tuxey by her neck and dunk her underwater. I had seen this the other day and started throwing bread at him to stop him. For sure I thought he was going to drown her! I hate to say it, but I think I was witnessing duck mating. It's brutal and very barbaric. I threw snowballs today. Then it hit me (not the snowball for those of you [Laurie] who think like that) that it looked a lot like the roosters mounting the hens--sans water. They hold the back of their neck, get on, fluff up and get off. I shudder!

Oh, and the big thing in the middle of the pond? That would be a horse shelter. That was adjacent to the hay shed when we had a freak wind one day that picked that shelter up, dragged it across the fence--broke the fence--tore up the grass and planted it in the middle of the pond (see photo.) It was 2 days before the ducks would go back in the pond. I imagine as that thing came flying in they all screamed, "Duck!" Then the pond froze.

The chickens. A very sad day recently. Three dogs visiting the neighboring ranch came over and killed Black Top, one of our much adored hens, and chased off Peep Peep, the problem rooster. They were missing that late Sunday afternoon and I waited to see if they came back. Night came and they didn't return. The next day I went out looking and found Black Top in the dry creek bed. I followed a trail of feathers to her body. It was so sad. It broke my heart to see evidence of what she endured. I never found Peep Peep.

A week later, I was out at the street talking to my neighbor Todd across the way and he told me a rooster showed up on the other neighbor's property. The rooster had been chased by a dog and bitten. They brought him someplace, I'm not sure where. At least I know he survived the attack. As a week had already passed and I was hoping to rehome Peep Peep anyway, I opted not to call Ron to inquire about getting him back.

Symbolically, that Monday that I realized Black Top and Peep Peep weren't coming back, the scabs on my leg from Peep Peep's last attack fell off in the shower (see photo if you dare.) I knew that chapter had ended.

Now we have just 4 hens, and very good girls. Cowboy Tim who up and rode off one day left behind 2 roosters, Red and Black. After one of them was attacked by another dog, but survived, we brought them over here to live. The boys abandoned their bachelor pad after Peep Peep left and now they all bunk-up inside the hen house. A happy chapter has begun.

The horses. The other day we had another foot of snow, on top of the foot that fell just a few days before. I was out for what I thought would be a quick morning feed and noticed Alibi trying to tell me something. I separated him from the other 4 and gave him his morning cereal with glucosamine and noticed him starting to shake. I watched and he progressed into a true shiver.

These horses are wooly wooly this time of year, but for some reason my hardy Alibi's body temperature was going awry. I brought him over to the unfinished barn and put a cooler on him to wick away the wet and dry him off. Took his temp, listened to his heart and respirations, checked his gums for dehydration. All vitals were good.

I brought over Alibi's friend, Faramir, to keep him company. Larry and I had to clear lumber, lights, saddle stands, hay feeders and several other miscellaneous items from the neighboring stall to accommodate Faramir. Like I said, the barn is unfinished. But now a little closer to ready.

We plugged in a heater lamp, brought in water, closed up the doors and let them be. We checked on Alibi regularly and he seemed to be coming around quickly. Pooped and peed several times--all good. The coolers dried them both off.

So around 6pm under the waning rays of sunlight, we blanketed them up and walked them back to the other horses, kicking through over a foot of snow to get there. Everyone seemed in good spirits. Alibi is a stoic horse. But I'm relieved he communicates when something isn't right. I love this horse.

And Faramir is so adaptable. He and Alibi are like really good brothers. Hy Note is a brother for sure, but there is that rivalry that rears its head on occasion. Alibi is the alpha of this group of gentle geldings. He is a passive alpha: just the ears starting to pin back or a slight head nod or even a glance and the other boys back away getting the message. So civil.

Kenna is learning, she just needs training and schooling and she is all too willing to learn--which is why we keep her around. She and Faramir are in love. Needless to say, when we brought Faramir back from the barn she was all goo-goo eyed to see him. Because we have so much snow, they haven't been out on the pasture but rather in their respective dry lots. Kenna and Faramir are not in the same lot but they can see each other and she spends a lot of time at the common gate.

Pursuit is a good boy. He is a foster child here. He is the low boy on the totem pole and he looks to me for protection and reassurance. He has a health history that we're not exactly sure of. What I do know is that he is stronger now, physically and emotionally, than when he arrived at the end of September. I feel happy for him.

All Arabs (Kenna is Arab/Quarter Horse.) It's so beautiful to open the gates and watch them all prance out to the pasture, tails held high--classic Arab characteristic.

The dogs. Bodie and Pinkie are my dear dear dogs. You have never seen 2 dogs love each other so much. They play for hours, from the moment they get up to the last minute of the day. When they nap, they nap hard, snoring and dreams included. Bodie is into the chase--the herding. Pinkie, the chase and I'm pretty sure the catch. They are obsessed with the couple of gray squirrels that feed at the bird feeder. Oh, you should hear them when I open the door and let them out! They have no chance of getting that squirrel but my goodness, they run like mad for that golden dream.

They love the snow. Well, I'm not sure the snow even registers with them. It's the same game come snow, dry grass, mud, rain or wind. Happy dogs make my heart happy.

The birds. At the moment, I'm pretty sure we have 95% of the Central Oregon Red-Winged Blackbird population. If you haven't seen this bird before, take a minute to look at them. They are very pretty and have the exciting call of spring: www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Red-winged_Blackbird/id.

We also have a healthy population of Brewer's Blackbirds. Doves galore, fat doves. Quail are hiding eggs somewhere nearby. Hawks aplenty, falcons, juncos, woodpeckers, Northern Flickers, Clark's Nutcrackers, oh the list goes on. During the coming weeks we'll start to see more migratory birds. We have our Field Guide to Birds of Western North America handy. We note what birds we have seen and when.

They really like the wild bird seed from Costco. Figures. I tried getting a 50# bag for the same price and they protested. So, we're back to the 40# box.

Deer. Rabbits. Fox. Raccoon. Geese. On a regular night you wouldn't know who has passed through. With the snow, I track prints and smile at the discovery of nocturnal activity.

Feed. When I go to the feed store the guys load up the truck. But when I get home, I'm unloading all that feed. Most feed comes in 50# bags, so a 25 pound bag of something or other is a breeze. Just yesterday I unloaded 6 bags, or 300 pounds, of feed. Moving hay is another daily task. Most bales are between 70-80 pounds.

I welcome day passers to my gym.

I wear a pedometer every day to keep track of my steps per day, striving for that 10,000 steps in a day. I feel good knowing on average I walk 5 miles/day in the winter. During January when we had 50 degree days, I was back to 7-8 miles/day. In the summer I walk as much as 10 miles a day, just around the ranch.

So, when I ordered my new Wrangler Low Rise ranch jeans and opened them to read the label, "Real women have curves" I was at a loss. I can carry grapefruits in my side pockets to fill out those jeans!

The days go by with always a taste of something different. Before I can sit and write a bit, I'm falling asleep only to wake up in the morning and head back out. I so enjoy the time outdoors and the time with the animals. They are funny, interesting, educational, loving, predictable, and hungry. I am happy to be their kitchen. It brings me such joy.

Three Wise Men

Joy, Trauma Life, Three Wise Men, Release, Valor, Clarity, Inner Child, Higher Potential, these are all essential oil blends I have been dousing myself with since last Thursday.

Calming, Kava Stress Relief, Women's Energy, Breathe Easy, and these are teas I have been downing daily.

Nightly yoga, added meditations, a couple of phone rants and email vents, add those to the new ritual.

I went to have my hair trimmed on Thursday and she cut off 5". My hair, that I have been working hard to grow out to one length for almost 5 years, is now up to the back of my skull.

Surely the words, "I'm not ready for short hair." "Let's keep it all one length." "I don't want hair like hers or yours, I don't want it that short." "Just clean it up." would have been fine clues as to just how short I did not want my hair.

She had a notion of some wispy things in the back. I didn't understand her concept so reiterated, not short, one length.

Several minutes into the haircut, I caught a glimpse of what looked like a fairly long clip falling to the floor. I asked, "How much are you cutting off?!" It was too late. She had already cut quite a bit off in the back.

Oh, it was not pretty. When I asked her what on earth possessed her to do such a thing, she told me, "I was listening to your hair." She then proceeded to tell me how she did the same thing to her sister who yelled and swore at her but who called her three days later to say thank you. I assured her we would not be having the same experience.

I had to go back the following day to have something done with the silliness she left on the front. I guess after my shock of how short the back was, she decided to leave the front longer to "frame my face." There was something else in need of framing I'll tell you. Her mother intervened and she took over and did her best to make something useful of what I had.

It was truly traumatic. It kind of still is. I went in for the usual trim, the same thing she's been doing for the last two years and I left with a cut that not only did I not ask for but had I wanted short hair, this would not be it.

The worst part was that she just could not say "sorry" and zip it. She had to keep going on about how it was a misunderstanding because she told me about the wispy things. She just couldn't own up to her very grave error and that was terribly frustrating.

So, I'm doing my best in accepting my hair as it is. As I venture out people are noticing and commenting on my new look. It's hard to say in a cheerful tone, "Thanks!" I just don't feel it.

But here's the thing...my comb is wide toothed to untangle longer fine hair. My hair drying brush is big for you know, hair. I have big clips and scrunchies. I have hair towels.

I discovered that I don't need a fraction of the shampoo I used to use, not even. Hairdryer? It's practically dry when I leave the shower. A hair towel? I have nothing to flip over and wrap up!

Yes, you could look at those and say those are the positives and that it will grow. And you know, I usually look for that silver lining in everything. I'm just not there yet. Just not.

When in doubt or when making a big change, confirm confirm confirm!

The Wisdom of Patty

This morning I was at my Sunday meditation circle and prior to commencing service we were chatting about how some people, no matter their age, are full of life and health and vitality. And how on the contrary there are those who at 35 seem old or heavy or unhealthy.

Patty, who will be 76 next month and reminds me a lot of my mother, said she doesn't pray for people to get well. She prays for people's highest good.

She said, paraphrasing, "I can't judge. I don't know their history or their life story. I don't know their previous life story or why they are here in this life. Maybe they are supposed to be how they are. So, I pray for their highest good and potential, that they fulfill what it is they are here to do."

Interesting.

Speaking of age, Wes, who will be 87 in March, was part of this conversation. He is full of kindness, light and life and just had cataract surgery and his blue eyes sparkle again. And Regina, who will be celebrating her 88th birthday in our Line Dance class this Wednesday, isn't picky about cake. But she is particular about her collection of fashionable cowboy boots for dance.

May we all reach out toward our highest potential. May we be inspired by those around us. May we accept each other as who we are as we truly don't know from where we came.

Om. Peace. Amen.

My Dogs Aren't Just Cute

I may have mentioned our rogue rooster before. If he isn't careful, there may not be much more to mention about him!

This pesky rooster just goes out of his way to find me and attack me. Yes, I have tried all the things people say to do to let him know who's boss, but he just doesn't buy it. My left shin has what seems might be a permanent reminder of one of his attacks.

This afternoon I went in the hen pen to feed and only Baby was there. Not unusual, she usually stays close to home while the others are off on any part of the ranch at any given moment. We had our little chat, she said thank you and out I went.

I was outside the hen house collecting eggs and out of nowhere Peep Peep comes charging at my legs! I caught the flash of his tailless body as he lunged forward and I was able to get my foot out to push him back. As I was grabbing the broom--he is relentless--I was yelling, "Bodie!"

In no time did my caped Mini Australian Shepherd come running around the hen pen, he looked up at me to get the okay and he went to work. Bodie is a herding dog. Peep Peep got herd.

Because this has happened, oh I don't know how many times before, we've got a routine. Bodie runs him around for a bit then looks back at me for the signal to come back-- or no signal.

I mean, how comforting is that to know that I can call out for my dog and he will come running ready for whatever job is awaiting him?!

Now Pinkie, she's more of a chewer than a chaser. She now understands that the ducks and hens are not part of her free-choice plate, but I always keep a close eye on her as she tends to crouch and stalk.

Two days ago I was again at the hen pen and Peep Peep comes after me (this time he hit me hard but I had on my tall boots, just a little ouch.) I called out, "Bodie!" Pinkie was just beside me and from the distress in my voice, she knew her momma needed help.

I wasn't quite sure how it was going to turn out for Peep Peep but my girl had learned the lesson well. She immediately darted toward him and had him running--faster than Bodie makes him run. When I called her off, she came back to me right away just as Bodie was keying in on the rooster from the other side.

Honestly, I have never felt so protected and loved as by these dogs. Larry keeps telling me, "They'll never let anyone near you" but what do I know about those things. He's right.

My superhero and supershero watch me like a hawk (bad analogy around here) and they want nothing more than to make me happy and keep me safe and sound. And let's face it, that cookie they get when we go back in the house isn't that bad either.