Unloading

Taking a moment to reflect on my morning activities, I realized that I had cleaned the hen house of their abundant output, poop scooped the dry lot of 30 or so piles left behind by the horses, raked out the goat corral of scattered pellets, picked up the dog droppings in the dog yard and followed all of that up with cleaning my bird's cage.

It seems to me that I spend a notable amount of time cleaning up crap.  It got me thinking.

There is the obvious factor which is if you have animals, manure, pellets, mounds and droppings management is a significant consideration.  Then it resonated a step further.  It is symbolic of the past year and a half of my life.

I have been moving away from relationships that no longer speak to my soul.  I have been eliminating negative thought patterns that are non-productive and absolute fiction.  I have removed meat from my diet which I never really loved and the consumption of which goes against my heart song of all beings are equal.  I have been slowly ridding myself of belongings that create a feeling of heaviness rather than usefulness.

I have been cleaning out the crap!

We are still in the year of the snake, a year of great transition, shedding layers, releasing with grace what does not serve my highest good.  I am making way for what is to come next for me.  With a lot of that crap out from in front of the door, I stand here with arms wide open.

Rosie the Riveter

"We can do it!"

I always said that I don't want to have an animal on the ranch that I cannot handle.  Of course, there are things that require the expertise of others, but it has always been important to me that my animals come when called, respond appropriately and treat me with respect.  It doesn't mean they all don't have their bad boy or bad girl moments, but at the end of the day, they know who rules the roost.  And it has to be that way.

While taking care of the animals was always my responsibility, I used to have help from the ranch hand for projects, repairs, an occasional feeding and trimming goat hooves once the little wethers got too big for me to tip and hold down to do on my own.  Then things changed and the directive was given not to help me any longer.  He would sneak help me with certain things, acknowledging it was a lot of work for one person.

I don't have a ranch hand at my new place but on occasion I could call him and hire him to help me with a few things.  With Pinkie's recent vet bills and the rising cost of hay and feed, my budget is too tight to call in help.

This morning, I woke up feeling strong.  I did two 20 minute segments of Rodney Yee's Power Yoga video and then I did plank for 1:14, which I used my timer to record because I wasn't sure if I was really hitting that 6 minute mark that it felt like!  With the sun shining and the air still, the temperature was very agreeable and inviting for spending the morning outdoors.

I took care of the regular chores: giving Alibi his twice daily Cosequin supplement; treating Faramir and Hy Note to a bite of carrot; loading the cart and putting out hay for the horses and different hay for the goodles; opening up the hen house and greeting each one as they dash out the door to their morning treat of a sprinkling of hen crack; doing a quick about face to shoo Shadow, who had bolted down there like an Olympic sprinter, out of the hen house so he couldn't eat their grain; filling water bowls and buckets; scooping up bad boy Ginger as he chased after my little Squirrel; greeting the sparrows and finches who live in the hay shed; and before scooping 30-40 piles of horse poop, I took advantage of an empty poop cart and head over to start raking pine needles.

The goats' hooves have been on my mind for a while.  I had been hoping I could call someone to come help me trim them.  Everything here just seemed calm and according to plan.  When that's the vibe, it is to be fully appreciated and every second is to be used up.  The goodles had been browsing for over an hour and Pippin started following me around.  We've been doing a lot of work to set a firm routine with him as routine is not in his repertoire.  He needs to do something I ask and then he gets a peanut.  There is no more random doling out of peanuts.

We were near the rails and he stuck his head through to eat the hay on the other side and I thought, this is it.  We can do it!  I filled my pocket with peanuts, I grabbed a long lead rope and the trimmers, he followed me back to the rails and I looped his horns, tied the rope well (still not in the perfect knot but he wasn't getting out), gave him praise and a peanut and picked up one of his feet.  At first he was not into the idea but he quickly relented, stood still, I trimmed, we kissied like mad and he got more peanuts.  I did all 4 of his feet, released him and continued to praise him and thank him.  That was easy.

I think it was easy for two reasons: Pippin was sick as a baby so I had to pick him up a lot, handle him, stick a thermometer up his little rump and he learned that I was never going to hurt him and, he has no fear.

We all went over to the pine trees and I resumed raking.  Ginger got a hold of Squirrel and just as I grabbed him, Bodie grabbed Squirrel.  I have learned that if you can catch a dog in the split second they are doing something they are not supposed to do, that's your only moment for teaching.  I let go of Ginger, grabbed Bodie, Squirrel ran, Ginger ensued until he ran into Big Red at which time I knew Squirrel was safe and I went on to scold Bodie.  All of this happened in a matter of 5 seconds.  Bodie was mortified that he got in trouble.  If you have never seen a dog embarrassed before, his body language and eyes were it in full definition.  It was a moment of chaos and being a herder, he jumped in to see whose heels he could nip.

Several wheel barrows full of pine needles are piled in the center of the dry lot waiting for fuel to ignite. I have the fuel, I need the torch.  Then it was time to attend to the morning chore of poop scooping.

I was hearing it--today was the day to trim Shadow's hooves too.  Now Shadow weighs a good 50 pounds more than Pippin and is quite a bit bigger.  Shadow is a good boy, cooperative, respectful and also does not like to be in trouble.  But, he's much stronger than I am.  I went into the house to use the restroom, refill my water bottle and thought, if I'm going to do this, perhaps a big bite of a power bar will help me along.

I came out to find Shadow at the yard gate waiting for me and Pippin was back in the dry lot taking advantage of his choice of hay without being bullied.  Shadow had been browsing for a couple of hours at this point and his belly was like a bowl full of jelly.  He wanted a nap, he wanted to cuddle.  Later.  I went about tying him up the same way as I did Pippin and I slowly encroached upon his limited space, giving him less room to wiggle around.

Fortunately and most serendipitously, I was dressed perfectly for hoof trimming.  Shadow could move his head enough to grab hold of my loose jacket and jeans (the one pair of loose jeans I own!) with his sharp teeth.  Anything tighter might have yielded him a bit of my skin.

This took work.  He is so strong he can pump his hind leg in my hand in such a manner it's like holding onto a jack hammer.  So, having had this experience before, I opted for a smaller win which was his front feet.  We needed to both feel good about this experience and I did not want to get hurt.  I got his feet trimmed, he got peanuts and love and then I wanted to pick up both feet again before we called it quits.  When he allowed me to hold his foot without any struggle, I released the foot, praised him like mad and gave him more peanuts.  I did the same with the other side.

So, yes, it's a lot of work to do and it's hard work at times but if I go about it with a clear head, confidence in my ability, fully focused and with a lot of love and compassion, things get done and we're all still friends.

And so can I.  This is what I tell myself every day.

The Death Card

In life there are cycles.  Two obvious ones: life and death.  And life, as I understand it, is not exclusive to the human form, or animal form for that matter, but to all living creatures, beings, matter, space.

The ranch seemed lifeless when we first arrived over two years ago.  The apple tree did not blossom, I didn't even know it was a lilac tree outside the kitchen door, the pastures were dried and yellowed, there were no visible creatures calling the ranch home, the air felt stale and still.

Then, the next spring, the apple tree had so many blossoms I wondered if the delicate branches would be able to support the fruit.  One crisp morning I got a faint scent of lilac and saw so many buds on the tree.  And look! A pear tree beside it.  Then the families of Mallards arrived.  The Canada Geese came. The feral cats started poking out here and there and then claimed the hay shed and the barn as their homes.  The wild birds sang and darted about.  This place was alive and so vibrant.

With any life, the next cycle has rolled in.

The negativity, anger and vindictive actions of late have permeated and choked the life energy here.

The apple tree had no blossoms this spring.  The lilac tree was bare.  The pear tree made a grand effort.

My little Negrita, my sweet sweet cat, was hit by a car.  I still cry when I look in her bed just hoping it wasn't her.  Her absence has forever altered the patterns of the cats.  I used to look out my bedroom window in the morning and see Negrita, Lynxie and Graysin stretched out on the hay soaking up the rising sun.  At night, I would turn on the light and catch them playing a literal cat and mouse game.  Now, I look out and all I see is hay.

Lynxie and Graysin stop in here and there, but the less than feral attitude has diminished.  I hardly see my Rayito, Little Grays and Twin who call the barn home.

The pond has taken on this incredible algae.  It has covered the pond surface like a bad color choice of carpet from the late 60s.  As it crept in, it pushed the Mallards out.  Now, the pond is surrounded by very tall prickly weeds, and topped with a chartreuse cushion.  Lifeless.

The Mallards used to follow me out to the pasture or up to the dry lot, "quack quack quack," they'd tell me.  Always saying they were ready for food.  It's remarkable to go from 50+ ducks throughout the day to none.  Not one. Not one true duck quack.

The pasture started drying up and browning because the water had been cut off.  Pickings were slimming down for the horses and goats.  The good blue grass was being overtaken by the noxious weeds.

The raised beds of the former vegetable garden became a garden of assorted weeds and undesirable grasses.

The round pen is Pippin's favorite place to escape to at night because his height falls just below that of the weeds and he can browse in stealth mode.  No horse activity in that pen.

Thankfully, the water was turned on again a few days ago and I started watering vigorously.  It's impressive how the combination of a little water and the bright Central Oregon sunshine can make anything grow in no time.  The growing season may be short, but it grows!  The pasture is greening.  The goats are wandering more.

With the rotation of water, I noticed the algae is shifting.  You would be stretching it to say it is going away; however, there are a few open spaces of water on the surface.

This evening as I was out feeding, I saw one Mallard hen sitting on the plank to the duck house in the center of the pond.  She had no companion.  Just her.  I called to her but she didn't respond.  A decoy? Her mood rang nostalgic.  It was as if she came to visit her former home just one last time.  As if she couldn't comprehend the "Do Not Enter" vibe of the abundant green foam.

I put out some food for her, and the chickens who followed me in.  I never saw her swim to the shore.  I never saw her fly away.  I looked and she was gone.

Tripper's Day

Tripper and Dad

Tripper is in spirit and he is 23 years old today, May 15.  We all celebrated him today, even the few who didn't know him on this earth.

He was a noble horse, so stoic, proud, full of horsepower and full of incredible love.  Tripper was my first horse.  He taught me to love in a fuller, richer and more open way.

I have said many times before and I most certainly will say it again, he was my friend.

My Friend (and Jess the dog)

When I brought Shadow home, his eyes looked up at me and they were alive with old souls.  I could feel them and I could see them in his eyes.

On occasion when Shadow and I are walking, he will come beside me and put his nose in my hand, just as Tripper used to do. Aside from the 1,000 pound difference between them, I sense Tripper.  Tripper is so present and Shadow is the generous host.

Tripper and Alibi

Alibi and Tripper were good friends.  When Alibi became my horse, I moved him and Tripper to the same pasture.  It was anybody's guess who would be the dominant horse.  Tripper gave Alibi a good run for his money and hung in as the alpha as long as he could.  Eventually Alibi moved in, as he does.  But there always remained respect.  Today, Alibi sighed a birthday wish to Tripper.

In my bedside table drawer is a braided heart of Tripper's tail hair.  It's beautiful and lasting.  Fitting for my friend.

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.)

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.

It's Not Easy Waking a Sleeping Chicken

A typical ranch day, if there is such a thing, concludes with counting all six chickens and locking up their pen.

Just before dusk they all make their way back to their hen house and climb in, make a heck of a ruckus organizing themselves, and then they settle in for the night. I count them up just to be sure all have returned, and then close their gate so no night-time predator can create its own ruckus with my hens.

It has been getting darker earlier and I was behind in my evening duties. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. 5? 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. Hmmmmmm. It's Alice. Where is she? It was hard to see and to top it off, Alice is black and white.

I set out calling her, looking in all the places they visit throughout the day, under tree roots, under cars and trailers, in the creek, by the horse snack dishes (see photo.) Was it that monster hawk who got her?

Lately, my hens have been laying their eggs up in my hay bales. They have 4 perfectly comfortable and sheltered nesting boxes, but apparently they've tired of them. For days I was wondering if they had stopped laying eggs as there weren't any in the hen house when I would go collect them. It didn't make sense. My hens weren't quite a year into their laying.

Then one day I followed the hens out of their pen in the morning and watched one head straight for the hay shed, hop up a few bales, climb onto a wood post (see another photo) and then go down between the wood sides and the hay bales and tuck herself into a hole created in the hay bales (see other photo.) When she finally came out, I looked in and found 5 eggs! The jackpot.

So now, I climb in between the wood sides and hay bales and slowly lower myself down as to not catch myself on the snags on the wood and reach in, blindly because the space is so tight I can't turn my head, and retrieve the eggs.

Well, back to this evening of missing Alice. It dawned on me, maybe she's in her nesting spot. I look in from the horse lot beside and there she is, sleeping. I can't leave her there overnight, she'd be exposed to the feral cats, raccoons, and whatever else would climb in to bother a chicken. I couldn't climb in to get her because I had seen Bodie climb in there and a startled chicken fly out and that wasn't pretty on account of the lack of room to maneuver.

So there I stood, on the other side of the posts calling to the sleeping chicken: "Alice!" "Kiss Kiss Kiss" "Wake up girl!" "yooooo hooooo!"

It's not easy to wake a sleeping chicken. In fact, they tell you that the easiest way to catch a chicken or rooster is at night...if you can reach them.

So I took a stick and pushed it through to the hay and got her to perk up a bit. Then I had to scare her to get her out. Ugh. She jumped out, over the bales, down to the ground and ran straight for the hen house--and they can run as fast as 9 mph.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. Clink went the gate lock.

Now, we have 6 ducks and a goose. They swim in the pond. Can you imagine what it's like trying to round them up to get them in at night? There is an owl that perches overhead; they seem oblivious. I have spent lots of time going from one end of the pond to the other trying to get them out. And look! They can swim clear to the middle! (see duck photo)

Despite how it may appear, my days are never the same.

Wild Animal Kingdom

I know I've said before that ranch life can be harsh, but the sweet birds at my feeder?!

We moved the bird feeder to the front of the house as the side patio is being worked on. It's pleasing to look out at the birds feeding while I myself am feeding at the dining table.

No sooner did I tell Larry the story that a Stellar Jay had come in and spooked off the smaller birds so I spooked off the Jay and the little ones quickly returned, than a falcon swooped in fast and furious, chased a small bird off and out over the pasture, caught it, and took it down to the ground and we must assume ate it based on the rough and tumble we saw going on!

Harsh!

We sat with our jaws dropped. It happened right in front of our eyes. We had to assume it was a falcon. What other bird the size of a large dove would eat a live bird?

A few minutes later, it came back, swooping through, and perched itself in the branches of one of the Junipers beside the house. I took the binoculars to be sure, and yes, it was a falcon. I went out and shooed it away, making threatening noises and clapping. It flew out over the pasture again and landed in a tree to the west. Eventually it moved on.

But really? Pretty little birds at the feeder being picked off by a falcon?

And I thought my biggest concern was the monster hawk scouting out the chickens and ducks.

Well, it is a wild animal kingdom, after all. But maybe we relocate the feeder.

Talking with the Animals

Why this secret of the joy of animals was not apparent to me until just recently, I'll never know. I'm just glad I finally figured it out!

In the course of a day, twice a day at least, I check in on and feed: 6 chickens, 2 dogs, 11 horses, 1 cockatiel and countless wild birds Eventually Larry and I eat.

It's obvious that animals bond to the person with food. And then there is the bonding that goes beyond the feed dish. There is acknowledgement, communication, friendship, companionship, love, sharing, giving and receiving. Mighty enjoyable.

So, Pippin is in the barn with laminitis. For those of you who do not know, this is a painful condition in horses' feet and if treated at the get-go and treated aggressively, the horse can recover. If not treated properly, the condition worsens and can lame a horse to the point of needing to euthanize. A word we do not care for in these parts.

I heard he had a tough day yesterday while I was gone. He was being shod and he flipped himself over backward in cross-ties (ties that connect to a post in the barn and to the sides of his halter.) It could have been the pain of having nails pounded into his feet. Normally, this is painless, but with the inflammation and pain of laminitis, we can only imagine it is not comfortable.

A double-edged sword. The shoes are critical to helping his feet heal.

So, when I got back, I stopped in to the barn to check on him. His face is all scratched up from the flip, his hind is scratched, his side too. He came to the stall door to greet me and show me his wounds.

I said, "Pippin, are you feeling better? Tell me what hurts."

Pippin backed up to the back of the stall, looked at me with focused eyes and in an alternating fashion, he lifted first his left leg, then his right, then his left again and again his right. He walked back up to me and we just cuddled.

He knows I'm there to care for him and help him. I added 3 more bags of pine shavings to give even more cushion to his stall floor.

Today, I was in the dry lot with my boys, Tripper and Alibi, scooping up their poop. They were walking around as they do, following me, nudging me hello, walking off.

Tripper came up to me, smelled the poop bucket I was filling and walked to the side of it. I looked at him and said, "Are you going to poop right there?" He pooped, right there. After he finished, I thanked him for making it so easy for me to pick up and he walked back from where he came.

Oh, the stories are adding up. The greatest thing is to believe and recognize how animals communicate with us. They are not just receiving whatever we send their way. And if you pay attention and listen with your eyes, heart, energy field, ears, hands, smell, even tasting the dust off their face when you kiss them, you will hear them.

It's not always easy to clear everything else out of their incoming communication path, but when you can, the message is loud and clear.

Back in the Saddle Again

This robin keeps appearing just across the lawn, perched on the fence between our house and the guest house. His belly is copper red. Just about every time I look over there, he's there. I'd like to think he is a sign of spring, but I'm not so sure he ever left.

It is almost one week ago that I returned to Bend. I wondered what it would be like to come back after being away just about 5 weeks. Would the animals still remember me? Would all my training have gone out the window? Would I still be so enamored by ranch living?

Thankfully, a resounding yes to just about 3 out of 3. Some minor retraining is in order.

The weather has been very agreeable. We haven't had full on sunshine each day, but at least some sun and it's been warm for January. The other day was 56 degrees with bright sun--that feels close to 70 in most other parts. The nights have not dropped down to the 20s or teens, or even much into the 30s. There are trade offs: cloud cover = warmer nights but no star gazing.

We have 3 new horses on the ranch: High Note, a very sweet gentle gray Arabian, Belle, a rather stout dark bay Quarterhorse, and Zak, the fiesty bay, son of Belle. The addition of these 3 has shifted the hierarchy in the dry lot. And in my absence, Lola has taken the lead role. What does this mean? Alibi does not come to the fence to greet me before eating. He has been pushed back in the pack, literally and in the food receiving line. Rest assured, he is just as kind and loving as he was before I left. Now, I have to feed everyone first and then go out to exchange affections with him.

The chickens are still going strong. We are grateful that we got the "cold hardy" breeds. I suppose it wouldn't do the feed stores any good to sell anything but that. It was luck on our part, we didn't know any better at the time. I must reiterate, it is an absolute joy to go collect eggs and have fresh farm eggs for cooking. We bought eggs at the super in Long Beach---hardly appealing.

The other day I checked out the garden and harvested a big sack of carrots! Yes, we still have carrots in the ground. They are in a raised bed, so they have a much better winter survival rate. I shared them with the chickens, the horses and my neighbors and still have a few in the refrigerator. I gave the garden a little water and left one or two more pickings in the ground.

Felon has become accustomed to sleeping in our mudroom at night. Well, she thinks she should be in there all day. I like going to bed knowing she is warm and cozy inside and it gives me a sense of security knowing she's in the house. On occasion, I let Jess come indoors during the day. He is a smelly boy, but it keeps him from tearing up the barn or the seat of the electric cart--ay ay ay.

And Pooker is happy as a lark to be back home. She did really well at our friends' house and she was well cared for. For the first couple of days, she would not leave my shoulder. It was all about reconnection and not letting me out of her sight. I would walk to the bedroom and she'd call out to me the minute she couldn't see me. Yesterday she decided to spend no less than 4 hours in the pantry. No kidding. I went in there, she wanted down, I put her on the shelf with cans and boxes and there she stayed. She just loves to walk on all the textures a pantry has to offer and she likes to "hide" on top of something tall. It puts her close to the next shelf up, making the open space smaller.

I put bird seed out and have seen one bird come in a couple of times. The others will be back. They are around, I hear them. I suppose it will take a few days for them to realize the food has returned.

In a sense I feel like an Italian grandmother: I feed all the hungry mouths and they happily eat up what is served and they love me for it. Don't they say food is the way to one's heart?

The Gift of Neighbors

Of course we can all take care of ourselves--haven't we just convinced ourselves of that?

But neighbors. Let me tell you about our neighbors out in Tumalo. We love our neighbors. We have learned oodles of tricks and tips from them. We have shared celebrations and holidays and lazy weekend days with them.

Larry and I have come to appreciate and enjoy fully the beauty and necessity of knowing your neighbors. A farm setting definitely lends itself to looking out for your neighbor.

Today, a day of extreme conditions, we were enormously grateful for all of our neighbors who despite dealing with their own extremes took time out to look after us.

Our plan was to wake up to our alarm at 5am to leave for the airport by 6am. At 4:55am my cell phone rang and it was Barb calling to be sure we were awake as the power had gone off overnight. Just minutes later, Steve was at the door knocking, "Are you awake? There's no power!"

So there we were, awake in a mighty cold house in -11 degrees! That is not a hyphen. The faucet water felt warm when I washed my face. Felon, who I've been letting sleep in the mudroom, took an unauthorized tour of the front of the house only to return to the mudroom because it was about 10 degrees warmer in there--everything is relative.

Leaving for the airport on time was easy. No showers, no breakfast, no clean-up. We made our way along the roads and noticed that Richard and April, our neighbors across the way, did have power. What a sigh of relief. Last night we dropped off Pooker to be in their loving care while we are away.

Leighsa texted to check to see if we got our flight okay. Barb and Randall checked that the chickens were still alive and Barb defrosted their water and refilled it. April called to let us know that despite the power outage for some of us, Pooker was doing fine and in fact, she made the room warmer for the little one. We got picked up at the airport, a little later arrival than scheduled, by Larry's office manager and when we arrived at the house in LB, the housekeeper and maintenance engineer met us in the garage with hugs and helping arms.

So to all of our neighbors, city slickers and Tumaloans alike, thank you for caring.

Put a holiday light strand on that and you've got yourself a fine present!

Who Was Expecting That?!

Well, here it is October 4 and what a surprise we had this morning!

No one seemed prepared.

The horses and dogs have not grown in their winter coats, this is the first snow for the chickens and they have no idea what's going on, the quail are soaked and hiding under the eaves, the vegetables are hanging in there under the plastic tarps, the song birds went quiet while the snow fell, the trees still have so many leaves they are snapping off and falling where gravity takes them, the grass is bright green under the junipers where no snow has touched down, and I, I dug out my rubber boots, cap and rain jacket to head out to greet the morning.

It is a wet snow, not exactly one for snow angels.

The nice thing about Central Oregon is that it snows, it's a pleasing sight, and then it goes away. Especially if the temps return to the mid-60s as is predicted.

So, if having the irrigation canals turned dry for the season on Friday wasn't enough to convince us of a season change, I think this one did it!

Just Like a Strand of Pearls

One of the friendly guys at the feed store told me that chickens have a finite number of eggs to lay. He said, "...think of them like a strand of pearls."

What an analogy.

Yesterday, Alice, one of our Barred Rock hens, laid her first egg! I was sick in bed so Larry went down to collect Juanita's daily pearl and came back to tell me we were blessed with two pearls!

I thought it was pretty grand to have hens laying eggs. But now--we have Bend-cultured pearls. Perfect small, brown, smooth, sometimes warm, and laid with love pearls.

Tiffany's ain't got nothin' on this hen house!

Could She Be a He?

Black Top. Esperanza. Alice. Peep Peep. Baby. Juanita. The names of our 6 chics, now 9 weeks old, and soon to be egg laying hens.

I was out watering the vegetable garden and I heard a call of some sort, something along the lines of the horn of a Model T Ford. "Well, that was weird" I thought to myself. And then I heard it again, sounding like it was coming from the chicken pen.

As I walked toward the pen, I saw Peep Peep, named so because she was the most vocal peeper at 2 days old when we picked up the chics, standing tall up on top of the water tower, neck stretched, tail straight up, wings pulled back, honking like a Model T Ford.

Not quite a cluck. Not a cock-a-doodle-doo. But definitely not a peep.

Okay, so we noticed that Peep Peep is a bit larger than the other 5 chics. She tends toward the bossy side. The beginning of her crown seems a little redder than the others, but is that really significant? We've been wondering.

Could it be? Could there be a cockeral amongst our pullets?

Stay tuned.