The wind is too much with us; late and soon,
Grabbing and spinning, it lays waste our hay:
Little we see in nature that the wind doesn't blow away!
It would blow even our hearts away, if we wore them on our sleeve
This wind that bares our bosom to any who can see;
The winds that are howling at all hours,
And we are up-gathered by it like dead flowers;
For this we are out of sorts.
It moves us plenty.--Great God! I'd rather be
Out standing in a quiet lea,
Than have glimpses of tumbleweeds going by;
At the rate of four to the seventh power.
Well, that's a poor imitation of William Wordsworth, "The World is Too Much With Us," but it sure fits. That wind has just been brutal the past two weeks. I guess it wouldn't be Wyoming without the wind.
I can't believe I've been early retired more than a year now. Where has the time gone? I think of Henry David Thoreau and his WALDEN: "Where I Lived and What I Lived For." I keep asking myself what I am doing this for. I feel like I'm just putting one foot in front of the other. I guess such is life, but I surely thought I'd have accomplished a lot more by now. Oh well, there's another year. Thoreau lived at Walden for two years.
My son should be home this fall, so I won't be out here alone anymore. I thank God for my little church in Lance Creek. I don't know what I'd do without the fellowship of the believers. I think I'd go mad.
It's a boring little church. We go, we all sit in the same place every week, we sing songs of praise to God, listen to a sermon, then dash out the door, unless we happen to be having pot luck. I guess it's easy to get in a rut, and I know God wants us to sing His praises, plus just being there is a witness to unbelievers in the community, of which there aren't many. Lance Creek is not even an incorporated town in the least populated county in the least populated state in the U.S. Many people are surprised we even have a church. Ranchers come in from about a 70 mile radius and there are normally 25 or more people in the pews on any given Sunday.
Some of the ladies that live way out started bringing baked goodies and someone puts a pot of coffee on before we get there. Ranchers bring eggs and milk to swap with their neighbors. I said that gives a whole new meaning to coming to church to get "fed."
Pastor is just an old cowboy who preaches in jeans and boots. He's a good preacher and you sure don't go to sleep in his sermons. You never know what he's going to say next. We've seen many hardened old ranchers come to Jesus since he came, because he makes the rounds with his horse, helping with gathering, branding and weaning. Next thing you know, some crusty, formerly hard-drinkin, old rancher that no one ever thought would come, takes their place in the pew. So I guess habits are good when it comes to passing yourself by the Lord's house on Sunday.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Horse Sale Weekend
It was horse sale weekend in Colorado. I hustled around Saturday morning to get all the ones I should have been taking to the sale fed before going. I had really planned on having at least one ready to go, but my knee and the weather has prevented me from doing much riding since I got back from visiting my grandson.
A friend of mine had two horses cataloged in the sale, so I wanted to go see what they brought. Well, I could have found that out later, but it was a HORSE sale. I had to go. It's business-deductible. Besides my horse lovin' niece and her horsey friends were going to be there. No matter that it's 450 miles round-trip in a day.
I got there just as the last horse was showing on the preview. A little late, as usual. There were horses of every size, color and gender. Big horses, little horses, paint horses, speckled horses, grulla horses, black horses, blue horses, gray horses, palominos, duns and lots of plain sorrels and bays. There were pregnant mares, stallions, geldings and fillys. Whatever you could want in a horse, you could have found it there. There was an own grandson of Peptoboonsmal and a son of Shining Spark. These are horses that command $10,000 stud fees. The Peptoboonsmal horse sold for much less than his stud fee, I'm sure. He was a beauty, a blue roan, very correct, two years old and still a stallion. If I did not already have a stallion, I would have been bidding. I couldn't believe they let him go for the $3900 they were bid.
The Shining Spark son was no-saled through the ring, but the auctioneer was interested in him, so there might have been a deal made out back. He was a seasoned show horse that had won championships at some shows, although he did have some age on him at 13. He only garnered a bid of $2,000 in the ring.
The sales were all over the board with not much rhyme or reason that I could see, although I was busy visiting with all my friends and not paying attention like I should have been. Gray seemed to be the in-demand color. Should have taken Gracie! Maybe next time, if her foot gets well.
My friend's horses didn't sell very well. We were all sad. One of them was a very nice own grandson of Two Eyed Jack, and those are getting scarce. He was well, well broke by the kid that trains some for me. The horse brought $2000, which is about half what he should have brought. Mark, the guy that owned him, is a paraplegic who raises horses. He just hooks his bumper-pull trailer to his van, loads them up and takes off with them.
"That chair doesn't slow you down much," I told him.
"If I let it, I'd never do anything," was his reply.
Great attitude.
A friend of mine had two horses cataloged in the sale, so I wanted to go see what they brought. Well, I could have found that out later, but it was a HORSE sale. I had to go. It's business-deductible. Besides my horse lovin' niece and her horsey friends were going to be there. No matter that it's 450 miles round-trip in a day.
I got there just as the last horse was showing on the preview. A little late, as usual. There were horses of every size, color and gender. Big horses, little horses, paint horses, speckled horses, grulla horses, black horses, blue horses, gray horses, palominos, duns and lots of plain sorrels and bays. There were pregnant mares, stallions, geldings and fillys. Whatever you could want in a horse, you could have found it there. There was an own grandson of Peptoboonsmal and a son of Shining Spark. These are horses that command $10,000 stud fees. The Peptoboonsmal horse sold for much less than his stud fee, I'm sure. He was a beauty, a blue roan, very correct, two years old and still a stallion. If I did not already have a stallion, I would have been bidding. I couldn't believe they let him go for the $3900 they were bid.
The Shining Spark son was no-saled through the ring, but the auctioneer was interested in him, so there might have been a deal made out back. He was a seasoned show horse that had won championships at some shows, although he did have some age on him at 13. He only garnered a bid of $2,000 in the ring.
The sales were all over the board with not much rhyme or reason that I could see, although I was busy visiting with all my friends and not paying attention like I should have been. Gray seemed to be the in-demand color. Should have taken Gracie! Maybe next time, if her foot gets well.
My friend's horses didn't sell very well. We were all sad. One of them was a very nice own grandson of Two Eyed Jack, and those are getting scarce. He was well, well broke by the kid that trains some for me. The horse brought $2000, which is about half what he should have brought. Mark, the guy that owned him, is a paraplegic who raises horses. He just hooks his bumper-pull trailer to his van, loads them up and takes off with them.
"That chair doesn't slow you down much," I told him.
"If I let it, I'd never do anything," was his reply.
Great attitude.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Amazing Grace
Ok, where’s that global warming Al Gore’s been talking about. I’ll take a little of that. I swear, if this keeps up, I’m going to have to buy some more long underwear. I only have two pair and I’ve had one or the other of them on for the better part of two months now. At least, the wind stayed down today, and I was grateful because I had to go cut more firewood.
I have a cute little Quarter Horse filly that has been in the doctoring bay for a while now. Her everyday name is Gracie and she is gray in color. She turned up lame last spring. When the farrier came to trim hooves, he noticed a lump about the size of a hen’s egg on her forepastern. I made an appointment at the vet for her, but before I could get her in, it had grown to the size of a goose egg and she was lame.
They did an x-ray and found she had a bone spur growing in there amidst all those ligaments. The vet said there was nothing they could do. There is little besides bone and ligament in that area, so surgery was out of the question. Even if they could do surgery, he said the bone spur would probably just grow back, because a bone spur is a response to a trauma sometines.
I had a bone spur on my heel once. It was very painful, so I went to several doctors, trying to get some relief. My Orthopedic Dr. gave me a shot of cortisone and that helped--for about two weeks. He said he couldn’t give me another one for six months. So I went to a chiropractor because one of my friends said she’d had one cured by this same chiropractor. The chiropractor told me I’d have to sign up for at least twelve treatments, so I did. Each time she’d massage my foot, it would feel better for about an hour. Finally, I figured a Podiatrist was what I needed. The Podiatrist thought I needed wedges for my shoes at a cost of $1,200. I wasn’t thinking, or I would have rolled up dollar bills to make wedges and saved myself some money.
Nothing worked. I was starting to get a spur on my other heel, too. Desperate, I decided to try those magnetic insoles, because my Orthopedic Dr. had told me the bone spur was an arthritic condition caused by a shortening of the Achillies Tendon. I had heard those magnets were supposed to be good for arthritis, so I figured it was worth a shot. They worked. Within two months, I went for another x-ray and the largest spur had decreased by half and within four months, it was just a little bump.
So I decided to try magnetic therapy on Gracie. I put a magnetic wrap on her leg in August and she wore it until November. The bump had receded to the size of a hen’s egg again, but the wrap was rubbing sores on the front of her pastern. She is still a little lame on it, but I just got a different kind of wrap that I hope will not cause sores. Here’s a recent picture of Gracie. She’s coming three years old and has excellent bloodlines, so would make a good broodmare someday. Gracie’s for sale (cheap) with, or without, the bump. I hope it goes away soon.
I have a cute little Quarter Horse filly that has been in the doctoring bay for a while now. Her everyday name is Gracie and she is gray in color. She turned up lame last spring. When the farrier came to trim hooves, he noticed a lump about the size of a hen’s egg on her forepastern. I made an appointment at the vet for her, but before I could get her in, it had grown to the size of a goose egg and she was lame.
They did an x-ray and found she had a bone spur growing in there amidst all those ligaments. The vet said there was nothing they could do. There is little besides bone and ligament in that area, so surgery was out of the question. Even if they could do surgery, he said the bone spur would probably just grow back, because a bone spur is a response to a trauma sometines.
I had a bone spur on my heel once. It was very painful, so I went to several doctors, trying to get some relief. My Orthopedic Dr. gave me a shot of cortisone and that helped--for about two weeks. He said he couldn’t give me another one for six months. So I went to a chiropractor because one of my friends said she’d had one cured by this same chiropractor. The chiropractor told me I’d have to sign up for at least twelve treatments, so I did. Each time she’d massage my foot, it would feel better for about an hour. Finally, I figured a Podiatrist was what I needed. The Podiatrist thought I needed wedges for my shoes at a cost of $1,200. I wasn’t thinking, or I would have rolled up dollar bills to make wedges and saved myself some money.
Nothing worked. I was starting to get a spur on my other heel, too. Desperate, I decided to try those magnetic insoles, because my Orthopedic Dr. had told me the bone spur was an arthritic condition caused by a shortening of the Achillies Tendon. I had heard those magnets were supposed to be good for arthritis, so I figured it was worth a shot. They worked. Within two months, I went for another x-ray and the largest spur had decreased by half and within four months, it was just a little bump.
So I decided to try magnetic therapy on Gracie. I put a magnetic wrap on her leg in August and she wore it until November. The bump had receded to the size of a hen’s egg again, but the wrap was rubbing sores on the front of her pastern. She is still a little lame on it, but I just got a different kind of wrap that I hope will not cause sores. Here’s a recent picture of Gracie. She’s coming three years old and has excellent bloodlines, so would make a good broodmare someday. Gracie’s for sale (cheap) with, or without, the bump. I hope it goes away soon.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Stuck!
Today I got stuck for the first time this winter. Well, the second time if you count the tractor incident. I should take my own advice in my eHow on how to drive in snow. You can always break out a drift going uphill, but don't try to break one out going downhill, especially in reverse. Going uphill, you can always back out and get another run at the drift. Not so going downhill.
I had loaded up the mares' daily ration of hay and headed out to feed. Here's a recent picture of the mare herd after feeding.
I've been trying to feed down in the draws so the wind doesn't blow too much of the hay away. Today I decided to be tricky and just drive into the corral to put the hay in bunks. Whipped up the bank with no trouble, but then the truck wouldn't quite fit through the gate, so I began to back out. Didn't quite get in my tracks on the way back down and, whump, I was stuck and already in 4 wheel drive.
I'm grateful I wasn't far from the house, because the outside temp was -5 degrees with a little wind. It was probably -15 with the wind chill factor. My feet got cold walking from the barn to the house to get the chain. It was either chain up, shovel snow, or get the other 4X4 to pull the stuck one out. I was also grateful that 2003 Chevy had not sold when I advertised it for sale last summer! It's good to have two.
I put the big V-10 Ford into neutral. It has an automatic transmission, which makes pulling a little dicy, and you don't want to do too much of it. I had to yank on it pretty hard several times, then it popped out, and rolled back down the bank until it contacted the Chevy! It whanged pretty good, and I said, "Oh, dear!" But with that steel flatbed on the Chevy, there wasn't any damage that I could discern. Thank You, Lord.
So I finished feeding, then walked back to get the other truck. When I had everything all straightened out and got back in the house to warm my toes up, my friend that owns five of the horses I'm feeding showed up. I was kind of glad the mess was all straightened out. He would have teased me, and told everybody, which is what I just did, come to think of it. Somebody close the gate.
I had loaded up the mares' daily ration of hay and headed out to feed. Here's a recent picture of the mare herd after feeding.
I've been trying to feed down in the draws so the wind doesn't blow too much of the hay away. Today I decided to be tricky and just drive into the corral to put the hay in bunks. Whipped up the bank with no trouble, but then the truck wouldn't quite fit through the gate, so I began to back out. Didn't quite get in my tracks on the way back down and, whump, I was stuck and already in 4 wheel drive.
I'm grateful I wasn't far from the house, because the outside temp was -5 degrees with a little wind. It was probably -15 with the wind chill factor. My feet got cold walking from the barn to the house to get the chain. It was either chain up, shovel snow, or get the other 4X4 to pull the stuck one out. I was also grateful that 2003 Chevy had not sold when I advertised it for sale last summer! It's good to have two.
I put the big V-10 Ford into neutral. It has an automatic transmission, which makes pulling a little dicy, and you don't want to do too much of it. I had to yank on it pretty hard several times, then it popped out, and rolled back down the bank until it contacted the Chevy! It whanged pretty good, and I said, "Oh, dear!" But with that steel flatbed on the Chevy, there wasn't any damage that I could discern. Thank You, Lord.
So I finished feeding, then walked back to get the other truck. When I had everything all straightened out and got back in the house to warm my toes up, my friend that owns five of the horses I'm feeding showed up. I was kind of glad the mess was all straightened out. He would have teased me, and told everybody, which is what I just did, come to think of it. Somebody close the gate.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
More Snow
I love being retired. I am able to do all kinds of things that I have always wanted to do, but never had time, like making big bead tapioca pudding. You have to soak the beads overnight, and I would always forget to do that when I was working. Some people call it frog eye pudding, and it does kinda look like frog eyes, but it is yummy. I can't wait for my grandson to move closer and I will make him chocolate chip cookies and frog eye pudding.
Also, I have time to go to family gatherings that I could not when I had a job. Today I went to Crawford, NE, to my cousin's 50th wedding anniversary. When I got up this morning, it was about 15 degrees and no wind, so I didn't hurry around too much to go feed. When I went out to feed, it was snowing and the temperature had dropped to about 5 above zero, but still no wind, so it didn't feel too bad. Got things fed, then almost changed my mind about going to Nebraska, but I really did want to go. I waited until the last minute and it quit snowing. Still no wind, so off I went.
My cousin about fainted when I came in. Even some of the family that lived in Crawford had not come because of the weather. My cousin's grandson was shot by a policeman last fall, and I wanted to be there to continue to show my support for them. The policeman has been indicted by a Grand Jury for the shooting, and has been removed from his job. But emotions are still running high in little old Crawford.
It was snowing in Nebraska and the wind came up while I was there, so I decided I'd best get headed for home, or I might be caught in a ground blizzard. The roads weren't much worse coming home and there was still no wind here, but it had started snowing again, and everything was covered with about a four-inch blanket of snow. Beautiful, and still not any colder, still no wind, thank God. It's pretty treacherous underfoot out there now, though, because we had a layer of ice where we had packed the snow from before down, and now fresh snow on top of it. A person could fall and bust their.....well, you know.
I’m glad I went and cut more wood last week, I was almost out. Looks like I’m going to be needing it. We heated our house with wood when I was a kid, and I hated it, the constant cutting, splitting and fetching of wood, plus the mess from the ash and soot, but now I know. There's nothing like the warmth you get from burning wood, or the feeling you get when your wood shed is full.
Also, I have time to go to family gatherings that I could not when I had a job. Today I went to Crawford, NE, to my cousin's 50th wedding anniversary. When I got up this morning, it was about 15 degrees and no wind, so I didn't hurry around too much to go feed. When I went out to feed, it was snowing and the temperature had dropped to about 5 above zero, but still no wind, so it didn't feel too bad. Got things fed, then almost changed my mind about going to Nebraska, but I really did want to go. I waited until the last minute and it quit snowing. Still no wind, so off I went.
My cousin about fainted when I came in. Even some of the family that lived in Crawford had not come because of the weather. My cousin's grandson was shot by a policeman last fall, and I wanted to be there to continue to show my support for them. The policeman has been indicted by a Grand Jury for the shooting, and has been removed from his job. But emotions are still running high in little old Crawford.
It was snowing in Nebraska and the wind came up while I was there, so I decided I'd best get headed for home, or I might be caught in a ground blizzard. The roads weren't much worse coming home and there was still no wind here, but it had started snowing again, and everything was covered with about a four-inch blanket of snow. Beautiful, and still not any colder, still no wind, thank God. It's pretty treacherous underfoot out there now, though, because we had a layer of ice where we had packed the snow from before down, and now fresh snow on top of it. A person could fall and bust their.....well, you know.
I’m glad I went and cut more wood last week, I was almost out. Looks like I’m going to be needing it. We heated our house with wood when I was a kid, and I hated it, the constant cutting, splitting and fetching of wood, plus the mess from the ash and soot, but now I know. There's nothing like the warmth you get from burning wood, or the feeling you get when your wood shed is full.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
A Lady and a Baby
Great God in heaven, it's cold out there. I just got in from feeding and trying to keep my digits from freezing and breaking off. The radio said it's -30 degrees with the wind chill factor. It actually warmed up in the night. Yesterday outdoor temps hovered around ten above zero all day. This morning the thermometer said plus 15.
The animals all seemed grateful for the hay. Digestion of forage helps them keep warm. Many people feed too much grain. Digestive systems in horses and cattle weren't designed with grain supplements in mind. They do much better on a diet of just vegetation if it's good quality grass or hay.
I have four mares that are due to foal this spring. This is my flagship mare. Her name is A Painted Lady. She is twelve years old and 16 hands tall.
Lady is one of my mares that is carrying a foal. I have been watching her carefully due to a mishap I had with her a few years ago when she aborted her foal just a month from her due date. She was boarded out at that time, during my hiatus from the ranch while working in Cheyenne, so I wasn't able to check her every day.
She's due around May 1, so about March 15, I plan to bring her in to the barn where I can monitor her very closely. I'll let you know how that goes. Somebody close the gate.
The animals all seemed grateful for the hay. Digestion of forage helps them keep warm. Many people feed too much grain. Digestive systems in horses and cattle weren't designed with grain supplements in mind. They do much better on a diet of just vegetation if it's good quality grass or hay.
I have four mares that are due to foal this spring. This is my flagship mare. Her name is A Painted Lady. She is twelve years old and 16 hands tall.
I bought Lady at a sale in 2002. She was raised by the people who were my surrogate parents when I was growing up. I was impressed, not only by her color and conformation the day of the sale, but the rider was able to do just anything he wanted with her--even throw a rope. Since I knew the couple that raised her, I knew she had been handled correctly. She had four colts for them prior to the sale, and they said all of them had been paints.
Lady has only produced one colt for me, also a paint. He is almost her double--same coloring, same coat pattern, about the same size. Even I get them confused if I'm not paying close attention. Here is King Sweet Bee, her offspring.
Lady has only produced one colt for me, also a paint. He is almost her double--same coloring, same coat pattern, about the same size. Even I get them confused if I'm not paying close attention. Here is King Sweet Bee, her offspring.
King is for sale. I actually traded him off as a weanling in return for having the ranch house and garage painted (a paint for a paint) then wound up getting him back when he was a three year-old. The kids had kept him and fed him for two and a half years, had him gelded, paid a professional trainer to start him under saddle. He's very gentle, but I haven't had time to ride much since I moved back to the ranch, plus he's even taller than his dam--about 16.2 hands--and a bum knee has prevented me from desiring to climb to those heights. King is advertised on Horsetopia.com.
Lady is one of my mares that is carrying a foal. I have been watching her carefully due to a mishap I had with her a few years ago when she aborted her foal just a month from her due date. She was boarded out at that time, during my hiatus from the ranch while working in Cheyenne, so I wasn't able to check her every day.
She's due around May 1, so about March 15, I plan to bring her in to the barn where I can monitor her very closely. I'll let you know how that goes. Somebody close the gate.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Writing and Dreaming of Little Cowboys
Ok, it’s a new year, and I’m back to my writing activities. I am working on the eHow project with Writers Research Group, which is working under the auspices of Thompson-Gale. I write short how-to articles on a variety of topics. I have written over a hundred of these since August. Many of them have been on the subject of horses, which are very easy for me to write, having been raising, training and showing horses for most of my life. WRG considers me a subject matter expert on the subject of horses. So I snap up any titles I can with horses as the subject.
Only thing is, I don’t get credit for these articles, only paid, which is an ok trade-off. I can come up with my own subjects if I want, but these have to be approved by eHow, and I get paid a little extra for originating the title. Since my creativity level gets less and less with age, I like this arrangement, because WRG feeds me titles. I just have to be fast and on the ball when the titles come out, and claim all the good ones I can. I have written articles that run the gamut from throwing a branding party to playing with a salamander to home improvement to how to be born again.
It doesn’t pay very much, but it’s probably as good as I could command by driving 60 miles a day to a job in town, and I get to stay home and “surf the web.” Plus, I can be on the ranch to respond to whatever circumstances arise. It keeps my mind working and my hands busy, so maybe the old-timers disease won’t set in too soon, and you can just leave the gate open.
Only thing is, I don’t get credit for these articles, only paid, which is an ok trade-off. I can come up with my own subjects if I want, but these have to be approved by eHow, and I get paid a little extra for originating the title. Since my creativity level gets less and less with age, I like this arrangement, because WRG feeds me titles. I just have to be fast and on the ball when the titles come out, and claim all the good ones I can. I have written articles that run the gamut from throwing a branding party to playing with a salamander to home improvement to how to be born again.
It doesn’t pay very much, but it’s probably as good as I could command by driving 60 miles a day to a job in town, and I get to stay home and “surf the web.” Plus, I can be on the ranch to respond to whatever circumstances arise. It keeps my mind working and my hands busy, so maybe the old-timers disease won’t set in too soon, and you can just leave the gate open.
Speaking of old-timers, I am a new grandma. My grandson is on the right coast, though, and much too far away from the ranch for me to make him a little cowboy. Here’s a recent picture of the adorable little guy. 
I got to spend a week with him when he was about four days old, but I feel I am missing out, as he is growing and changing with every picture his dad sends my way. He’s the spittin’ image of his dad when he was that age, so I know what his parents are in for the day he turns 2! You’ll be a payin’ for your rasin,’ son. I hear he already rules the household from a mole I planted, but I expected as much. Wouldn’t have it any other way.
Hopefully, his dad will be leaving the service and moving closer to Wyoming this fall, then I can begin his cowboy training. Must get those chaps and cowboy hat bought.
Hopefully, his dad will be leaving the service and moving closer to Wyoming this fall, then I can begin his cowboy training. Must get those chaps and cowboy hat bought.
Friday, January 11, 2008
My Friend, the Pitchfork
My new "favorite" tool has become my pitchfork. I have been pitching tons and tons of hay, because my tractor is still basically disabled. I never thought I would covet a pitchfork. It fell out of the pickup box the other day and I had to backtrack a couple miles to find it before I could go on with my day.
There is a difference in pitchforks. I had been using manure forks to try to pitch hay, and it made the job even more onerous. I finally bit the bullet and spent the $35 for a hay fork. I now guard it with my life.
The handles kept falling off those old manure forks I was using, and even off the new one a friend had given me. I would jamb the handle back down on the tongue of the fork and struggle with it for some time. Then I tried duct tape. That worked for a time, too, but soon the fork was flying off into the hay again with every forkfull.
Mr. Dent had a drill press in his garage, so I took fork and handle over to him one afternoon. I asked him to drill a hole through the handle and into the fork tongue so I could bolt the handle to the fork, which he was happy to do.
When he finished, I exclaimed, "Oh boy, now I have a good pitchfork again!"
Clark shook his head and smiled a wry smile. "I'll bet those words haven't crossed a woman's lips in a hundred years," he said.
Clark always trys to act gruff and grumpy, but he sure has a heart.
Being the country bumpkin that I was when I moved to Cheyenne, I knew outdoor burning was allowed, because we were in the county, but I didn't know there were laws that said you had to call in and inform dispatch when you were going to burn. One Saturday, I had a yard full of neighborhood kids, and was trying to keep them entertained and out of trouble. I had a pile of old, moldy hay out by the shop that needed disposed of, so I decided a bon-fire would be fun for the kids. I stretched a hose out there and set the hay on fire. It wasn't long, and the dad of some of the kids came screeching into my driveway in his mini van. He jumped out and grabbed the hose and started dousing the fire.
I didn't know him from Adam, and was yelling at him not to put my fire out, and he said excitedly, "They're coming. Someone called the fire in and they'll give you a ticket!" The guy had a police scanner, heard the dispatch, and he knew his kids were in my yard.
Right then, I could hear sirens. Most of the kids had bikes and they bailed on them and flew out into the street. Some of them jumped into my stock trailer to hide. These kids were from the wrong side of the tracks, and they knew what policemen meant--someone was going to jail!
There were so many kids on bikes out in the street, the fire trucks had to stop and the Deputy Sheriff's vehicle in front of them slowed down. I went out to meet the nice deputy. When I explained to him that I was new in the neighborhood, he just told me I was supposed to call the emergency center about a controlled burn next time before striking the match. I said, "OK."
The emergency vehicles left and the kids began filtering back into the yard.
"Did you get a ticket?" they asked with eyes wide.
"Nope," I said, "I told them you were all my kids, and they felt sorry for me, so they didn't give me a ticket."
When I told Clark that somebody in the neighborhood had called in my fire, because they didn't like the horses, he guffawed and said, "Why, you're the best thing that's happened around here in years," then he realized he'd just said something very nice, and continued, "well, you know what I mean."
"Well, I know what I heard you say," I replied, "and thanks!"
The day I told Clark I was moving back to the ranch, he said, "You can't move," and then quickly added, "you have a tractor," to save his reputation.
There is a difference in pitchforks. I had been using manure forks to try to pitch hay, and it made the job even more onerous. I finally bit the bullet and spent the $35 for a hay fork. I now guard it with my life.
The handles kept falling off those old manure forks I was using, and even off the new one a friend had given me. I would jamb the handle back down on the tongue of the fork and struggle with it for some time. Then I tried duct tape. That worked for a time, too, but soon the fork was flying off into the hay again with every forkfull.
Mr. Dent had a drill press in his garage, so I took fork and handle over to him one afternoon. I asked him to drill a hole through the handle and into the fork tongue so I could bolt the handle to the fork, which he was happy to do.
When he finished, I exclaimed, "Oh boy, now I have a good pitchfork again!"
Clark shook his head and smiled a wry smile. "I'll bet those words haven't crossed a woman's lips in a hundred years," he said.
Clark always trys to act gruff and grumpy, but he sure has a heart.
Being the country bumpkin that I was when I moved to Cheyenne, I knew outdoor burning was allowed, because we were in the county, but I didn't know there were laws that said you had to call in and inform dispatch when you were going to burn. One Saturday, I had a yard full of neighborhood kids, and was trying to keep them entertained and out of trouble. I had a pile of old, moldy hay out by the shop that needed disposed of, so I decided a bon-fire would be fun for the kids. I stretched a hose out there and set the hay on fire. It wasn't long, and the dad of some of the kids came screeching into my driveway in his mini van. He jumped out and grabbed the hose and started dousing the fire.
I didn't know him from Adam, and was yelling at him not to put my fire out, and he said excitedly, "They're coming. Someone called the fire in and they'll give you a ticket!" The guy had a police scanner, heard the dispatch, and he knew his kids were in my yard.
Right then, I could hear sirens. Most of the kids had bikes and they bailed on them and flew out into the street. Some of them jumped into my stock trailer to hide. These kids were from the wrong side of the tracks, and they knew what policemen meant--someone was going to jail!
There were so many kids on bikes out in the street, the fire trucks had to stop and the Deputy Sheriff's vehicle in front of them slowed down. I went out to meet the nice deputy. When I explained to him that I was new in the neighborhood, he just told me I was supposed to call the emergency center about a controlled burn next time before striking the match. I said, "OK."
The emergency vehicles left and the kids began filtering back into the yard.
"Did you get a ticket?" they asked with eyes wide.
"Nope," I said, "I told them you were all my kids, and they felt sorry for me, so they didn't give me a ticket."
When I told Clark that somebody in the neighborhood had called in my fire, because they didn't like the horses, he guffawed and said, "Why, you're the best thing that's happened around here in years," then he realized he'd just said something very nice, and continued, "well, you know what I mean."
"Well, I know what I heard you say," I replied, "and thanks!"
The day I told Clark I was moving back to the ranch, he said, "You can't move," and then quickly added, "you have a tractor," to save his reputation.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Mr. Dent
I had great neighbors in Cheyenne during the five years I lived there, after being transferred there on my job in 2002. I chose a corner lot on the edge of Cheyenne next to a big vacant lot, for the precise reason that I am a country girl, and I didn't want neighbors that close. The first six months I was there, no one in the neighborhood spoke to me or even waved. Then one day the lady across the street waved to me as she went from her house to her workshop.
I can imagine what they must have thought, because most of them disclosed to me what they were thinking after I got to know them a little. I pulled in with trucks, tractors, trailers, and went to work cleaning up the place. The previous owners had operated a welding shop on the premises, and someone told me the whole back acre had been a junk yard at one time. I hauled tons of junk out the first year I was there, and after I put horses on it, their hooves kept churning up various car parts like springs, brake shoes, mufflers, air cleaners, hub caps, etc. I think I dug up a whole car out there. That's when I decided to call my little place the "Redneck Ranch."
I got to know the waving neighbor, and she was a fun lady. She'd lived in Cheyenne most of her life, except for a few years following her first husband around in the military lifestyle. Then she married Mr. Dent, from Dent County, Missouri. Yes, the county was named after his family. I call him the original hippie. He is definitely a redneck. A retired Consolidated Freightways truck driver, he drives a jacked up 1970 Chevy Van, 4 X 4, and has an original C.H.I.P.S. motorcycle. He was jealous of my tractor.
Said tractor had a low front tire when I went out to do a job one Saturday morning. I knew Mr. Dent had a portable air tank, so I walked over and asked if I could borrow it to air up my tractor tire. He said he'd bring it over. After loading the five-pound apparatus in his 4 X 4 van, he drove the 100 or so feet over to where my tractor was. I had to open a gate and take down a fence to get him and his big, honkin' van in there.
He puffed up the front tire and said, "Any more of 'em need it, there's a few more pounds left in here."
I looked and one rear tire was a little soft, so he came around with the air tank while I pulled the valve stem cover off. He squashed the air chuck up against the stem and fluid began squirting from it.
"That's gonna have to be fixed," he stated.
I stuck my finger up against the stem to keep all the air and fluid from escaping, while he walked back over to his garage to get his valve stem tool. Large tractor tires are sometimes filled with calcium chloride, a corrosive substance, and it had rusted the valve stem away. Clark came back and inserted his valve stem remover, and promptly got it stuck. He worked and worked, but couldn't extract either the tool or the valve stem. He finally stepped back and I reached in there, grabbed the tool, gave a sharp tug, and out it popped. I stuffed the valve stem cap back on and stopped the leak.
Mr. Dent's mouth dropped open and he scratched his head as he looked at me. "No wonder you don't have a man living over here with you," he said. "A man would just be in your way." Amen to that.
I can imagine what they must have thought, because most of them disclosed to me what they were thinking after I got to know them a little. I pulled in with trucks, tractors, trailers, and went to work cleaning up the place. The previous owners had operated a welding shop on the premises, and someone told me the whole back acre had been a junk yard at one time. I hauled tons of junk out the first year I was there, and after I put horses on it, their hooves kept churning up various car parts like springs, brake shoes, mufflers, air cleaners, hub caps, etc. I think I dug up a whole car out there. That's when I decided to call my little place the "Redneck Ranch."
I got to know the waving neighbor, and she was a fun lady. She'd lived in Cheyenne most of her life, except for a few years following her first husband around in the military lifestyle. Then she married Mr. Dent, from Dent County, Missouri. Yes, the county was named after his family. I call him the original hippie. He is definitely a redneck. A retired Consolidated Freightways truck driver, he drives a jacked up 1970 Chevy Van, 4 X 4, and has an original C.H.I.P.S. motorcycle. He was jealous of my tractor.
Said tractor had a low front tire when I went out to do a job one Saturday morning. I knew Mr. Dent had a portable air tank, so I walked over and asked if I could borrow it to air up my tractor tire. He said he'd bring it over. After loading the five-pound apparatus in his 4 X 4 van, he drove the 100 or so feet over to where my tractor was. I had to open a gate and take down a fence to get him and his big, honkin' van in there.
He puffed up the front tire and said, "Any more of 'em need it, there's a few more pounds left in here."
I looked and one rear tire was a little soft, so he came around with the air tank while I pulled the valve stem cover off. He squashed the air chuck up against the stem and fluid began squirting from it.
"That's gonna have to be fixed," he stated.
I stuck my finger up against the stem to keep all the air and fluid from escaping, while he walked back over to his garage to get his valve stem tool. Large tractor tires are sometimes filled with calcium chloride, a corrosive substance, and it had rusted the valve stem away. Clark came back and inserted his valve stem remover, and promptly got it stuck. He worked and worked, but couldn't extract either the tool or the valve stem. He finally stepped back and I reached in there, grabbed the tool, gave a sharp tug, and out it popped. I stuffed the valve stem cap back on and stopped the leak.
Mr. Dent's mouth dropped open and he scratched his head as he looked at me. "No wonder you don't have a man living over here with you," he said. "A man would just be in your way." Amen to that.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Gremlin and Cushings
Gremlin grass foundered at an early age, but not badly. There was no rotation of the coffin bone, so I was able to keep the problem under control by limiting his green grass consumption and frequent trimming and shoeing. In his old age, however, I noticed he was growing very long hair and not shedding it readily in the spring. He looked like a Chia Pet.
My daughter, by this time, had finished her Bachelors Degree with honors in Animal Science at Texas A&M, and also a Masters Degree in Equine Reproduction. She told me to suspect Cushings when I began telling her of Gremlin's hairy problem. So, off we went to the vet for a blood test. Jesi was right, and Gremlin was diagnosed with Cushings. The vet told me the founder was probably an early symptom of the disease, although we didn't know it at the time. He was also losing muscle tone along his top line, like so many older horses do.
The vet first prescribed a tiny capsule to be given with his grain once a day. Well, Gremlin soon realized his grain was being spiked, and he would eat everything except that tiny pill. I watched him one day and he had it in his mouth with a mouthfull of grain and he managed to spit that pill out and swallow most of the grain. I had already seen some results from the medication--Pergolide--so we went to a liquid form for top-dressing his grain. He also figured out how to eat all the way around that little lump of grain that was infused with the tincture.
I was at my wit's end, but the other day I was doing some research on the Internet about Cushings in horses, and I read an article by a lady who had been treating an older horse with a natural remedy, Chasteberry, for a year with great results. It not only reversed the symptoms, a follow-up blood test showed no signs of the disease. So yesterday I was in Casper for Jason Miller's victory celebration and I paid a visit to the natural foods store on the off chance they would have this herb. They did. It costs $1.00 an ounce, but it only takes two teaspoons of ground up Chasteberry a day, so it is going to cost much less than the Pergolide, also. If it clears up Germlin's Cushings, that will be a win-win situation. I'll let you know how this works out.
Already, I'm dreading the day I have to say goodbye to my old friend. He's the first horse that I've been with his whole life. I had a Red Heeler for fourteen years, and didn't even think I liked her that much, but when the day came that the vet said all her bodily functions were shutting down and it would be kinder to let her go...well, he went from worrying about the dog to worrying about me.
He kept asking, "Are you sure you're going to be able to drive home?"
It was pretty hard to see to drive through the wall of teardrops falling all the way home. So I know, 24+ years with a buddy that has been my best cow pony, I'll be running and bawling the fences, pining for him. Somebody close the gate!
My daughter, by this time, had finished her Bachelors Degree with honors in Animal Science at Texas A&M, and also a Masters Degree in Equine Reproduction. She told me to suspect Cushings when I began telling her of Gremlin's hairy problem. So, off we went to the vet for a blood test. Jesi was right, and Gremlin was diagnosed with Cushings. The vet told me the founder was probably an early symptom of the disease, although we didn't know it at the time. He was also losing muscle tone along his top line, like so many older horses do.
The vet first prescribed a tiny capsule to be given with his grain once a day. Well, Gremlin soon realized his grain was being spiked, and he would eat everything except that tiny pill. I watched him one day and he had it in his mouth with a mouthfull of grain and he managed to spit that pill out and swallow most of the grain. I had already seen some results from the medication--Pergolide--so we went to a liquid form for top-dressing his grain. He also figured out how to eat all the way around that little lump of grain that was infused with the tincture.
I was at my wit's end, but the other day I was doing some research on the Internet about Cushings in horses, and I read an article by a lady who had been treating an older horse with a natural remedy, Chasteberry, for a year with great results. It not only reversed the symptoms, a follow-up blood test showed no signs of the disease. So yesterday I was in Casper for Jason Miller's victory celebration and I paid a visit to the natural foods store on the off chance they would have this herb. They did. It costs $1.00 an ounce, but it only takes two teaspoons of ground up Chasteberry a day, so it is going to cost much less than the Pergolide, also. If it clears up Germlin's Cushings, that will be a win-win situation. I'll let you know how this works out.
Already, I'm dreading the day I have to say goodbye to my old friend. He's the first horse that I've been with his whole life. I had a Red Heeler for fourteen years, and didn't even think I liked her that much, but when the day came that the vet said all her bodily functions were shutting down and it would be kinder to let her go...well, he went from worrying about the dog to worrying about me.
He kept asking, "Are you sure you're going to be able to drive home?"
It was pretty hard to see to drive through the wall of teardrops falling all the way home. So I know, 24+ years with a buddy that has been my best cow pony, I'll be running and bawling the fences, pining for him. Somebody close the gate!
Friday, January 4, 2008
Good Old Gremlin
After Gremlin was past age 10, I started letting my kids ride him, as he had finally settled down enough. He actually likes kids better than he does me, and has never tried to pitch a kid off. My daughter showed him as her first 4-H horse. He placed a blue at county fair one year and then took third place in the halter paint division at the Wyoming State Fair, and we were both pleased with that outcome.
He became quite a cow pony. Chasing cows was his thing and there weren't very many that got by him. Never could use a rope off him, though, due to a bad experience involving an elk and ropes when Gremlin was four. My ex decided to take Gremlin elk hunting that year, although he had a good, older rope horse. He said it would be "good" for Gremlin, so I consented. It was to be a family outing, our first (and last) hunting camping trip.
We went to the mountains in the area where my ex had his elk permit and set up camp. He went out the first morning and shot his elk up over a mountain from where we were camped. So he took my son and Gremlin back to the woods to retrieve the elk. My daughter and I were out gathering up some firewood around camp late that afternoon when we saw Gremlin flying down out of the hills on the dead run with ropes flapping in the breeze behind him. He ran on about a quarter mile past camp where he became entangled in some willows. We girls went to catch him. I asked the ex what had happened, and he said he had tied the elk to the saddle with the ropes, and Gremlin was supposed to drag it. The dead elk was not upsetting to him, but when he started to pull and the ropes began flapping around his hind legs, Gremlin went into orbit. He charged up the mountain until he wrapped the elk around a tree, breaking the ropes, freeing Gremlin from his burden, but not his fright, as the ropes continued to flap against his hindquarters.
Since it was too late that day to go back after the elk, and my ex was not in any frame of mind to do so, I talked him into waiting until the next day when we would all go. He started out the next day with his rifle, and I asked him why he was taking that, as he had already filled his tag, so he left it at camp and it's a good thing, or Gremlin would not have lived to be a geriatric horse. We led Gremlin back and forth across the dead elk and that didn't phase him. I suggested my ex get on Gremlin and let me hand him the rope, then he could dally the rope while having control over the horse and make him pull the elk.
Gremlin got a little nervous as I approached him with the rope, but I quickly handed it to the ex, he dallied, then it began to get western. My son and ex had pulled the elk carcass down the mountain into a little creek-bed. Gremlin began to pitch, and the ex flew off right into the creek, face down! Boy was he mad when he came up. He was talking through gritted teeth when he said, "That horse is going to pull this elk if it's the last thing he does!" (Good thing I made him leave off the gun.) So we earred Gremlin down while he hooked the elk back to the empty saddle, then let him go. He took off like a rocket again and would run for all he was worth until the elk got snagged on something, then he would stand and blow until we caught up with him to unhook the elk, and the process would start all over. He ran on past camp until he got caught in the willow thicket again. By that time, the elk was flapping in the breeze behind him. Only got about 50 pounds of meat off that elk, hamburger, already ground, and it was rancid.
I tried everything I knew to get that pony over the trauma of that day, but to this day, if you take down a rope on Gremlin, you'd better be hanging on. Anything else involving being a cow horse, though, he's the greatest. Several of the Cheyenne neighbor kids learned to ride on him after I moved to Cheyenne, and they all loved him.
He became quite a cow pony. Chasing cows was his thing and there weren't very many that got by him. Never could use a rope off him, though, due to a bad experience involving an elk and ropes when Gremlin was four. My ex decided to take Gremlin elk hunting that year, although he had a good, older rope horse. He said it would be "good" for Gremlin, so I consented. It was to be a family outing, our first (and last) hunting camping trip.
We went to the mountains in the area where my ex had his elk permit and set up camp. He went out the first morning and shot his elk up over a mountain from where we were camped. So he took my son and Gremlin back to the woods to retrieve the elk. My daughter and I were out gathering up some firewood around camp late that afternoon when we saw Gremlin flying down out of the hills on the dead run with ropes flapping in the breeze behind him. He ran on about a quarter mile past camp where he became entangled in some willows. We girls went to catch him. I asked the ex what had happened, and he said he had tied the elk to the saddle with the ropes, and Gremlin was supposed to drag it. The dead elk was not upsetting to him, but when he started to pull and the ropes began flapping around his hind legs, Gremlin went into orbit. He charged up the mountain until he wrapped the elk around a tree, breaking the ropes, freeing Gremlin from his burden, but not his fright, as the ropes continued to flap against his hindquarters.
Since it was too late that day to go back after the elk, and my ex was not in any frame of mind to do so, I talked him into waiting until the next day when we would all go. He started out the next day with his rifle, and I asked him why he was taking that, as he had already filled his tag, so he left it at camp and it's a good thing, or Gremlin would not have lived to be a geriatric horse. We led Gremlin back and forth across the dead elk and that didn't phase him. I suggested my ex get on Gremlin and let me hand him the rope, then he could dally the rope while having control over the horse and make him pull the elk.
Gremlin got a little nervous as I approached him with the rope, but I quickly handed it to the ex, he dallied, then it began to get western. My son and ex had pulled the elk carcass down the mountain into a little creek-bed. Gremlin began to pitch, and the ex flew off right into the creek, face down! Boy was he mad when he came up. He was talking through gritted teeth when he said, "That horse is going to pull this elk if it's the last thing he does!" (Good thing I made him leave off the gun.) So we earred Gremlin down while he hooked the elk back to the empty saddle, then let him go. He took off like a rocket again and would run for all he was worth until the elk got snagged on something, then he would stand and blow until we caught up with him to unhook the elk, and the process would start all over. He ran on past camp until he got caught in the willow thicket again. By that time, the elk was flapping in the breeze behind him. Only got about 50 pounds of meat off that elk, hamburger, already ground, and it was rancid.
I tried everything I knew to get that pony over the trauma of that day, but to this day, if you take down a rope on Gremlin, you'd better be hanging on. Anything else involving being a cow horse, though, he's the greatest. Several of the Cheyenne neighbor kids learned to ride on him after I moved to Cheyenne, and they all loved him.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Geriatric Horse
I have a geriatric horse. His name is Gremlin, so if you are a movie buff, his name would date him. He's named after those little creatures in the 1980's movie, "Gremlins." He has lived up to that name for almost 24 years. I haven't been his owner that whole time, but Gremlin has lived with me since birth. His dam, Boots, was about 24 years old when she was given to my nieces. They were instructed to share her until she could have a foal, then one of them could claim the foal and they'd each have a horse. I remember thinking, "If she lives long enough..." Well, Boots did live long enough to produce a foal, and that was Gremlin, born in May, 1984. But the winter of 83-84 was a hard one, and it took a toll on her, along with being old and pregnant. Boots lay down and died in the fall right after weaning Gremlin. Pictured above is Gremlin in the recent past with Allyissa up.
That was the same year I moved to Lance Creek, and my nieces had already left the ranch, so Gremlin came with me to Lance Creek in the spring of 1985. The niece that he belonged to was able to come help me start his riding program when he was two, then she left for the Army. Planning to make her career there, she decided to sell Gremlin to me. It was a good fit. Turns out, the very first horse I owned as a youngster was closely related to Gremlin. So I kind of knew what to expect from him as far as temperament and mannerisms. He was a handful! Half Quarter Horse, 1/4 Thoroughbred, and 1/4 Shetland Pony is a dangerous combination in a horse. He used to unload me at least once a year, usually in a very unkind manner, until he got to be almost ten years old.
I rode him as a three-year-old in a local outdoor pageant where there are cowboys and Indians, teams and wagons, fires, waterfalls, crowds and gunfire, among other scary things. That's how he went from green broke to sorta broke. The first year, he did great. Everything was new and held his interest, except for those Longhorn Cattle hitched up and pulling a wagon. He just tried to quit the country every time they came near. Guess he knew that wasn't natural--cows pulling a wagon. The second year, he was a little harder to handle. He knew what was going to happen and he didn't really want to take part. The third year, he piled me up at the beginning of the show the first night. The second night he also unloaded me and kicked my leg as he shot past me on his way out of the arena. Some spectators in the bleachers said they heard my leg pop like a rifle. Didn't break it, but the bruise went clear from one side of my knee to the other.
But we kept going back, and Gremlin eventually came to know the cues for the pageant as well, or better, than most of the Indians.
Gremlin finally gave up trying to pitch me off, when he decided it hurt him more than it did me, because I kept climbing back on.
That was the same year I moved to Lance Creek, and my nieces had already left the ranch, so Gremlin came with me to Lance Creek in the spring of 1985. The niece that he belonged to was able to come help me start his riding program when he was two, then she left for the Army. Planning to make her career there, she decided to sell Gremlin to me. It was a good fit. Turns out, the very first horse I owned as a youngster was closely related to Gremlin. So I kind of knew what to expect from him as far as temperament and mannerisms. He was a handful! Half Quarter Horse, 1/4 Thoroughbred, and 1/4 Shetland Pony is a dangerous combination in a horse. He used to unload me at least once a year, usually in a very unkind manner, until he got to be almost ten years old.
I rode him as a three-year-old in a local outdoor pageant where there are cowboys and Indians, teams and wagons, fires, waterfalls, crowds and gunfire, among other scary things. That's how he went from green broke to sorta broke. The first year, he did great. Everything was new and held his interest, except for those Longhorn Cattle hitched up and pulling a wagon. He just tried to quit the country every time they came near. Guess he knew that wasn't natural--cows pulling a wagon. The second year, he was a little harder to handle. He knew what was going to happen and he didn't really want to take part. The third year, he piled me up at the beginning of the show the first night. The second night he also unloaded me and kicked my leg as he shot past me on his way out of the arena. Some spectators in the bleachers said they heard my leg pop like a rifle. Didn't break it, but the bruise went clear from one side of my knee to the other.
But we kept going back, and Gremlin eventually came to know the cues for the pageant as well, or better, than most of the Indians.
Gremlin finally gave up trying to pitch me off, when he decided it hurt him more than it did me, because I kept climbing back on.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
My Favorite Lifestyle
I think God meant for us all to be ranchers. Abraham was a big rancher, so was Job, Isaac and Jacob. What an idyllic lifestyle, even when the temperature outside is +15 degrees. Plus 15 doesn't feel that bad if there's no wind. It gives me great satisfaction to see my little herd of horses standing there dozing in the sun after filling their bellies on the good grass hay I feed them every morning.
Even solving a problem with their watering gave me great satisfaction, although I couldn't help thinking when I was in the thick of it, "Why did you ever want to do this?" Yesterday I went to fill up their tank with water from the hydrant that is over 100 feet away. The temperature never got above +25 yesterday, and I had left a couple pockets of ice in the hose from the previous watering, apparently. I had pulled it over the fence twice, just to make sure, but one little ice block is all it takes.
I fiddled with the hose for about an hour yesterday, trying to work the little ice cube to the end. I had a small trickle of water coming through the entire length of the hose, so I thought surely the friction from the moving water would melt the cube and soon, the hose would be running a full stream. I left it and went to do other chores as the sun was going down. When I came back, the trickle had ceased, and I had a hundred feet of hose that was now full of ice; a very bad turn of events. That ended my watering ambitions yesterday. I knew all the livestock had watered at least once for the day, and they would be alright until today.
This morning I went out and began hunting up hoses that had been drained out good before the cold weather hit. I found a few short ones that I could couple together, that is, if they had couplers that weren't mangled or mashed. Had to do a couple of quick repairs, then finally had enough hose to reach from the hydrant to the tank. I held my breath, lifted the handle on the hydrant, and listened for water splashing in the tank. Sweet success!
The daytime temperature is supposed to reach +35 today and +50 by Saturday, but it's going to have to hurry to get where it's supposed to be today. I laid the long hose that I froze stiff yesterday out where the sun will hit it, just in case. When the thermometer says +45, I'm going to try to drain it...good this time.
Even solving a problem with their watering gave me great satisfaction, although I couldn't help thinking when I was in the thick of it, "Why did you ever want to do this?" Yesterday I went to fill up their tank with water from the hydrant that is over 100 feet away. The temperature never got above +25 yesterday, and I had left a couple pockets of ice in the hose from the previous watering, apparently. I had pulled it over the fence twice, just to make sure, but one little ice block is all it takes.
I fiddled with the hose for about an hour yesterday, trying to work the little ice cube to the end. I had a small trickle of water coming through the entire length of the hose, so I thought surely the friction from the moving water would melt the cube and soon, the hose would be running a full stream. I left it and went to do other chores as the sun was going down. When I came back, the trickle had ceased, and I had a hundred feet of hose that was now full of ice; a very bad turn of events. That ended my watering ambitions yesterday. I knew all the livestock had watered at least once for the day, and they would be alright until today.
This morning I went out and began hunting up hoses that had been drained out good before the cold weather hit. I found a few short ones that I could couple together, that is, if they had couplers that weren't mangled or mashed. Had to do a couple of quick repairs, then finally had enough hose to reach from the hydrant to the tank. I held my breath, lifted the handle on the hydrant, and listened for water splashing in the tank. Sweet success!
The daytime temperature is supposed to reach +35 today and +50 by Saturday, but it's going to have to hurry to get where it's supposed to be today. I laid the long hose that I froze stiff yesterday out where the sun will hit it, just in case. When the thermometer says +45, I'm going to try to drain it...good this time.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Happy New Year
'Twas the night before New Year
and all through the house,
nothing was stirring except my cats
and maybe a mouse.
I had just settled in
all snug in my bed
for a New Year's Eve nap,
and my prayers were said.
When, what to my scared ears should sound
like the clanging of a gong
and a crash to the ground!
I didn't spring from my bed
I didn't want to know what was the matter.
Well that's bad poetry, but it sort of describes what happened last night. I guess the powers just wanted me to ring in the new year, because about midnight, this crashing sound awakened me. It sounded like someone had fallen off the roof outside. I thought for a minute the Lance Creek youngsters might be playing tricks on me. My curiosity finally got the best of me and I got up to go see what had crashed. At least one of my cats had been on the foot of my bed when the crash happened, because she leaped up, and I thought the other one was there, too, but apparently not. When I got upstairs, there were pots and pans all over the kitchen floor. I have a pot rack hanging from the ceiling by the range, and one of those darn cats must have made a leap up there, knocking pots everywhere. Darn nocturnal creatures. Between the cats and racoons, it's hard to get any sleep around here.
I spent some time yesterday assessing 2007 and where I want to be at this time in 2008. My only real goal for the year is to finish the addition to the ranch house. Of course, that was a goal at the beginning of 2007, when I took early retirement from my job and moved home. Oh well, I'm retired, I have all the time in the world, right? Sure would like to get that done so I can get some time in on some horses. I'm sure my accountant has a goal for me to get some horses sold in 2008.
and all through the house,
nothing was stirring except my cats
and maybe a mouse.
I had just settled in
all snug in my bed
for a New Year's Eve nap,
and my prayers were said.
When, what to my scared ears should sound
like the clanging of a gong
and a crash to the ground!
I didn't spring from my bed
I didn't want to know what was the matter.
Well that's bad poetry, but it sort of describes what happened last night. I guess the powers just wanted me to ring in the new year, because about midnight, this crashing sound awakened me. It sounded like someone had fallen off the roof outside. I thought for a minute the Lance Creek youngsters might be playing tricks on me. My curiosity finally got the best of me and I got up to go see what had crashed. At least one of my cats had been on the foot of my bed when the crash happened, because she leaped up, and I thought the other one was there, too, but apparently not. When I got upstairs, there were pots and pans all over the kitchen floor. I have a pot rack hanging from the ceiling by the range, and one of those darn cats must have made a leap up there, knocking pots everywhere. Darn nocturnal creatures. Between the cats and racoons, it's hard to get any sleep around here.
I spent some time yesterday assessing 2007 and where I want to be at this time in 2008. My only real goal for the year is to finish the addition to the ranch house. Of course, that was a goal at the beginning of 2007, when I took early retirement from my job and moved home. Oh well, I'm retired, I have all the time in the world, right? Sure would like to get that done so I can get some time in on some horses. I'm sure my accountant has a goal for me to get some horses sold in 2008.
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