A LITTLE KID CAUGHT FIBBING AT CONFESSION…

…is what I felt like when my tractor mechanic asked me what I’d been doing to my bent  ATV ramp.

“Have you been trying to load tractors with that thing?” he asked.

I know better than to get on the bad side of my tractor mechanic. If he’s going to save my bacon once again, he at least deserves the truth from me.

So here I was asking if he could take the bend out of a  heavy-duty ATV ramp. These ramps will easily carry a 700 pound fully-loaded ATV…with 200 pound person…into the back of a pickup. It’s part of the set I use when traveling to take photos or help fight fire. For me, they’re an important piece of equipment.

“Dave, you know I try not to abuse my equipment like that,” I said.

Farmers and ranchers are famous for pushing their equipment too hard and then asking the mechanic to fix it for them. They’re stories are legend in rural communities. It isn’t because they don’t care about the cost. It’s because they’re in the middle of nowhere and don’t have the correct tools. If they don’t try everything available, the job won’t get done. Sometimes the equipment breaks.

“Like the time you tried to pull a semi with your small backhoe and broke the drive shaft into pieces?” he fixed me with his gimlet eye.

“I had no choice Dave,” I said, “it was getting dark, the hay truck was stuck in the mud and blocking my driveway.”

“OK,” he softened, “so what were you doing that bent the ramps?”

“I was moving a birdbath,” I said, already guessing at the reaction.

“A BIRDBATH!!!” he said, fairly sure he was hearing a very tall tale.

“It was a piece of basalt that weighed almost a half ton shaped like a bird bath,” I explained, “both ramps were taking the weight fine, but it slipped onto one ramp and bent it.”

“Oh……ok,” he said watching me to see if I was yanking his chain, “I think I can fix it.”

“Thanks, Dave…..I appreciate it,” I said.

WHEW….It’d sure be nice if weird things happened somewhere else for a while.

A QUICK DEATH…

…was an act of kindness for the stray dog.

Each spring thousands of unwanted pets are born. Some are given away to anyone who will take them, others end up in animal shelters and way too many are dumped in rural areas.

Ranchers and farmers have their own dogs. They don’t need more. All too often those dumpees meet a hard end by getting run over, starvation or disease. This story…

http://countrytraveleronline.com/2012/03/01/the-rest-of-the-story/

…is about the final days of a dog dumped in our region. She found a tiny bit of kindness, but no home.

It’s interesting, in the years I have been doing stories like this, I’ve received some hate mail–but not nearly as much as a person might think. The overwhelming response, up and down the West Coast, has been from rural people who have known me or been familiar with my work. Each time they’ve walked up, shaken my hand and thanked me for writing this hard story.

The dog and her puppies in this photo are from Southern California. They’re available for adoption in a small farm town animal shelter in the Pacific Northwest. If you’d like to inquire about them–send me a note.

We’ll talk soon…

THE KILLDEER CAUGHT ME…

…by surprise this year.

We’ve had a mild winter. Throughout the entire time I’ve been waiting for the weather hammer to fall on us. It hasn’t.

Don’t get me wrong, on most years our weather isn’t terrible. A foot of snow, some freezing rain or sub-zero temperatures…the spell doesn’t last long, a week or maybe two, then it’s over. Still, lousy weather motivates me in looking forward to Spring.

When a Killdeer, a first cousin to a Plover, shows up at our place it’s the beginning of the end for winter. There’s still plenty of room during March and April for nasty weather, but the worst of it is usually over. Lambing and kidding are coming and our ranch’s seasonal new year is underway.

If we haven’t had a serious winter, who knows what will happen this summer…but I don’t suppose worrying about it is going to help.

We’ll talk again…

SHUT UP AND HIDE…

…was what the goat doe told her kid.

Uh oh! It’s goat kidding time around our place. This year we started a little early because the billy goats got out of their separate pen. They went about their business unhindered until we heard a ruckus and separated the offenders, ushering them back to home ground.

Goat kidding is an interesting time of the year. On one hand, it’s easier because they’re so tough that they get the job done almost without assistance. On the other, the goats are so smart and survivor oriented that they get themselves into trouble. That’s where the work starts.

Semi-feral goat does have a habit of hiding their kids from predators. I can’t tell you how many hours we’ve spent searching for a goat kid that has been stashed in crack between the rocks or under a bush.

Years back we had a goat doe with a strong personality that was exceptionally militant. She would hide her kids far longer than was necessary. In the morning, we’d turn the flock out on range to graze and her kids would be happily leaping and bounding along with her. In the evening, she’d return without the kids.

At first we thought coyotes got the kids…one of the prices of ranch life.

Then we noticed that after eating her fill, the doe stood by the gate calling to her kids. Her body language and vocal expression indicated she wasn’t in mourning and wanted something outside.

Slightly confused, I opened the gate. She took off at a trot.

For about a half mile I followed as she went straight to where she’d stashed her kids deep in the sage brush. When she called they both happily bounded out to greet her. She turned and traveled straight back to our goat pens. I closed the gate behind her as she and the kids bedded down for the night.

Every once in a while, for the next two months, this doe goat would forget to bring her kids back to the pens in the evening. We’d wait until she finished her grain, then let her out to find her kids. She’d trot off and bring the little ones back at a run. Then we’d head inside for our dinner.

Who knows where we’ll find our goat kids this year.

We’ll talk soon……

HIS HEAD MIGHT EXPLODE…

…was what we were worried about when we gave our young livestock guard dog his first bone.

Our livestock guard dogs live with our sheep and goats in all sorts of weather. When it’s hot, we make sure there’s shade and water. On nasty, cold nights in the winter, we make sure there’s a wind break and dry straw for them to bed down. On the worst nights, we dip into our stock of dog bones that we get straight from the butcher. A little bit of fat in their system makes for an easier night.

The first time we gave Sam, our young Maremma, a bone with his dog food he wasn’t sure what to do. He looked at his food…then back at his bone.

He was so excited that he wanted to eat both at the same time…a confusing situation for a young dog with maturity issues. 

He looked back at his food…then he stared wistfully at his bone. Back and forth he went…food…bone…food…then bone again. My wife was concerned his immature dog skull was going to explode with all of his nerve synapses firing at the same time.

Finally some instinct for self-preservation tripped in his dog mind, he chose the bone. But during the entire time he gnawed his bone, he stood over his dog food and guarded it from any stray goat that may have walked by.

Relieved that Sam had taken a tiny step towards maturity in adult doghood, my chuckling wife went off to feed the rest of the animals.

This winter, as you can see in the picture, Sam will take his food first every time. Dog bones are for dessert.

We’ll talk soon…

THE HORNET BONKED ME ON THE FOREHEAD…

…and dropped into my cup of coffee.

It’s been a long and beautiful Fall this year. Our days are clear and crisp and the nights are chilly. The land needs rain, but I gotta admit, that I’m enjoying the weather without it.

Somehow, earlier this year as the weather cooled, a bunch of Mud Dauber Hornets sneaked into my office and hid in a crack. I’ve searched the place thoroughly and had no luck finding them.

They weren’t a problem until I turned on the heat when I went to work in the morning. Then a couple of the insects would thaw out and hang around to keep me company during the day…it was like a Pez candy dispenser for hornets.

Stinging wasn’t an issue with them, they aren’t aggressive. Unless a person was silly enough to get angry, frightened and start swinging at them, they don’t bother anyone. Mostly we ignored each other, unless they came to a sudden end with the help of a fly swatter or followed me out the door to a chilly and hostile world. In that case I’d close the door quickly and let the hornet follow its natural cycle.

The other morning I was concentrating at my computer about a story of a deer being hit on the highway…

http://countrytraveleronline.com/2011/12/05/a-gun-for-the-holidays/

…I wanted to get the feelings just right and was paying no attention to the recently thawed hornet that was having trouble with his flight pattern.

The hornet lost control of something and plowed full-tilt into my forehead then plopped into my hot cup of coffee. Needless to say, that was the end of the hornet. But it was also the end of my concentration as I dumped the coffee…with semi-boiled hornet…off the balcony of my office. My wife did her best not to laugh as I fixed myself another cup of coffee.

These days the hornet numbers are thinning out. I’ll be just as glad when we’re no longer sharing an office.

We’ll talk soon……

I GOT A SURPRISE…

…this morning.

There is a large Juniper tree right outside my bedroom window. The tree, silhouetted by a gazillion stars in the high desert sky, is the last thing I see before I go to sleep. It is also the first thing I see as I awaken in the morning.

This morning, just before sunrise, I was laying in bed still stretching and wrapping my mind around the days duties when I noticed there was something different about the outline of the tree. It took me a moment to find the Sparrowhawk quietly near the trunk.

He was fifteen feet away and his head was swiveling slowly watching it’s surroundings. I was appreciating the stillness of the up-close and private moment of this small predator bird before I jumped into my hectic day.

A short time later, his head dipped down near his feet and I saw it spit out a few small grey feathers. Ahhhh…..breakfast! It was the first time I’d noticed there was a tiny seed-eating bird dead in its claws. Slowly the Sparrowhawk plucked its prey.

By this time I could no longer put off the beginning of my day. I got dressed, grabbed a cup of coffee and grabbed my version of breakfast. Then I went to work knowing the world around me was still operating the way it was supposed to–with one well-fed Sparrowhawk and a tiny bird that gave everything to make it all happen.

Sometimes people ask me why I choose to live in the middle of nowhere. If they need to ask that question, they’re not going to understand anyway.

We’ll talk again….