Real Sled Dogs Wear Booties

Merry Christmas, from our manger to yours

...FIVE untrained dogs!

....FOUR reckless goats

.....THREE barn cats

......TWO tired humans

.......and a llama that despises the horse!

Thank You to the Santa's Helpers

I'm not going to go into much detail as to why the shout out to all of our friends and coworkers-"Santas"-who helped us deliver presents on behalf of the large, round, jolly one, but wanted to let them know our mission was accomplished.

 

A few weeks back an "elf" delivered an envelope to me that had been addressed to Santa Clause, The North Pole.  The letter had a very polite letter with tiny cut outs from a newspaper ad showing just which toys this young man wanted. The boy also mentioned that if Santa couldn't afford all of the presents, that it was okay to get "half."

 

From a few generous donations and a bit of our own allowance we purchased all items on the child's list; boy, I sure hope that kid was good or his parents are going to have a hard time with him and all the gifts!  Try to explain that to a naughty child. What incentive will he have in the future, to be "nice?" Oh well, not my problem. 

 

We dropped a large cardboard box off at the house and told the person who answered the door NOT to open the box in front of the child, thereby dispelling the Santa myth prematurely.  They wouldn't have known what might have been in that box until we drove away.  Pretty fun surprise, eh?

 

Thanks again to all...and to all a good night! er.... I must have slipped into a different story there...

Visions of Sugar Plums Danced in their Heads

Decorating Committee

The Decoration Committee sat back to admire their work before the lighting ceremony.

T minus 3

Trying to be very good for three more days before Santa is due to arrive.

Hurry Kris Kringle: this one's not going to make it.

In Training

Gunnar never tires of playing in the snow. He thinks he's training to pull a sled. My dead weight behind him is probably an accurate simulation....

Snow Day at the Black Squirrel Ranch

In case you can't tell what this is: it's a white husky making snow angels...The Littles despise this weather, but Gunnar could hang outside all day. G-man took me for a walk in the woods this morning and he almost had to perform CPR. It was exruciating walking through the amount of snow we got dumped on us overnight.

0600 Hours

On a day that was supposed to be R & R for me and my team turned out to be our most crucial mission yet. At 0600 hours I went in first, to survey the scene, confident that I would have time to secure my position and call for back up if necessary. “If necessary” became “when necessary,” and I quickly backed out of the strike zone long enough to signal the team lead and one of the less senior members. Both had been fierce allies before and I would have let either of them cover me in any situation. However, today, the junior member didn’t seem to have his head in the game and I had trouble getting him to truly focus on the plan of action. No doubt he’d perform, but this would cause for some reflection later. My only concern now was to diffuse the situation before us at this moment.

I went back into position where I could possibly incite confusion and movement of the enemy toward my teammates. At about this time I was also wondering why it was my turn to call shots and be primary. We do all take turns: it keeps us all aware and on the same level, mentally.

One more strategic move and I had the enemy up and on their feet. My team lead sprang into action and was able to connect and capture the leader of the opposing force. Once I was able to confirm that I looked for my other team member and I found him looking in a different direction. Because of his inattention, another rival was able to retreat to higher ground. Even after signaling to my teammate as to where our opponent went, he still wouldn’t engage.

We were all able to meet up at the usual spot after the fight was over, just in time for the fourth member of our team to catch up to us after finishing a perimeter search.

Now…..

Those of you who used to receive these updates from me while Mr. H and I were living in Arizona, would actually have a very different picture of what was just described.  The story above would pretty much have been just what it sounded like—on some days.  But, today— in the land of cheese and honey— here’s what really happened:

Around 6 a.m. I went out to the barn to feed the animals. As usual, I was greeted by Puddin’ (junior team member), Pork Chop (team lead), and Pot Pie (4^th team member—and the real team lead).  After feeding everyone I went back into the tack room (where feed, first aid and buckets are stored), and surveyed the area: it was covered in mouse poop as it had been since the weather got cold. I was so disgusted with this; the cats have killed every mouse and any other animal in their paths since they were old enough to climb. The tack room is virtually impossible to get in though: well, Pot Pie got stuck in a small area between the ceiling and a wall once, but she had to climb up and back out through the garage. The tack room, for all intents and purposes, is inaccessible to the little killing machines.

I started pulling shelves and bins out of the tiny room in order to decontaminate it. As I pulled on an open 20-pound bag of wood shavings, I saw a HUGE mouse (leader of the opposing force) jump around in there. Those wood shavings are supposed to be clean! They’re bedding for baby animals.

I’m standing there in the early morning hours, 23 degrees out with snow on the ground, in Carhartt overalls with matching hat—of course— and work gloves. I mean, I really look like I might actually know something about hard work and farming in this get up. A tough chick who can wrestle any goat and lasso the llama.

However, upon first glance of that big ass mouse, I jumped back and gasped like a 40’s movie starlet grabbing her pearls. Mice always do that to me! I called for the cats who weren’t far away. Porky and Puddin’ were nearby and I dangled Porky over the wood shaving bag in order for him to pick up the rodent scent. I set him down and made sure Puddin’ was in the vicinity and then I inched that big wood shaving bag out of the tack room with a broom. I couldn’t keep pulling on it with my hand—I was afraid the mouse would hop out and run down or – gasp – UP my arm.

I got the shaving out to the barn aisle and tipped the bag over. Two huge mice fell out and ran: the largest of which Pork Chop dove for and instantly subdued. Puddin’ was inattentively looking at some shiny object that had grabbed his attention and totally missed the second mouse, who climbed up and over one of the stalls. I was furious that we didn’t get two for two, but, very happy that Pork Chop didn’t disappoint. Puddin’ is now on probation: I knew those three weeks in the house would decondition that little pansy.

I then proceeded to sing and clap, “Porky, Porky, he’s our man; if he can’t do it, nobody can,” and went back to decontaminating the tack room.

Three hours later, I’m now heading to town to get mouse traps and plastic containers with lids to keep everything in so that I’m not wiping mouse poop off fly spray bottles and goat hoof trimmers…

 

The Seal team circa July: basic training

 

Don't You Forget About Me...

"Ma'am, excuse me, ma'am? Remember me?"

You think she can see us?

 

 

 

Yeah, just look real pathetic.

 

Mom? It's me, Puddin'

 

 



I thought we had a moment last week in the kitchen...

Catch and Release

Well, Puddin' has been turned loose from his rehab ward in the indoor breezeway of the house, to the outdoor breezeway of the barn. He seems to be happily reunited with siblings Pork Chop and Pot Pie, but I'm having a little separation anxiety...I mean he, he's having a little separation anxiety...er....

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Big Daddy

I cannot believe this little pipsqueak is beefed up and 50 pounds heavier than in this photo; and, he'll be on his way over here to the Black Squirrel Ranch to try and knock up the girls…

 

It seems like yesterday (August) when Farmer Ron showed up in the driveway to let us take a look at two “oopsie” babies from our friend’s herd: two little white Saanen bucks. Apparently one of them (this one) is feeling frisky.  We'll know in five months!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tryptophan Trance

Turkey hormones nab another unsuspecting victim. Incidentally, Gunnar is not allowed on the couch but because a futon is two inches shorter, he feels that falls into the "dog bed" category. Therefore, the futon has been covered with an old blanket, as the White Husky is shedding like nobody's business. Way to be strong on that "no furniture" rule, parents. Way to stand your ground....

Day 15

I'm still being held captive in the house in a small cage. Send help. I'm bored.

My captors seem to enjoy my current situation and I see no end in sight.

Staking His Claim

I wonder if they'll forget that I'm supposed to move back outside in a few weeks?

(Thanks to the Cone of Shame, Puddin' still has all of his sutures in place. Whew.)

Lap Dog

Milking the attention after the doctor stitched him up again. I hope Puddin knows he is moving out in a few weeks.

Puss in Boots and a Cone of Shame

The concept of placing Puddin's kennel in front of a TV playing nonstop Disney movies in order to allow him to heal, was a pedantic notion at best.  Interaction is actually required on our part to administer medicine and clean--gulp--litter boxes.  And, once he started popping stitches like a hair band pops guitar strings, our level of interaction with the cat escalated.

 

P-diddly, aka Puddy, aka Puff Daddy, aka Puddin H., has been one easy going cat with the exception that he doesn't realize he is injured.  He seems to feel no pain even when his meds have worn off.  When Puddy is sober, he is extremely affectionate and purrs, even if I'm picking cat litter out of his wound--which, again, has been widened considerably with only the top and bottom (and the penrose drain) intact.

 

I promise there are no photos of his wound below, but let's just say the veterinarian--or "Puddin's pediatrician," as Mr. H calls her--couldn't believe by the looks of it, this cat hadn't disemboweled himself.  He might yet before the night is out. Every time I check on him his wound looks more open, with only the top and bottom in place.  Wait...I take that back...the very bottom is now popped open too, so he'll probably be drinking his water through the drain like a straw when I see him in the morning.

 

Our animal expert, Seneca, firmly stated that Puddin' should have come home with an e-collar, but didn't.  We picked him up on Saturday morning to bring him home and by late that evening it was apparent he had lost one or two stitches.  Assuming he had pulled them out with is mouth or something, we needed to either create a makeshift e-collar or find one that was used on the Chihuahuas and hope it wasn't too big for an 8-month old kitten.

 

Our first attempt was a more humane wrap created with a turquoise dish towel and neon pink vet wrap.  Though jaunty, it only took P-diddly 20 seconds to remove it.

 

 

 

 

We gave that idea up and put the cat back in the kennel, hoping he wouldn't pull any more stitches before Monday morning which will yield a surprise visit to the vet (to stitch the very same area).  Skeptical, I went to the basement and found Loki's old Cone of Shame and brought it upstairs, wondering how the plastic hat would ever go over well with Puddin' and how he'd deal with being in a tiny kennel with a huge satellite on his head.

 

He was super pleased at first (not) but calmed down in less than ten minutes.  He really has been a gem to take care of, aside from needing another doctor visit to replace stitches.  He's been easier to tend to than any ailing animal we've ever dealt with (sorry, Gunnar, even you were difficult in the Cone).  In fact, he's been more amiable and adorable while injured than most animals are when they're healthy.

 

 

The Cone of Shame

Puddin, on one of his occasional breaks out of solitary confinement.
Clearly, he looks anxious. This photo cleverly hides a horrific injury,
starting at the left side of the base of his tail, ripping through his hamstring,
ending at the inside edge of his kneecap.

 

 

Rule #56: Never get too attached to the barn cats....oops

 

 

 

Bringing Home Baby

Well, Puddin has had a successful surgery and will be on bedrest in the basement of the house for a couple of weeks. He has a drain in his left leg and lots of stitches.

Apparently he captured the hearts of the medical staff at the vet clinic. They all admit Puddin is way friendlier than the average cat and was also pleasant to deal with after surgery. At least we raised one right.

We're going to put him in the back room in the basement so the dogs don't go too crazy. He has to stay in the kennel continuously for the next 7 days so I'll just sit a TV in front of it with a constant stream of Disney movies for him to watch.

Happy Birthday Daddy!

Search Efforts Have Ceased

Because he just showed up!

Puddin' walked  up to me very gingerly and slowly this morning as I was putting wood into the burner. He moves as though he's trying to prove to an officer that he's sober, and let me just say that Puddin's hiney region smells like a broken sewer main. I've never smelled something like that on a live creature before!

I called for Mr. H in the house who tossed the dogs into the front yard after their breakfast and came to the back of the house to see what I had found. Poor Puddin' can't even sit down-- he's what you'd call "butt hurt"....literally... I know, bad pun.

I don't think he's out of the woods with regard to survival. He looks a tad green around the gills, but he was purring and trying to interact with us when he slowly staggered up the hill.

We talked about horrible possibilities for P-diddy's predicament and I have a feeling the whole chicken that USED to be on our compost pile (since Sunday) had something to do with his disappearance and his current state. 

He eats just like his father: just the meat, no vegetables (the carrots and celery are still on the pile).

Search but no Seizure

A lunchtime search for P-diddly (Puddin) with the White Husky yielded search, but no rescue. I even gave him incentive: I told Gunnar he could hold the kitten in his mouth gently, for a bit, if he could find it.

No luck.

Waiting for His Brother to Return

We haven't seen Mr. Puddin' for almost two whole days. Since May, the longest we've ever gone without seeing all three killing machines is twelve hours--or one mealtime.

Have you seen this kitten? If so, please ring the Black Squirrel Ranch.....and incidentally, if you "mistakenly" put him in your vehicle and took him home with you after Squirrel Fest, please return him. When we untie you, no questions asked--promise.



Vote!

Squirrel Fest?

More like Barn Kitten Fest!

We saw no squirrels on Saturday but still had a lot of fun and all of the animals enjoyed our guests. I guess the animals are trying to tell us they love being part of a petting zoo...they'd better buy their own groceries then!

(The birthday boy does not like his photo publicized, but believe me, Mr. H was at his own party)

 

 

 

 

Interracial Relations