Boredom strikes again

Glenn works most nights. He usually starts work at 4pm and is home by about 10pm. I start work at 7am and am typically able to shut the computer down by 5pm. This works ok for me as long as someone gets out of the house and out of my hair so I can work during the day. After work I get out of the house myself and spend time playing with the dogs, walking through the garden urging things to grow faster, mowing the yard twice a week, and grooming and working the horny mares. It gets totally dark around 9:15 these days so I have plenty of time for all of this. Nice!


The problem comes when it's 9pm, I've done all of the above, made dinner and have a plate waiting for Glenn when he gets home, and am still wound up and not ready to just sit on the porch listening to the crickets and bull frogs. So tonight I'm sitting on the porch listening to the crickets and bull frogs, snoring dogs, and Worthless Horse Owner fighting with her boyfriend (sound REALLY carries down into this holler) and writing a second blog post for the day. And I'm typing slow to make it last because most of this blog will be pictures that I took today on my lunch break. I sent them to a coworker buddy of mine who also has horses and asked her to pick the pictures for today's blog about Buck. She did and I failed to post them. She's even UPSing me chocolate on Monday to thank me for help at work -- what kind of friend am I to repay her by not posting pictures that she chose? Someone should shoot me now. No wait, don't pull the trigger. Here's the pics.



I spent 8 hours on a borrowed tractor (with no spring in the seat - my lower back will never be the same) last weekend getting the top field mowed and the horses couldn't even say thank you. But it at least looks like the dogs are enjoying it.







Kita on her way to the gate to flirt with the bachelors. If horses played the "last one there is a rotten egg" game, Kita would smell really really bad all the time.









She tries to make up for lost time, but Willow still beat her to the men.











Remember that TV show The Dating Game?



Willow: Bachelor number 1 -- I like quick little nips on the neck and long slow rolls in the mud.. what's your idea of the perfect first date and which field would you take me to?



Kita: Bachelor number 3 -- I hate the mud and demand to be treated like a princess. If we were out trotting around the pasture on a date and came to a mud puddle, would you lead me around it or through it?




Did I mention I was bored?



Here are a few pics from today that I liked or at least wanted to force you to look at. Because I know if you're reading this you can't help but to look at the pictures. It's just human nature.

Every time the boys go somewhere, Buck is in the lead. But if he goes astray Mav is quick to nudge him in the right direction.





This is why Mav's nickname is Chunky Butt. Check out that beer belly.




Whew! They're still there!

He wouldn't fit up my sleeve

Remember when I said I had something up my sleeve for when appybutt went back home and Mav would be alone again? Well, that something came home last night, but in the horse trailer instead of my shirt sleeve. For now his name is Buck until I come up with something I like better. He was one of the herd rescued by the local Animal Control Officer back in December of 2007. Most of the herd was emaciated, filthy, sickly, and/or lame. Two horses died days before they could be saved. Buck was the next on the list. He was the youngest, smallest, and the lowest horse on the totem pole. Here's what he looked like in October 2007 when AC first investigated the farm. You can see backbone and hips pretty clearly, even through the winter coat. But by WV law, they still weren't emaciated enough to be taken away.








A month and a half later, they were.











When he came home last night it was almost dark. I had debated the whole way home on whether or not to put him in the cattle pen for the night or just introduce him to Mav and appybutt and let them be. When I pulled in the driveway, Mav and buddy were right there by the gate. Looks like they made my decision for me! But the new little guy did not like stepping backwards out of the trailer, even though I had the back facing uphill so it wasn't such a big step down. As soon as he put one hind leg on the gravel he'd jump back in. All the pushing in the world wasn't going to get him out without getting him upset. I tried getting the pin out so I could swing the divider over and turn him around, but it was rusted tight. I ran down to the garage and grabbed a punch and small sledge hammer then went back up to the trailer. I was worried the incredibly loud banging right near his butt would send him up over the manger and out through the front door, but he just stood there and looked at me like I was stupid. Maybe I am. But I got the pin out, swung the divider, and he was able to turn around and walk out of the trailer front feet first as he thought it should be.


During the whole sledge hammer adventure Mav and appybutt had moved about 300 yards away from the gate and were grazing. They were totally oblivious to the fact that another horse was on the property. I walked the little guy into the field and Mav looked up briefly then put his head back down to eat -- oh, mom brought home another horse.



Five seconds later, he flung his head up then whinnied and came trotting over. -- HOLY CRAP! MOM BROUGHT HOME ANOTHER HORSE! WOOHOO!


Mav might be a little slow sometimes, but I still love him. This outburst was enough to get appybutt away from his grass and he came over to investigate. The three bachelors sniffed noses, cantered a few circles around me, then remembered the important things in life and went back to grazing. This is what Buck looks like now.









Best buddies.





We're not sure how old Buck is - somewhere between 1 year and 2. He's actually a registered Paint, but the ACO doesn't have his papers or remember his registered name. She'll try to get them for me or at least find out his registered name, but no guarantees. He's extremely friendly since he was only starved and not abused. He loves the camera and attention. Which is a good thing because he's FULL of ticks. The pasture I got him from last night is really nice, but it's right next to the river, stays wet, and hasn't been mowed at all this year. I must have picked 30 ticks off him just last night, most of those from his forelock and throat latch area! Today I noticed his sheath is also covered with them. Poor little guy!


I wasn't going to take Buck. He's so small and doesn't look like he's going to grow much more. But AC has been trying to find him a home for months, and I guess people up here don't want to adopt a younger horse that they're going to have to pay someone to train later on down the road. So I got to thinking about the Mav situation and even if Buck doesn't grow big enough for me to ride I can always teach him to drive or be some kid's pony. So at the Memorial Day BBQ I jokingly asked ACO if she was going to give me Buck. Her response? "Sure! Take him!" I really had to twist her arm.


And if he does get big enough to ride, then we've got the next generation of trail horses to start training next year and boy, ain't they purdy. :)


And yes, he needs a new name. Glenn has already told me that he's not even going to try since he knows I'll just change it anyway. I keep telling him that if he comes up with something I like then I won't need to change it. Geesh!

The Multitasking Garden

I love gardening. I get great pleasure from just walking through it several times a day and looking things over, noting how well things are growing, picking a few small weeds, and frowning at the flea beetles already attacking the collards. I also think about things going right or wrong at work and at home, day dream about the future, ruminate on the past. I relax in the garden. Sometimes I just sit in the grass between beds petting a cat and watching the dogs play. The garden is the cure for most of what ails me.

Each winter I impatiently await the new seed catalogs, go over them at least five times each, enter favorites in my database for planting reference later, create lists upon lists of what I want to plant, how many I need (want), and how much everything is going to cost. I spend days, sometimes weeks, creating a garden plan of what needs to go where, which companion plants are best for each crop, which antagonist plants to put far away. This keeps me busy during the winter months when there's snow on the ground and no greenhouse to play in.

Then all of that careful planning over the winter is completely thrown out the window once Spring arrives and the garden is ready to be planted. I can't help it. I just start planting willy nilly and hope everything comes out ok. Most years, it does. Last year I put up 75 quarts of just pickles. Two kinds of dill spears and two types of sweet slices. We gave away a lot, but we also ate a lot of those jars ourselves. Add to that the jars of sweet relish, cherry tomato and ginger marinade, tomato sauce, chili, pickled peppers, green beans, mushrooms, and hot pepper relish. And don't forget the many frozen eggplant parmesan and zucchini casserole dishes that warmed us on cold winter nights. Or the frozen bell peppers that I added to stir frys and pizza. Or the yellow ruffled tomatoes that I had stuffed and frozen to be enjoyed in January when company was here. The garden feeds us and keeps us healthy in the winter with organically grown goodness.

And last but not least, the garden provides a great place for napping.

R.I.P Little Bird

The little bird from the other night didn't make it. I had brought in all the cats I could find, which left Lucifer outside after I put the bird in the back of the truck. At least he was nice enough to leave the dead little body right in front of the door on the porch so I'd find it in Saturday morning and not have to wonder if he made it through the night. Luci is so considerate that way. Almost as thoughtful as Noodle when he brought a baby bird in the house screeching today while I was working. Poor baby didn't even have any feathers, but it was still rather large. I really didn't need to hear the poor thing crying so shooed Noodle back outside with his prize. It wouldn't have done me much good to save it since it was so young and I had no idea which nest it came from.





Check out the thunderstorm we had this afternoon. This picture was taken about 15 minutes after it started to rain. We had "ponds" between each raised bed and all I kept thinking was how glad I was that we did raised beds this year!


























I guess the rain hit a little too fast for Jack, who got caught out in it and came running in the door crying. Heidi was quick to jump up and help him dry off. But even that didn't improve his mood.





















I think that look says it all.

















A work-friend of mine came to visit on Sunday with her family. They were up from Maryland for a graduation and they stayed in a small town only 15 minutes away. We had never met before, but had tried on several occasions and just couldn't make it happen. Besides being an incredibly cool family (and her daughter Jessie just got engaged on Friday... CONGRATS Jessie and Derek!) she brought me a little sign that says "Cats are like potato chips, you can't only have just one." It now hangs by the front door to warn all visitors of possible cat allergies and dead little bird bodies everywhere.





This is one of those small towns where everyone knows everyone. Ever seen the movie Doc Hollywood? Remember the line: "You can't poop in this town without everyone knowing what color it is"? Well, that's this town. We went to a BBQ last night for Memorial Day and all 12 adults there knew our neighbor, Worthless Horse Owner. And the general consensus is that once she sobers up she'll be over to get her horse. But no one seemed to have any guesses on when she might sober up. Could be days, weeks, months... there's no telling. So for now appybutt is still hanging out with Mav, driving Willow into a sexually frustrated frenzy, and shaming Junior to no end with his womanizing ways. What happens when he goes? Will I put Junior back in with Mav and once again separate the old married couple? Or leave Mav by himself? Don't worry, I've got something up my sleeve. ;)

A bird in the hand

Is better than two in the bush. I never understood that saying. It makes absolutely no sense to me whatsoever. But it was the first thing that came to mind when this happened tonight.

Glenn had just gotten home from work and we were in the living room just discussing our plans for the weekend. I was just revving up for a fight because he had once again put off our riding plans to go fishing on Saturday. But then we heard the screeching out on the porch and I made him go out and save whatever poor critter had been caught by a cat.

The victim tonight was one of my favorite little birds that has a nest in one of the bird houses by the garden. I know, they all look the same, how do I know it's one of the ones from the bird house? Cause it's my story and I said so. :)

The poor little guy was terrified. Glenn could roll him over and pull out his wings and legs to check for injuries, but the bird just didn't care. In his little birdie mind we were big giant predators and he was resigned to being eaten. The question was, what do we do with him? I've tried saving injured birds in the past and it just hasn't worked out. And where would we put him outside where the cats wouldn't find him again? The cats manage to get on the roof of our house, so no place is really safe. In the end I made him a little cubby hole in the compost that I hadn't finished unloading from the truck earlier and left him there. Hopefully he'll come to his senses and fly away before he's discovered by the beasts.

The numbers just keep growing

When we first moved in back in November, our first "house guest" was the neighbor's horse. He lived alone and once he saw our horses next door he just had to step over the one strand of knee-high barbed wire keeping him in and come over for a visit. He'd sniff noses over the fence, but mostly he just enjoyed the lush green grass of the yard. He was shy at first and was a little nervous about letting us touch him, but eventually he decided that if we gave him treats we were friends worth having. At the time we weren't sure where he was from, but he looked healthy enough and didn't want him tearing up the yard with his running up and down the fence line, so we put him in with ours. It was love at first site for him and Kita! We woke up the next morning to find them lying back to back in the sun and they were never more than a few feet away from each other when grazing. That day we did find out where he belonged and the neighbors came over to get him, but I had to push him up the road because he just didn't want to go!


Now I'm going to bash the owner of this poor horse. This blog is not about bashing other people, but there are some things that I just don't deal well with and one of those is people who neglect their animals. Each of the dozen or so times that this horse has escaped his pasture, we've had to alert the owner. Even if he was here for several days before we said anything, the owner NEVER NOTICED HE WAS GONE!!! Here's the kicker.. she drives by our pasture at least twice a day and goes right past him. There he is, plain as day, can't miss him. But she does. The last time he came over was back in January and we thought that was the last time we'd see him... until yesterday. This time Junior was out in the yard eating breakfast as usual so when appybutt got here there was much fussing and running, snorting and stomping. We eventually got Junior back in the pasture with Mav and put appybutt in the cattle pen.


We had watched worthless owner drive by our place three times by afternoon. After I finished work for the day we went up and knocked on her door, but she didn't answer. We knew she was home as we saw her pull in just shortly before and her car was in the driveway. We gave up, went to town for dinner and groceries, then tried again when we got home. At that point she was gone again and we tried her father's house right next door. He was home, wonderful old man that he is! We hadn't introduced ourselves before now, but wow what a nice guy! He's got to be in his 70's and does not think very highly of his daughter at all. Apparently she lives to be drunk, only works on occasion and expects him to support her when she's not. He feeds her dogs and cats because she spends more time at the bar than at home.


Glenn did catch her home this morning and let her know that her horse was in our cattle pen. She didn't really care, didn't ask if he had done any damage, nor did she apologize for the inconvenience. She just said she come over this evening and get him. At that point Glenn just told her that it would be fine to leave him at our place until she can get some sort of buddy for him. He'll just keep escaping to be with our horses and her pathetic excuse for a fence wasn't going to hold him there. All she said was "ok". That's it. No "oh, thanks for the offer that would be great", or "oh no, I couldn't ask you to do that". Just a simple "ok". Could she not handle any thing more impressive due to her hangover I wonder? Glenn then asked her when was the last time that he was wormed. The answer? "Last year sometime." WHAT?? Horses should be wormed ever 6-8 weeks. It's a simple proven fact. No wonder he looks ribby with a huge tummy. It's not a beer belly and it's not a fuel tank for a love machine. It's worms. NICE.








It's probably been about that long since he's had anything done with his feet too.





















The good news is that he's really cute and a big teddy bear just starved for attention.



Maverick adores him and idolizes him even more than he did Junior. So Junior is back out with his women and the bachelors are hanging out together. Mav doesn't let him get more than a few feet away and once appybutt (his name is King, but I refuse to call him that) gets a tummy full of grass he's more than willing to run and play which is what Mav has been wanting for months.

I just hope that worthless owner decides to keep him here so that everyone can be happy and we can take care of those awful feet and get some wormer into him!

Back to my happy place

After making that last post I still needed to cleanse my soul of what I learned today (and really didn't want to know). So the dogs and I went outside for our daily play and horse feeding ritual. This time, I actually remembered to bring the camera with me.



Play time usually means "everyone gang up on Heidi cause if she runs we can't catch her anyway". Today Brie chose to pick on Zeus, who loved the attention and has a secret crush on Brie. Heidi just chased Brie around barking at her the whole time saying "chase me! chase me!".

After play time was over and everyone was taking a break, Jack had to go over and make sure his canine buddy was ok.

"OMG! Are those laugh lines? And where'd my puppish figure go?? Is that a double-chin???"













I can't wait to get chickens and guinea hens. And apparently, I'm not the only impatient one. This is one of Jilly's favorite spots -- the door to the chicken coop!









Those that know Cody and read my blog keep asking "where's the pictures of Cody???". Everyone who meets him loves him. Yes, he looks like he could take your arm off, but he's really the sweetest dog and wouldn't hurt a fly. He's afraid of his own shadow and loud noises, shares his food with the cats, and gets along with anything on four legs (and most two-leggers).

I got Cody from a rescue when he was four months old. The rescue had found him and his two sisters and mother somewhere in WV. When they found the dogs, mom was tied to a post in the middle of a yard at an abandoned home with no shelter, food, or water. She was emaciated and had given all she had to the pups. Knowing her pups were in good hands, she quietly died on the way back to Maryland. Cody's two sisters were rambunctious and outgoing, while Cody would roll over on his belly and lay his ears back when approached by a stranger. It took years for him to get past that to become the dog he is today. Now he's 11 years old, a little arthritic, but really none the worse for wear. And he is definitly the patriarch of the pack! He doesn't put up with any nonsense from the pups if he's not in the mood and they know when to swing wide of him if he's grumpy!







My last pic of the day is of Junior and Mav playing in the field. I've really been surprised at how well Junior has bonded with the little guy. Junior has been with only mares for so many years I thought he'd ignore Maverick more than anything. Yesterday at lunch we were outside for a bit watching them. A thunderstorm blew in pretty quickly and we watched as Junior moved to Mavericks' side and used himself to block Mav from the rain and wind. They were so close their bellies were touching and they just stood there until the rain stopped. Then it was off their separate ways to stuff their faces once again.

My brain hurts.

I'm a faithful reader of fuglyhorseoftheday.blogspot.com. I check it out every day, comment when the urge hits, and generally agree with most of the people there about horse care. I appropriately gasp in horror when she "outs" an abusive horse owner or unethical rescue organization and I equally jump for joy when a horse is literally pulled from the jaws of death at an auction and sent to a good home instead. I also understand WHY she does what she does. Until I started reading the blog I really was "color blind" and couldn't see past the pretty paint stallion to the awful conformation and thought that "wow, of course he should be stallion". That blog has opened my eyes to back yard breeders who pump out mediocre foal after mediocre foal just so they end up at a kill buyer auction when no one else wants to buy them, and to what happens when thoroughbreds or standardbreds no longer win at the track. My years of working with the AHPA and ERL in VA when I was younger only gave me a "feel" for what was happening in the horse world, not the big picture.

So this is the kind of thing I expect when I bring up the FHOTD site every day. This is not what I found on there today. If you're curious, go check it out. I really just need to get it out of my system so I won't go into further detail here. Besides, I'm trying to keep this blog clean. That's the way it should be when it comes to animals. Enough said.

Day of pics

In other words, I haven't got much to say except that life in the garden is pretty good. :)


We've got one more bed to build and fill and Glenn plans on making that one huge. The one in the foreground was just filled and planted yesterday with lettuce, a few herbs, and pineapple sage and monarda for the hummingbirds. Corn and cukes will be sown in there soon.










It's almost time to dust off the steamer!

















A bug's eye view of the kohlrabi and beets.















The "sacrificial" Brandywine tomato plant that was put out way too soon not only survived, but is thriving. Maybe one of these flowers will be the illusive 5 pounder of my dreams?

Our new "pet". He's here every day, several times a day, to fish. Sorry for the picture quality, he's a little camera shy and I had to take this one at dusk through the kitchen window screen.













The ancient tribal Totem of Dog.

The Saga Continues

Maverick is still a stud muffin.

I took the day off today so I could get Mav to the vet for his gelding appointment at 12:30. Just to confirm everything was still a go for launch I gave the vet a call this morning around 8:30. This time I must have got someone who actually knew what she was talking about and didn't rely on the phase of the moon or the alignment of the stars when it came to veterinary medicine. When I mentioned my name and that I was bringing in the cryptorchid colt for gelding today, she actually knew what I was talking about! When I had made the appt weeks ago I got Moonchild on the phone and had to explain what cryptorchid meant -- that only one of his testicles had dropped. With a normal stud, both testicles are down, it only requires mild sedation, snip snip, 150 bucks and you now have a bouncing baby gelding. With a cryptorchid colt you're talking put 'em under surgery and about 600 bucks. I had told Moonchild this when I called to make the appt. She said no problem, bring him in at 12:30. Well, okie dokie then we'll be there with bells on and leave without them.

This morning when I called I actually got someone who studied veterinary medicine instead of astrology. But she was rude about the whole thing, telling me there was no way they could do surgery like that today, and how dare I even ask them to consider it. So instead of taking Mav to the vet today we spent the morning beefing up the fence between the boys and the girls, and apologizing to Junior for not being able to let him in with his woman yet.

I may end up taking Mav back to the same vet at some point if I can't find anyone else with more intelligent vet techs. But for now, he's still a sweet, sane, friendly little boy who enjoys scratches, running around the field with big sticks in his mouth, and making mud pies with his butt. The fence is secure and until he grows tall enough to reach the mares or turns into the dominant stallion from hell, I may just let him keep his danglies for a bit longer. But he definitely gets cut before next winter since both of our barns are in the same pasture and I don't want to keep the girls out in the cold.