Archive for February 2015
Goodbye February
Regardless my wonderfully slow-paced daily routine on the ranch, I cannot keep up with the days flying by that become months sailing away. February just started and now it is over. Humans may not have invented a time machine yet, but who needs it? We are living in one.
We have been experiencing a string of below zero (F) overnight lows the last few days, but since it wasn’t windy, we left the horses outside to deal with it. Cayenne was able to show off her awesome eyelashes with an icy white highlight in the morning during breakfast.
I have been working to prepare for the possibility that someone other than me would be doing the animal chores around here, on the chance that Cyndie would successfully find enough animal sitters to allow me to join her on a visit to our friends in Guatemala.
The person that did the job for us over New Year’s weekend was no longer available. Thursday night, with our children’s precious acceptance to figure out a way to fill the few holes in coverage that remained, we made a commitment and purchased airplane tickets.
Look out, Dunia and family, here we come!
So, I’m hoping to make it as easy as possible for our animal sitters to maintain some semblance of cleanliness in the paddocks. It is not easy to pick up manure that first melts, and then re-freezes into the frozen snow and ice packed on the ground everyday. After the struggle to get it up, hauling it to the compost pile is another battle. I have started to create piles within the paddock where it can be temporarily stored.
I brought Delilah with me yesterday to work on the project. She is still confined to a leash when I am unable to give her my constant attention, so I tethered her to a hook on the outside of the paddock fence. There she is able to squeeze under the lowest board and feel like she is not entirely excluded from the action.
Unfortunately, she can’t restrain herself from periodic antagonistic barking and snarling fits at the horses when they are close. For their part, the horses seem entirely nonplussed by the big show she puts on, but are complicit in their repeated decision to wander over close to her if she has been calm and quiet for too long.
I really delight in seeing them serenely coexisting, which happens for brief glimpses, so in contrast, her sudden outbursts are a jarring disruption to the tranquility. While I was raking away, I glanced up to see what looked like a zen exercise Legacy was employing to convince Delilah to mellow out.
Legacy looked like he was sleeping, except that he was also very subtly decreasing the space between them. I think Delilah was feeling the closing proximity and would make her own adjustments of position. The problem with this game was that Delilah was tethered and was moving further into the paddock to the end of the reach of her leash. Legacy, whether intentional, or not, was closing in on her escape route.
To her credit, Delilah didn’t give in and erupt on her own. It took me becoming alarmed and hustling over to set her off to barking at him. I was continuing to rake while keeping and eye on them, until Legacy got close enough to reach her leash and got it in his mouth.
I figured nothing good could come of this and dropped the rake to hustle over there and intervene. Delilah barked, Legacy startled, and the game was over.
Hopefully, prior to all the excitement, Delilah absorbed enough of Legacy’s zen-like message to practice staying calm when the horses wander over to say hello.
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Orange Hat
It’s a curiosity that lingers. I walk past it every day, often times not even noticing it. This morning, as I made my approach, it glowed brightly in the direct rays of the low morning sunshine. It is a blaze orange stocking cap. (That seems like a strange name for a knit cap, but “stocking” cap is the common lexicon in my head.)
It hangs on a branch in our neighbor’s woods just a few yards beyond the boundary of our property. The lower band appears to be a bit dirty, leading me to believe it had probably been on the ground for some time. One day it just appeared on the branch.
Why?
My first thought was that whoever found it probably hung it up conspicuously in case the person who lost it came looking. But who? I have never seen anyone in these woods. Not even during hunting season, though I don’t tend to walk back here so much during the hunt. It is private property, so only family or someone who was given access by the family would likely be hiking through these woods.
If someone found the hat, why wouldn’t they have just taken it back to the house so it could be returned to the person who lost it? This is not at a spot where someone (other than people hiking on our side of the fence) might just happen by and notice it. This is a long distance away and isolated from our neighbor’s house by a big hill.
Was it put there as a signal? A warning? I’ve contemplated multiple scenarios. None of my imaginings have made any difference. The hat continues to just hang there, blazing away.
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Sleep
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early morning light
rattles gently against the window
asking to get inside
despite not needing permission
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darkness glides blithely away
until later that very same day
entirely unconcerned
there’s no alternative decision
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each fulfill their role on demand
for infinite weeks without end
and sleep just ignores the both of them
rolling right over because it can
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On Fatherhood
Each morning, after I have finished tending to the horse chores, Delilah and I go for a walk around the circumference of our property boundaries. Lately, I have noticed this time is becoming a particularly fruitful one for inspiration and insights.
Yesterday I was thinking about fatherhood. My children are both grown and living their own lives at this point, so I am well beyond the day-to-day responsibilities of raising them. We are now in a phase that I hadn’t really given any thought to: being a father to adult children.
It occurred to me that when I was the age that they are now, my father had been dead for about 4 years. I was 22 when my father died. I don’t have the benefit of having had a relationship with my dad while in my adult years that I can use to inform and guide my decisions as a father from this point forward.
I suppose that could be seen as a feature instead of a flaw, in some regards. However, I’m finding that not having had my father alive for most of my adult life has me now feeling somewhat unschooled about what comes next. I’m sure that the manual that comes with each kid would have provided answers for any questions I had from here on out, if it had been included at the time of delivery.
Thinking back, the only type of feedback I recall receiving from my father during the time our lives overlapped involved indirect grumpiness and griping. If it came at all, direct praise or reprimand was rare enough that I hold few recollections of them. He was not one to tell me he loved me. That level of connection needed to be assumed. We did the best we could with it.
I definitely love my kids and am able to tell them so, though doing it still doesn’t come naturally for me. At this point, I don’t really know how to say or do much more than that, from within the role of being their father. After they left the nest, they became more like friends for me than people whose lives I direct.
Luckily, they are great to have as friends. From here on out, when the time comes for something more than friendly advice from me, I’ll be winging it; hoping to be the father I would like to have had as an adult.
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Horse Talk
There aren’t a lot of people who gush over their dental care team, but I can’t help myself. I went for my regular 6-month check up and cleaning appointment yesterday and as always, had such a great experience that I wish I didn’t need to wait 6 more months for the next one.
Early in the exchange of pleasantries with the hygienist I was meeting for the first time, I revealed that I care for 4 horses. Soon, horses became the main theme of our staccato conversation, carried out in the brief pauses between my mouth being filled with hands and dental tools.
She told me about wild horses that still roam the outer banks of North Carolina. She briefly visited the area to attend a wedding, and never got a chance to see those horses. It would be an awesome sight to see wild horses running along the shoreline.
I shared bits of my brief history with horses and received a response of such amazement that it caused me to see anew the remarkable story I’ve been living for the last few years. Since I have heard myself tell this tale over and over, it can seem a little worn out with each new telling. It is refreshing when it evokes an impassioned response of awe and appreciation.
It helps me to stay present in the thrill and wonder of a precious experience that every day grows more routine for me.
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Last Night
Sure enough, I was up late last night watching the Academy Awards broadcast. The awards show was something of a curiosity for me since I have only seen one of the films involved. Even Though I like movies, I don’t get out to the theater that often to see them when they are initially released.
Last night, the portion that made the whole event worthwhile for me was the combination of artists Common and John Legend performing their nominated song, “Glory” from the movie Selma, followed by their acceptance speech for winning the Oscar.
Common spoke first:
First off, I’d like to thank God that lives in us all. Recently, John and I got to go to Selma and perform “Glory” on the same bridge that Dr. King and the people of the civil rights movement marched on 50 years ago. This bridge was once a landmark of a divided nation, but now is a symbol for change. The spirit of this bridge transcends race, gender, religion, sexual orientation, and social status. The spirit of this bridge connects the kid from the South side of Chicago, dreaming of a better life to those in France standing up for their freedom of expression to the people in Hong Kong protesting for democracy. This bridge was built on hope. Welded with compassion. And elevated by love for all human beings.
Followed by John:
Thank you. Nina Simone said it’s an artist’s duty to reflect the times in which we live. We wrote this song for a film that was based on events that were 50 years ago, but we say Selma is now, because the struggle for justice is right now. We know that the voting rights, the act that they fought for 50 years ago is being compromised right now in this country today. We know that right now the struggle for freedom and justice is real. We live in the most incarcerated country in the world. There are more black men under correctional control today than were under slavery in 1850. When people are marching with our song, we want to tell you that we are with you, we see you, we love you, and march on.
Powerful stuff. And real.
I’m glad their song has been receiving attention during this awards season. March on.
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Two Things
While trudging through new drifts on a walk with Delilah yesterday morning, it occurred to me… there are two things. I’m sure it can be argued that there are more than two things, but that is a topic for another time. I’m just writing now about the perception of two things. There are always two and though they may be distinct, they are undeniably, inextricably linked.
Case in point: there is Delilah pulling me up the steep hill at the end of our walk, and there is me being pulled up the hill by Delilah. Two things.
There is happiness, and sadness. Hope, and despair. Winning, and losing. Those are obvious. How about, almost there, and not quite there yet. Dreaming your reality, and realizing your reality is a dream. Waiting for tomorrow, and wondering where tomorrow went. There is pondering how this could have been a poem, and seeing how likely such a poem would seem trite.
The thing that I find most fascinating about all this silliness, though hardly surprising, is how it is revealing the chasm which inevitably swallows all the creative momentum and ingenious possibilities between the amusing period of conception and the time-delayed attempt to build the idea into a rewarding post.
Yesterday morning, it was vapor, filled with potential. Then it evaporated. So I tried anyway, long after my brain was wallowing in the distractions of being back in the house. My poor brain, which more than anything enjoys every opportunity to take naps whether the eyes are open or closed. Maybe I think of naps because that has become the length of time I can do anything of my own agenda. It is the duration of Delilah’s naps.
Luckily she naps frequently. When she is not napping she is begging for attention beyond my capacity to engage with her. It’s right out of the breed description: “not typically recommended for people who are inexperienced with dogs. His temperament and activity level can be overwhelming to people who haven’t had a working dog before.”
When I went down and sat with the horses on Thursday, I had left Delilah in the house. She hesitated about accepting her leash and I wasn’t up to the game of enticing her. I went out without her. That is why I was able to spend a full half-hour of blissful serenity with the horses.
Two things. I was sitting in observance of the horse activities, and I was with them as a member of the herd.
Two things inextricably linked: my daily inspirations that become blog fodder, and the hard-fought battle of doing those inspirations justice in words, sentences, commas —or not— and paragraphs. No wonder I always try to include images.
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Steaming Cold
Yesterday morning we awoke to double-digit below-zero temperatures. It was probably the coldest night we have left the horses outside to endure. They did have their blankets on, and despite significant frost on their faces from their breath and some nasty snow/ice buildup on the bottoms of their hooves, they seemed to have handled it fine.
I experienced another first when I decided to see if I could to anything to help Legacy with the excessive buildup under his front hooves. After locating a hoof pick in Cyndie’s tray of tools, I stepped up and invited him to lift his foot for me.
Based on my vague memory of watching our farrier, George Walker, I maneuvered to hold Legacy’s leg between my knees. He seemed to welcome my efforts and was very accommodating of my untrained technique. It is probably best to have another person to handle the horse for this procedure, but he and I were the only ones available. We made due.
The whole chunk wouldn’t pop off like I’d hoped, so I scraped and scratched as best I was able to grind it down to a less severe knob. Legacy stood stationary after I finished that first hoof, so I took that as a sign of approval and walked around to repeat my performance on the other side. Other than his leaning excessively to the point of scaring me he was going to topple over, it went about the same as the first one. He seemed satisfied with the partial progress.
On a whim, I tried to see if I could get any good pictures of the ice crystal formations that grew on piles of manure. I thought the juxtaposition of the two might produce and interesting result.
It was steaming hot for a little while.
Surprisingly, the extreme cold doesn’t stop the biological processes at work in the compost pile, so the crystal growth gets a lot more substantial. That small mountain of manure is cooking and the steam rises all night long.
I was hoping to get a good image from the main pile, but it was probably too cold overnight and the ice accumulation grew so thick it got beyond the delicate beauty I was wanting to capture. Of course, that didn’t stop me from trying.
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When all the morning chores were done and Delilah and I had finished our breakfast, I made an extra trip back down to check on the horses. I had spoken with George about the ice buildup and confirmed I was doing the right thing. Emboldened, I wanted to see if I could help any of the other horses.
They were all napping in the sun. I sat on the ground with them for about a half an hour, soaking up the cold sunshine and enjoying the serenity with them. They didn’t need any further intervention from me.
By the afternoon, it looked like they had all successfully shed the accumulation that was stuck to them in the morning. A much better solution than my trying to do it for them.
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More Carnivore
Content Advisory: The following post contains probably more detail than necessary about predator/prey animal activity. If you have sensitivity about such content, you have no obligation to read any further. I do not wish to offend, so proceed at your own risk.
Our dog, Delilah, has been on a run of success for finding rodents of late. Maybe the cold temperatures slow them down, or maybe their scent becomes easier for Delilah to discern when everything else around them is frozen solid. The other day I watched one get away after she “soft carried” to an area of packed snow on our trail. When she dropped the poor thing, it squirmed a bit. She pawed, licked it, and took tentative nips at it. She would pick it up in her mouth, but never got around to applying a fatal pressure.
All the activity eventually moved them to the deeper snow beside the trail. Each time the mouse would get dropped again, it would attempt to burrow into the powdery snow beneath the upper crust, forcing Delilah to hurriedly search with her nose to locate it again.
After several go-rounds of this game, the critter landed on good footing and immediately darted between Delilah’s legs toward the safety of its previous lair. By the time Delilah could spin around to chase, the mouse had gained its advantage.
All I could think was, never give up. I had totally written off that mouse as doomed. It survived a lot of abuse, but took advantage of the opportunity that presented itself just moments prior to death.
Make a run for it, and there’s a possibility you live another day.
As an aside, this gives me a twinge of sadness to think of the humans who commit suicide when consumed with a perception of doom from their condition, instead of mustering the equivalence of what that mouse had, and making a run for it.
After Delilah does end the life of her rodent prey, she has a habit of strutting around with her prize. For some reason I don’t comprehend, she stops frequently to drop it. She then licks it and smells it. When I show an interest in proceeding, she picks it up again and trots ahead. A short distance later she drops it again.
Usually, she surprises me by inconspicuously leaving it behind somewhere as we resume the regular pace of our walks. A day or two later she will retrieve a previous catch and decide to consume it. Maybe it is her way of “aging” the food, or maybe she just prefers it frozen. When she chooses to do this right as we reach the front door it presents a conflict. We have a rule that she can’t bring dead animals into the house.
Yesterday, she wouldn’t leave the small carcass behind, so I stood and waited for her to do what she does. It was disgusting. I struggled to reconcile what she puts in her stomach.
Then it occurred to me that it is probably similar to the meat by-product ingredients of her canned food. The already-processed canned food just looks more palatable. An average person comfortable feeding their dog canned food might find the sight of a fresh killed meal unacceptable.
Dogs are carnivorous. Living with Delilah, I find myself gaining a better understanding of what that actually involves.
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Relative Something 