Posts Tagged ‘Delilah’
Up Late
Stayed up late. Watched men’s college basketball championship. Result: I’m tired. Tired just watching them play. But, also tired of Mozyr being sick and peeing on our bed. Tired of mud in the paddocks. Tired of dirt from Delilah covering our floor. Tired of sawdust covering everything in the garage, and dust from sanded drywall covering everything in the basement.
At the same time, Mozyr has been more forward and friendly lately than any other time since the day we brought him home from the rescue shelter. The horses are coping well with our muddy mess. Delilah has been a total charmer of late. We have a fantastic new storage room in our basement.
It’s not all bad, even when it sometimes feels that way when you stay up late.
Speaking of our little charmer, here’s a picture for you… We noticed that Delilah had laid down for a nap with her head against the “chew toy” deer antler she brought home from the woods. She looks a bit like the cute little doggie from the cartoon of Dr. Seuss’ “How the Grinch Stole Christmas.”
Mozyr earned an expensive visit to the Vet yesterday. We have prescription food for him now. He turned it down. I sure could use some enhanced skills in communicating with our animals. I’d like to hear what he has to say about his situation lately.
I wouldn’t mind hearing a little of what Delilah and the horses think, either.
I tried a new trick with one of the newer, small hay bales last night. We usually roll a wheelbarrow of hay to the feeders in the paddock, but with the ground so incredibly muddy, that hasn’t been working so well for us. In the hay shed, I was looking at a net and a hanging bag that we have used to move hay on occasion. I noticed the net is almost the size of a small bale, so I put one in and then tied the net tight with some bale twine. I tossed the netted bale into their feeder and let them go to town on it.
I think they were thrilled to have an entire bale of the good hay. I’m guessing it didn’t occur to them that they could only munch on small bites at a time, through the netting. It slows them down just enough that the bale lasts longer and there is less hay wasted.
I’m tired of seeing how much hay they are able to waste.
.Mo
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Doggone Excitement
Sunday was a refreshing day of warmth and sunshine, which melted enough snow to bring us almost back to where things were before last week’s storm. As I expected, much of my day yesterday involved shoveling channels in the muddy ground to facilitate drainage of the melt water. Luckily, we got help from Elysa and her friend, Anne, who stopped by for a dose of country sun and to commune with all our animals.
Anne captured this beautiful picture of Legacy and Cayenne giving Elysa some love for her efforts.
In the morning, while Cyndie and I were working in the paddock, we spotted a local coyote hunter’s truck that had stopped on our road. Then I heard the baying sound of his hunting dogs and quickly became concerned about where Delilah was. We discovered her a little ways out in one of our fields, oblivious to the world as she buried her nose in the ground in pursuit of some enticing scent. We called her back to our vicinity.
A short while after that, the sound of the hunting dogs erupted again, this time closer, from the woods beyond our house. Delilah took off after the sound, despite my calls for her to stay. Uneasy about what the hunting dogs might do to the sudden appearance of our dog, I dropped my shovel and hustled after her. Before I got very far, I heard the hunter’s truck coming up behind me in our driveway.
He has been up to our house a couple other times, to ask permission to track coyotes across our property, so I was familiar with him. He assured me that Delilah was not at any risk from his dogs. Just then, she came sprinting back, now interested in this stranger standing with me. We visited briefly and then he checked his electronic tracker and found his pack of hounds had moved on, so he headed off down the road after them.
You’d think by this point we might have considered putting Delilah on a leash, but we went on about our activity as if that whole hunting dog concern was over. That’s not the way tracking necessarily works. After enough time passed to lull me into forgetting about it, I happened to glance up and spot an animal running along our southern property border. Initially, I wondered if it might be a coyote on the run from the pursuit, but it became clear it was one of the hunting dogs. By the time I located Delilah, it was obvious that she had seen it, too, and was already on the opposite side of that same field.
Despite both Cyndie’s and my protests, Delilah excitedly ran down to check on the new dogs visiting her turf. True to the hunter’s word, there were no threatening gestures from his pack, as the number of arriving dogs increased. What did end up happening was plenty of barking and eventually, confusion. With Delilah anxiously, but cautiously, trying to engage all these strange dogs, the pack seemed to lose track of their primary mission, and decided to focus all their attention on her. Delilah decided to retreat back toward us.
Soon there were hounds around and in the paddocks and a fair amount of chaos as Cyndie and I hollered, waffling between trying to collar our dog or the hunting dog that was now in proximity of our horses. In a flash the hunter’s truck was rushing up our driveway, and he apologized three different times as he hoisted each of his dogs up into their compartments on the back of his truck.
Happily, there were no problems that occurred from the close encounter between our dog and the hunting dogs. In fact, it turned out to be a great opportunity to increase awareness of Delilah to our surrounding community. The hunter happens to be a cousin of our neighbor whose property abuts ours on two sides. He approved of the orange vest we make her wear outside. He said he noticed her out in the field right away the first time he pulled over, and would make sure his cousin knows about her now, too.
I appreciate that, because we’ve been meaning to introduce her since we brought her home last July, and just never got around to making it happen.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
No Foolin’
I think we just might have gotten past the messiest part of the spring snow melt season yesterday. At least, that’s what the optimist in me is hanging his hopes on. It is hard to shake the memory of that 18 inch snowfall that buried us last May and significantly prolonged the drying out of our property last year, but something is telling me that won’t be our plight this year.
A remarkable amount of ground made its first appearance of 2014 during yesterday’s dose of warmth and wind. We were blessed with two separate periods of relatively light rainfall which is always a big help in melting the snow pack. I was able to make my way along a good portion of our southern property line and was thrilled to find that the new culvert we installed, along with the preliminary improvements to open up the drainage ditch, are functioning brilliantly. It is easy to see where we should continue, and I have renewed inspiration and confidence about what I want to do next to maximize the benefits possible in helping our land drain in a controlled way.
The channel I made on Sunday is still in place at the edge of the southern ditch. Looking back up toward where all the water is coming from, you can see how much it wants to spread out now. One of my goals this summer will be to dig out a more defined creek bed across this field with our tractor, and then soften the edges to a gentle slope, and seed it with grass. Most of the year it will simply be a dry depression, only filling with water during the snow melt or a significant rainfall.
Our water-loving dog, Delilah, is mad about helping me get the water to flow. She runs up and down the channels and tries to bite the water wherever it ripples or gurgles. I like it when she helps down here because the ground isn’t muddy and the water is clean, so she just gets wet. The running back and forth does wonders to burn off her otherwise endless energy. When we came in, I toweled her off as she lay on her back, and then she curled up with the towel and took a nap.
On my way back to the house, I plodded past the labyrinth and discovered an interesting phenomenon. The melting snow is creating an inverse image as compared to the way it looked when I was shoveling the route in winter. It takes longer for packed snow to melt, so the path that I repeatedly trekked with snow shoes is now taller than the border areas of stones. They appear as depressions between the paths now.
It’s true. I’m not just saying that because it’s April 1st. Seriously.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Harsh Realities
In the last few days, we have come across a surprising number of animal parts that Delilah has collected from her explorations around our property. I think the melting snow might be revealing some carcasses that were preserved beneath all the white stuff this winter. At least, we hope that explains the dramatic increase in our exposure to the harsh reality of animal mortality lately, as opposed to the possibility that she has become that proficient of a predator.
Cyndie buys a lot of chew toys for our dog, but none of those come close to thrilling Delilah as much as something biological. Oftentimes, we are unable to recognize what she has in her mouth, but it is easy to tell from her behavior and body language that it isn’t one of the toys.
If we are lucky, we are unable to identify what it is. Somehow that is easier to stomach. I felt a bit nauseous yesterday as she chomped away on the very obvious body of a mouse. Then she comes inside and tries to lick our faces with her bad breath while we towel her dry and remove her blaze-orange vest.
Earlier that morning, Cyndie stepped in the house from feeding the horses and said, “I have a blog post title for you…”
“Headless Rabbit.”
I decided not. Cyndie described the unlikely scenario of lifting one of the horse’s feed pans which had been flipped upside down in the paddock, and discovering the carcass of a headless rabbit beneath. We can’t imagine how it ended up there. Maybe one of the horses came across the body and purposely covered it out of respect.
We also have a pile of feathers that Delilah has been working on, which I’m guessing came from one of the many wild turkeys roaming our land. In addition to the deer leg that has been a recent prize, she also is quite fond of chewing on a fair-sized piece of hide; both hoof and hide being something that a pack of coyotes might leave behind.
Another harsh reality we are facing this weekend, with temperatures soaring well-above freezing, is the mud and manure mess we have been anticipating in the paddocks. When the ground here is saturated, it becomes so soft that you sink to the point of losing a boot in many places. That means we don’t dare try driving the tractor into the paddocks now to remove the abundant accumulation of manure. It would sink past the axles. This will be a nasty problem to endure while waiting for the soil to dry out.
It is our first spring with the horses, and this worst-case scenario has us biding our time until we can engineer a remedy, which will likely be a combination of altering landscape to improve drainage, and adding some sand/gravel to a few key areas to improve their footing.
All this “reality” certainly does help to accentuate how far we have come in our move from the refined environment of our previous life in the suburbs.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Will They?
One of our current spring dramas is whether our pine trees will recover from the stress they have endured from our dry fall that was followed by the most extreme winter we’ve had in 35 years. I’ve not consulted with an arborist yet, but our trees are definitely browning from the bottom up and the inside out. This doesn’t match the descriptions I find of how winter injury or pine wilt symptoms appear. Whatever it is that is causing the problem, it’s not affecting every single pine, but it is widespread throughout our property and not confined to one spot. We are hoping for the best, but I’m inclined to believe the prognosis is not good. The die-back on many of them is over half the tree.
That isn’t our only drama this spring. We are also anxious to learn whether the maple tree we transplanted to the labyrinth last fall survived the obvious shock it endured from its being uprooted and relocated. If we witness signs of life from that tree in the days ahead, my spirit will soar and we will have much cause for celebration.
There is also concern for the number of plants Cyndie worked so hard to get established in the rest of the labyrinth. This winter was hard on everything, so even if the plants survived the onslaught of snow and long periods of extreme cold, they will now face risks from animals that are trying to eat anything and everything available to recover from their own season-long deprivation. I don’t intend to erect a 10-foot-high fence around the garden to keep deer away, but I fear that is about what it would take to dissuade them from bellying up to our conveniently situated buffet down there.
We could ask Delilah to patrol the area for us, as she would be thrilled at an invitation to chase deer, but she would likely wreak her own havoc on plants, as she demonstrates amazing reckless disregard for all living things in her excitement to chase and dig.
One last drama we came face to face with yesterday is the question of whether we will be able to continue allowing Delilah to be both an indoor and an outdoor pet. This is the first spring that she has lived with us, so we haven’t previously needed to deal with managing both spring mud and a dog before.
When we step in the door, we can simply remove our muddy boots. I wish it were that simple for her. Yesterday, a day when the temperature was below freezing, but the sunshine was still melting exposed ground, she got legs and belly covered with mud and manure-cicles. When we came inside, Delilah was rubbed down with a towel in a cursory attempt to dry her off. Later, when we had time, she would get bathed to remove the residual grime.
So much for waiting. Soon we were seeing dark spots all over the floor. The mud and manure frozen to her underside, and which toweling did not remove, was now melting at a rapid pace. Everywhere she walked in our house was becoming a bio-hazard site. Poor dog was unceremoniously evicted and sent to her kennel outside do be dealt with later.
If I thought it stood a chance of working, I’d look into mud boots for her. I wonder if she’d let me wrap her torso with stretch-wrap to keep her belly fur dry.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Nature’s Course
There is no getting around the fact that we are at that time of year when the weather can flip from enticingly spring-like to “as winter as ever” in a single day. It can be a tough blow at the end of a harsh winter to be walloped by storms that give the impression the weather is headed in the wrong direction. Today is expected to be one of those tough blows, but it is not clear what the precise position of the storm will be. We are on the edge of a suspected path which could swing either to freezing rain or heavy, wet snow.
For the time being, I’m going to enjoy this image of our paddock from Saturday, when the snow had been cleared off the ground and the clouds were gone from the sky. We’ll have more of this type of enjoyment in the days ahead. We just need to tolerate a small setback to a winter storm for a few days.
That’s Dezirea munching hay, with Legacy standing by, on watch.
A couple of days later and it looked like this (although, in fairness, this one was taken with my phone looking through a dirty window from inside our sunroom):
At Delilah’s desperate urging, I let her outside to chase a squirrel, or squirrels, which had been tugging mercilessly at her predator instincts while she was trapped indoors. I followed her with my eyes as she sprinted deep into the neighbor’s woods to our north, much farther than she normally explores. The unconscious chase left her in new territory, and I would have been surprised if she just turned around and came back into our yard.
She disappeared for quite a while. When Delilah finally reappeared outside our windows, it wasn’t a squirrel she had as a prize, but the bottom portion of a deer leg. It is most likely that she happened upon a carcass that was left by some other predator(s), but she looked so much like a wolf out there, gnawing on that limb in the heavy falling snow, I felt a renewed appreciation for why our cats appear so wary of her.
She’s just doing what comes natural, but it can be almost scary seeing how incredibly proficient she is about it.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Embarrassing Excess
I am developing a complex about the number of boots, jackets and gloves that I seem to need to keep handy at our doors. Occasionally, Cyndie will clear the excess and stow it in a closet. When this happens, I try to respect it for as long as possible, but inevitably my plethora of outerwear re-accumulates, filling our entrances with my clutter once again.
This time of year is particularly difficult, because the transition from winter to spring brings a wide variety of conditions. I seem to be putting on a different boot every other time I go out. For deep snow and/or extremely cold temperatures, I prefer my Steger mukluks. However, they have a soft leather sole, and I frequently want something more robust for tasks around the barn, or with our machines.
My other options include another pair of insulated winter boots –with a rubber sole; my ankle-high muck boots; and (not pictured) my calf-high, steel-toe slip-on boots for when I’m going to be near the horses.
I really do wear them all, and often in the span of a few days. Around here, it can be almost summer-like one day, and the next, you might receive a foot and a half of snow (as happened here last year on May 2nd!).
It’s the same thing with jackets. The hooks by the door make it look like we are having a party or something, but no, two of those are Cyndie’s and the rest are all mine.
I’ve got a heavy canvas coat for the colder days, a light winter shell, my raincoat, and my favorite light jacket from Wilkus Architects. By the other door is my Columbia fleece and shell combination that is so old I decided to have it become the winter work jacket, letting it get dusted and rubbed by enough grime that you can hardly tell what color it once was.
Could I get by with just one pair of boots and one jacket? Not one that works well for all situations, that’s for sure.
Then I look at Delilah, who doesn’t wear boots at all. She goes in and out of the house, and her furry paws work just fine for every condition. Sure, we have to pull ice out from between her toes sometimes, and wipe her down with a towel when she comes in, but she makes those paws do.
I aspire to become as efficient as she is.
Although, I’ve got her beat on one thing. Her collection of chew toys and gnawed bones, antlers, and stuffed critters is ten times the clutter of anything of mine piled up around the inside of our house.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Directing Flow
While walking through the muddy driveway in front of the barn I noticed that one of the “fixes” I tried last fall to control runoff appeared to still be doing the job this spring. Previously, the water on the barn-side of the hay shed would flow straight across the drive path into the paddock. I made a little channel at a diagonal across the driveway in hopes of directing the flow toward the far side of the paddock.
With all the snow piled up beside the driveway, there was nowhere for the water to go, so it began to pool up. I grabbed a shovel and set about remedying that situation. While I was working on it, Delilah showed up to help. She had already been racing through the mud that is beginning to appear in several places, so I guess I should be happy she likes playing in the puddles, too.
When it was time to head in, Delilah was a mess. Aaaah, spring. She has already started digging up the dirt that is becoming exposed at the front two corners of the hay shed. She appeared to be trying to get as dirty, muddy, and wet as was possible in the short time she had to run free after I got home and let her out of her daytime kennel.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Drippy Day
Sunshine had the snow melting off our rooftops in dramatic fashion yesterday. I started a project to assemble a new trailer for our ATV outside of the shop garage, but partway through, I noticed that the snow overhanging the roof had gotten so large it looked scary.
I moved further away from the overhang, out of harms way. At the time, the whole front section of the driveway was dry, but about midway through the assembly instructions my work space was becoming a series of draining water paths.
There weren’t as many collapses from overhead as I expected, but the afternoon was peppered with just enough dislodged masses of melting snow to keep me on edge.
In a follow-up to yesterday’s post about Delilah and the horses, I can report that Cyndie came in after feeding them in the morning, shortly after I had hit the “Publish” button, and she told me that somehow one of the horses sent the dog tumbling a couple of rolls through the snow.
She said Delilah got up with just a hint of a limp and carried on, leaving a bit more space between herself and the horses.
The horses were wary in the afternoon about coming up to feed under the overhang, so I suspect they have been enduring their own share of startling crashes of snow melt.
Everybody is a little out of whack around here. The cats are acting strange, but in a good way, making many more demands for attention than usual. I think they are starting to shed, and just want us to give them a good brushing. I was petting Pequenita and ended up with my hand and shirt covered in statically clinging cat hair.
I noticed the wee cat smelling Delilah’s paws just after the dog walked in the door from outside. Our cats don’t get to go outside, and I think she was curious about the scent from the great beyond.
Right now, that scent probably just smells like wet feet, but if the melt keeps up like this for long, very soon those paws will be smelling like spring mud.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Intelligence Gaps
In the early dark of the first morning after the obnoxiously irritating hour adjustment to Daylight Saving Time, Delilah and I got up and started this day by ourselves. The cats were up, but not being noticeable, and Cyndie was sleeping as if the clocks hadn’t changed. I added wood to the fire and sat down to write, frequently interrupted by Delilah seeking attention.
The melt has started in earnest here and all that accumulation resting on metal roofs was set in motion yesterday, breaking loose and giving in to gravity with startling clamorous reverberations. Scared a few years of life out of Cyndie when it happened on the hay shed while she was inside it.
On the overhang of the barn where we added a gutter to minimize the dripping on the horses, the snow had slid beyond the gutter and was raining down. I had just walked up to tell Cyndie I was going to make a run to River Falls to pick up parts for the lawn tractor, and seeing the problem, grabbed a rake to knock the ice and snow down.
Let that be a lesson to me. I didn’t have a coat on, or a hat, or most importantly, gloves. I knew a little snow might fall on me, but it was a nice day and I took it as a challenge I could manage. What I didn’t anticipate was the damage a little falling ice can do to bare hands. I didn’t notice until I was on the way to town in the car, that my hands had suffered multiple cuts and scrapes. One particularly bothersome spot was missing a layer of skin. Ouch that stings.
While I was looking up at the gutter, and Cyndie was looking down, as she scooped up manure, Delilah decided to harass the horses in the paddock. In our continuing effort to have them learn to accept each other, neither of us chose to intercede on the confrontation. Then we heard Delilah yelp. I quickly turned to see that she looked just fine and was even still hanging around them. I don’t know if she got kicked or not, but we decided it was time to separate them. Time will tell if that will serve as a lesson to her or not.
She can be incredibly smart sometimes, and a bit of a doofus others. She knows that she is not allowed to bring dead animals into the house. We faced off for about 45 minutes one night, she on the deck and me at the back door. If she drops it, she gets to come in. So she drops the remains of this squirrel she caught and I open the door. She picks it back up and I close the door. It’s a wonderful game.
On Friday I saw her running around with the frozen remains of a rabbit, which kept her occupied while I focused on my own projects. As the day warmed up and she gnawed on her prize, I noticed on a subsequent trip between the house and the shop that the rabbit was no longer frozen. I headed in for lunch and in a few short minutes, Delilah showed up at the back door, looking ready to come in.
I opened the door and she immediately checked for the cats and made a circle around the room. I had barely finished closing the door when she stopped on the rug in front of the fireplace and coughed up a big chunk of that rabbit. She had been carrying it deep in the back of her mouth, obviously to be savored later.
I flung that door back open so fast, while shouting out my repulsed objection, that she knew exactly which rule had been broken. Without hesitation, she picked it up and marched back outside.
She’s smart, in that she understands the rule, and connives tricks to get around it, but then she goes and drops it right in front of me! How smart is that?
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Relative Something 