Posts Tagged ‘dog’
Plastic Goats
Sure, we could get goats to control the patches of poison ivy on our land, but we don’t need large swaths eaten down to a moonscape. We want a more targeted approach and one that will cost us less than goats. We are taking a shot at using plastic and/or cardboard to cover specific patches where the problem plant is most entrenched.
The hope is to turn just a select strip into a miniature moonscape. Since this method kills everything beneath the plastic, it’s not different from spraying entire swaths with a solution of vinegar/salt/dish soap concoctions, so we may experiment with that in a different location. Cyndie donned protective gear and worked to cut out the woody stems of poison ivy with berries that are very easily seen right now. She left her good gloves behind with Asher to stand guard.
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The horses came over to see what was up and lingered in the vicinity for a short while, grazing the dead grass and any new sprouts beneath that might be showing up.
I decided to make myself useful and worked to cut out the grapevine stems from the other side of the brush where Cyndie was working.
Anywhere on our property that we don’t regularly walk through is pretty much guaranteed to have grape vines seeking to become the dominant species, bending branches and entire trees down into submission. Trying to keep them at bay could be a full-time job. I yanked as many strands as possible from the branches of the bushes that were being swallowed and made a pile of vines.
I guess we worked for longer than Asher could stay awake.
We’ll wait a growing season and then see if we can encourage a desirable ground cover to fill in areas that have been under our plastic version of leaf-munching goats. The weather patterns of the last two years produced the largest expansion of poison ivy since we’ve lived here. It would be nice if we could make some headway in the other direction this year.
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False Alarm
That didn’t happen. Not only did we dodge the threat of snow, but the winds barely rose above a typical spring day. I am not complaining. It was an interesting phenomenon where the weather radar showed precipitation in the form of snow overhead for most of the day, but nothing was making it out of the clouds.
One day earlier, I captured a picture of sun rays making it through the clouds.
Yesterday wasn’t very photogenic while I was walking with Asher. When we came out of the barn after feeding the horses and came around the corner of the hay shed, we found the neighbor’s cat crouched with its attention focused on something other than us behind the shed. Asher lurched and startled the cat, who then made a hasty sprint for cover.
Poor Asher let loose with a series of his whiny barks that sound like a really distressed dog is being abused by its owner. The only abuse I was guilty of was not letting the poor guy run after the cat.
The pictures I was taking yesterday were indoors, where I captured the latest view of the new shoot on our bird of paradise plant…
Compare that to how it looked a month ago:
We’ve got another new leaf in our future with this amazing transplant and that is no false alarm!
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Awaiting Winds
A day or two ago, we were on alert for another dump of snow from a winter storm the Weather Channel has named “Nyla” that will pass over us today. As of last night, the forecast was adjusted to most likely not produce blockbuster amounts of snow but will be noteworthy for its strong winds.
I am not a fan of high winds.
Yesterday, Asher and I took full advantage of the calm before the storm and lounged against the hay shed to watch the horses and listen to the pheasant squawks and the honks of low-flying goose pairs in the filtered sunlight shining through thin clouds.
Tucked up against the nook of the shed doors, the breeze was minimal, and we were able to bask in the radiating solar energy absorbed by the metal. When you know that the following day will be dramatically less inviting for such leisurely pursuits, the value of moments like that becomes noticeably heightened.
I always wonder if the horses have any inkling of the change coming our way. I try to warn them, but I suspect they are disinclined to pay much heed to my bantering.
Yesterday afternoon, when I showed up to start my routine with cleaning up under the overhang, Swings made a rare approach to my immediate space. I greeted her and carried on with my tasks. When she twice followed my movements and then finally rubbed her entire side firmly against a hay bag as she passed it, I got the message.
I set down the manure scoop and gave her a full-body scratching and loving massages. It is one of the more precious moments with these mares since they hardly ever show interest in receiving prolonged touch from us. I was also grateful to the other three for allowing us the uninterrupted time together. That is also a rare occurrence that one of them doesn’t want to nose in on another horse getting special attention.
On one of my walks with Asher earlier in the day, I took a picture that captures the orientation of all of our buildings, although the house is still mostly obscured behind trees.
It shows how the hay shed doors capture the sunlight. You can see how the barn is positioned so the overhang is protected from winds out of the northwest, both from its orientation and the fact it is tucked beneath higher ground behind it with plenty of tall trees providing additional windbreak. Just above the roofline of the hay shed is the shop garage. Uphill from that garage and directly behind the barn from this vantage point is where our house is located.
Here’s hoping no trees suffer damage from any accumulation of snow that will add stress to the pressure of the harsh winds blowing our way today.
Hang on to your hats when you’re reading this!
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Got Away
Made it to the lake place yesterday afternoon for a few days of solo holiday. Without doing much in the way of additional cleanup of snow from Wednesday, in the morning I walked Asher with Cyndie, and we did horse chores together. The scenery was pretty striking, with the bright morning sunshine bouncing off the oodles of snow that had fallen.
The horses didn’t seem as fixated on their grain as usual, and Light even left her food to seek some hands-on attention from Cyndie. After obliging Light with lots of robust scratching, Cyndie ended up covered in shedded horse hair. When she got back to the house, Cyndie changed her shirt but moments later reported she was soon covered in dog hair.
After breakfast, Cyndie assembled enough home-cooked meals from our freezer to feed me for more than a week and sent me on my way for the drive to the lake. Before I left, I drove my car around the hay shed a couple of times to convince myself the crude job I did of clearing the heavy, wet snow would be adequate for traffic while I was away. We are expecting the farrier today.
I texted a message to Cyndie to let her know the tire tracks were mine and not some unexpected visitor. When we were walking Asher first thing in the morning, I spotted footprints in the deep snow of the north loop trail, so we trudged over to check them out. Cyndie asked if they were mine from the day before when I brought Asher back from the neighbors’, but I said no. We wondered who would have been walking on our trail.
Then, when we came upon a pile of branches under the snow, I realized it was me who had made those tracks. I remembered noticing the branches and had thought it was a limb that had fallen in the storm before figuring out it was the pile I had created when cutting up the downed tree a couple of days before.
Memory problems much, John?
When I had been pulling Asher down the middle of the unplowed road after his escape, I spotted a truck coming toward us and diverted to the ditch to give the driver the full width of the road to navigate his way against the drifts. We then made our way along that short section of our trail to reach our driveway. I blame the temper tantrum I was having at the time for completely forgetting we’d made those tracks less than 24 hours before. [shaking my head in embarrassment]
There is a lot less snow in Hayward. The short leg of the driveway to our place hadn’t even been plowed.
I am going to see how long I can keep myself from shoveling the front steps as an exercise in letting one of my compulsions go unaddressed for once.
While puzzling in the afternoon, I listened to a couple of 1960s recordings of Bill Cosby’s standup routines. I have no idea what caused me to think of choosing that.
I think my mind really needs to get away for a while.
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Delayed Escape
I’m still at home this morning. The snowstorm that the weather service named “Lola” created more work than I could complete in a day. And it was miserable work, indeed. On most occasions, I actually enjoy clearing snow. Yesterday was not one of those days.
First of all, we awoke to more than 8 inches of heavy, windblown snow plastering everything. Beneath that coating of white was a layer of slush left from the gradual transition from rain to sleet to snow. All of that rain had nowhere to go since the ground is frozen and once again, hydrostatic pressure pushed water up through the concrete floor in the basement or along the block walls and soaked all the area rugs.
Cyndie said she would tend to the horses so I could get a start on plowing. It would have been easier to stay with her. The wind was ferocious and new snow was still falling. My goal was to try just breaking through with a couple of passes to make it a bit easier to do when it stopped snowing. It was barely possible. The machine and I got coated with a complete layer of sticky snow as I tried blasting my way through the deep drifts with the blade only lowered part of the way down.
After breakfast, I was using a roof rake to pull down the giant drift overhanging our front door and letting Asher play with his favorite ball while dragging his 30’ leash behind him. I noticed he had stepped away from the ball and I called to him to command his return. He gave me that look of mischief, turned, and ran full speed the length of the driveway.
I knew right where he was headed, to the neighbors across the road, where he started barking ferociously at their cat. I needed to trudge through the deep snow on the unplowed road to climb the rise to their driveway and was completely exhausted when I finally reached him. The ONLY redeeming aspect of this angering situation was that I got to visit briefly with our neighbor, Eileen.
Walking the equally arduous distance back in my seething frustration left me too tired to finish shoveling away the snow I’d pulled off the roof. I went in for lunch and waited for it to stop snowing while Cyndie took up the task of clearing the mess of snow in front of the garage doors. Every scoop of the shovel would end up sticking.
It’s hard to plow by the house because there’s nowhere to push the snow, so hand shoveling is usually easier. When there is almost a foot of snow, nothing is easier.
I made reasonable progress cleaning up the rest of the driveway with the plow in the late afternoon. The township plow on the road left quite a thick mess I needed to hand shovel because it was too much for the Grizzly to push. At least the driver was nice enough to be cautious around our mailbox this time.
Looking back toward the barn, you can see by the snow line in the trees how that hill protects from the north wind. The whipping wind had cleaned all of the upper branches, but the lower half of all the trees still held snow.
I won’t be surprised today to find blowing snow has drifted into the driveway again. I’d like to head up north before dark, so I intend to do the absolute minimum of additional plowing or shoveling with that in mind. Best laid plans, and all that… Wish me luck.
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Gross Bug
Cyndie spotted a giant dead bug on the floor that looked so gross she went to get some paper towel to pick it up, wondering what the heck it was and where it had come from in the middle of winter.
Upon closer inspection, it was a shard of Velcro that Asher had chewed to bits. Since Asher likes to focus his toothy destruction on the Velcro of his Tearribles toys, we decided Cyndie could try sewing up a toy that is basically just Velcro seams for him to gnaw on. She has yet to test it on him.
I figure we will be seeing plenty more of these kinds of gross bugs lying around once Asher gets a chance to chew on this latest homemade dog toy experiment.
Maybe we will give it to him next week in celebration of his 3rd birthday.
Speaking of birthdays, yesterday was Mia’s actual birthday. I think I’ve written before that Thoroughbreds all have their ages incremented on January 1st each year to simplify grouping the horses for racing. As of the first of the year, Mia turned 25, but the actual day of her birth is February 13. One of the volunteers from This Old Horse, who has developed a special fondness for Mia, stopped by yesterday with a treat for her: a mixture of some sweet feed, carrots, and peppermint.
The other three horses all got a token serving of carrots to munch.
Happy February Birthdays to Mia and Asher!
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Unplanned Shots
It was just a normal walk with the dog that ended in a play session in the front yard. Cyndie directed my attention to a leaf standing up on its stem in the snow. The spectacle seemed photo-worthy to me, so while she was tugging and throwing Asher’s favorite outdoor toy, I crouched low to capture the interesting phenomenon.
Not convinced that this was the optimal angle, I repositioned myself to try again. As I did, Asher took interest in my movement. In my haste to get off another shot before he arrived to obliterate the scene, I heard my phone camera clicking off a burst of photos.
As quickly as I could, I leveled the phone for one last try before Asher arrived.
I like how it turned out.
He didn’t entirely flatten the leaf; its stem remained frozen to the ground, but he disturbed the surrounding snow enough to make the scene a much less interesting mess.
To complement the fun photo shots of our natural environment, we’ve also been listening to a lot of catfight sounds the raccoons have been making for whatever reason raccoon conflicts might be occurring. (See: sounds raccoons make during mating season.) While walking through the woods this morning with Asher, I heard a wonderful owl hoot. When we caught up with Cyndie in the barn, I told her about having heard an owl.
She said she heard it, too. She then told me she’d recently read up on the sounds the raccoons have been making, and it said that sometimes a raccoon can sound like an owl screech when mating. That would have spoiled it for me, except we both agreed the sound we heard was not a screech at all. It was definitely a perfect, pleasant hoot, and we’re going to go with it having been an owl.
Our natural world at its finest.
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Writing Results
On the 31st day of January in the year 2025, our weather is mild, and life on the ranch is serene. Yesterday, spring-like songs were floating in the air from birds taking full advantage of the softening of winter’s grip. Cyndie has been reporting from the coast of southern California and sending me pictures of textures in the sand and surf that she knows I appreciate.
The temperatures at each of our locations are not that different, but it’s chilly where she is and warm at home.
If you are a person who journals, this might be obvious to you, but it has been helpful for me to write about times when I find myself getting in the way of my own progress.
After posting yesterday about my situation with the trail cam and the pruning saw, I was compelled to take another crack at both. I stopped off in the shop after feeding the horses with the intent of giving a more intense effort hunting for the saw in the 4th place I thought I may have stashed it. It wasn’t there, but then I turned around and spotted it in plain sight on a shelf by my circular saw. A saw by a saw. Perfectly logical.
That success inspired me to grab the trail cam and set it up by the fence where there is an obvious animal trail that I believe is our neighboring fox. Asher and I left that spot and headed down the Perimeter Trail toward a series of young oak trees from which I wanted to remove low branches. To keep the dog tethered to me, I brought a clip to hook his leash to one of my belt loops. That allowed me to have both hands free to tend to my pruning.
It didn’t occur to me that taking my eyes off him might lead to something unsavory. I was working down in the dry creek along our southern border, which gave Asher access to the neighbor’s side of the ditch where I wouldn’t normally let him meander. When we set off on our way again after I finished sawing, I noticed he had a thick wad of grass wound up in the prongs of his collar. He had been rolling around in the tall grass.
With the warm temperatures, the thawing ground offers all sorts of scents that Asher can’t resist rubbing against. It wasn’t until we got back into the house that it became noticeable, but his coat now has picked up a heady aroma of dusty, dry grass and some wildlife perfume that smells a bit like plastic when it gets too hot.
It’s not as lovely as it sounds.
I am not writing that to inspire me to give him a bath.
We spent time out on the deck in the afternoon heat, where I could sand my current wood sculpting project without concern for making a mess, and Asher’s stink was only occasionally annoying.
No, I have no intention of trying to bathe him.
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Animal Focused
There is nothing else I need to do. Caring for and entertaining (in Asher’s case) our animals is my only duty for a week. When Asher and I approached the paddocks yesterday morning, I thought it looked like the horses might have been spooked into the back pasture. Light was alone in the round pen. Her movements gave me the impression she didn’t want to be in there anymore. However, she wasn’t making any progress to the open doorway.
I carried on with cleaning up under the overhang, filling hay nets, and preparing their buckets of wetted grain while they messed around in the fields.
The horses kept looking in the direction of a crowing rooster pheasant to the north. The apparent alarm of the horses had me wondering if the pheasant was calling out a warning of a predator in the vicinity. The next time I looked to see if I could find what was bothering the horses, I found the pheasant strutting around on our driveway like he owned the place.
Well, that indicated to me there was no threat around, or that pheasant would have noped out of there long ago.
I walked through the small paddock toward the crazy bird, and he took to the air with all sorts of squawking and disappeared across the plowed field north of us. Slowly, the horses made their way in and settled down to eat.
Asher and I headed out mid-morning to check on how nice the thaw was progressing and found the horses standing rather sleepily in the sunshine.
Since the dog and I had trudged a full circuit of the property, I offered him a chance to pause in the warmth radiating off the doors of the hay shed, which was also serving as a good windbreak. I leaned back against the shed door and closed my eyes, knowing it was going to be very easy to fade into a nap.
The sound of a horse stumbling rejuvenated my alertness. It was Light. She is notorious for failing to lock her knees sufficiently when she drifts off into a standing slumber. I liken it to the feeling when fading off to sleep at night, that suddenly the bed is flipping over and startles me back to awake. That hasn’t happened to me for a long time. My sleep arrives easily without any fuss these days.
Asher was too busy surveying his kingdom to nap with the rest of us. He saved that for later, on the floor in the house where the heat was amplified through the full-length glass in a door.
I never said focusing on the animals is strenuous each and every minute. Since they are all great nappers, there are plenty of moments when it can be superbly calm and restful.
Even more so when the weather is sunny and warm.
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Lost Ball
Asher’s favorite outdoor toy is a Jolly Ball with a thick rope through it. Sometimes, he just wants to chew on the rope, but mostly, he wants someone to try to take it away from him. A little tug of war, a hearty “kill shake,” and if I don’t show enough interest, he will stand to put his front paws on me to engage in some more aggressive tugging play.
Our goal is usually to get it away from him because when we throw it across the yard, Asher leaps after it with such infectious, joyful energy it fills us with the utmost glee. Then, he races back to us for another round of “please take this from me; no, don’t.”
He stopped for a moment the other day and looked around. It looked to me like he lost the ball.
If he stops playing long enough, I invite him to join me in returning to the warmth indoors since that is where I really want to be after too many minutes of this game in frigid temperatures. His usual reaction at this point is to pounce on the ball again like it’s the first time he’s seen it in weeks. It often takes several tries at ending this game before he lets us “win” and leaves the ball behind.
There are times when we aren’t ready to go in the house but intend to take him for a long walk. If he sees the ball as we just stepped out of the house and bounds after it for chewing, shaking, and tugging, we find ourselves encouraging him to walk first and play later. Yesterday, Cyndie set off down the driveway with Asher, and he carried the ball away, clenching the rope in his teeth as they walked. She said he kept it in his grip the whole way to the lookout knoll with the rocking chairs, back to the barn where Cyndie checked on the waterer, and up to the house again, finally choosing to drop it on the driveway in front of the garage door before they came inside.
He is so attached to this toy we ended up buying a smaller-sized version that we let him have indoors. He took to the little one right away, but I think he prefers the thickness of the rope in the outdoor ball. He seemed so happy to chew on the rock-hard frozen rope during this cold spell that it gave me the idea of setting one of his indoor felt Kong balls outside long enough to freeze. It made it so hard to chomp in order to squeak it that it wasn’t the thrill for him I imagined.
For the record, no ball was actually lost in the activities described in this post. This is Asher I’m writing about. He knows exactly where all his dropped toys are at all times.
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Relative Something 