Posts Tagged ‘dog’
Decidedly Different
From balmy Sunday to blustery Monday we experienced an almost 40° (F) temperature swing, factoring in the “windchill” reading that resulted from the strong northwest gusting wind. Nothing says October like a cold, cloudy, windy day.
I took Delilah out for a short trek around the property when I got home from work, during which we fed the horses and then wandered a few trails in the woods to check for downed branches.
At one point, even though I didn’t feel as though I was seeing anything, I sensed there was motion occurring through the trees, and I kept my eyes glued in that direction in hopes of picking up some confirmation.
Was it a bird? Likely possibilities included grouse, pheasant, or even wild turkey. Something led me to believe it was big. Something else gave me the impression it was right in front of my eyes, but I was not seeing it. Honestly, what came to mind was the movie effect of “Predator” in camouflage mode.
All these mental gymnastics happened in a fraction of a second. Putting it all together, I discerned the white I thought I had seen was, in fact, the tail of a deer.
We had just come down that hill a short time before, and ended up circling back on our path in a way that may have surprised the keen senses of the shy animal. I was energized to find it had stopped its movement at a place that gave me a clear view of the head and face, as the deer looked directly back at me from an incredibly short distance away.
It was probably the closest I have been to a live, wild deer in years. I glanced down at Delilah, who was nose-to-the-ground busy, following the myriad smells that surely exist on our well-used trails, but she showed no evidence of detecting how close we were to something that would no-doubt thrill her to the extreme to pursue.
When I looked back for the deer, I realized how difficult it was to detect it through the trees while it stood motionless. I started to walk again, coming around the corner to climb the hill where Cyndie and I had just been working on the fence, hoping to get a better perspective on where the deer was standing. I was also scanning in hopes of finding others, under the assumption deer are usually in a herd.
What I discovered was that my movement was enough to drive the deer off and I had been unable to detect its departure. Delilah didn’t show any sign of sensing the scent of immediately fresh traffic across our trail. I wondered if the deer had been surprised by the recent appearance of the fence we just put up over the weekend.
There were no other deer in sight as we climbed the hill toward the house, and toward the respite from the wind it would provide. Had I not picked up the fleeting images of that whiteness and the almost imperceptible motion of the body through the trees, I would have missed it altogether.
Allows me to imagine how often I have probably done just that on these trails in the last few years, and been within similarly close proximity to wildlife, while being entirely unaware.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Disappearing Delilah
My inability to master the art of dog training is revealed in our lovely canine’s increasing confidence in behaving any way she pleases. Just two days ago, I was lamenting our failure thus far to stop Delilah’s behavior of jumping up on people engaged in hugs during greetings or departures.
She just wants to participate in the hugs, of course, but her nails on unprepared backsides are not something we feel our guests should have to deal with when they are otherwise occupied. Both Cyndie and I recognize that we have failed to gain the upper hand on demanding compliance with our instructions. The formula of training by way of rewarding good behavior, as opposed to a focus on punishing bad behavior, evades us when it comes to the current challenges.
Cyndie has been doing a heroic effort of conditioning Delilah to stay close to us when we allow her the freedom of being off-leash, frequently calling her back for check-ins and rewarding her with treats when she promptly complies. It had been working well for quite some time, until I distracted Cyndie in the barn yesterday when I sought her assistance installing my first half-sized slow-feeder box in Cayenne’s stall.
That brief period of our distraction from Delilah’s whereabouts led to the hunter girl wandering off in search of irresistible prey beyond the borders of our property. Cyndie didn’t want to give up without a fight and scoured our trails, blowing her whistle and calling Delilah’s name.
She even drove the truck in a search of the roadways immediately surrounding us. The only thing that came out of that effort was a texted greeting from George, after he saw her drive past their place. Once again, Delilah was in the “dog house” with us. From past experience, I knew our dog would eventually show up at one of the doors, happy as could be, covered in burrs, and clueless to the level of transgression she had pulled off.
After a long spell, just as I expected, Delilah did return home. We treated her matter of factly, allowing her a long drink at her water bowl, after which, Cyndie took her outside to remove the burrs.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
I don’t know how, but she seemed to recognize our displeasure. Her behavior for the rest of the day and evening was akin to her having put herself on a “time-out” all on her own. She didn’t demonstrate any of her usual playful behaviors, repeatedly seeking attention by bringing a ball or other toy to us, or simply walking up and putting her head in our laps.
She demurely laid low the whole time. I can only hope she was using that time to think about what she had done wrong, and was feeling entirely remorseful. Sadly, the other possibility is that she was just so exhausted from having had such a fantastic getaway that she needed the rest and was saving up her energy for the next opportunity to do it over again.
Trust me, she is back on full-time leash protocol again, and will be for the foreseeable future, whether she understands the correlation, or not.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
She’s Home!
My fellow blog readers, the week-long nightmare of my whining about Cyndie being gone is over. May life return to the usual chaos that masquerades as normal around here. May Delilah go back to having two people from whom she can constantly demand attention.
There were a couple of moments last week when I began to question whether I truly have what it takes to be a responsible dog owner and caretaker. Delilah pushes me to my limits, and I haven’t put in the effort required to command the obedience from her that would allow me to relax and enjoy her company.
I am really happy to have Cyndie back to resume her role as primary dog handler. I’m a little sheepish about all the burrs that were waiting to greet Momma on her return, but in my defense, I had them all brushed out earlier in the day, yesterday.
There is a confused racoon that I have to thank for the burrs. At least now I know what Delilah was so obsessed with when I took her outside Sunday night for a failed attempt at one last pee before confining her to her Crate-bed-den for the evening.
She went nuts the second we got out the door and pulled like her life depended on it to go after something that was completely invisible to me, given the short distance my head lamp projected.
Delilah was so freaky about this that it scared me a little bit. I didn’t know what was going on. In the morning on Monday, we headed out for the sunrise walk around the property and had only taken a few steps when Delilah cornered a surprised racoon behind our backup generator.
At the sound of all the snarling and growling, I gave her leash a yank and that was all the racoon needed to sprint for the nearest tree. The weeds at the base of that tree are where Delilah picked up her first batch of burrs before I could convince her she was at a stalemate with the critter and resume a walk with me.
Fast forward to late afternoon, after I finished a battery of property management tasks during which I had let Delilah nap in her kennel outside, I headed over with tennis balls to fling so she could get a little exercise before going inside for dinner. During exercise time, I usually get away with letting her run off-leash, because she is so fixated on the toys we throw that she stays engaged.
Not this time. She completely ignored the second ball I threw and ran past it in a sprint with a mission. In a blink, she was gone. It made no sense. I circled the house, calling and whistling, wondering where on earth she went with such intense purpose. Then I heard her bark. That is not usual behavior when she runs away on us. Next, I spotted the horses running away in the pasture.
Was she chasing our horses? What’s gotten into her, I wondered. I arrived to find the answer. It was that dang racoon, again. Twice in one day, during daylight hours? I’m concerned that something might not be right with that critter. Especially that it would hang around when it is obvious there is a threatening dog that lives here.
They ended up with another stalemate when the racoon made it up a tree again.
Cyndie kept Delilah on a short leash for her evening walk last night, and experienced no further excitement, so maybe the racoon got the message that it should seek refuge somewhere else.
Today, I return to my routine at the day-job, and get to do so without fretting about how Delilah is doing at home all alone while I’m gone. It’s so nice to have Cyndie back.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Making Prototypes
Despite the time squeeze of trying to be in two places at once, filling in for two different vacationing people, I found a way to occupy Delilah by taking her to the shop for a distraction while I tinkered on prototyping a design for grates that I can use for slow feeder boxes in the barn stalls.
She seemed to appreciate the chance to be out of the house with me, despite the confines of her leash. I decided that while Cyndie is away, I will only allow Delilah off leash if I am able to give her my undivided attention, like when I am throwing discs for her to make spectacular diving leaps toward, or flinging squeaky tennis balls great distances for her to sprint after.
Before Cyndie left for the coast, she picked up some fence panels from Tractor Supply for me to make my own grates. As nice as the ones are that I had a local welder make for the two full-size boxes I built, they were a bit pricey.
The first challenge I am facing is finding a way to add some weight to the grates. The custom welded ones are made of heavier rod and also have side plates that give it a desirable heft, so it lays firmly against the bale. The horses can pretty much ignore it and concentrate on nibbling the hay between the squares. The weight helps the grate to keep dropping as the hay is consumed.
The fence panel is made of lighter gauge wire and I fear without added weight it wouldn’t tend to fall as naturally, and the horses might become inclined to mess with it when it got hung up. They have a knack for eating down on one side at a time so that the grate can end up tilted dramatically.
One thing I am considering for the stalls is that there will be no sharing. It will be one horse only that will be grazing hay, so there won’t be mixed behavior. Whatever eating tendency each horse has will define how the slow feeder works in each case.
My first shot at adding something akin to the side plates on the welded grates, was to attach a section of an old T-post that I cut to length on the band saw. By snipping off a section of fence panel so there were end wires extending beyond the area that will cover the hay, I was able to bend them over to capture the post.
In terms of weight, I think it will work adequately for what I want it to do, but I didn’t end up with the exact dimensions I had in mind. Turns out the fence panel wasn’t welded to exacting specifications. The dimension between squares varies, so I will cut another one a whole square larger and take a second stab at a method of bending the sides around a section of post.
I want it to cover an area as wide as a bale, to make it easy to fill the box with full flakes and then drop on the grate and secure it. Speaking of easy, the horses will mainly be in the barn when it is below-zero, so I’m trying to design the box so it will be possible to fill it when wearing big mittens.
That is, in case we ever again experience any below-zero days, what with the planet simmering away at a record pace now days.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Double Double
I am doing double, double-duty this week: at home, I am covering for Cyndie while she is visiting the west coast with friends, and at the day-job, I am filling in for a vacationing employee. What an unfortunate coincidental timing for these two situations to occur.
I am taxed with not being able to leave home before rush-hour traffic builds, because I need to tend to our daily morning animal-care routine first, while at the same time, I have twice the work facing me at the day-job, which realistically requires I spend extra time there. Not gonna happen. I need to get home early to rescue Delilah from the confines of her outdoor kennel and then feed the horses their afternoon nutrition.
Somethings gotta give, and I’m afraid it’s going to be service to our customers for a few days. Maybe they won’t notice.
At home, I fear the never-ending grass growth is likely to be my ongoing nemesis. It needs mowing again already! I didn’t have time yesterday after work. Between needing to give Delilah a healthy amount of attention and cleaning up a day’s worth of manure, the ever-shorter evening daylight hours were easily consumed.
Now that I am checking the temperature of the composting manure pile every day, I am finding that I need to turn it over with the pitch fork much more often that I had been doing.
I took a picture of the thermometer displaying that it was over 160° (F) again, after I had just mixed it around on Sunday. What a fascinating phenomenon that heat generation is.
Speaking of heat, we are enjoying a spectacular rendition of warm September days this week. Yesterday felt like warmth of a summer day, but there is no mistaking the subtle clues that frame it as autumnal.
I expect that the changing angle of the sun contributes greatly, but the actuality of that is not entirely obvious. Around our place, we’ve already got enough crunchy leaves over our trails that they are contributing a distinct fall-like aroma to go along with the auditory serenade that happens beneath footsteps.
We are in a period of high winds, as well, and something about the way the rushing warm air felt on my skin last night gave me a feeling that this is something special to be appreciated. It was hot, without being hot. Seriously. That may not make sense to you, but it explains the impression that warm September air can produce.
I am challenged with needing to luxuriate in this brilliantly spectacular weather for more than just myself, but for Cyndie, too, since I’m absorbing her share of bliss while she’s gone. It’s the least I could do.
It wouldn’t make much sense to only take on the burdens her absence presents, would it?
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Online Waiting
It’s what I do. More and more lately, what precious little free time I have to be online is being spent in wait-mode. Whether it is solar flares, our rural terrain, or just a humming-bird sitting at some critical spot on the cell tower, our signal has been toggling on and off at a painfully frequent rate of late.
It’s exasperating, especially when it comes to loading images. Over and over I try, because it always starts out looking like everything is working fine, until it’s not. Then comes the mysterious pause.
Did it stop for just a moment? Did the connection get dropped and it is automatically resetting? Is it down for the count and nothing more will happen no matter how long I stare at it?
Today’s picture is so great, it is worth the wait for me to get it up, but if waiting won’t help one bit, the best picture in the world won’t do me any good.
Who wouldn’t love to see this shot of Delilah with wet hair after her bath?
Today is a rare Friday for me because I am at the day-job. Since I went back to work earlier this summer, I have been putting in a 4-day week, taking Fridays off as the first day of my 3-day weekend. There is just… Too. Much. To. Do. So much so that, not only am I working Friday, but probably Saturday, too.
What!?
I know. I am just as flustered as you. When am I going to get the mowing done? What about all the other chores!?
My sentiments, exactly.
It was tough enough getting thrown out of Eden and forced back into the long commute to industriesville. Now I’m additionally burdened with unending customer requests that exceed my ability to respond successfully.
I’m getting no sympathy from Pequenita. Instead, she just demands more attention from me, starting as soon as I walk in the door and continuing all the way through my feeble attempts to do some writing on the laptop before sleeping. Yesterday, while I wasn’t paying attention to her, she strolled out the open front door through which I was conversing with Cyndie out in the yard.
Suddenly our indoor cat appears calmly in my view on the front steps beneath me.
I don’t blame her for wanting to escape. I know exactly how she feels. I’ve got my eye out for the off-hand chance somebody leaves a door open at the day-job.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Group Effort
Under a strange sky on a day when rain wasn’t predicted, Cyndie and I planned to work on improving the landscape around the round pen to stop the sand from getting carried away in runoff every time it storms.
The passing disturbance in the sky overhead dropped some intermittent showers that were light enough that nothing became soaking wet, so it didn’t interfere with our efforts.
While Cyndie worked on the low side of the round pen, reclaiming sand that had spilled out when 7 inches of rain poured down on us last Wednesday, I prepared the soil on the outside perimeter by pulling our ABI rake/grader behind the Grizzly ATV.
It was working perfectly until impact with a rock sheared the bolts holding the hitch on the Griz. With towing done for the time being, I picked up a shovel and went to work shaping a trench and berm combination in hopes of preventing the water from flowing directly through the round pen.
If I got the slope shaped right, the water should meander around to the low side where it can make its way harmlessly into the drainage swale, minus our precious sand.
Obviously, this is effort that would have best been done before we brought in the sand, but we were in a hurry to get the footing in the round pen improved in time for the training sessions that had been planned.
With Delilah off-leash and the horses free to mingle, we had a lot of “helpers” that were keeping us company while we worked. Between her bouts of barking at the horses for no good reason and wrestling with their exercise balls that she thinks are her toys, Delilah took time to stop by and help me while I dug up the sod. I would toss a shovel-full to the perfect spot for building up the berm, and then she would grab that piece of sod like it was a piece of steak, carry it away, and tear it apart heroically before coming back for more.
Seriously, she took three of the best pieces I had placed in a short span of time, but I didn’t have the heart to dissuade her, as she seemed to think she was doing the greatest job of helping me. That berm better not leak at that spot or she is going to be held permanently responsible.
The horses were also inspired to participate in their own way. Shortly after I got started, Hunter grazed his way so close to me that I didn’t have room to work the shovel. At that point, he was standing on the area I hadn’t dug up yet, so he was packing down the soil I had just churned up with the grader. At that proximity, he also ended up sharing the cloud of flies that were all over him.
They have my full sympathy about the flies. They went up my nose more than once which can really make one irritable. I considered trying on one of their fly masks, but figured the fit might not work out quite right.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Legacy and Dezirea wandered over to inspect my progress and test out the trench. It confirmed for me that they would have no problem navigating the altered footing in the vicinity of the pen. I think it met with their approval.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Sad Quiet
Last night when Cyndie stepped out to walk Delilah before bedtime, I became aware of how empty and quiet the house seemed, despite the whirr of the overhead fan and the evening drone of chirping insects resonating beyond the screen door. It was far from silence, but it had a way of pointing out how otherwise silent it was.
Monday afternoon, our friend Dunia departed for her home in Guatemala, ending our stretch of what felt like a 2-week vacation adventure, even though most of it happened at our house. The long-distance separation from our dear friends causes a real bittersweetness when it comes time to say goodbye.
The sky was a cloudy gray when I got home from work, as I took Delilah down to the barn to feed the horses and linger with the herd. I got the sense they were missing Dunia, too, even though it had only been a matter of hours for them.
Delilah and I moved on after a while and walked many of our trails, coming upon a few photo opportunities. Despite her lack of interest in my pausing, she politely occupied herself while I worked the angles and light.
Over dinner, Cyndie and I watched a rented movie and then sat together in the quiet, puttering away on separate projects, surrounded by the void of missing companions.
I’m guessing there was also an element of fatigue lingering in the aftermath of the busy weekend filled with the activity and people here for training sessions. We’ll catch our breath and absorb all that’s happened recently, in hopes of conjuring up plans for the next offering sometime this fall.
I hesitate to face it, but fall is so close it is beginning to impact our weather already. My favorite weather blog is predicting an October-like storm moving in today.
It’s probably a good thing that Dunia got out of here when she did, even though her departure has left us with that sweet sorrow of parting. I wonder how much it would cost to fly our horses with us to visit the Morales family in Guatemala again.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Fabulous Time
What is the deal? Is my camera broken or something? I haven’t taken any pictures for two days, so I can offer no visual proof that our friends, the Morales family, have arrived, or that we have already had so much fun being with them again that little else is receiving our attention.
The one exception turns out to be my stealing any spare second to get after the never-ending task of mowing or trimming grass. I now have just one section of fence left to be mowed before having that whole job complete. I’m planning to sneak that in early this morning before packing up to head to the lake for a couple of days.
We decided to drive two of our cars up there to give me the option of returning earlier than others on Friday to enable me to —can you imagine this?— mow all the lawn grass in preparation for the big knock down, drag out shebang we have scheduled for Saturday night.
Some years the grass growth slows around here in late July and August so I don’t have to mow as frequently, but this year I’m finding that it looks like I need to mow again after just a couple of days. When I wait a whole week, enough grass clippings are created to make me think I should have George bring over his baler.
We are having a fabulous time with our precious friends. Despite their late arrival on Monday night, which had us getting to bed around 3:00 in the morning yesterday, we made it to Hudson in the afternoon for a brief moment of shopping, and a fine patio lunch overlooking the St. Croix river at Pier Five Hundred restaurant.
Later, after a stint of grass trimming, both along the fence and in the labyrinth, George and Rachel Walker joined us for dinner. Marco graciously accepted Cyndie’s invitation to grill steaks, which turned out perfectly delicious. Poor Delilah doesn’t have a clue what happened to her usual sleeping routine the last two nights, as we lingered around the table after the meal, sharing stories and laughter well-past her usual bedtime.
Today, we leave her behind to be cared for by friends for a couple days while we will all be visiting with Cyndie’s parents up at the lake place in Hayward. With any luck, I’ll remember to take a few pictures of the frivolity expected to ensue.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Learning Opportunities
Of all the projects we have undertaken since we moved here, I never imagined that gutters would become the significant issue that they have. Yesterday we had a visit from our gutter guy, (really, we have a gutter guy —how sad is that?) to have him give us a quote to improve the gutter on our barn so that it actually works during anything heavier than a light drizzle.
They installed the gutter for us originally, per my request, but it has never provided the solution we were seeking. Last fall’s addition of lime screenings on the ground in the paddock has served to very visibly reveal the shortcomings of our current set up. We have some major rills that have been formed by the water that pours off the roof, over the gutter, and flows down the slope below.
Sounds like my decision to now add metal “blocks” on the steel roof to hold snow in place will actually serve us well in making the gutter more effective. They originally mounted the gutter low to protect it from being damaged by ice and snow sliding down the roof. With the blocks in place, the gutter could be raised up and that would help, so I’m told, in catching more of the water that flows over the lip of the roof line during heavy rain.
Where were they with that brilliant suggestion when they did the first install? Especially since I did order snow blocks for the back side of the barn at that time (where there is no need for a gutter), because I didn’t want the massive pile up of snow occurring on our roadway back there. I had seen what happened the year before, with no blocks, and was wary of how difficult it would be to keep that passageway clear of snow if we did nothing.
On the front side of the barn, the roof gets enough sun exposure that it usually melts before creating a giant accumulation like what would happen on the back side, in the shade.
So, we bought a gutter once, and now we are going to buy the gutter again. It’s kind of like getting 1 gutter for the price of 2! What a deal!
This is so not how I want improvement projects to go. I get to chalk it up as one more lesson to me about getting over my thing with perfectionism. Oh, and my thing about frugality. And my thing about making smart, informed decisions.
I take solace in the fact these lessons come to me in this most beautiful place that we now call home, surrounded by fields, forest, our horses & dog & cat, wild animals and many critters galore, gorgeous sky views day and night, and a peacefulness that is garnished with songbirds, mooing cows, occasional barks from neighbor’s dogs, and the wonderful sound of rustling tree leaves.
It all helps soften the blow of the next brilliant (F@#$!*%&) learning opportunity destined to come my way. Perfection.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Relative Something 