Stick Horse Cowgirls

It is cliche to talk about stepping on Legos with bare feet.    Those of us who have young children or grandchildren know how excruciating that can be.  I have no little people in my household these days, so one might think I would be free of such dangers...not so!  You know what hurts just as much?  Stepping on the shard of a deer femur. In fact, it feels very much like stepping on a Lego. It happened to me just this morning.  My latest, and third, Belgian Malinois “Lefty” is truly a country dog.   We live pretty far off the main road, down a long dirt driveway.   But, still, we wanted him contained.   We have always used our fenced backyard to contain our dogs—even Mailinois, but Lefty kept escaping. Our fence is four feet pickets, and it has worked very well in the past, except for  our Daisy, who was a digger.   Every once in a while Son and I would have to go out and fill the escape hatches she had d...

I’ve written before about how I believe our animals know more about us and have more cognitive ability than we like to think. My remaining dog is a three-year-old Belgian Malinois, “Chili.”  My other pet is “Sasha,” my cat who predates Chili in this household by a couple of years. Sasha is one skittish cat.  She was born here and has never been mistreated at day in her life, but my mother and I are the only humans she wants anything to do with—making occasional exceptions for Son. Sasha has lived her entire life on my back porch and in our fenced back yard.  She has her own little kingdom back there, shared with birds, who take their lives into their own wings by being there, and a raccoon who peaceably comes to her dish to share her cat food.  She makes occasional forays outside the back yard fence, but only few.  It is to this that we attribute her long life. I have never been able to get Chili to quit thinking of Sasha as prey.  I have come to t...

My niece has two dogs, Ruby and Razzle.  They are both rescued dogs, having been adopted several months apart from the humane society as puppies.  Niece and her husband are a young couple with no children, so R and R are like their kids, cared for diligently and melded into their family.  When niece and husband are home, R and R are in the house with them, much like Chili is with me. Niece reports a puzzlement about her dogs: when she and husband are watching television and a doorbell rings on the screen, both dogs instantly jump up and rush to the front door, barking raucously and clearly expecting some stranger to appear.  Now, I know that this is a common occurrence.  My Chili, too, will sometimes respond to the doorbell rings on television.  But here’s the kicker about Ruby and Razzle:  They were adopted as small puppies from different litters, some months apart.  They have lived their whole lives, save a few first weeks, with niece—who...

My faithful l ittle Sheltie, Scout, is  now twelve years old.  The past couple weeks, MIL and I have noticed her having an occasional cough and it seems to take her longer to get from MIL’s to my house each evening. Scout is a near-perfect dog.  She is smart, attentive and willing.  MIL and I are central to both my dogs’ lives—their routine revolves around us, and we appreciate that. Scout is hardy.  She has only been to the vet for well-checks her entire life.  We had a Sheltie, “Gus,” at the time we got her and had planned to have puppies, but she never conceived.  She has lived all her years(save the first eight weeks!) here with me in the country.  She is an outside dog in the day (unless she cons MIL into letting her in, which happens frequently) and spends her nights in with me (occasionally staying the night with MIL). She is a peaceful soul who occasionally goes out on the back porch to visit Kitty Sasha with me—unlike Chili, who gets a pr...

A couple posts back, here , I wrote about my cat, Sasha: she who lives on my back porch and reigns supreme in the fenced back yard.  As I mentioned, she is a shy sweetie. But Sasha is much more than that.  She is a killing machine…. At my back door I often find little offerings of small animals, laid like little sacrifices on the altar of the cat-food-bringer.  Usually they are birds or mice.  Occasionally there will be a small rabbit.  As disgusting as this is to me, I realize that these are tokens of Sasha’s affection.  Just doing her part… Tonight I heard a little distress call from my back porch just outside my bedroom window, and I knew that Sasha was, again, plying her skill.  Artemis of the back yard. The sound raises my blood pressure a bit—like hearing a crying baby.  I can’t tell for sure what type of animal is in Sasha’s clutches, but I can tell that it is too late for me to do it any good.  The cries are weak and I kno...

Like Dorothy, I have learned that there’s no place like home!  Last weekend I spent one night away from home with Mom, MIL and Aunt E.  My own bed felt so good when I came back. But, it’s not just my familiar bed that beckons me back.  No, it’s the warm greeting I receive from those who await me: my pets! Last Saturday, as we were making were way home, my phone rang.  It was my son: “ Mom,” he said, “ The weirdest thing…the dogs won’t come home!”   Now, let me give you the back-story: My two dogs, Chili and Scout, are usually home whenever I’m home.  When I leave for work each morning, they immediately head to Grandmom’s just up the driveway toward the road from me, where they spend most of the day. MIL spoils them, letting them in and out of her house and providing treats. Wh en I return, the dogs greet me at MIL’s and watch to see if I am turning in to visit her or if I’m passing her turn and going straight home.  Wherever I go, they go....

The grass is high.  Tractor tire is flat.  Still.  Two out of three lawn tractors are down.  I have not been able to get the repairman out because all of them have the unmitigated gall to want to work “regular” hours—you know, the ones when I’m trying cases?  MIL has offered (repeatedly) to be the point person on this repair gig, but I hate to put that on her.  I might just yet, but am going to give the next week a chance to be reasonable with its demands on me.  We’ll see. I was so looking forward to Saturday so that I could mow myself silly.  Believe me, there is enough grass to make me silly!  Instead of a good, early start, I opened my eyes to a ringing phone at 8:04 this morning.  It was MIL wondering if I’m okay because she hadn’t heard from me.  For me to sleep this late is unheard of.  I must have been exhausted. I dragged myself to the coffeepot and just as I sat down for a cup, Son called.  He was on his w...

You may recall the sorry recent saga of my Belgian Malinois, Chili.  You can see the back story at this post . He had been going missing for days at a time.  This was causing his mama (me) grave emotional distress and was ravaging Chili’s health—he was a walking skeleton by the third episode of disappearance. So, what’s a mama to do?  I took him right off to the veterinarian who in turn took his testicles right off.  ( Aha ! Take that , you wayward male!!) But the veterinarian warned me that it would take  up to three months (!) for the hormones to leave his body to the extent that he would quit roaming. This was not good news.  I am a woman who likes things my way NOW.  I was disappointed that my swift action against his sex drive would not give me an immediate cure for the roaming.  I have no good way to confine him while I am at work. But, I am beginning to learn to relax and just let the things I cannot really do much about go their o...

Yes, I understand that the dogs are spoiled. I do try to keep the separation clear between homo sapiens and canine in this household. Unlike V’s “Dudley” or my sister-in-law’s “Sophie,” my dogs do not presume to sleep on my bed. But they each have their own bed at my bedside. I’m not sure that’s particularly “canine” but, still, it is on the floor. My dogs both sit beautifully on command and obey the basics. I make sure to order them around every so often just to remind them. “ Stay !” I will command, for no good reason. And they both dutifully do, albeit with rolling eyes sometimes as though they are humoring me; but they do it. Rarely do they give any offense whatsoever. Still, the title of “Pack Leader” sometimes seems to hang in life’s gray area around here. Sometimes we can blame that on others…. Take the couch, for instance. Scout is eleven years old. The first nine years of her life as a dog in the house were spent contentedly on the floor. You know, where dogs liv...

The other night MIL and I were watching some tube together when I realized I had forgotten to bring her the mail I had gathered as I came home. I drove back down the driveway (dogs chasing along as they always do), and the dogs and I ran into the house to grab the mail. As we came back out, Chili spotted something off the porch--in the pitch blackness. Off he went. As you can see from this photo taken from my front porch in the morning daylight, I am surrounded by woods. There is a small meadow between me and the forest edge. At night the light from my porch does nothing to penetrate the dark even five feet outward. I could not see what Chili was doing; but before long I heard...the unmistakable sounds of a dog fight. There is little that raises my blood pressure more. I had no flashlight and I had no way of knowing who was getting the best of whom. After a few seconds (seemed much longer), here came Chili running back at top speed. As he cleared the steps to come on the porch beside m...

As I fastened these pearls around my neck this morning, I thought about how they are one of my “symbols” of freedom and new life. This new, single life is not one I ever asked for, nor did I want it; it is made necessary by my husband’s betrayal. Having said that, there is definitely an upside to this unfetteredness I feel after decades of being “one” with another. These pearls are real. The gen-you-wine thing and, therefore, priced higher than I am accustomed to forking over. But their authenticity was part of the allure for me. I am, after all, a Southern Girl (yes, it is capitalized!). And you know what Southern Girls say: Your smile can be fake; your hair color can be fake; your boobs can be fake; but your pearls must always be real! And, girlfriends, I subscribe to that. I purchased these from J C Penney (of all places), having spotted them as I strolled past the mark-down jewelry counter. They were marked down 65%. Why they had not sold before is beyond me, other than t...

I've been side-tracked, ranting about cell phones and being nostalgic about my Dad. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, things are progressing. Those of you who are just tuning in to the little mini-series melodrama of my life can find the back story at my June 16 post, "Ruth and Naomi..." (I cannot get my link thing to work...me, I'm sure) My mother-in-law is getting settled, but it is a much, much slower process than we had hoped. We are giving ourselves pep talks about how we have no schedule but our own, and I think we're relaxing a bit. One problem is that I am so stinkin' busy. This is, really, a good thing. I am blessed to have lots of business (although, this is, of course, a mixed blessing in that much business for me means others are divorcing...oh, yes, there's plenty of that, unfortunately). I am working long hours, so there is not a lot of time for me to help MIL settle in physically. She has contracted for her deck. The materials have been de...

Anyone who knows me knows that I am a soft touch for animals. In fact, I am animal-poor: two horses, two dogs and one cat, down recently from three dogs, seven horses and innumerable cats, the loss of all of whom was sadness to me. I have two dogs: Chili and Scout, both of whom I have told you about in other posts. This is Chili (Belgian Malinois), guarding our front door: Our cats have short lives out here in the country. They live mostly outside and are fine when they are purring on my wide back porch, which is a perfect feline haven. But, as cats do, they invariably venture forth to the beckoning forest where the “real” game is, no longer content with the bugs and occasional rodent they can hunt in the back yard. Unfortunately, big game country also means bigger predators, and my cats must face roaming dogs, coyotes, and owls, all of whom love to come upon a cat. Sasha is the remainder of a litter of five kittens, all of whom just one-by-one disappeared. It is a fine life fo...