The Barbarians

Some time ago I moved the goats into the pasture with my stallion who is not nearly the elitist that Montoya has shown himself to be. Sultan is very patient and polite with 'hard-working country folk.' Unfortunately this is proving to be a problem, since the Peasants are getting a bit too pushy.

This morning I fed the animals and was about to leave the barn when that little voice that whispers, "Take another peek at the horses," tapped me on the shoulder. Sure enough, a very unhappy stallion was standing in the corner of his stall while the peasants were running amok in the palace! Like Barbarians, the hordes had rushed in and were knocking each other over as they spread his hay about the stall in a feasting frenzy. Poor Sultan, who has only lived with cats and chickens, had no idea how to behave when Peasants storm The Palace, so with eyes like saucers, he stood in the corner, deposed and dejected.

In the next stall, Montoya thoughtfully chewed his hay and watched all this great interest. For a moment, I seriously considered switching the animals around; perhaps the Peasants needed the taste of a different kind of Aristocratic Authority. But while Sultan is a benign monarch, Montoya's leadership style is a more like Attila the Hun, so I opted against it. Instead, I got Sultan a haybag and put it high enough that the peasants couldn't reach it. Then I reminded him that it took more than pedigree to be a ruler, and clearly democracy wasn't going to work to his advantage.

We'll see how it works. If the Peasants continue to act like Barbarians, Attila will be happy to be their new King.

Of Wolves & Goats

No day should start without caffeine:

Wake up at 7 AM. Realize David, (most trusted handyman that I borrow from his wife, Sandy!) will be over at 9 AM to help me put up new goat fencing and I still need to go to Home Depot. Start to go feed the horses. Note chicken in back yard. Chicken trespassing is a capital offense punishable by death on this Homestead, and so I had to put dogs up so I could get chicken in. Chicken is not at all cooperative. Finally get Ice (who looks like a black wolf to livestock) Ice is more controllable than her brother and pretty quickly Chicken goes where she belongs. Get garbage out. Feed animals. Note that goats are where they should be. Move them into Mom's back yard where she can watch them.

The only area in that yard not entirely goat-proof is a pipe gate. Plan to tack fencing on top of pipe later today. Mom is in her back yard so she is keeping eye on goats. Fine.

Really, really, REALLY need some caffeine. Realize I'm totally out of Starbucks mocha frappuccinos. Fine. Will get frapps on way to Home Depot. Get in truck. No gas. Take a deep breath. Fine. Will get gas when I stop for frappuccinos. Go to Exxon. Rush to door to get frappuccino. Door is locked. Sign says "Be back in 5 minutes." Look at handgun in car and wonder how much jail time I would get. Decide to pump gas instead. See clerk return. Go get frappuccinos. Get back in truck and slurp up caffeine like an addict snorting coke. Feel better.

Head to Home Depot. Can't find cart. Can't find wire. Finally steal cart from display. Find field fencing. Can't get cart close enough to rolls of fencing because of machinery left in aisle. Have to roll wire to cart. Pay for wire. Try to unload wire into truck. Wire is stuck in cart. Cuss. Look around to see who is watching me have childish temper tantrum. No one. Cuss some more. Kick the cart. Wire comes free. (hmmm.. violence 'can' be a good thing.)

Arrive home at 9:10 AM....Ten minutes late. (spent 10 minutes chasin' freakin' chicken this morning!) David is already there. So is someone else. Hmmm.... Texas Windstorm & Hail man. Decide against shooting him on principle alone. Apparently David and the dogs gave him a less than cheerful welcome when he drove into my yard, took out a ladder and started taking pictures of my roof so he could tell me that his company won't insure me until I get a new one.
Grrrrr......

Inform David that I haven't had enough caffeine, it's been a bad morning, and I'm just a bitch. He seems okay with that. (Sandy has trained him well.) We spend all morning putting up fortress to keep my beasts inside their prison. Break for lunch. Goats are where they should be. Return from lunch to finish up. Goats have gone walk-about.

David tacks up fencing on top of pipe gate while I retrieve goats. Since I do not have a bucket of feed, the goats are less than enthusiastic about returning home. Wish for BB gun to shoot goats. Push goats toward opened gate. Watch them by-pass opened gate. Wish for handgun instead of BB gun. After much cussing, get goats back in yard. David finishes their gate. They should be secure. Woo hoo! David and I head for back pasture to tear down an old fence.

Mom yells that goats are out again. WHAT!!!!! They got down on their knees and crawled under David's new & improved goat-gate. (Seriously consider shooting goats now.) Decide that goats need to understand that there is a severe penalty for jail breaks. Go get Ice, The Black Wolf.

Black Wolf is happy to help herd (read: terrorize) goats. Black Wolf enters pasture. Goats stand at attention like gazelle staring at a cheetah. Black Wolf slowly meanders in their direction. Goats scream "WOLF! WOLF! WOLF!" and run like hell to get back where they belong. Yeeeeesssss.... I pat myself and the Black Wolf on the back. This method has definite possibilities. Decide that goats need to clearly understand that they are not safe from Black Wolf until they are in the barn. So I have Black Wolf move them to the barn. Goats trot to barn quickly. Yep... I was liking this a lot! Too much perhaps. The goats make it to barn porch. Nope, that's not good enough for a grumpy woman who started the day with no caffeine. I wanted them in a stall. (should have stopped while I was ahead.)

I ask Black Wolf to move them into the stall. Goats panic and two of them run right over us and take off at a dead run for north forty. Black Wolf immediately overtakes smaller one and pulls him down. He is certain that he is a dead goat and yells to his companion. His companion runs faster and leaves him. (Companion didn't have to outrun the dog... just his little buddy) I yell at Black Wolf and she drops goat who is now firmly convinced that Satan has him. (Satan has pointy ears and a fluffy tail.) Goat races around corner of pumphouse to follow his companion through goat-proof gate. I hear only a thunk of wire. My mother reported that from her angle, she saw goat slide under wire. In order to accomplish this feat at that speed, the goat must rival the talent of any professional baseball player who slides into home plate. The goats are now split. The two left in the stall are beside themselves with horror at what has happened to their companions who ran over the dog, so in true goat-like fashion, they decide that they must leave the safety of the barn, to re-join their companions.

I shake my head at the utter stupidity of it as they attempt to sneak past Black Wolf to get to their buddies who are huddled against the fenceline in terror. Wolf and I back off so the herd can get back together. Then we step toward them. They race through a non-goat-proof fence toward the barn. Ahhh... progress. I put Wolf on a stay and open goats' stall door. They stare at us like gazelles. I motion Wolf forward. Goats bolt toward barn, into stall, and into the goat prison.

Hmmmmm.... The predator/prey relationship at work. Black Wolf watches a lot of Animal Planet on television. The goats apparently need no such tutorial.

Bullfighting

Montoya, my four year old gelding, provided me with his version of bullfighting last night:

I am a cop. I get home late. Tired. Walk in barn. Notice that goats have gotten out of their pen and are inside Montoya's paddock. Hmmmmm.....that was probably entertaining at some point. Goats are happy to see me. I am not as thrilled to see them. Herding goats is not an activity anyone wants to do after midnight. Goats want in their stall, but cannot figure out how to get into their stall so they are huddled in the stall with the chickens. Huddled... Hmmmm...


Note that Montoya is in the stall beside them looking a bit peeved. There is a board across the chicken's stall doorway to keep His Royal Highness out of the chicken scratch. Goats are huddled safely behind this bar. Feed horses so His Royal Highness is occupied while I try to figure out how to easily move four billy goats into their paddock. Decide best course of action would be to just lock goats in chicken stall and figure out where they got out when the sun comes up.


Go to shut stall door. One goat decides that I really want to barbecue him and thus he must race out of stall before I can shut door. Other goats panic and want to follow but I slam door in their faces. Now they are screaming. Chickens are clucking because goats are stepping on them. His Royal Highness has decided that this is FAR more interesting than his supper, so he exits his back door to come investigate.


HRH notes the loose goat. I swear, horses have "Spock" eyebrows because His Royal Highness gave Nitwit Goat the"Spock" eyebrow. Nitwit Goat screamed in terror. HRH lowered his head and charged Nitwit. I yelled at HRH. Colt looked at me with complete innocence. Nitwit continued to bleat in terror while his caged friends scaled the wall of the stall. His Royal Highness peaked into their stall. There was a moment of silence. I yelled at HRH. He gave me a look that only chaplains and little old ladies should wear. I yelled at him again and ordered him back in his stall. He shrugged and walked inside. I opened back door to goat stall. Nitwit was too scared to enter. He continued to run around bleating while his compadres answered in sympathy. I tried to herd him inside.


Convinced that I was the Spawn Of Satan with a Fork, Nitwit Goat ran from me in blind panic. Barbecued goat was beginning to sound good. Nitwit began running in circles farther and farther from the opened stall door. This proved too much temptation for His Royal Highness. Like a gray Specter of the Night On Wings, His Royal Highness glided out of the stall. Nitwit decided that perhaps I was not the only Spawn of Satan in the pasture. He screamed and ran for the barn. With a move that would make any cutting horse proud, His Royal Highness swooped in front of him. This was the stuff of Nitwit Nightmares. Alone, away from the herd, a Giant Gray Demon toyed with him. Nitwit was beside himself with horror. His Royal Highness was having the time of his life..... until I yelled at him. The Choir Boy stopped and looked at me.


"Huh?"


"Quit chasin' the goat. We'll be out here all night."


"Not if I catch him."


"Touche"


"So can I kill him?"


"No, then we'll have a dead goat in the pasture."


"I have no problem with that."


"I'll give you an apple if you'll go in your stall."


"DEAL!"


So His Royal Highness hustled to his stall. Nitwit grabbed that opportunity to race into the goat stall. And I finally got to go to bed.

The Goat King

After the death of my 30 year old mare, I considered letting the goats become companions for Montoya, my four year old gelding. Here is how that worked out:

Montoya has been quite lonely since we lost Sonny. Sultan ignores him and I can only occupy a small part of his day, so I decided to let Montoya in with the goats to see if they might make suitable companions for him. I walked him into the goat paddock and we stood together while the goats gaped at us.

"Look, these are your new friends," I told him.

He pointed out that these were peasants and were thus not fit companions for an Andalusian, the Horse of Kings. I reminded him that he was only half Andalusian. He ignored me.

"Come on, you could be their king," I told him as the goats, friendly and welcoming, as most hard-working country folk are, cautiously approached to welcome Montoya to their humble little paddock. He glared at them.

"You know, Thoroughbreds all over the world have goats as companions," I said.

He reminded me that race horses are not bred for their brains. Touché. The goats stopped at a respectful distance to examine their new king. While they gazed up in wonder, Prince Brat looked down in disgust and once more informed me that horses of his breeding do not associate with such low class individuals. I pointed out that since he had been rolling in the back yard, His Royal Highness had doggy poop smeared in his mane. Again, he ignored me. The goats quickly decided that this new ruler wasn't here to feed or entertain them, so they soon wandered off and got back to work.

Montoya gave adisgusted sigh. Because he didn't appear to harbor any genuine animosity toward the goats, I released His Royal Highness in the goat paddock. For a moment, he watched the goats as they stood on their hind legs and stripped a tallow tree.

I swear I heard him snort, "Peasants!" And since he considered an Arabian stallion to be a more suitable companion for royalty such as himself, he trotted off to the back of the goat paddock and called Sultan. The stallion ignored him. Again. So His Highness spent the day ignoring the goats, and they spent the day hard at work. I guess the up side is that since he thinks he's too good to associate with the lower classes, I'm spared having to drag along four goats when I want to take Montoya away from the barn.

Earth's crammed with heaven

Earth's crammed with heaven,

And every common bush afire

with God:

But only he who sees, takes off

his shoes.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Yes, Earth is crammed with Heaven, and it's our responsibility to take off our shoes. God isn't going to reach down and yank them off your feet. I am so blessed to live in a place where every morning I can get my coffee, stumble out the door and fall into Heaven. Each morning walk brings a kaleidoscope of God's beauty. I have much to be thankful for on this day of Thanksgiving. So many of our blessings are a matter of how we look at things, and if we slow down to view them from a different angle, the scene changes.

Yesterday I found myself in a rush to get errands run before the holiday, and the only thing shorter than my bank account, was my patience. I put the check for the property taxes in the mail and like a barn swallow in the wind, the last of my savings whooshed away. So with a heavy sigh, I closed the mail box door and drove away. Now I was not only on a tight schedule for the day, I was on a tight budget. That's when I notice that my truck was leaning.

Hmmmm.... that is never a good thing.

Close inspection revealed a flat tire. It really wasn't necessary to stand in the street and stare at deflated rubber. It has been my experience that this is never particularly productive, but I did it anyway. Fortunately I was close enough to home that I could limp back to an air compressor. So along with the barn swallows and my savings, holiday grocery shopping plans flew out too.

I found the nail. I also found out that my two front tires were bald. Suddenly the nail in the tire became a blessing. So I headed to Discount Tires. Apparently everyone else in the county also had the same idea because the parking lot was full and the wait was going to be long. Closer inspection revealed that not only did the front tires have to be replaced, the back ones did too.

Ouch!

Even cheap tires add up when you have to buy four of them, and so I was forced to drag out a credit card. Kicking and squealing, the credit card clawed to stay inside my wallet. I finally got it yanked out, blew the dust off it, and slid it through the machine. My heart sank and my card whimpered as the total rang up.

Then I went outside to wait. And wait. And wait. Eventually they came to put my truck on the lift. It looked so helpless hanging in the air, its little tires dangling. That's when the man came and informed me that the cheap tires I had purchased were not available. Would I mind if they upgraded the tires? No additional charge, of course.

Well.... there is only one answer to that question.

So while they fitted my truck with four brand-spankin' new tires, I took a moment to reflect on how circumstances become blessings.

Flat tire -- bad thing?

No. Inconvenient thing. Bad thing would be if the tire blew out at 70 mph on a dark, wet highway.

4 bald tires -- bad thing?

No. Better to find out now than at 70 mph on a dark, wet highway.

Long wait -- bad thing?

No, not if they ran out of cheap tires and upgraded me to tires I couldn't afford.

I'm slowly learning that the old saying, "every cloud has a silver lining," is true. Our job is to look for the silver lining. It's out there. Earth's crammed with heaven. Take off your shoes.

Walkin' Weed-eaters!

He was right. Space Aliens had invaded. And they had horns.

It took ten hours to put up that field fencing. I took the whole week off to get ranch work done and these Walking Weed-eaters are an important part of helping me get things under control. With the rain we’ve had, the horses simply cannot mow and weed-eat 7 ½ acres. I don’t see the problem going away on its own, so I need some help. I need .... weed-eaters on the hoof.

My four Weed-eaters arrived last night and they immediately began serving themselves from the buffet line of Tallow trees along the fence. YES! YES! YES! I pumped my fist in the air victoriously! I did the Happy Snoopy Dance when they started munching the briars. YESIRREE, I keep this place for the animals and dog-gone-it, the animals are gonna help me keep it up!

Before I went to bed, I checked them. Their happy little goat eyes reflected in my flashlight and I’m certain they burped as I highlighted their fat little tummies.

So this morning, I Snoopy Danced my way to the barn to check on goats and feed the horses. No horses. Where were the horses? Hmmmmm….. Called them. Noticed that Stallion wouldn’t come in.

So I asked him, “What’s the deal?”

He informed me that Space Aliens with Horns invaded the pasture beside him and thus he cannot come into the barn for breakfast.

"Do what?" I asked.

"SPACE ALIENS WITH HORNS!!" he insisted.

I turned to see that he was staring at four terrified goats, the size of big Labradors, that were huddled in a group because the dogs were barking at them. "You're scared of the goats?"

He informed me again that Space Aliens with Horns now occupy the pasture adjacent to him. So I walked through the ankle-deep water to go get him. Thanked God and Tractor Supply for rubber boots. He was quite relieved that the Space Aliens didn't get me while I was enroute. Since I was now there to walk with him, he was brave enough to walk back to the barn with me, but he kept a wary eye on the Space Aliens with Horns lest he have to beat a hasty retreat and leave me to the mercy of the Horned Demons. As soon as he finished breakfast, he blasted back outside to stand in the corner beside Montoya and they both studied the Space Aliens.

Montoya was a bit braver. He made occasional rushes toward them. They didn't move. This really frightened both Montoya and Sultan. Sonny (who doesn't particularly care much for goats) looked at the goats and informed the boys that she has better things to do than play peek-a-boo with a herd of goats and so she wandered back through the mud to the pasture. Montoya followed. Poor Sultan was then left alone to stare at the aliens. They continued to stare at him.

Eventually the goats got back to work on the tallow trees by the fence line. I did the Happy Snoopy Dance back to the house. And then the storm came. Hmmm… the goats didn’t know where the stall is because they’ve been so happy on the fence lines. Got a bucket of feed to call the goats. They were slightly interested. I leaned over to show them the feed. A bolt of lightning followed by a loud clap of thunder reminded me that the goats were only $40 each. So I scurried back into the barn.

Then I noticed that the Stallion was standing out in the pouring rain (and the other idiots were standing out there beside him). Everyone was just begging the lightning to strike them. Since they cost a great deal more than goats, I slopped out in the rain and Sultan walked back in with me. Apparently my presence gives him courage he wouldn't otherwise possess. The other two followed us. The horses ate Nicker Makers and stared at the Space Aliens who were standing under the overhanging tallow tree branches. The horses reminded me of kids watching a horror movie while they munch on popcorn.

It's going to be a long week for Sultan and the goats.

Too Much Sharing

Okay... this could fit under the category of Too Much Information, but I imagine that anyone who has kittens in the house has experienced Kittens and The Bathroom!

My kittens are half-grown now and fully believe that my bathroom is Disney World. They are completely fascinated with the Porcelain Jungle and my toilet is the next best thing to the Pirates of the Caribbean ride! Since they were little, I always made sure to put the lid down, for fear that one of my tiny tots would drown. This has only served to heighten their curiosity. Absolutely nothing pleases them more than to watch that sucker flush! They stand on the seat and peer down into the bowl, with O's on their faces, like little kids watching fireworks for the first time. (except instead of looking up in wonder, they're looking down, and their heads spin a little...) And the toilet paper! Oh dear! The toilet paper! They have discovered the toilet paper and now I have to keep a basket under the rack just to collect the unrolled paper as they merrily spin it off the roll.

A bathroom break for me has become an adventure in The Magic Kingdom too. For instance, it's MAGIC how quickly a kitten can appear when she hears you lift the lid. And when a kitten materializes on the seat just as you are lowering your arse down.... it's MAGIC! (This appears to be their version of an Extreme Sport.) But today surely beat all...... (The squeamish should hit delete now!) When you are sliding toilet paper down to your privates and a little hairy arm snakes out from the other side of your drawers to snatch the paper away from you ..............THAT'S MAGIC! The Toilet Paper Bandit struck! At first it scared the crap out of me. Hmmmm... guess I was in the right place, huh? Then I flew into a royal rage. After all, it was My Throne! Like a Calico Robin Hood, she ran across the tile with her stolen loot while I yelled at her. (Couldn't follow..... cat took my toilet paper!)

So I sat there and fumed while Robin Hood and her siblings shredded the stolen bounty. Then I reached for a fresh roll from a brand, spanking new package of Charmin, and it looked like a victim of a farming accident! Apparently Mister Whipole and the Charmin Bears are not the only ones who love that "squeezably soft" tissue!

The Littlest Angel

I play Twister over dead men for a living. I’m a crime scene investigator. In my world, I see so much death and despair that my relationship with God was getting pretty unsteady. I had questions about suffering that couldn't be explained. So many things I'd seen and experienced just didn't make sense. I began shaking my fist at God and asking "WHY?" But I would get no answer. This left me angry and disillusioned. I saw only a distant and aloof God. I needed comfort and proof of God's love. Then He sent 4 kittens... and they are Innocence personified.

The calico runt was so little that we weren’t sure she would survive, so I named her, Hope. I thought of 1 Corinthians 13. It can best be summed up in the Alan Jackson song "Where Were You When The World Stopped Turning."

"Now I know Jesus, and I talk to God,
And I remember from when I was young,
Faith, Hope, and Love are some good things He gave us ---
and the greatest is Love."

So I named the girls Faith, Hope, and Love. I named the boy, Brother.
Since God saw fit to send this rag-tag litter of homeless kittens, they have brought such joy. They are all precious, but tiniest one, Hope, has always been the most delicate.

Saturday night I came home from work and opened the door to their room. Three kittens came bouncing out. Where was Hope? I called and called. No Hope. Since she's given me this scare before, I started to search for a sleeping Hope…. And I found her. She was hanging on the back side of a chair. She had hung herself on a chair that the dog had chewed on months earlier. While playing, she had apparently become tangled in the frayed upholstery fabric.

I've felt a lot of Death, and as I grabbed little Hope's body, she was already getting stiff. Sick, I began to unravel her. She was still warm; she hadn't been dead long. I worked to untangle the fabric around her neck and prayed for God not to take my little Hope. But as I held her lifeless body, I no longer had hope. I yanked the last of the fabric away and began blowing in her nose and rubbing her back vigorously. I continued my desperate attempt at CPR on a kitten that was small enough to fit in one hand.... and she began to breathe.... and then she opened her eyes and started paddling her little legs. I set her on the floor and without so much as a backward glance, she toddled off to play. Then I sat back in that chair and sobbed as I thanked God for saving my little Hope.

When I had first picked her little body up, I had no hope. I've seen Death. I've felt Death. But breathing Life back into something so small was the most remarkable miracle I'd ever seen. I learned an important lesson that night: When hope is gone, keep on trying anyway. God may just send you a miracle.

Hope is none the worse for her ordeal. While I watched in amazement, she spent the better part of that evening careening around my office and playing SpiderMan on the curtains. I am so thankful that God left her with me a little while longer. These kittens have been a precious gift. When I told a friend that this experience had brought me closer to God, she said, "That's good, but it's a shame that it took a cat to do it." The comment hurt at first, but after some thought, I realized that she just doesn't understand. I figure God knew what it took for someone like me, and so He sent 4 scrawny kittens.

He still hasn't answered my questions about Suffering, Life, and Death, but I'm satisfied now. Something special happened Saturday night, and I won't forget that.

"But ask the animals, and they will teach you." Job 12:7

Calling 911

Farming 101 - If you scream "Ah! Ah! Ah! Get it! Get it! Get it!" the dogs will come running as if you've dialed 911.

Okay... while this works well when rats drop out of the ceiling, I am sorry to report that this does NOT, I repeat, NOT work on Giant Prehistoric Cockroaches the size of dinosaurs. In fact, you can loudly scream, point, and dance, and I know at least three dogs that will take a long, hard look at the Gigantic Prehistoric Cockroach (I swear, it was a big as a Volkswagen!) and say to you, "Uhhhh.... it's a cockroach."
It also doesn't help to try to explain to First Responders that you have dialed 911 because you need HELP! My experience pretty much went like this:

See upside down cockroach on floor. Sweep it out of corner with socked foot while you bend over with paper towel to pick it up. In horror, realize cockroach is alive and is now right-side up and crawling across your foot. Scream and dance while shaking foot.

"Ah! Ah! Ah! Get it! Get it! Get it!"

Dogs come rushing over and look around for rat. You point at GIANT cockroach on floor. Dogs almost step on cockroach while looking for Evil Rat That Drops From The Ceiling. Point out cockroach again. Dogs stop the hunt and stare at you like the RCA puppy listening to the phonograph. Point out cockroach one more time. Dance back as cockroach moves toward you. Point and scream "THAT! THAT! THAT!"

Dog says, "Buuuuut.... It's just a cockroach, Mom."

Dance some more and insist dogs kill cockroach. Dogs almost step on Very Lucky Friggin' Cockroach many times as they try to comfort and reassure you that it's just a cockroach the size of a Volkswagen, it's not really worth all this screaming. Realize that dogs are worthless and you need to handle the job yourself. Decide that shooting cockroach with a 40 caliber handgun would do the job, but is probably not a good idea since cockroach is in the living room. Opt for a shoe instead. Order dogs to watch cockroach while you find shoe.

Opt against smashing cockroach with nice Antonio Melani boots and decide to use ratty tennis shoe instead. Realize dogs are helping you search for shoe instead of watching cockroach. Accuse them of leaving their post. Return to find cockroach is gone. Wonder how something the size of a Volkswagen can hide so easily in your living room. Put shoe down and start moving furniture. Lots of dust bunnies, no cockroach. Move more furniture.... find enough dog hair dust bunnies to make a small poodle, but still no cockroach. Look at three First Responders and realize they are wondering why you want to find Cockroach The Size Of Volkswagen. Begin to ask yourself the same question.

Life on a farm for a single girl trying to go it alone can be tough, and each chore accomplished is a major victory. This evening I decided to tackle a stall door. The barn has shifted and the door wasn't closing properly. It just needed to have the latch hole drilled a little bigger. That presented a problem since I wasn't sure if Wuzband (he 'wuz' my husband) left a drill. So I started to poke around his old workroom in the barn. Found a drill! Now I needed drill bits. Poked around some more. Nope. Poked around in the house. Found 'em! I was on a roll! Drilled the hole bigger. Door worked great! Woo hooo! I AM WOMAN! HEAR ME ROAR! I happily patted myself on the back. "Yeah! I'm gonna be just fine. I can do this! A woman can handle a farm by herself!" ........ And that's when the rat fell out of the ceiling.

Suddenly I was no longer Xena Warrior Princess - Master Of My Domain. I was a screaming woman doing the Rat Dance. This is where you dance in place, point, and scream, "Ah! Ah! Ah! Get! Get it! Get it!"

Now this is like a 911 call to dogs. And ever vigilant, my faithful Belgian Shepherds (and 1 Bloodhound) raced to my aid. The rat landed on a 2x4 wall brace (near my shoulder!) and ran along the back of the workroom. He climbed jars filled with screws, old tools, and pvc pipes with remarkable speed. (Rat's have 4-wheel drive, ya know!) Anyway, I continued to scream and point while the dogs fell over each other in their efforts to snatch the rat off the wall.

It finally hid behind some old plastic jugs and there was a lull in the action. Standing on their back legs, the dogs looked to me. I stared back at them. "I'm not gonna pick up those jugs!"

They turned to the rat behind the jugs and then back to me. Clearly, I was the tallest one in the room, and I had the thumbs. They elected me to move the jugs. I was outvoted. So jug by jug, I lifted each away from the shelf. .... And the rat fell down.

I screamed and commenced the Rat Dance again. The dogs did their very best Three Stooges imitation as they crashed into each other in a wild attempt to snag the suspect. The rat scurried through a hole in the base of the wall and the four of us were left panting and gasping for air. (I'm sure the rat was doing a bit of gasping himself.)

The dogs had great fun. They searched for the rat for several minutes while I tried to gain my composure and waited for my heart rate to return to normal. My pack finished up their rat hunt and returned to reassure me that I was safe from rats as long as they were on duty. I was reminded, yet again, that you can run a farm without a man, but you can't run a farm without a good dog... or two or three. We all have different talents that balance out to get the work done. They're not afraid of rats; I'm not afraid of vacuum cleaners, so it all evens out.