High Noon

High Noon

He died that same way he lived, like a real cowpony. The call came in yesterday morning. Even though we had expected it, you are never quite prepared.

“Skip is down, and I can’t get him up,” the neighbor said.

The old horse was approaching thirty years old now and time is cruel. He’d cheated Death twice this year already, but we didn’t expect him to make it through the winter. Other Half and Skip had logged many miles together. Skip had penned many a cow, carried many a child, and was that “go-to horse” that you could count on when you needed the job done right. They shared a lot together, they were co-workers; they were friends. They took care of each other. And so when he put the phone down, Other Half drew a heavy sigh. This horse, who had safely carried him through so much, this horse who had safely carried his children….. needed to be safely carried along his journey.

Phone calls were made. The vet was unavailable. His staff would give him the message when he got in, but the earliest appointment would be in five hours. Death was already pulling Skip away. He was a fighter, but it was a losing battle, and Other Half refused to allow Death to toy with Skip for five more hours.

Skip laid his great head against Other Half and he cuddled that old horse like a lap dog. He stroked his eyes, smoothed his mane, and kissed his forehead. Then with a heavy heart, Real Cowboy shot Real Cowpony. We held each other as Skip fell.

I’ve seen a lot of Death and have come to learn that there are worse things - Suffering and Regret. Skip lay in the shade of a beautiful October morning, with the blue sky over his head. The weather was good. It was a good day to die. Other Half took a ragged breath and went back to stroking Skip.

And On The Eighth Day God Created Border Collies

And On The Eighth Day God Created Border Collies….

…. Or so Border Collie enthusiasts would have us believe. I’ve trained sport dogs and working dogs for well over 25 years. Sometime in the 1990’s a friend told me, “Sooner or later, you’ll break down and get a Border Collie. Anyone who is serious about competition does.”

The problem was….. I just wasn’t serious enough about any kind of competition to buy a dog just to win at a particular sport. Then I discovered goats. I have said it before, and I’ll say it again, goats are like cocaine. They take over your life and turn it upside down. What started out as a way to weed-eat my fence lines has grown into a business. I can buy a goat for $40, keep it for a while, and then re-sell the same goat for $140. On paper that sounds good. But it is a sad fact of life that raising goats could make Mother Teresa cuss like a sailor.

I needed help. And On The Eighth Day God Created Border Collies. Those words are golden to anyone who has ever tried to work livestock by themselves. I needed help. I needed a Border Collie. I found Lily in a feedlot in North Texas. Her parents were working cattle dogs. I picked her out, picked the ticks off of her, and proudly drove back across Texas with my first Border Collie.

That was six months ago, and now I cannot imagine how I ever got along without her. I know she’s young and shouldn’t be working stock yet, but I also realize that I can’t do a lot around here without her, so unfortunately many times I have to ask a first grader to do college work. This isn’t about titles. This is about coyotes. On my farm, if the young stock isn’t up at night, it’s eaten.

The rains have returned to South Texas. Dry pastures are now flooded. Lily and her goats are about the same age. None of them have experienced heavy rains and flooding until tonight. The heavens opened up and in a very short time the pen with the young females was under eight inches of water. Three inches of water filled their barn. The goats were standing on a shelf. I had to move the females into another pen on the far side of the property - three pastures away. It was getting dark and it was still raining.

At first I tried the practical approach. Open the door. Call the goats with some feed. They hollered back, but had NO intention of wading through floodwater to get to me and higher ground. “Don’t MAKE me get the Border Collie!” I shouted at them. Apparently they didn’t believe me.

Border Collie was only too happy to oblige. She stalked inside and they hustled their little asses out into the rain. Then we began the laborious trek to the south side of the property, to higher ground. Young Border Collie was forced to push grumpy goats across high water. By now it was so dark that I could only see the goats that were white, and the white of Border Collie’s ruff. (note to self: always have a dog with some white on it!)

We were doing well until the little beasts squeezed through the wrong gate and ended up in the stallion paddock. Border Collie could have stopped them, but I called her off because I didn’t want her running goats over Stallion. Goats crowded into Stallion’s stall. Stallion crowded in behind goats. The stall was flooding. I tried to get goats out of stall by myself. No way, Jose. “Don’t MAKE me get the Border Collie!”

Again, they were not convinced. I held Stallion while I asked Border Collie to move in. As soon as she slithered her little black and white self along the wall, the goats began to file back out in the rain like school children. Stallion stood in the corner, wondering what just happened.

Small creek had become raging current. Border Collie had to convince goats to jump water. By now I hated goats and didn’t care if the coyotes did eat them. But Border Collie had much more confidence than I did. In short order, she had all the goats over the creek and back en route to the south pen. Lightning flashed and thunder clapped. It was raining harder and I could barely see the dog.

By the time I got there, Border Collie had all the goats by the gate. She held them while I opened the latch. My next problem was making sure that none of the goats inside the pen ran out while Border Collie moved the young females into the pen. I called her over. She glared in the pen at the other goats. They fell over themselves to back away from the gate. Then Border Collie made a quick circle and picked up the females who had already began to wander off in the rain. (Did I mention how much I hate goats?)

Little Black & White Pup (aka Kung Fu Panda) marched those idiots right back where they belonged and I locked the gate. Then she stood in the rain and shook herself. I got down on my knees and hugged her. We high-fived and had a party in the rain. She was quite pleased with herself.

In a perfect world, a dog her age would never have to do what she did this evening, but tonight I was so thankful for the generations of shepherds who bred a dog to go out in the rain, and get the job done.

On The Eighth Day God Created Border Collies

Lost Dog!

Lost Dog!

The quickest way to meet your neighbors is to lose your dog. Even the shyest among us will shamelessly flag down every bicyclist and knock on the door of anyone who has even the remotest chance of catching sight of our beloved lost family member.

Yesterday Drake discovered the patio door was ajar about twenty minutes before we discovered the Brittany Spaniel had gone “walk-a-bout.” (or in Drake’s case – “RUN-a-bout”) Drake belongs to Other Half’s son. He was in our care, custody, and control at the time of The Great Escape. Losing your own dog is bad enough. Losing someone else’s dog is a Very Bad Thing.

We calculated that Drake had been gone for at least twenty minutes because that’s about the time we heard Border Collie and Blue Heeler jacking with one of the horses. When herding dogs get loose, they don’t go far, they harass livestock. You can HEAR when they get out! When bird dogs get loose, they’re GONE!)

And Gone he was. Other Half and I immediately mobilized. In separate vehicles we started slow-rolling the neighborhood. That’s when you really get to know your neighbors. We met lots of new people who were quite nice. Most were helpful. One was not. Other Half was in his Police Truck and was flagged down by a neighbor who wanted to report a suspicious vehicle in the area. It was a white SUV and it was acting very strange, obviously up to no good. (It was me.) He informed her that the Suspect was his Better Half and that I was looking for a lost dog. Had she seen Drake? No, she had not. (right about then, I’m sure he tuned her out. He was not exactly concerned with the suspicious SUV roaming the streets. At this point, even if she had seen a man in a robe and turban with a bomb strapped around his waist, unless he was carrying a white dog with red spots, Other Half would not have been interested.)

I flagged down a delightful elderly Mexican man who spoke little or no English. I speak little or no Spanish.

“Perro??!!” (dog) I asked him, with a wide sweep of my arms.

He smiled at me.

“Blanco Perro!! (white dog) Oops! I remembered that in Spanish, the adjective goes behind the noun. “Perro blanco!!???”

He smiles some more. I stop to consider that he probably doesn’t really care about my Spanish grammar. At this point, I remember that Drake has large reddish-brown spots., but I cannot remember the word for red or brown, or spots. He is still smiling. I begin looking around truck for reddish-brown things. Ahh hah! There is a stuffed dog with brown legs on my dash. I point at the leg.

“Rojo?” he asks.

“Yes! Red! Red!” (don’t ask me how he got red out of brown stuffed dog’s leg, but who cares!) I clap my hand across my head and ears to show him where the “rojo” spots are on the dog. He nods. Then he says “Grande?” (with big arms) “Poquito?” (with little arms)

I show him how tall Drake is. He nods. No, he has not seen Drake, but will keep an eye out. I point to house where Drake lives. He nods and grins. Then I say “Gracias” and he says “Thank you.”

See? No Language Barrier cannot be broken!. Everyone understands the Lost Dog Dilemma. Perhaps the United Nations could benefit from the Lost Dog approach.

Other Half made the dreaded phone call to Son. It was a short one. Son, Girlfriend, and Son’s Buddy were en route as soon as the phone went “click.” (Drake is a well-loved pooch.)

I called Dear Friend Mindy (who I never see enough, but I know that I can ALWAYS count on her in an Emergency –Good friends like that are precious!) and she immediately got the news out to Loping Ladies in our area. It gave me a great deal of comfort to know that Ladies all over Brazoria and surrounding counties would know about Drake within minutes. Thank God for the internet! In the case of a lost dog, every minute counts.

After about two hours, we re-grouped at the house. It was time to make some cardboard signs and start tacking them up at every intersection in the area. That’s when I heard Son shout. “There he is!!!!”

Drake came zooming back into the yard. Happy Dog! Go figure. The little Beast had clearly been rooting around in the brush in the wooded area across the road, having a High Ole Birddog Time. Undoubtedly he could hear us calling him, but the Call of the Wild was a lot stronger – until he saw His Human. Well, that changed things. His Human was home now. It was time for a Drake-Snuggle. It was time be brushed. It was time to fussed over. (“Look! Drake cut his paw! Awwwwwwww…”) It was a Good Time to be Drake.

Barnyard to Ballroom

Poor Border Collie!!!! It is NEVER a Good Thing for when I have too much time in Walgreen's at Halloween. Can you say "Cheap?" Can you say "Completely Unnecessary?"

While waiting for pictures (of the Porch Ponies) to be developed, I happened to stumble into the HALLOWEEN aisle. (ooooooooooooooohhhhh.... poor Border Collie..........)

I found a white satin evening gown - poor, poor Border Collie.
The gown didn't have the wings and halo it was supposed to have, so I wrangled it out of them for 2/3 the price. (hehehehehehehehehe) - poor, pitiful Border Collie......

I could barely contain myself as I showed my prize to Other Half and Border Collie. She was not nearly as amused as he was.... But Border Collie is a good-natured beast and getting her into the gown wasn't much of a problem. Cute... very cute... Poor, Poor Border Collie..

I put her on my bed, slapped on a pair of my Sweet Potato Queen sunglasses and started to take pictures!

Snap! Snap! (put glasses back on dog) Snap! Snap! (put glasses back on dog) Snap! Snap!

Border Collie finally just gave up and laid down on the bed. (I swear she put her paw to her forehead in a swoon and said, "Goodbye Cruel World, I just can't take it any more!!")

Eventually Other Half called a halt to the torture - it was more than he and Border Collie could bear. Clearly it's a lot farther from Barnyard to Ballroom than simply buying a white satin dress!

Body By Border Collie

Body By Border Collie

Since Other Half came into my life, his goal in life seems to be to plump me up. That, coupled with Middle Age, is doing a fine job of making “More Of Me To Love!” Other Half wants Man Food - meat and potatoes and more of it! Unfortunately, Other Half is also a damned fine cook. It’s hard to resist a man who pushes steak at you that is so tender you can cut it with a fork. Changing his diet simply isn’t gonna happen. But since diet is only half of the equation, I figure that Exercise is the key to taking some of these pounds off. Unfortunately Other Half’s idea of exercise is walking out to the back pasture with cubes for the calves – and if there are too many cubes, or if it’s too far, he’s gonna ride a 4-wheeler. BUT …. there is someone in my family who would make Dr. Oz proud – Border Collie!!!

Lily, the Border Collie, is so health-conscious that she practically poops granola. That little dog is a motion maniac, AND she eats a healthy diet. The dog refuses to eat salt and sugar. (Cross my heart! If I’m lying, I’m dying!!) Give that girl a potato chip and she looks at you like you’re trying to poison her. Drop a cupcake on the floor? It’ll stay there. Girlfriend doesn’t do buttercream frosting! (I know!!! Can you believe this poor dog lives with me?!) Anyway, the dog is shaming me into exercising and eating a little better. After all, if a six month old Border Collie knows that salt and sugar are bad for you, you’d think I’D have figured it out by now!

Her day starts at 7:30 AM regardless of what time I drag in the night before. She slithers across the bed to lick my face and inform me that (in case I missed it) the SUN is up! I don’t like being reminded of this little fact when I’ve only been asleep for four hours anyway, so I end up throwing her outside. The poor Blue Heeler gets thrown out with her. Border Collie entertains herself (and Blue Heeler) by swimming in pond, chasing cats, barking at Porch Ponies, defending the neighborhood from the Trash Truck, chasing the cats some more, staring at the goats, and chasing the cats again. I sleep.

When I finally drag my ass out of bed, it is to ice up a Starbuck’s Mocha Frappuccino in order to beat back the headache resulting from LCL. (Low Caffeine Level) Border Collie peeks through the sliding glass door and begins to bounce up and down in place. By now she has burned approximately 4000 calories. I have burned 4.

With a few sips of caffeine in my system, I am ready to face the day – and the farm. So I open the patio door. Three dogs rush out while two dogs try to rush in. WHY!!!! Every freakin’ morning!!! WHY PEOPLE??? The three dogs that have NOT been thrown outside at 7:30 AM because they don’t CARE that the sun comes up every morning, will rush outside to greet the day with wild joy (the Bloodhound will be baying loudly – yes, the neighbors must LOVE me.) Border Collie and Blue Heeler will try to rush inside. This ends up in a wreck – every freakin’ morning! I step outside door and there is the mad scrambling of toenails on tile as they turn around and run back outside. All Dogs then rush to barn. Border Collie is fast, so she rushes to barn and back six times before I stumble to the feed room. Border Collie has now burned 2000 more calories. I have burned 2 more.

We do our chores – feed and water all the livestock. (Dogs and Humans eat last – they are not livestock.) After chores are done, it is now time to Power Walk up and down street. Since there is not enough caffeine in this state to allow me to walk five dogs at the same time, everyone waits in the yard except Border Collie who runs circles around me when she sees her Pink Leopard Print collar! “YES! YES! YES! We are going for a walk!” By now Border Collie has been awake four hours. She has been in motion for three hours, fifty-nine minutes and thirty seconds.

Power Walk down street as Border Collie bounces along, playing tug-o-war with her leash. I move forward. For each step that I take, Border Collie moves right, left, up, down, zig-zag, tug-tug, and shake-shake. She is often on three legs because one of her front legs will be caught in the leash. She will grin at me from time to time to make sure that I’m watching her. At the end of our workout, Border Collie has burned 6000 calories. I have burned 60.

That pretty much explains why she is a lean, mean, runnin’ machine, and I…….. I like buttercream frosting. Hey! You gonna eat that cupcake?

:)

The Trouble With Farms

Like cocaine, farms have a way of taking over your life. Slowly but surely, all your time, money, and even your family, gets sucked into the farm. It starts slowly, just like a drug addiction. Horses are marijuana, the gateway drug. They pave the way for property, barns, and fencing. But horses lead to more dangerous vices – like goats. Goats are cocaine. Goats take over. When you have a farm any time the phone rings – be afraid, be very afraid. Last night I was at work, standing over a dead guy, when the phone rang.

“One of your goats is out! Another one has her head caught in the fence!”

Hmmmm… I look down at the dead guy and try to decide which is the greater emergency. Since clearly the dead guy isn’t going anywhere, I try to coach my mother through goat extraction techniques. This is much like the flight tower trying to talk a hysterical passenger through ways to safely land an aircraft. It wasn’t pretty, - lots of grunting and heavy breathing, (Mom, not the goat.) but the goat soon bounded off to join her companions. Now it was time to address the other problem – the loose goat.

I tend to pace when I’m on the phone. Deep in Farmland, I paced around the room. From time to time, I rounded a piece of furniture to be startled by a dead guy on the floor. Why this surprised me was a bit bizarre since there was only one dead guy and he wasn’t exactly hiding behind the furniture playing peek-a-boo. Oh well, such is the nature of my life. Where were we? Oh yeah! The loose goat……

Back in the flight tower, I begin talking my mother through the steps of coaxing goats with a bucket of grain. First she had to remove the big dogs from the back yard. Check. She could do that. No problem. She returned to the goats. Big problem. All the goats were loose and were now in two separate pastures. Problem #2 – It is never wise to lure goats with oats when hungry horses are also in the pasture. I decide the problem is Way Too Big for my mother to handle. Tell her to keep an eye on goats while I call my Other Half.

Other Half has both stock dogs with him at the moment. He is less than enthusiastic about the idea of driving back to the house to deal with goats, but agrees that Mother is in way over her head. Call Mother to inform her that Other Half is on his way home. Continue to pace. Almost step on dead guy again. Crap!

Confident that Other Half is at the Helm, I can now address Dead Guy. (He doesn’t talk much.) Get back to work. Phone rings again. Other Half. He explains how he did not even need to use Border Collie – he shook a feed bucket. I thank Other Half profusely and get back to Dead Guy. It’s okay. We have plenty of time. Dead Guy is patient. Dead Guy doesn’t have goats.

:) s

Storm Ponies

Storm Ponies


There is a reason why doggy doors are only so big. They are not designed for Porch Ponies with fat asses.

Last night at 3:30 am, I was happily catching some z’s with the Border Collie (who was hogging the bed) when the phone rang. Other Half was on duty and was in the middle of a Hell Storm. I tried to decipher what he was saying as the rain pounded horizontally against his truck. It sounded a lot like: Bad Storm. Headed my way. Close windows on horse trailer.

I allowed as how it was 3:30 AM and I really did NOT want to get out of bed to save the horse trailer floor from getting wet. (After all, don’t horses pee in there?) Other Half was less than impressed with my reasoning and continued to discuss things that needed to be done (at 3:30 AM!) before the storm hit. I could hear the thunder cracking through the phone lines. Poor Other Half, he was outside in that. (Hmmmm.. .. sucks to be him..) That’s when I thought of my Porch Ponies! Oh my!

The very notion that my beloved Porch Ponies might get wet galvanized me right out of bed. (YES! I know! The ponies might get wet! Or be scared! Perish that thought!) So I quickly slipped on some baggy yoga pants and cowboy boots. Fashion diva, that’s me!
Much to her dismay, I left Border Collie in the house, and chose to take Kona, the Brown Wolf to accompany me as I went out at 3:35 AM to prepare for the Hell Storm. Although Lily the Border Collie is an excellent farm dog, she is only 6 months old and not much help as a guard dog in the middle of the night. It has been said that she has an Alligator Mouth with a Butterfly Butt. The Brown Wolf was a much better choice for night maneuvers. So Border Collie pouted while The Brown Wolf and I stepped out into the Night.

The wind had picked up and lightning flashed like strobe lights in the distance. I decided to move Porch Ponies into back yard so that they could go into the barn aisle and hang out with the Big Horses. They were delighted. Napolean immediately headed for the Feed Room. I considered shutting the door, but decided that unless he climbed a ladder, The Tiny Emperor could not possibly reach the feed bin. Checked to make sure there were no ladders available. (Hey, he’s a smart little booger!)

Ruffy discovered dog water bucket and began sucking down water like he had been in the desert for days. Hmmm… dog water bucket surely must taste like Bloodhound spit. Napolean wanders over to check out the bucket. Moves Ruffy out of way to savor the Bloodhound-Spit Water for himself. Apparently it was yummy because he kept going back for more. This made me wonder if I had perhaps been derelict in my role as a Pony Mom and had allowed the water trough in their pasture to get too low. Checked it. Nope, it was full. Ponies must just like Bloodhound Spit.

Checked Big Horses. They were fine. Curious about Tiny Visitors, but otherwise, they were ready to brave Hurricane Force Winds With Horizontal Rain. Ponies were like kids on a field trip. Napolean found the goat hay. (not so yummy) Knocked down some buckets. (oops, ma bad!) Female weanling goats stuck their heads out of the shed to point out that it was 3:50 AM and SOME people on this farm were trying to get some SLEEP! Male weanling goats woke up and started screaming from their pen. I assured them that they were calling every predator in Brazoria County and they would be wise to Shut Up.

Porch Ponies soon bored of the barn and wandered outside to graze. Brown Wolf and I returned to the house as the first drops of rain fell. Gave rest of dogs a quick bathroom break and let Calico Kittens Who Grew Up to Become Calico Cats into house. Climbed into bed with Miffed Border Collie. She snuggled up to my pillow and forgave me for leaving her in the house. Other Half calls again. He was headed home, but now he is headed to a call. Three Suspects on the Ground. Other Half and Police Dog are about to become Very Wet. (remind God how thankful I am that he gave me Other Half and ask him look over Other Half and Police Dog)

Confident that my prayers are heard, I snuggle with Border Collie as Hell Storm hits. Worry about Porch Ponies. They are tiny. They might get wet. It crosses my mind that I could bring Porch Ponies in house with dogs and cats. (very briefly…… the image of Border Collie and Other Half having Collective Shit Fit chases the idea out very quickly)

That’s when I heard the doggy door smack open.

I waited. I waited for the pitter patter of little hooves across the tile. The storm raged as I debated whether or not to allow the ponies to stay in the Utility Room. After all, how much trouble would two miniature horses cause to a washer and a dryer? (and maybe they would fold the clothes on the dryer!) I waited, but it was silent. Finally, curiosity got the best of me. Border Collie and I crawled out of bed and padded across the house to the Utility Room. I cautiously opened the door. Bloodhound yawned at me. Hmmmm… no ponies in here, just a smelly dog with long ears.

I looked out in the rain. Storm Ponies were happily hanging out in the storm. (and I was worried they might get wet.) By the time I was crawling back in bed, Other Half was calling to let me know that Suspects were caught and that he and Police Dog were all right - they were on their way home. I could go back to sleep now.

As my head hit the pillow, I thanked God again for Other Half, Porch Ponies, and Border Collies that hogged the bed.

Swinging Calves

Pulling a calf out of a straining heifer is not exactly what I imagined it to be, but when you live on a farm, the best adventures always begin at home. Since joining households with Real Cowboy, I have not only acquired additional dogs, horses, and a couple of donkeys, I am now responsible for cattle. Until last night the closest I had been to the actual inside of a cow was the meat aisle at Kroger's. Raising horses and reading James Herriot's veterinary adventure books does not prepare you for actually sticking your hand inside the back end of a cow in labor.

A definite necessity around a farm is a neighbor who also raises cattle. Since Kindly Rancher Neighbor has a regular day job, while I work evenings, and Other Half works nights, the neighbor had agreed to check on Cow-About-To-Pop while we were gone. His last check was at 10:30 PM. All was well. I got there about 12:30 PM. All was NOT well. Something unidentifiable was hanging out of Cow-About-To-Pop. Since I lack a veterinary degree that gifts me with fancy words to describe her condition, let's just say, she appeared to be blowing a gigantic bubble from her butt.

Hmmm... Never seen horses do that. Shouldn't there be feet there? Perhaps cows are different. Phoned Other Half to voice my concerns. Other Half is also a cop and was at that moment dealing with two prisoners who had chosen to fight him and his partner. He advised me to call Neighbor. Since Other Half sounded quite busy, I phoned Neighbor. Kindly Rancher Neighbor has left his cell phone in another room and is now sound asleep. Go check Cow. Big Bubble Butt. No baby. Cow doesn't look happy. (I wouldn't be either, Sister!)

Other Half phones. He and Partner are okay and now have two prisoners and multiple charges on them. He will come home as fast as he can. I become concerned as Other Half begins to give instructions for pulling calf out of Cow. Strange man appears in the darkness and scares the shit out of me. Not Neighbor, but next best thing! Other Half has called his son and young man is here to help. Most Excellent! Unfortunately Son and I have herded cows, penned cows, doctored cows, and cussed cows, but neither of us has ever tried to forcibly remove a calf from a cow's ass. Definitely Uncharted Territory.

Son looks at back end of Cow and announces that he hates his father. Despite her efforts to push out that calf, Big Bubble Butt in Back is about the same size. Other Half calls for an update. He informs us that we are on speaker phone and he is in the District Attorney's Office so we can't cuss. This seriously limits our conversation. Son states that this is out of our league, and decides to ride a 4 wheeler over to Neighbor's house to wake him up.

I stand with Cow and note that the rest of the herd has gathered around to watch too. One moos her encouragement, or perhaps it is sympathy. My Cow-Speak is a bit limited. Son returns to inform me that he didn't wake up Neighbor because of large, nasty Blue Heeler Dog on front porch. Makes perfect sense to me. Other Half calls for an update. I cannot help but wonder what the other folks in the District Attorney's Office thought of a man trying to coach two idiots through labor and delivery of a stuck calf. Other Half gives us a grocery list of items to collect around the house and orders to call Neighbor's father to get the home telephone number.

What he does not tell us is that Neighbor's father is a Grumpy Old Man who doesn't appreciate phone calls at 2 AM. Son informs me again that he hates his father. Grumpy Old Man agrees to call Neighbor. Maybe. It was a short conversation.

Son and I collect ropes, towels, and soap. There is a knock on front door. I am so excited that I hit myself in the head with the door as I fling it open. Practically hug Neighbor! We show him Cow with Bubble Butt. Hmmmmm.... He looks at Cow thoughtfully and comes to same conclusion that Other Half came to. Calf must be pulled out with ropes.. Son and I are feeling better because even though situation is still bad, someone else is now officially In Charge!

Cow is down. Neighbor ties her back legs together. Son and I wonder why we didn't think of that. Neighbor then starts poking and palpating bubble. A tongue pops out. And maybe a foot. Neighbor starts to feel around to sort out legs. I point out that perhaps he might want to take off his wedding ring since he might lose it inside Cow. He allows that this is a very good idea. I am happy that I could contribute something to this little adventure. Neighbor finds a nose! And a tongue. A very, large Gene Simmons/Kiss tongue. Tongue moves. Baby is still alive!!!! Neighbor states that he must tie ropes around front feet and pull Calf out. BIG calf. Small hole.

Since Neighbor is unhappy with our choices of rope, (2 lariats, and the rope from a boat anchor), he goes home to get good Calf Pulling Rope. I am given instructions to keep skin pulled back so Calf can breathe. This is easier said than done. Feet and Tongue keep pushing in front of Nose. Despite the fact that I'm not the one stuck in the cow, I feel claustrophobia closing in on me.

Out of darkness comes Ninja in black tactical police gear. Other Half is home! He takes gunbelt off and sets it beside fence. Neighbor takes off his coat. Pushing my sleeves up, I am still trying to keep my coat on, but am slowly finding it hard to keep the cow shit and blood off new Carhart jacket. Neighbor and Other Half find front feet and tie ropes around them. I am trying to keep Nose up front so Calf can breathe. Son has a halter on straining Cow and is helping her balance as Other Half and Neighbor slowly pull Gigantic Calf out.

Calf finally slides out and, to my astonishment, Other Half and Neighbor grab up his legs and begin to swing him back and forth. (If I'm lying, I'm dying!) Two grown men were swinging a 90 pound bull calf like boys on a playground. This begged for an explanation.

"To remove fluid from the lungs."

Son and I nodded heads. Made sense now. They set Calf beside Momma Cow. She starts to lick it. Other Half and Neighbor are now coated in cow shit, blood, and goo. It is 3 AM. Son and Neighbor have to go to work early in the morning. Other Half still has to complete Arrest Report.

I went to bed at 5 AM. Other Half finished his report and came to bed as the sun was coming up. I checked Momma and Calf at 9:30 AM when I fed the horses. They were fine. Neighbor and Son had already left for work. They might have had 4 hours of sleep.

I looked out at that calf flicking his ears in the morning sun and thought about cowboys. Real cowboys. Being a real cowboy isn't about rodeo games. It isn't about the truck a man drives, the clothes he wears, or the brand of tobacco he chews. Being a real cowboy is about blood and cow shit. It's about coming over at 2 AM to help a neighbor pull a calf. It's about swinging calves in the moonlight.

Update on this calf: At weaning time there was discussion of what to do with this little bull calf. Other Half suggested that we could either keep him a bull, or butcher him. I could have gone either way until Son reminded us that we PULLED that little sucker into this world and thus he would NOT end up on the table. Considering that this young man will eat anything with feet, feathers, or fins, I figure if he says the calf won't end up on the table - the calf won't end up on the table!

The Grace of God & The Red-Headed Demon

The Porch Ponies gave me gray hairs this afternoon! They have three separate paddocks, one of which is the area where I park my truck. I was getting ready to go to work this afternoon and noted that the ponies were in the paddock beside the canal, NOT in the paddock with my truck.

"Ah HAH!" I said to the Border Collie (who is always with me). "Now would be the perfect time to move my truck outside the gate."

So I did. I opened the gate, got into the truck, and started to back out. That's when everything went to Hell in a Handbasket. Ruffy, hereafter referred to as The Red-Headed Demon, heard the gate and said to himself, "Why lookee there, Freedom is just behind that gate. I'm outta here!"

His little fat self can move with all the speed and grace of a professional football player. He hustled out of the canal paddock with speed that would make a Derby winner envious. In vain I tried to manuever the truck to cut him off. Wrong! As soon as he squeezed his little fat ass through that tiny space between my truck and the gate, I swear the little bastard did an End Zone Dance.

I wasn't overly alarmed at this point, I just got out of the truck and started the sideways ease towards him. You all know the game - the "I'm not trying to catch you, I'm just walking kinda in your direction" game. Unfortunately, The Red-Headed Demon has played this game before and knows how it ends. Off he trotted down the street. Now I was getting alarmed. I live on the end of a quiet dead-end street, but The Red-Headed Demon was headed toward a very busy county road at a fast clip.

The Border Collie offered to help, but fearing the she'd get kicked, or end up chasing him further down the street, I declined. I was now trotting a parallel line along the street. The Demon was trotting down the street, and I was trotting in the neighbor's yards (in Crocs - Note to self - wear running shoes)

At this point, I was deep in serious prayer. "Dear Lord, HELP ME!!!!!!!"

That's when I turned around and realized that Napolean, The Tiny Emperor was ALSO running along beside us. I said a few choice cuss words and prayed harder. (I know, it seems a bit contradictory, but God knows I'm weak.)

I hurridly called my neighbor at the end of the street in hopes that she could head them off. Too bad, she was not home. By then, I was in the middle of the street and the minis were already approaching the busy highway. At this point, I was praying out loud, "PLEASE LORD, PLEASE HELP ME!!!"

I ran up to the house of some neighbors that I barely know and started ringing the doorbell. The son, (who is a Houston Police Officer) came to the door with his mother. I frantically pointed at the ponies who were by now crossing the busy highway! Fortunately, the young man understood the language of hysterical women, and with very little explanation, the kid figured out the whole story. We shoved my poor Border Collie into the house with his mother, and he and I took off after the ponies.

And I prayed some more.

You know those folks who don't have jobs in the middle of the day and you see them just walking down the street? Well... at that very moment, a young man in his 20's was walking down that busy road. (His name is John.)

The young man saw the ponies cross the highway. He saw the traffic slow down to avoid hitting their little fat asses. (Thank you again Lord!) The ponies crossed the road to enter a hay field with grass taller than they were.

Eric (the police officer's name was Eric) and I crossed the road after the ponies and John came to join us. I easily walked up to Napolean and caught him by the mane. He grinned at me and said, "Look Ma! Look at this great place Ruffy found!"

I hugged Napolean and handed him to Eric. The Red-Headed Demon looked over his shoulder, saw that his companion had been captured, and headed through the hay field toward the canal. At his point, I decided we were safe enough to run back and get halters, so I left John and Eric with Napolean while I ran (jogged) back in Croc's (I'm never going out of the house without running shoes again!).

I drove back with halters. Napolean was knee-deep in ecstasy. The Red-Headed Demon had settled down and was enjoying the bounty of his naughtiness too. We put a halter on Napolean and Eric held him while John and I headed out after Ruffy. John asked, "How fast can he run?"

I admitted that to a twenty-something year old man, a little fat pony did NOT look very fast, but I advised him against a foot race with an animal who could give a zebra a run for his money. I walked towards Ruffy as I explained to The Red-Headed Demon that I was late for work and that he could have gotten himself, Napolean, and my Border Collie all killed on a busy highway. He stopped walking away from me, turned and grinned. Then he walked right up to me. I hugged him.

Halters on, we all started the long trip back. Once at the truck, Eric and I thanked John and bid him farewell. Then Eric climbed in the back of the truck and held the leadropes while two very happy little fat ponies trotted along behind the truck. We stopped to pick up the Very Confused Border Collie who was waiting in the house with Eric's mother and then drove home.

I thanked God again.... and again... and some more. Then I hugged the Red-Headed Demon and informed him that he would never be allowed the opportunity to slide his little fat self through that gate again. He winked at Napolean and looked angelic.

I love my little Red-Headed Demon.

In addition to Pissed Off Pusses, I now have Grumpy Gripey Goats. This morning, much too my annoyance, one of the young male goats was screaming his fool head off, calling every predator in Brazoria County, because he had managed to get out of the goat pen and was now on the Other Side of the Fence. HORRORS! (at night that would have been a Very Bad Thing)

Anyway, I decided to take Lily the Border Collie and round up all the young goats to bring them back to the house. The goats were delighted because they love nothing more than to decimate all the landscaping around my house. The Porch Ponies were not amused. It appears that there is a certain hierarchy in the Animal Kingdom - Tiny Emperors named Napolean consider themselves to be at The Top. Border Collies also consider themselves to be at The Top. (It depends upon who is reading the script.) Regardless, in everyone's script, Goats are at the bottommmm. (read that in descending, teeny-tiny letters.)

Border Collie put the goats into the side yard and then retreated into the back yard with me to finish our other chores. I was watering chickens when I heard the plaintive little Border Collie bark that says, "MOM! We have a PROBLEM!"

Hmmmm.... yes indeed, someone had a problem. The Border Collie watched in distress as Napolean the Tiny Emperor and Ruffy the Machiavelli Prince (who does believe that yessirree, the Ends DOES justify the MEANS) were running round and round the tractor as goats huddled underneath it.

Unlike the goats and the Border Collie, I found this vastly entertaining. Each time a goat would dart out, a little fat pony would chase him around the yard. Goats were bouncing around the yard so fast it was hard to keep track of them. It was like a video game! This proved to be a great exercise program for Little Fat Ponies. In time, they ran out of steam and the goats cautiously crept out from underneath the various farm vehicles.

I finished my chores in relative peace until I was once again called by the Tattle-Tail Border Collie. Napolean the Tiny Emperor had stolen an empty dog food bag from the garbage can and was carrying it around the yard while Ruffy the Little Prince followed with great interest.

Sigh.... never a dull moment

Catz hatin' on Porch Poniez

Well, not EVERYONE on the street is as enamored with my mini horses as I am! The Porch Ponies spend a good bit of time in the front yard, and this means mooching at the front door. (Porch Pony Peekers!)

Anyway, back to our story! My calico kittens grew up to become Calico Cats. They are fed each day on the front porch. YES......... you see the problem...

The first time that cat food landed on the front porch, four cats raced to the porch like monkeys swinging through the jungle. They landed with delicate little kitty grace and commenced to belly up to the Purina Table. All was well until a moment later the thud of little hooves landed on the porch. Four little cat faces look up in horror.

Napolean gazed down on their little picnic with Great Interest. I was certain that once he taste tested the Purina picnic, he'd lose interest. Wrong! The moment he tasted cat food, Napolean the Little Emperor moved in to seize control of the bowl. Tiny Emperors LIKE Purina Cat Chow!

Calico Cats do NOT LIKE Tiny Emperors! Calico Cats do NOT LIKE Porch Ponies!

I hurried to hustle the Tiny Emperor off the porch, and move the cat food while I pondered the mystery of why a little gray horse would even like the tast of cat food.

Hmmmm......Whodathunkit????

Well, not EVERYONE on the street is as enamored with my mini horses as I am! The Porch Ponies spend a good bit of time in the front yard, and this means mooching at the front door. (Porch Pony Peekers!)

Anyway, back to our story! My calico kittens grew up to become Calico Cats. They are fed each day on the front porch. YES......... you see the problem...

The first time that cat food landed on the front porch, four cats raced to the porch like monkeys swinging through the jungle. They landed with delicate little kitty grace and commenced to belly up to the Purina Table. All was well until a moment later the thud of little hooves landed on the porch. Four little cat faces look up in horror.

Napolean gazed down on their little picnic with Great Interest. I was certain that once he taste tested the Purina picnic, he'd lose interest. Wrong! The moment he tasted cat food, Napolean the Little Emperor moved in to seize control of the bowl. Tiny Emperors LIKE Purina Cat Chow!

Calico Cats do NOT LIKE Tiny Emperors! Calico Cats do NOT LIKE Porch Ponies!

I hurried to hustle the Tiny Emperor off the porch, and move the cat food while I pondered the mystery of why a little gray horse would even like the tast of cat food.

Hmmmm......Whodathunkit????

Porch Ponies

The addition of two miniature horses has added a great deal of humor to the farm:

Last night the boyz discovered The Front Door. Apparently The Front Door leads to the human's Stall. Napolean greatly enjoyed tipping the garbage can over and exploring the trash. Ruffy was unimpressed with a trash can. He was far more impressed with the idea that he could squeeze his little fat self between the house and the landscaping trellis - backwards. But Napolean figured out the greatest fun of all! If you stand on the front porch and peek in The Front Door, the humans will come out and tell you, once again, how cute you are - and perhaps feed you dinner. God help us when Napolean figures out how to ring the doorbell.

Porch Ponies