Tuesday Humor

I'm not the only one around here who's bored. The dogs are relentless when it comes to chasing this little, evil cat.

It's hard to feel sorry for him, though. He's relentless in teasing them. Spring? Hello? Are you out there? Our sanity is slowly ebbing away...

Moonlight Ramblings

The moon was scheduled to be at its brightest moment of the year this past Friday evening and it did not disappoint. I arrived home just as the sun was setting over the snow covered prairie and quickly donned gloves and a coat for some photographic opportunities of said lunar object. Rather than starting with the northeast sky where the moon was rising, I was drawn to the sun setting quickly on the western horizon and the haunting call of my resident great horned owls. Yes, they are mine. No, nobody else around here appreciates them.


"They eat my pheasants," Danish Cowboy whines.


Pheasants are dumb. Pretty, but dumb. Even if an owl could eat a pheasant, the owl would still be my favorite.


Owls are awesome. They are a little spooky. When you approach, they tend to not fly away, but rather watch you like a hawk. They fly from fence post to fence post on late evening jogs, accompanying you on your journey in an eerie sort of way. They sit on my deck late at night and hoot at Danish Cowboy and I as we watch television. In fact, I think they are so smart that actually are watching television.


My last pair of great horned owls died an unfortunate death when they flew into a major power line west of the house several years ago. Actually, this was two separate events. One flew into the line and caused the well to shut down and left us without water. We fixed it and a few days later, perhaps in a fine show of solidarity, the other owl did the same exact thing. When Danish Cowboy reported these events to me, I was so sorrowful that he didn't even make any snide remarks about these creatures that allegedly eat his pheasants. So given this history, I'm glad that a new pair has taken up residence with us.

Anyhow, where was I? Oh, the moon. It was way too cold to stand outside and take pictures. Suffice it to say that it was bright. It lit up the prairie as though it were 2:00 in the afternoon. Moonlight on a snowcovered prairie has a glow that you just can't know until you've seen it.

Because It Is There

On a recent day just before the Blizzard of 2010 and the ensuing Great Freeze threatened to trap us in our home, I embarked on a snowshoeing journey.

It wasn't so much a journey, not really an epic expedition, but more like a 0.5 mile walk up to the rockhills overlooking the ranch headquarters. On a clear day, it stands out boldly.

On a day just before a blizzard, when the winds are high and the snow which has just begun falling is blowing, it was easy to imagine what Everest might be like. And like Sir Edmund Hillary noted on his trip to the top of the world, I went "because it is there." And also because I am tired of being a prisoner from the cold.
It is a remarkable little jaunt. On a clear day, you can see forever up here. The coyotes love to frequent this hilltop to yip and howl at one another. And it's off limits during the warmer months due to the threat of rattlesnakes hiding near their dens, although I have been known to explore it from horseback.The rock features are amazing. They change every year as wind and cold and heat erode the rocks and soil. Small rocks tumble off of their mothers and down the hill. New rocks seem to emerge from the depths of the earth. It's an absolutely captivating place,
and it has been for generations. Even Danish Cowboy's ancestors couldn't resist the call of the rock hills.
The rock hills are far enough away from our home that Tucker Dog rarely, if ever, ventures there. It was a whole new world for him, too. Rabbits to chase, rock chasms to sniff and explore.
And not only is the view amazing, so are the rocks as snow drifts and swirls around them, the moss on them more brilliant now than during the brown months of autumn when I typically explore the hillside.
I'm not an official geologist, though I do own a rock hammer and keep a rock collection squirreled away so that no one will make fun of me. These rocks have historically been called lava rock by locals, but the more accurate term is porcellanite. It is a type of sedimentary rock similar to chert with a smooth, conchoidal, almost lava flow appearance at times. The rocks are then theorized to have been "fired" by the underlying coal seams which caused them to develop an appearance not unlike porcelain. The underlying coal seams which burned are now called scoria with angular fractures and a much lighter density.
The colors range from light and dark shades of gray to orange to red to black. While the rocks are incredibly dense, they are not immune to the powers of wind. The hillside was covered with a fine red dust as winter winds had beat the outermost layer of the exposed rocks to a fine powder.
We weren't gone for long as the blizzard was quickly approaching and I discovered that I, like most other human beings, couldn't walk a straight line to save myself. And the house was quickly disappearing in the blowing snow.
And when we got back, Tucker took a picture of me, too, so that we could prove to the world that I do go on some adventures, albeit small.

Git along little doggies

The crops are stored in the bins, the hay is hauled, the winter wheat is planted, the equipment and tractors used so heavily during the warmer months are cleaned and tucked safely away in the shed. Which means that it should be vacation season, only it's not.
Remember those cows? Those cute little calves that were born this spring? Well they are no longer cute and will be off to new "homes" in a few short weeks so we need to bring them in to the corrals, vaccinate them, and put in fancy new electronic ear tags.
But before that happens, our cattle herd, which was split into three groups earlier in the summer, needs to be reunited.So it's on to the horses we go, a husband, a niece and myself, to move about 30 pairs 7 miles due south.
As the official photographer for this little adventure, I was pleased that my beloved horse (who would be considered useless by any halfway-legitimate cowboy) only tried to kill me for about the first 20 minutes of this little trail ride.
And then this big guy came along and threw our whole world upside down. But I perfected the one-handed shot and we moved on past this pretty horse's pasture, without any major mishaps.

Per standard operating procedure, Danish Cowboy, Joe and Tucker Dog do most of the work. The horses put on about 7 miles. The dog probably put on about 20.
Tucker Dog has learned to push the herd from behind (as was difficult for him to do because Australian Kelpies are naturally headers rather than heelers) and was a great asset to us this cold, blustery day because the cows were unwilling to move. Do you know how boring and cold it is to follow a herd of cows for 7 miles at a pace of about 2 miles an hour? It's painful, sometimes. I'm glad I had my camera in hand.

We did have a few exciting moments. There were two or three cows who seemed determined to pulverize Tucker Dog into the ground. It all happened so fast, I just couldn't catch it on camera. I ended up catching a blur of dog and cow hooves, or as is the case here, the tail end of the fight.

But because the cows moved so slowly, I was able to drink in all of the scenery. Towards the end of our trail ride, we move through the gravel hills formed by the seas of an ancient time.
It's my favorite place in the world: the low rain clouds moving in quickly, the patches of red grass (ironically named little bluestem) dotting the hillside, the raw wildness and loneliness of it all.
When we finally got to our land and had just two miles to go, we traded the horses in for a four wheeler and a pick-up. Danish Cowboy and I finished moving them south while the other half of our party took the horses home for a well-deserved rest (well-deserved for two out of the three, anyway)
Rain and mist started to gently fall upon us and the cows seemed to move even slower. You can see forever out here and while our end goal was clearly in sight, it took a great while to get there. I was thankful for the beauty that surrounded us.

Tucker and the Febreze

What would a ranch be without a proper working cow dog? And what would a family be without a faithful companion always pleased to see you who is constantly ready for adventure? For us, anyway, we would be a lost family. Our dogs keep us grounded. They remind us that sometimes the most important and exciting things in life are our daily activities. Tucker is the quintessential farm dog. He loves to feed the cows, is always present when visitors arrive, accompanies the Danish Cowboy on the most mundane activities like fixing fence, and loves every minute of it. Every time. He doesn't complain that he's bored. He just goes out and finds something interesting from dog perspective.



(And sometimes he finds things with a less than pleasant odor. Rather than wrestle with him for a bath, we have been known to take Febreze to him. Wait. My husband has been known to do this. I can't seem to find anywhere on the can that this is an approved use. And just for reference: it doesn't work. And it will traumatize your dog. You will never be able to use spray paint, air freshener, Lysol, hairspray, cooking spray, perfume EVER AGAIN because you will feel bad when your dog gives you that look.)



We got this critter about a year and a half ago from http://www.bigskybreeders.com after our last dog passed away. He is 100 percent Australian Kelpie and full of so much energy and life - he comes complete with a sense of humor, evident from his early puppyhood days.

He was a cute little thing as a seven-week-old puppy when we got him. Tuck would play for a few minutes and then fall asleep on our laps. We never knew raising a pup could be sooo easy. And then something happened. He became spastic, chasing birds around the field and barking hysterically until dark fell. We wondered if he had a brain. He was evil, biting at us in jest whenever possible. I wondered if we could keep him. I cried over the fear that he might never turn out normal. That this little bundle of fur that I had fallen head over heels for just wasn't going to be here that long.

And then my husband broke his leg and puppy care fell in my hands. I began taking a broom with me on my evening walks to keep his little puppy teeth away from my ankles. Evil dog. Klutzy husband.

And did I mention that I was pregnant when we got him? With twins? Who ended up weighing a total of 12 pounds at their 36 week delivery? It was a long summer. My stomach suffered severe burns from my terrible depth of perception and my obscenely large womb.

But everything turned out well. Danish cowboy healed, Tucker grew up into a noble and devoted creature that we get great joy out of, and my twins were born happy and healthy...although one of them occasionally bites us on our ankles. Do you suppose this behavior was learned from within the womb as he listened to Tucker and I struggling over the ageless question: to bite or not to bite?