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Archive for the tag “dogs”

12 Oct 2022

Apollo, A Tribute

Perhaps in an animal person’s lifetime, there comes a gentle creature that, seemingly is the most cherished of all. This is a story about our friend and cherished companion, Apollo. He came to be with Jennifer on July 29, 2006, and crossed the Rainbow Bridge, May 17, 2020. I was fortunate to become, shall we say, stepdad, in May 2009. And it was a delight for me. I have always, and I emphasize always, been a person who loved animals and especially dogs, any breed, any size, any color. Apollo was a black Standard Poodle who fit my criteria. I loved that dog. But there is one who loved him even more. She authored this poem in his honor. Thank you, Jennifer, for your heartfelt words to Apollo.

Apollo, A Tribute

I watch you from my chair gently breathing
I peer ever so closely being certain you are peaceful
You lift your head, as if you sense my presence…
Your many years as my constant companion slipping away,
Ever so slowly.
Your need to hold on,
Not letting go, breaking my heart into pieces.
The name I gave you at birth worn so eloquently.
When you cross that Rainbow Bridge, dance as your name
Defines you:
“King Louie’s Dance of Apollo”
Forever loved
Forever in my heart.

Jennifer Etheridge-Robertson
May 17, 2020

Tribute to my long-time companion, my Standard Poodle, Who passed at age 14

Posted in Poems, Stories and tagged Animals, dogs, friends, Home, Inspiration, Life, rainbow bridge, Relationships, Standard Poodles | Leave a comment

12 Jul 2021

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY

I have a birthday coming in three more days. It will be my 82^nd. I realize the occasion does not rank much higher on the scale of life than, say, a park bench that just got painted and you ignore the “wet paint” sign, or me remembering, “the dog ate my homework”.

But it interests me. I am looking forward to this one. Mostly, because I don’t remember my 81^st. I am setting aside some time (not to exceed 15 minutes, can’t sit that long) to etch this one in my memory bank so that when I reach my 83^rd, I can write another blog and relate whatever happens on my 82^nd. It is also the birthday of my spouse, “The Rancherette”, which is the main reason I am writing this. And, also, I must mention it before I forget it. Who knows if I will remember on the actual day. Happy Birthday, “Rancherette!”

Age, as someone once said (and I don’t remember who said it) is a state of mind. It would help to remember if that someone was in their right mind. And that brings me to this point, who discovered Daylight Savings Time? And moreover, why do we still need it? And I don’t know why I even bring it up.

Our resident Labradoodle, Bennie, is an expert of remembering and he is only 9 and ½ months old. He remembers where he left his bully stick. Heck I can’t even remember what I had for dinner last night. I think one’s memory bank is not as full at that age. Also, not overloaded with inane, dare I say, crap?

There I go again, rambling. That’s what us older folks do, ramble! Did I mention, the “Rancherette” has a birthday on the same day. Different years but same date. Lucky for me, I can remember her birthday, even if I can’t remember if I took out the trash yesterday. The trash pickup service is on Tuesdays so I must do it on Monday evening. Nothing worse than watching the morning news and hear the trash truck loading everyone’s bin except yours. This comes after the “Rancherette” reminds me to take the trash to the street. And besides that, I’m not telling her age, just that we have the same birthday, but not the same year. I will say she is much younger than me. Also, prettier, and smarter and cooks better, too.

The “Rancherette” and I occasionally go out for Chinese food. Some of our greatest moments are when we read the fortune cookie sayings. We have this little game we play. We simply place the phrase, “in between the sheets” to the end of each fortune and laugh ‘til we hurt. That’s what old folks do, laugh ‘til it hurts.

Now that we have a birthday coming, we may just go for Chinese food. Looking forward to reading my fortune cookie. Normally I do not play the lottery, however, the fortune strip in the cookie also has lottery numbers and being our birthday, I might just play. Maybe, I will get lucky.

Posted in Retro, Stories and tagged Birthdays, Chinese food, dogs, friends, Home, Humor, Life, Rancherette, Relationships

29 Jan 2021

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Alfie, Rest in Peace

Alfie, our sweet and precious six years and three days of age Airedale, a wonderful companion to our family crossed the Rainbow Bridge yesterday. Over the past 12 months our canine family has lost several wonderful members and we are so sad each time it occurs. It seems to me however, that there is always one that preps the newest member and instills a desire to take the afflicted one’s place. Our beloved Apollo did that with Alfie before he passed in May. He taught her the ropes of living in the Robertson home. And she took him to heart. She was an admirable friend. She showed that when our little Labradoodle, Bennie, came calling.

We were afraid that Alfie, being so much larger, would be perhaps not so friendly. But that was not the case. No matter how much Bennie tugged on her ears, she took it all in stride. Not once did she ever cross the line with Bennie. Bennie is now four months old and growing, weighing in at almost forty pounds. Yet Alfie never so much as growled at him but a very few times. She just took all he dished out. She seemed to enjoy “roughhousing” and he teased her with whatever toy or stuffed animal he had. She always let him have his way. We were looking forward to Alfie and Bennie having wonderful times ahead. Sadly, it is not to be.

In her earlier years we played a game, “go find it”. I would hide treats in the trees and various places without her knowing where and call her to “go find it”. Promptly, she would locate them and devour them on the spot before running to the next tree.

She wasn’t much of a fetch and bring kind, but she knew how to entertain us with her antics, such as chewing sheetrock, wood, and plastic. (in her puppy stages). She was fascinated with our kennel dogs, one in particular. Sugar, a standard poodle, and Alfie had a love/hate relationship. Alfie would aggravate Sugar through the gate, but always with her tail wagging.

She hated change. Once I replaced her doggie door. She refused to come through it for several hours. Move her food dish across the room, nope, not going to eat from there. She knew when something was moved, and she did not like that. On a different note, BB (before Bennie), she occasionally would look up and see something on TV that caught her eye. She would watch for awhile before turning her attention somewhere else.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is image-2.png — A little daytime soap opera

The “Rancherette brought her home one day from friends who gave her to us. She was three months old. I caller her the “Hitchhiker” but we did not name her immediately. We waited a few days to watch her demeanor and settled on Alfie. If you remember the television show “Alf”, this was our inspiration. We thought she looked like “Alf”. I do not know the gender of “Alf”, but I surmised that it was a he, thus she became Alfie. And that was the beginning of a lovable “alien” named Alfie.

Alfie went prancing across that Rainbow Bridge yesterday. Kidney failure took its toll. It was a sudden shock for us. We knew she was having some issues and the reason we took her to the vet in the first place, but never realized it was that serious. After discussing with the vet we knew she was only going to get much worse and we decided not to put her through that ordeal. It was a difficult decision to make but a correct one.

So, Miss Alfie, AKA, the Hitchhiker, rest in peace, girl. No pain, no suffering, just romping through the grass around the trees Check closely, dear Alfie, there may be a treat sticking out from a tree somewhere maybe even a squirrel on the other side of the Bridge.

Posted in Stories and tagged Airedale, Change, dogs, Labradoodle, Life, rainbow bridge

20 May 2020

3 Comments

RIP Sweet Apollo

Today, May 18, 2020, was the passing of King Louie’s Dance of Apollo. Apollo Jennie Pete

Our Sweet Apollo crossed over the Rainbow Bridge. He had a welcoming committee, for sure. There was Denali and Prada and Munchie, all friends from his past. And his long- time buddy, B.J. And I am sure he met new friends, as well. He has given us such joy around the Fuzzy Chicken Farm, and it is so difficult to experience this once again.

Apollo was full of energy and had a very loving demeanor. He would have been 14 years old on July 29^th. He is a Standard Poodle and the epitome of a canine that loves his family. And his family loved him.

I recall a few of his antics. For one, he loved to go with me to the post office, protecting me, or so he thought. And if he did not go, then he would wait at the front door until I returned. In fact, many times when we left on errands, he would wait there and bark when we did return. Sadly, the past year he was unable to do that.

He loved company. Furiously, he would bark at the doorbell and then he would introduce himself to the guests, especially the female gender. One could see the excitement in his eyes. When they would sit down, he would promptly raise his paw for assurances that they were welcome.

Apollo Begging forgiveness

His had his moments. Another one was him being unable to come into the kitchen. We never scolded him, I would only ask, “Apollo, are you in the kitchen?” at which he would abruptly turn around and depart the area. Or begging for a bite of our sandwich. He had this habit of laying his chin (?) on the footrest of the recliner at which time I would promptly call him “Despicable”. Apollo despicable (2)

Then the “Rancherette” would take up for him and say, “You’re not Despicable.” And of course, he got his bites of a sandwich. There are many stories about Apollo. These are but a few.

But life itself includes those moments when not all is good news.

For several months Apollo’s health has declined. He struggled to catch his breath, mostly because of a heart condition. Arthritis had set in his hips and his both front legs. It has caught him in his elder years. His heart was giving out and he could no longer walk. So, we did what was necessary to relieve his pain. And it was bittersweet.

I have gone through the happening of having a trusted animal member cross over the Rainbow Bridge too many times in the past. It never gets any easier, but love transcends the life experience, and this is the ultimate life experience. We love all our animals. We want them to live forever. Sadly, they do not. Then, neither do we.

So, Apollo, cross on over that colored bridge. Meet up with your friends, run and bark and spend your days knowing you no longer suffer on this earth. We miss you my friend.

Posted in Retro, Stories and tagged Animals, dogs, Family, Home, Inspiration, Life, rainbow bridge

22 Dec 2018

Under the Kitchen Sink

I am such a creature of habit. The news comes on around here at 4 P.M., Monday through Friday. It airs for two and a half hours. There are four local news channels in my area and I switch back and forth so I don’t miss a thing.

They all have the usual assortment of local, national and international news. I don’t know, some of it may be “fake news”, I watch the stories anyway. Let me preface this post by saying, do not take this personally. I know this may upset some of my friends, but it is not meant to be troubling to you, and may even appear sensitive for some, but it is merely my take of news in general.

Some of the programs touch me in such a way that I have dreams about them. Sometimes the dreams could be described as “nightmares”. I’m not saying this particular dream was a nightmare, although it could be for some. My question to you, the reader, is, “Do you ever have thoughts or musings about such?

Our news sources regularly report on the happenings of the President. He is a big fan of social media, in case you haven’t noticed. There are many subjects he covers on an hourly basis, or so it seems. He sometimes embellishes his tweets and is generally called out for those comments. Now, I am not judging any of these situations, only commenting my view point.

One story, in particular, caught my attention. The other night, Mr. Trump, our current resident of the White House, stated that he was going to ban bump stocks, an attachment to a semi-automatic rifle that creates a type of machine gun. I do not own a machine gun or any type of semi-automatic rifle. My little .22 caliber rifle is used primarily around here for protection from varmints, predators and slimy snakes. I do not like snakes. My .22 is a bolt action rifle and has a six cartridge magazine It would not be capable of mounting a bump stock. Machine guns have been illegal in this country for quite some time. I have never seen a machine gun except on the TV series , “The Untouchables” shown in 1959. I’m pretty sure they were only props. Guess that dates me quite well.

I used my trusty .22 some time back to dispose of a skunk. Skunks are persona non gratis around the Fuzzy Chicken Farm. Once he was no longer kicking, the remains had to be disposed of. That was a problem. The smell of a skunk really lingers for a long time. And the location of said animal was very close to the back door. “Doo, doo, doo, Looking out my back door”, my apologies to J.C. Fogerty of Credence Clearwater”. You know, I kinda like that song, and listening to the words very carefully it reminds me of the current situation in Washington, D.C. Just had to throw that in.

So, I watched the news that particular evening, and “bump stocks” stuck in my mind. Like an ear worm. (Note the song above) As luck or fate would have it, or whatever you call it, I fell asleep wondering about my “workload” the coming day.

Then a knock at the front door and the doorbell rang. The dog began barking. Dogs do not like big brown trucks, or garbage trucks, or doorbells. I jumped from my bed and raced to the door, with the dog getting there first. I restrained him and peered through the blinds to see who it was. It was Mr. Trump. I opened the door and asked if I could be of any assistance, thinking he was probably lost. Now I live in the country and to come to my house one must be on a mission. No one gets lost at my house. It is not a destination location. One must have a reason to come this far out.

So, I asked Mr. Trump what his reason was for visiting my house in the middle of the night. He replied, ”I’m here for your bump stock”. “I don’t have a bump stock,” I said. He said, “it is a crime to lie to a Federal authority.” By this time, I am getting nervous. I timidly asked, “Do you have a warrant?” He replied, “no, I don’t need one but I do need your bump stock, so hand it over.” “You can search my house if you want to but I don’t have a bump stock”, I said. I must have convinced him. The next thing I knew, he was gone. I looked under the kitchen sink and there was a bump stock I did not know I had. Moments later, my bladder called. Whew, what a relief! (in more ways than one)

I think I will start watching Wheel of Fortune or Jeopardy, well, maybe not Jeopardy. Just gonna restrict my news watching habits a bit. Or maybe listen to some more Credence Clearwater. Becareful watching the news.

This isn’t a Christmas Piece, however, I wish everyone a Merry Christmas.

Posted in Retro, Stories and tagged dogs, Dreams, Home, Humor, Life, Music, nightmares, songs Credence Clearwater | Leave a comment

16 Dec 2018

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Once Upon A Time, the Saga

Once upon a time! That’s how most fairy tales and stories for children begin. One can write a story and start with this idiom and immediately it gains some sort of legitimacy. So with that in mind, I begin another story of Gweeny Goose. I will try to keep this story suitable for children.

Once upon a time, there were three geese, Bailey, a gander, Indie, another gander, and Shya, a goose. (I am told there is no specific name for a female, so I will just call her a ‘goose’.

‘ Three geese coming from pen

Indie came by his name because he was rather independent. And Shya came by her name because of her shyness. And Bailey? Well, the characteristics were appropriate for a female. As it turned out, she was a he and since the name Bailey is gender neutral, Bailey it was. However, we now had two ganders and one goose. Bailey has evolved, seemly, into the dominate gander, although he is actually the smaller of the two ganders. Like they say dynamite comes in small packages. I think that Indie is just biding his time.

Life was good for the ganders but not so well for the goose. According to the geese experts, a female chooses a monogamous partner about the age of three. Since these three are just now approaching the age of two, it is difficult for the lone goose to manage two suitors. I can only imagine her difficulty.

On a regular basis, I interact with these three ‘geeses’ (I call them ‘geeses’ which they understand). It requires much study, but I have a Master’s degree in geeses language, and I speak it fluently. Like, ‘att choo doin’ geeses?’ Sometimes, I yell, ‘eir u goin’, geeses? They honk back at me and the louder I get the louder they honk. Since we put them up at night to protect them from predators, we have taught them a method of cooperation to help us at that task. From goslings we have called out, “let’s go home” as a means of bringing them in. It works quite well, even as they have matured. We sometimes use a small children’s rake to ‘herd’ them into their pens. These three geeses mind very well, most of the time. And most of the time they answer to their names. But a friend of mine reminded me that it is a scientific fact that only when they want too!

And at breeding season, forget all this information. I recall last season. It was so very difficult to go around them. I believe Bailey saw me as a threat. And Indie was not subtle either. Occasionally we would have to use the aforementioned children’s rakes to defend ourselves. The secret to defending yourselves is to not let them get behind you. They are sneaky. Face to face, they seem quite mild. They are friendly and will come close but not too close. Have you ever had a dog nip at your heels? Our geeses have picked up that trait during breeding season. We have a kennel full of dogs and on their afternoon run, they have learned to not go close to the geeses. Talk about nipping at heels!

So breeding season is fast approaching. Enter Gweeny Goose! If you read the previous post you know how she came to be the newest addition to the geese population at the Fuzzy Chicken Farm. This story, “Once Upon A Time”, is part of a continuing sage of Gweeny Goose. Perhaps you have once been the new kid on the block or at school. You may recall the reluctance of many to make friends with you or you with them. Such is the case of the “geeses”.

Yesterday was the first day the four were allowed out at the same time. The “Rancherette” and I were very apprehensive about letting them out simultaneously. It was unknown how any of them would react. Would there be any animosity between them? Would the three original residents cause any rancor? Or would she? Well, there wasn’t necessarily any congeniality between them but there was no bloodshed either. That’s a good sign.So, this morning was the second day of mingling.They appear to be “mingling” just fine. Swimming together and checking each other out. Bailey is either nosy or jealous. He wants her to be around but then he chases her away when she gets too close to Indie and Shya.

Foour geese a swimming Since they slept in adjacent but separate pens it was a curiosity of Bailey and friends to check out her apartment. It seems that she has spacious sleeping quarters. Gweeny's apartment

She has good food, too. (It’s the same stuff.) But, it is only a matter of time before she will move in with her choice. [being a female (goose) she is allowed to make her choice.]

But do not be dismayed, breeding season is fast approaching. And I am trembling.

Posted in Stories and tagged chickens, cool, dogs, education, Family, friends, Home, Inspiration, Life, Relationships, Sebastopol Geese, space

14 Dec 2018

Gweeny Goose

Among the many “critters” we have on “The Fuzzy Chicken Farm” are three Sebastopol Geese. They are a hoot, or should I say honk. These three geese answer to the names of Indie, Shya and Bailey. (When they want to) Once upon a time we thought Bailey was a she but we soon discovered she was a he. Luckily we gave her a name that could be used with either gender. We are approaching the breeding season and they become aggressive during this time, especially with two males and only one female. So the “Rancherette” decided another female was in order. Indie needed a mate and the“Rancherette” was determined to play matchmaker. Geese April

The search began for someone who raises this breed of geese and lo and behold, one was found. The downside was this person lived about 3 hours away. They do not deliver; Hence a road trip. We are accustomed to road trips since the “Rancherette” shows her fancy chickens at various chicken shows.

I placed a portable pen in the pickup bed, wrapped it with a heavy-duty bed quilt for the goose’s protection from the wind and used bungee cords to secure it. With a printed map and directions to the geese herder (?) we hit the road. Before I could get 10 miles down the road, the quilt began to blow in the wind. Of course I stopped to further secure it. Again another few miles and the stupid quilt came loose again. You must understand I am not a professional truck driver. I do not have their expertise at securing loads. You are probably thinking it will happen again. And you would be correct. Fortunately, I had several bungee cords with me. This time I secured it so tightly it would have taken a stick of dynamite to remove it.

So, with that chore finally completed, we “hit the road” again. Of course no road trip worth its salt would be without a “pit stop”. Such was our case. When one gets to be our age it is imperative that one finds a place to get a “bar of candy”, if you know what I mean. It means nothing to say, “You kids go before we leave because I am not stopping!” That was then, this is now.

Mission accomplished and back on the road again. Driving down the freeway, one can get lost in the moment. Luckily I had my printed Google map and directions. If only I would have taken the time to read them, I probably would not have missed my turn. About twelve miles down the freeway I remembered. A U-turn was the next course of action. I took the next exit which could take me across to the correct highway without a U-turn. Or so I thought. I believe it was Yogi Berra who once said, “When you come to a fork in the road, take it”. There was no fork in the road, however, the detour was a dead end and one must turn right or left. Big decision, my road map was of no use any longer. The “Rancherette” turned on her IPhone gps. We turned right. I drove all the way to the next town, passing a mushroom processing plant. Now I love mushrooms and have eaten my share of several different varieties, however the smell from the processing plant was very difficult to overcome. Hurriedly, we passed.

We came into town and because I had failed to follow directions, I was lost. (Me? A male? Lost? Unheard of) I turned around and began to retrace my steps. Ugh, it was the mushroom processing plant again. I picked up speed and passed the plant quickly.

So driving further down the two lane highway about ten miles or so, the “Rancherette” thought we were still going the wrong way. She was correct. I turned around and once again went back to where we came from. Yeah, I passed the “mushrooms” for the third time. We finally located the correct road and quickly arrived at the geese home.

A varied menagerie of critters, including a very colorful Tom Turkey named Kevin which seemed to have other things on his mind. The owners met us in the driveway as well as many dogs, chickens, goats, pot-bellied pigs and geese. Travis and Joy, the owners are such nice people and their baby is so sweet. we offered to bring her home with us and the goose, but they declined, just the goose. After an enlightened conversation the “Rancherette” picked out Genevieve the goose. It seems her nickname is Gwenny, thus she will forever be known as Gweeny Goose, not to be confused with Granny Goose.

Gwinny Goose

With a long drive ahead of us (assuming we don’t get lost) we said our goodbyes and departed. But there was no way I’m passing the mushroom processing plant again. Stay tuned for the continuing sage of Gweeny Goose.

Posted in Stories and tagged animal life, chickens, dogs, Family, friends, Home, Humor, Life, Sebastopol Geese, travel, Writing | Leave a comment

22 Aug 2018

BEWARE OF DEAD PLANTS

We are in the middle of a drought, or so the meteorologists are prone to declare. You see, there are various stages; no drought, dry, moderate, severe, extreme and exceptional. Today, August 22, 2018, we are in a moderate drought not quite severe but mostly dry. The locusts are not even chirping, they always make a lot of noise in the summer, but the crickets are, chirping and noisy and smelly. The trees are losing their leaves, called transpiring.

Most of the ponds around our rural area are drying up or already dry. Our pond is no exception. In fact, it did go completely dry about two weeks ago. We since had a little rain and a few inches collected in the pond. However, it is quickly shrinking. The geese are blaming me. In fact, all the animals are blaming me. The one that seems to enjoy this predicament the most are the pesky flies. No matter how hard I try, I cannot get them to at least move away from here. Go back across the fence where there are cattle with tails that swish.

I try to keep the geese satisfied by furnishing them with kiddie pools. We have three Sebastopol geese and each has their own pool. They waddle through the mud and any remaining water in the pond, then immediately waddle into their kiddie pool and of course muddy the waters.

Then they waddle out and stand around and watch me empty the filthy water and wait, not too patiently, (geese have no patience) while I clean and refill them. I slowly lift the pools to empty. I say slowly, because last week I lifted one and discovered a Copperhead snake underneath. That will get your attention very suddenly. The geese were not very empathetic about the situation. They just want their pool filled.

If I understand geese talk, the conversation went something like this, “OK, Dad, hurry up. What’s taking you so long? Can’t you see we are waiting? It’s only a little snake. Are you afraid of a little snake?” The answer is emphatically YES, all snakes and all sticks that look like snakes. And this conversation is over.

So, I’m letting the geese out of their pens this morning, I notice a small brushy thingy in the almost dry pond. It is moving ever so slowly, stops for a bit, moves a little more and repeats its maneuvering. Is it a snake? It is leaving a trail in the humidified, algae infested water, which causes more algae to grow and hide such creatures as snakes.

By now my curiosity is peaked. Should I go get the rifle and shoot the darned dead plant out of the water? That seems to be an oxymoronic statement. Dead means dead, yet the plant was moving. (Well, everyone knows DEAD plants don’t move) Come to think about it, LIVE plants don’t move either. But snakes do move until they are dead. Some even continue moving minus a head.

I stalled while I continued about the chores of feeding the chickens in the coops and the dogs in the kennels, neither of which seems concerned about snakes or dead plants floating in the few inches of water. They all have the same mindset as the geese. “Hurry up, they crow, cackle, bark, honk!”

I’m fixated on the dead plant. It continues to move ever so slightly. I go into the supply room and fetch my 22 rifle. However, I do not want to shoot until I know what is causing the movement. Then I pick up the rake and the shovel. One can’t be too prepared for dispatching a moving DEAD plant. Slowly I reach out to the DEAD plant with the rake. It has a long handle and I place the prongs around the thing and begin retrieving it to the bank. Suddenly, it moved quickly. So did I.

Well, the geese are watching from beside their kiddie pool, content to observe from a distance and not willing to help in the least, laughing in their honking way of conversing. They want their water changed. Most geese are extremely vocal about any unusual activity. These three weren’t the least bit concerned about my welfare. Occasionally, when a chicken misbehaves I simply yell, “Chicken Nuggets” and that usually will quiet them down. It doesn’t work with geese. I can’t wait until the rainy season.

All I know, is watch out for floating dead plants. There may be a turtle pushing it around.

Posted in Stories and tagged chickens, dogs, drought, Home, Humor, Life, nature, plants, ponds, Sebastopol Geese, snakes, Sun, Writing | Leave a comment

07 Apr 2018

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IT’S COLD OUTSIDE

“Baby, It’s Cold Outside”, so sang Johnny Mercer and Margaret Whiting. Other artists have recorded this song over the years. It is a Christmas song written by Frank Loesser in 1944. It is an interesting song and delightful to hear. However, the message is concerning.

I awoke this morning to a chilly 39° out here on “The Fuzzy Chicken Farm.” Wasn’t expecting that. Yesterday it was near 80° and me out there sweating away while mowing the yard. But this is what you get in North Texas. After this past week at a Physicians Cardiology Symposium, for which the “Rancherette and the RancherWriterPoet” were the subjects of the focus group, I fell far behind in my yardly duties. It is amazing how quickly grass grows. With a rear view mirror on my riding mower, I could actually witness grass growing. The evening before the vicious return of the bitter winter, it rained. The grass sucked it all up. You know what that means.

So, on this cold morning, the baby fuzzy chickens, not used to this arctic condition (well, it feels Artic-y {new word}), were conveniently clustered together for warmth, like football players huddle.

baby chicks

These very young fowl have been hatched in an incubator and have no identity with a mother chicken. The “Rancherette” fulfills that role with much enthusiasm. She is the heroine on the Farm. Occasionally, her birthing skills are required to help the little chick crack open their egg and arrive in this new world right on schedule. Peering into the incubator is like choosing a pastry from a bakery window, so many choices. It is a smorgasbord of different breeds, sizes and shapes. The “Rancherette” tends to each and every one personally and quite surprisingly, they respond. So on this cold morning, she is certainly like a mother chicken, protecting, hovering and cajoling her flock.

Not being sled dogs from Alaska, the kennel dogs weren’t too keen about racing into the cold air; however, the geese have no fear of such weather. After being released from their nightly quarters, they made a beeline (or is that geeseline?) straight to the pond.

heading for the pond Geese 1

Braving the elements, honking and squealing, they wasted no time diving into the icy water as though it was the middle of summer in Puerto Rico.

I, being the bus driver and handyman on The Fuzzy Chicken Farm, spend part of my daily time watering and feeding the flocks. And on this chilly morning, I feel much like those baby chicks. When the quarterback breaks the huddle, everyone scatters to their assignments. Me, I just wanted to stay in the huddle.

Monday will be in the 80’s and the grass will have grown to new heights. mowing the grass

I need gasoline for the mower but, “Baby, It’s Cold Outside”.

I have it on good authority that the Physician’s Cardiology Symposium Report will be forthcoming this next week. Sure hope that doesn’t give me a chill. 53321-Its-Cold-Outside

Stay warm, wherever you are.

Posted in Stories and tagged baby chicks, Baby it's cold outside, Cardiology, chickens, cold, dogs, farm, football, geese, Home, Humor, Life, mowing grass, Music, nature, Relationships, Spring, winter

28 Mar 2018

2 Comments

Cardboard Boxes

Spring is springing and it is raining today. That’s ok, trees are budding, grass is growing, flowers are blooming, redbuds are beautiful, birds building nests and laying eggs, and our menagerie is fulfilling their destiny. The geese are nesting. Ahh, the geese!

They arrived in a cardboard box through the U.S. Postal Service about a year ago, this thundering herd of geese. Namely three Sebastopol goslings, which have since become like full grown Geese, two males and a female, depending on whom is making the assessment. The “Rancherette” presumes the opposite of my viewpoint. We are sure about the one named Indie, a gander and Shya, a female. I find it odd that a female goose does not have a specific gender name other than a “goose.” The one named Bailey, is the one in question, a “goose” or a gander? But it is a gender neutral name.

Regardless, they frequent our lives on a daily basis, honking, nibbling at the pants legs, flapping their wings in a not-so-subtle way of discouraging your presence or demanding your attention.

flapping wings

They can untie your shoes, strip the cushion ties from the patio chairs, scare the bejabbers out of you and clearly intimidate you, all the while creating an atmosphere of amusement. During the mating season, this becomes much more prevalent. You do not want to turn your back on these obstinate, two-legged, pillow-making waterfowl. Things could get ugly in a heartbeat.

When they were younger they were trained to go into their pen on command. Utter the words, “Geeses, let’s go home” and they would immediately walk ever so slowly into their pen. Actually, they do not walk, they waddle. They stumble over any obstacle in their path, be it a pine cone or a tree root. But the going home part, not so much now they are grown. Resistance has become the norm. Hence, the pants-leg gnawing. We use a child’s rake to guide them home. They will wrest it from your hands, believing it is an orange-colored predator and will bite it to death. If your finger is substituted , they can gnaw ‘til it’s raw. They make excellent guard geese. We already have Poodle Home Security. Now we have a subsidiary company, as well, the Geese Patrol.

Much like the Postal Service, rain, sleet nor snow will not discourage them from their appointed duties, like swimming in their ¼ acre pond no matter the temperature. They do not mingle with the chickens or dogs, although there is occasional interaction between the pens. They are very curious birds and intent on observing everything you do. Always watching, they do not miss anything. The kennel dogs roam freely throughout their portion of the back yard, taking care not to violate the demarcation line next to the fence that separates one from the other.

Alfie, our resident Airedale troublemaker, who has a personal relationship with hardheadedness, can report first hand the effects of encroaching too close to the fence. The other kennel dogs must have observed that infraction and thus, are very reluctant to repeat Alfie’s action. If you ask Alfie, she will show you her scars.

So, here on the Fuzzy Chicken Farm, there is an assortment of poultry and canines. Until the cardboard boxes arrived last year, it was a peaceful co-existence. We still co-exist; however, it is a delicate arrangement. After all, they are the royalty of the Fuzzy Chicken Farm.

Spring is springing. Beware of cardboard boxes arriving in the mail. It could be a thundering herd of geese. Honk! Honk!

Posted in Stories and tagged chickens, dogs, education, Home, Humor, Inspiration, Life, nature, Relationships, Sebastopol Geese, Security, space

rancherwriterpoet

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