Posse

I'd like you to meet my cast of characters. They are quite a diverse lot, and you should be glad I took the time to track them down in the midst of their busy days to get a quick snapshot. You can ask for autographs or souvenirs, but that might get messy. 

To start off:

This is the Old Man. He's been here since before we were. He's a short, wide Banty, sporting wizzened feathers and a cool disposition. The younger boys don't mess with him. He always has a girl or two around. Kinda like Hugh Hefner. 

You will get a kick out of these two. The story goes- My sister ( a Vet as you all are aware) gets paid in 'animal money' now and then. She just couldn't resist these two. Oops and Dammit got their names when Marea said, "Oops, there's a rooster. Dammit, there's another rooster".  

Oops and Dammit not only look horrid in these photos, but they look like that all the time. They are what my sister calls, "Frizzles", which is a genetic thing that causes their feathers to curl. (Humans have the same thing. Only I think it's called 'fro'). They are hysterical to watch, especially when they are chasing the hens. ("Go Dammit, git-er-done, boy!"  might be heard every now and then, and you will know what is happening). 

  

And my boy, Stalker McGee. What a sight. Tall, golden, Youthful. He and the Party girls usually hang out together. He's like Hulk Hogan was before he made that stupid movie. He can make it across the yard to do his business with the hens in 0.6 seconds. Zzzzzooom! Shazam! Done!. He's the only rooster that will eat out of my hand. He does get a little cocky once in a while and Old Man reminds him who the 'Real' boss is.

And here are the "Party Girls". These chicks have been independent little cusses since they chipped out of their shells. There are six.  There should have been five, but thanks to the Chicken Patrol...(okay I'll stop). But still! The one that hatched those little buggers I saved the other day still hasn't taken the time to thank me.

  

Here she is folks. The Trampycat. Jezebell. Mouser extraordinairre. Gutter goo cleaner. Don't let that cute bell fool you. That's the last thing her prey hears before they die. "What the- "tinkle-tinkle" - CRUNCH." I just hope she doesn't start bringing home snakes. *shudder*

Here is Joe and Sadie's kitten, Jefe'. (Pronounced Hefay). Jefe is the most talkative kitten I've ever met. And the most likely to get stuck on the roof, in the trees, under the trailer, on the fence. Of course. He's the boy. And he's neutered. Hm... maybe the brains really are in the ..nevermind.

Nook. I am still not sure why she got that name. But this cat has been nothing like the other two. Nook is sleek and stretchy. I have picked  her up a few times and thought I had a hold of a hairy snake. When the others are sleeping, she is playing. And vice versa. She wants to eat or 'come in' or 'go out' on the opposite schedule of the other cats. Just like her owner, Emily, waltzing to her own tune.

Ah, Luigi. What's not to love about an old horny goat? I have a list. You people owe me big time because getting this close to that goat was "gag me" material. I gargled my nose out and still can't shake it. Gah!

Okay, so he is sorta cute. Long beard, smelly, sad eyes, and he sings! OH. MY. GOD. It's Gordon Lightfoot! Actually he kinda looks like Bing Crosby in this photo. I say forget Italian and go French. Pepe' Le Stench might fit better. 

Well? What do you think? Ready for some more stories? Me too! All I have to do is watch these guys. 

sometimes you just have to go with it

My trampycat Jezebell is a wonder in her own right.

I rescued this cat from the neighbor of my daycare lady's. Jezzy was pretty much a young lady when I got her. Black and white, golden eyes, very girly looking. She loves to 'come in'. And she loves to 'go out'.  She got the name Jezebell because she was in heat from the moment I brought her home. My Veterinarian sister and I couldn't coordinate a time to get her 'fixed' fast enough, and BAM. Four kittens (well three after the first week- one died as a result of being moved too many times. Mom couldn't make up her mind).

We like her even though she can be really annoying. I want in, I want out. blah blah blah. Make up your mind please, cat. I think anyone with a cat understands. We still have two kids left, Jefe' and Nook (my daughters have claimed them as theirs) and they've made friend with the barn cats, all is in balance. For the most part.

My trampycat is a freak of nature. I swear.

Oh sure, she catches mice, brings them in for me to see, purr-rows all over how proud she is.

But- (here's where it gets good)

She's a gutter kitty. Literally.

Get this- So  I have been finding  blackish-green goey strips of greeny gooey stuff. I initially thought it was the buildup of grass off the lawnmower blade, and one of the dogs was dragging it around for chewy-toy doggie fun.

Not so.

Nosirree. Mom and I are chatting outside yesterday morning and I had just mentioning the previous observation, and we both see Jezebell on the roof of the barn. The cat is walking along the edge of the roof, eyeballing the gutter. Mom and I watch, with the classic "what the hell?" looks on our faces, as we witness this cat going into the gutter, sticking her head in the gutter, and peeling out a long, blackish-green strip of blackish green goeyness. She drags it out, and purr-row?-ing like she just caught the monster of all mouses.
I look at mom. She looks at me. We both start laughing.

Gutter cat. My trampycat has downgraded to gutter kitty. OH the shame.

Orange and Grey

It is my sad duty to report a loss here at the old XY.

Yesterday morning I found young Fowler floating in Joe's 'pool' (a fiberglass puzzle-pieced shape pond that isn't put to use yet). Poor little guy. His mother, one of the 'party girls' is managing her loss quite well by focusing on the other four "Party Fowls" (baha!) she is responsible for. We will carry on.

(The question remains, though. Why the hell did it want to drink out of the pool when there is a giant, new 5-gallon watering jug in the pen? Some mysteries are not meant to be solved, alas.)

This morning, I was outside taking in the sunrise with some coffee, wrinkling up my nose at Luigi's nasty stench (The billy goat) that covers the grass like so much GB Serin gas, I see the four little orange feather balls out of the pen, blissfully combing the north side of the yard for bug breakfast. Little buggers, (get it? haha!) they keep getting away from mom, I mused. Then. I see a big grey thing out of the corner of my eye. Cat. Big cat. Big grey cat I don't recognize. Slowly following orange feathers. Biding its time like a cheetah after gazelle. Damn thing.

It hasn't seen me yet, so I sneak along the grapevines, my pajamas getting wet from the early morning dew (insert cool Mission Impossible theme music here) and stealth myself around the dog kennel. (there's a lot of me to 'stealth' around in. It was hard work.) I wait. Grey cat is still not seeing me (I know! I thought that was weird too. Stupid cat). I jump out at it from behind- it's about 20' from me, "RAGH!" "SSSSSSTT!!" I yell.

Cat got OWNED. It jumped about a foot doing that cool mid-air spin and took off like a drag racer. I laughed a hearty pirate laugh, filled with self-satisfaction. Stupid cat. I go let the rest of the chickens out so mom can catch up with orange feathered pain-in-the-butts.

Yet another chapter in my saga of the heroic Chicken Safety Patrol. This time turned out better though, because last time I saved one of those damned chickens (which, oddly enough- happened to be one of those Party Girls) I blew my ACL out. Huh? Huh? You seeing a pattern here?

Oh it gets better too. but you have to come back tomorrow.

he's moving in

Folks, I'd like you to meet my new date. His name is Motivation.
 (Ha! You thought.. hahahahaha!)  Not yet anyway..

Motivation has been in and out of my life for the past few years, but mostly out since I had to downsize my life to a Pearl-sized form of living. (Pearl is my Redneck condo, a 32'x8' RV. Keep up please- otherwise go back to the very beginning of this blog here.)

Anyhoo. After blowing out my ACL last summer, Motivation moved out pretty much permanently and Procrastination and Downward Spiral parked on the couch with chips and beer. I had made several attempts to get them out of this place because there really is no room for it, and college classes don't get along well with those two lazy jerks. I think Depression may have twittered about me a time or two also. Hate that guy. I was having a hard time.

No, it took much more than that. 45th birthday loomed in the future, along with being the largest person at a wedding, not to mention the thought of not being in 'hiring shape' after I get my Bachelor's degree is what really did it. (I don't care what you say, if you don't look good outside, you won't get a better job during a career change at 45).

Call it Midlife Crisis if you want. I don't care. I just know that- thanks to my friends and local moms, we finished our first week of "Bootcamp", an intense workout that is pretty much like I remembered Boot Camp to be. (Except our trainer was a little more.. 'nice' shall we say? ;)

We all made it, nobody quit, and even though I can barely move my arms to type this posting, I feel like a zillion dollars. Ready for week two, and after that, I'm going to attempt P90X. Motivation and I are getting into a serious relationship. It's also spilling over into other aspects of my life as well, because Organization is coming by more often as well as Creativity and Time Management. So glad to see those guys around. We do coffee a lot.

It's a start, I have a long way to go, but hey- moving in the right direction sure helps.

the real deal

Ever wonder where Hollywood gets those awesome and amazing animal sounds for movies like Jurassic Park or Avatar? I have found the answer to the mystery.

Horny Goats.

I have the rare living situation where my home is on wheels while I finish college. (hence the name 'Pearl', because I get tired of long drawn out explanations of my circumstances).

 I have access to 50 acres of sights, smells and sounds that not everyone has the unique opportunity to experience.
Up to last night, a lot of said sights, smells and sounds have been ... reasons to stuff cotton in my ears to say the least. Dogs bark, roosters crow, ducks splash, coyotes howl, Log trucks Jake-brake, etc... (Pearl has thin walls).

Not that there's anything wrong with that. I'd MUCH rather hear those sounds than the ones I heard while living in a sliver of a two-bedroom apartment. I'd have to explain the 'newlywed' sounds to my girls as 'wrestling' coming from one side, and the other was more like something out of a Conan movie on the other side. I would tell my co-workers I'd hear fighting on one side and "wrestling" on the other. Not good.

So, the economy has effected everyone, that goes without saying, and Mom, sis and I are all doing our best to try and make a go of things in our own special ways so we don't end up living in a tent somewhere, (worse yet-back in those sucktacular apartments). Mom works, My sister works as much as she can, I work, go to school, make stuff, write, etc.

One result of the economy was that mom and sis acquired some Boer goats from a family who had to downsize their lives. I felt proud of the fact we can accommodate that. My sister is a Veterinarian (and a damn good one) and animals live quite well around here.

So these goats? hilarious. I love to watch them off my porch while they munch Hawthorne branches on their hind legs. Goats are just cool animals to have around.

Last night, my sister comes home with a Billy goat. ( that is a boy that still has his 'parts' for you city folk). I walked up to have a look at him, because he is quite .. majestic. My sister says "he is in full rut" about the time the smell about knocked me on my ass. Whoarf! Dudes. Wow. I can't even compare it. Sort of a cross between Pine Sol and Musk. My closest comparison would be that time waaaay back when a family from back home had a pet Antelope (a boy of course) and I walked up to him all stupid "Oh look at the cuteypie antelopeypoo!" and scratched him under his adorable widdle chin- which happened to be right on his SCENT glands- and my hands stunk for a full month. (you hunters might even know what I'm talking about).

Anyway, Sis says, "The owners say he makes the weirdest noises". I wondered at that because as soon as we put him in with the ladies, he was chasing and peeing and had his tongue out. Looked like a night at one of the bars I hung out in back in the military. No noises though. Not until 3 O'clock this morning anyway.

3am is the Magic Quiet Hour around here. Little or no traffic, and most of the flora and fauna are asleep, or at least quiet. Hoo hoo. NOT this morning.  I can only describe the 'sound' as a 'Twilight Zone' moment where I thought I woke up in the hunting territory of Velociraptor in a Jurassic Park movie. You know how Tibetan monks can sing deep and high at the same time? Yeah. Billy was all a hootin' and singin'. It took me a while to narrow it down, because it did -at first sound like a cat that had been run over and was in the throes of death.

 I went out to investigate, and I barely got within 50 feet of the fence and got Sham-wowzered by Horny Goat Smell. Gah!! I could see him in the moonlight, making this noise that has no definition.. ( I even googled "goat sex"- not a good thing to do. don't let your kids put those two words together. Ever). He's chasing the ladies around at 3 in the morning, letting the whole world know he's ready for a go. I couldn't stop myself. I started laughing, and laughing, and then I had to come here and tell you all about it. I just wish I could record that damned sound. It was almost- but not quite- like the "horses" from Avatar. I still need to watch the movie again to make sure. But I will not get up every morning and try to acquire it for you because that might just be considered as.. weird. Well, weird-er..

Cabbages are people too (sort of)

I took a whole day off from everything yesterday. (Other than breathing and body functions).

 I pretended I was a cabbage. Green, unwashed and not able to move without help. I really tried to be a potato, but I didn't feel very brown-skinned and lumpy. Carrot? nah. Not an ounce of sweetness in me. I had a whole day of Nothing all to myself. Rebellious, I know. I was all Thelma and Louise about it. Defiant. I even refused to KNIT. ( I know!! my hands didn't fall off either. Who knew?)

It's been quite a while since I had a date with Nothing. I tend to refer nothing as a "him" because- well, there aren't too many moms like me who ever experience a true-to-life, literal park-your-ass-on -the-couch-and-not-move-unless-you-have-to-pee activity. I was able to do so with several "lucky" factors in my favor:
1) Emily had spent the night at her friend's.
2) Joe's cousin is here to entertain him, and I had stuff pre-made to eat.
3) Wondering about the 'green' in my first sentence? Yeah. I was a little hungover too. That gets to be another post.

I don't have television per se, like the 800 channels of reality shows so many of you may be addicted to. I just can't justify losing those hours boiling my brain on witnessing other people's nasty habits. I do have a DVD player that tried to help catch up on movies I bought and  borrowed and haven't had the chance to watch. Maybe I'll get the rest of the 80's and 90's movies caught up someday. (Lost all those years to the Military, College and having babies).

What's funny is, no matter how many movies I need to watch, there's always that 'fallback' movie that I have.  I'm talking about the one you watch because no matter what mood you are in, or how hungover/sick/sad/angry/tired you are, it is the one thing you can watch all the way though, and it takes you completely out of your reality for a couple of hours, and you return feeling...better. Simply that.

Nothing was kind to me yesterday. He let me put my feet up, sleep off 8 weeks of study stress (and one too many vodka/cranberry juices) and the hoarseness that only comes from Karaoke, fried food and sitting too close to smokers. A rare luxury, indeed.

Of course, no amount of having my feet above my heart will ever get rid of Guilt. That guy is like a stalker. He won't ever leave me alone. Worse- like John Nash's apparitions in "Beautiful Mind". Worse yet. That guy on "Sleeping with the Enemy" (eeeek!)

I ignored him (like only a mom can do) and let Nothing un-scramble my brain and remove neck knots from my muscles. Guilt was sitting in the chair at the computer, staring at me. Jerk. I need to find a way to "off" him.

probably where they'll bury me

Growing up in the largest county in the state sure had its unique experiences. One of my Facebook friends recently started a "you know you're from Harney County if.." and we all get to fill in the blank. And hooboy, has it gotten filled. I believe there has been an entry representing the last 60 years of county life and times. From the mature generations chiming in with memories of A&W, buildings that long since burned down and businesses that long since changed hands before I was born to more recent times after I left.

Seriously, there are only three areas that can even be called 'towns' in Harney County. Burns-Hines (okay it's four but come on, Burns and Hines are like connected by the High School.. let's not split hairs here), Drewsey, (my hometown) and Crane (location of the only public boarding school in the USA, I believe). We harbor a rich history of pioneering, Almost -extinct industries of Logging and ranching, and one of the longest-running rodeos in the state. (100 years as of 1989).

I'm proud to be a part of  it, and wish someday I could go back. There's not much along the line of jobs, unless I want to be a long haul truck driver, or win the lottery. I did get my degree in solid work ethics, resilience,  honesty, and having fun as much as possible without the use of electronics.

So, for those of you who are country kids, I hope you try to instill a bit of that in your kids and grandkids. For you city folks, remember to always keep it simple. Life is too short to drag around all sorts of clutter.

Here's to simple living and small town life. May it never die.

Big Brother

My new weight loss-o-meter is a precarious little "app" (short for application- a computer term) called 'Noom'.

Noom lives on my Android. I refer to it as 'him' because it's a little green dude with blue pants that are too big.

(This really isn't an ad for Noom. I just need to tell you how crazy this has become- it's funny, just keep reading)

I have to tell him everything I eat, and all my exercise. And I have to tell him how much I weigh every week. (Thursdays, generally.) I've been Noom's best friend for just a few weeks. I've lost almost 5 pounds so far. (with an Oprah Radio Flyer load to go.)

Noom can be annoying, because there is no such thing as "dump run from hell" or "chasing loose goats" on the exercise list.( I think we should have a country version of Noom. We'd call it "Vern". Vern would have everything from  'crawling under the trailer to find the source of that smell' to 'hangover trips to the bathroom'.)

I really can't remember when I made 'the crossing', but if I don't look at Noom every 5.24 minutes, I start to gain weight. I tell it everything. Every move I make. Every little crumb of food that enters my pie hole. My phone gets more than three feet away from me and I start to bloat. I just know it can hear me- it buzzes when I open the fridge.

It's like having an annoying little  brother that you can't get rid of because he caught you reading your dad's Playboy magazines and he will rat you out unless you do EVERYTHING he says for the rest of your life.

When I go on my walks at the track with my friends, Noom only tracks MY steps. (GPS- cool, yet scary.)  He even knows how crooked I walk. I keep looking up and wondering if he is tracking my menstrual cycles and fart patterns. Maybe I'm typing this under his control.. MAYBE that's where those crazy dreams come in where I'm rich and pretty and Noom is really my cabana boy putting 'mainstreamer' pills in my Umbrella drinks..

Nope. It's still me. No zombie here. I still have a Statistics final next week. Damn. Where's the cool movie plot that kicks in about now? sigh..back to the homework.

Oh hell- I better check Noom/Vern too. He might get jealous of the blog...

Who needs Wal-Mars?

Just when I thought I was going to have a difficult time coming up with a good post, my daughter Emily and I were tasked to make a dump run. Want to hear how a one-hour trip turned into three? Here's how it went down: (deep breath)

All was well, another day in paradise at the old XY ranch. Em and I are loading the garbage cans, gagging at maggots and other fancy garbage smells, getting the recycling sorted.Then, here come the 'little red flags" that always seem to happen around here:

1) Low tire on the REALLY full dump trailer with heavy construction waste.

2) Obviously the dump trailer hasn't been used much. Hooking the thing up= three-day constipation poop: Rusty, stuck and hard.

3) An amazing amount of Yellowjacket nests were discovered living in the tool box at the front of the trailer. (Don't ask how we found out.)

4) Emily gags at the smells pretty much the entire trip. Entertaining! ( for me- muwahahahaha!)

5) I got slogged with laundry soap during lid removal at the recycle station- I smelled like April fresh rotten eggs by then. (Bet that scent won't sell anytime soon.)

6) At the paystation, the pickup wouldn't start. (The starter is going out-SO glad somebody warned me.)
 By this time, I'm sweating, the crotch of my work jeans are ripping, and I'm really trying hard to not throw things at the superawful nice lady, offering endless and wonderfully nice suggestions as to how to get it started. I ground a few millimeters of enamel off my teeth, hissed a few choice colorful metaphors, and we were back in business.. sort of..

7) Emily and I are 'cheerfully' unloading the trailer- suddenly we stare at each other in HORROR as the end of the trailer we're standing on slowly sinks to the ground- (yep- hitch was TOO SMALL.) We hooked it back up and attempted to finish unloading the trailer as fast as we could- I get hyperfocused on the little stuff and it unhooks AGAIN. (My. Dear. Hell.)
 By this time, I'm waiting for the superawfully nice dump lady to not be so superawfully nice. We hook it back up again, I bungee the #$%^@#$ to the chains, and hope to Haysoos that it doesn't unhook on the 5 mile drive back to the ranch.

8) We make it home. (whew) I back it up, park, and attempt to unhook the chains from the truck. Nope. Won't budge. I shut off the engine and storm away. I'm done.

Total calories burned: 668. Blood pressure: Through the roof. I tried to find a match on my weight loss-o-meter and the closest thing I could find was 'yardwork'. Last straw *snap*

If you need me, I'm under Pearl, knitting hayblankets and chewing leather.