NEW LIFE ON THE ROCK ‘N TREE RANCH

Mrs. Frodo Goose, aka: Serenity set with her head drooping low against her chest.  She had been broody for over a month and no signs of a single gosling yet.  We the humans of the ranch had been impatient as well.  We dearly love the fuzzy little goslings and delight in their antics.

More importantly we were worried about Serenity.  It normally takes 28-35 days to incubate goose eggs but she had been broody for over 45 days.  A bird can brood itself to death and we really didn’t want to lose her.  She is Pigwidgeon’s daughter and we had just lost Piggy so we definitely didn’t want to lose her too.

We already had the small pen and coop designated for her and goslings, but now 10 days past due there was no sign of young life and Serenity hadn’t left the nest at all for over a week, nor had she shown any interest in the food and water we had put under the front porch with her trying to encourage her to at least eat and drink. 

We had given up hope and had been trying to tempt her off the nest with every treat we could think of.  We knew that a snake had been in the nest one night three weeks earlier and despite our re-homing him we had no idea if he had damaged the eggs beyond salvation or not.  She wasn’t about to give up, but we had.

Roaming the yard was Casino Muscovy, a handsome drake who no longer had other ducks of any sort to share his life with.  The geese treated him as an outsider and the guineas were far too silly to acknowledge him.  Only Piper Peacock occasionally chatted with him.  He often spent his days in such a glum funk we threatened to change his name to Eeyore.

Because we live in the woods pests of all sorts are a constant problem that must be dealt with.  We prefer natural pest control over all else.  Muscovies are tremendous at pest control.  Snakes, rodents of all types, scorpions, biting flies, wasps, mosquitoes the list that ‘Scovies like to eat is quite long.  But here we were down to one lone ‘Scovy.

After much family discussion we decided on a temporary lift on our agreed upon ban of no new animals for Mr. Casino’s benefit (and ours).  We talked it over with Cas and he told us in no uncertain terms he was lonely and needed a female or two in his life.

He dictated to me the following email which I posted on a local homesteading list on his behalf:

Ladies and Gentlemen of the list,

I am a lonely Muscovy Drake.  All my hens and male companions have gone to the big pond in the sky.  There are far more rodents, snakes, gohphers and biting flies here on the Rock ‘n Tree ranch than I a single male duck can handle.  Therefore, I have consulted with my human charges and convinced them it is time a few hens need to share this natural feeding bounty with me.  If you should know of some HEN (I want no competition thank you very much) Muscovies that would care to share their life with me please contact my female human, Jan at …

Thank you for time,

Casino Muscovy, Esquire

Within 30 minutes I had a response for not the two hens we had agreed upon but four at a reasonable cost. 

Two days later, on Friday afternoon, we went to pick up the lovely ladies you see at the right.  Ms. Cocoa is of course the chocolate colored one.  Henny Penny is the solid white lady.  Both these two already had names. 

We watched the mannerisms of the two pied ones for a bit and decided that the larger one was Faith (after all we all need more faith) and Hope is therefore the smaller one.

As soon as the girls were in the garden trailer and being driven around to the small coop the very despondent Mr. Casino sprang to life!  He was wiggling with delight all over.  His crown went up and he immediately waddled to where they waited to enter their new home. 

When the tail gate on the trailer was opened he leaped into the trailer to be near them.  Inside the cage they were in the girls were saying “A MAAAAAAN!”  There had been no drakes at their previous home.

Despite whispering sweet nothings in their ears Casino refused to join them in the coop.  Holding out for when he could be in a secure run with them. 

The secure run would be, hopefully, prepared the next day.  Because Muscovy hens can fly (our drakes are always too fat) we needed to roof the small section of the pen they would be kept in for 2-3 weeks before being allowed to free range with Casino.  We also needed to put an escape proof gate on that section and it was already nearly dark.

That’s when we heard it.  Anyone who has had a flock of geese where the hens hatch out naturally the cry that goes up from the rest of the flock when they see the first gosling for the first time.  “Congratulations” they scream to the wearied mother. 

“Nooo, it couldn’t be it’s been 45 days since she went broody” ds said as we rushed around to peak and see.  Before we ever got there we heard the high pitched voice of a newly hatched gosling.  Sweet, high and clear. 

Looking under the front door we watched as the little yellow and gray ball of fluff crawled out from under Serenity as she patiently turned her three  remaining eggs.

She gave me such a look, because I had been telling her for days I didn’t think her eggs were fertile and that she should come out and eat before she died.  She had stubbornly refused.

The look told me “I told you so!” as she neatly tucked the chirping gosling under downy chest.

“Houston we have a problem” I said.  We had just put four strange adult birds, that we had no idea of their temperament in the pen that had previously been dedicated for goslings.  “Now what are we going to do?”

Since it was almost dark and Serenity still had eggs to hatch we knew she wouldn’t leave the nest until at least morning.  So we had until the next day to come up with a secure pen for her and her offspring. There are far too many hawks, possums, raccoons, crows and other predators that would delight in nabbing such a tender morsel as a baby goose.

The problem was the little jabber jaws wouldn’t shut up.  It was broadcasting loud and clear “Here I am world!” As if it was talking directly to Mr. O. Possum and his predatory friends. 

We admonished Serenity to shut it up and she quickly tucked the gosling back under her. 

Next Jolie, the ever vigilant bird protector settled herself in for the night on the front porch, with Georgia in the bushes nearby.  We were pretty certain that between the Mama Goose and the two protective dogs the gosling would definitely make it through the night.  I am happy to say we were right.

Saturday we got up early and mulled over the problem of too little space for too many birds.  I proposed one solution, but Sean came up with a better one that Gary modified even further.

Sean headed out to feed and release the penned geese and nearly stepped on a six foot long rat snake headed toward Serenity and the gosling.  Serenity was hissing loudly as he beat back the snake with a stick and used his other hand to call his dad for help. 

They tried to catch the snake to re-home it several miles away, but the snake had other ideas that involved a small yellow and grey gosling.  An idea that did not sit well with the Serenity or the two men.  The snake ended up re-homed to heaven.

As soon as the blast happened Serenity quit hissing, she’d seen this maneuver before, then calmly rolled her three eggs over and tucked the endangered gosling securely under her wing.

During the day Saturday we removed the shanty from the end of the small run.  It was in such bad shape from having a tree dropped on it in an ice and wind storm we spent a lot of time picking up pieces, hoeing and raking to make certain that there were no bits of wire or nails that might hurt the birds.

We have decided to not go back into the bird business for certain so instead of purchasing new fencing to patch the fence where the shanty had stood Gary tore down ten foot of the fencing on what was previously our big pen and moved it to the small run. 

Ideally we would have loved to simply used the big run, but the same wind and ice storm that had destroyed the shanty had torn up the roofing and fencing on the big run horribly.  We had also had some large predator get in that pen with the flock one night and do grievous damage.  The birds refused to ever go in that pen now. So the little pen was our only option, unless I wanted to give up the garden I had already started planting.  That would be a no.

While the two men were doing the heavy lifting and chores that are difficult for me to do I was the “Go-fer” I was sent running anytime a tool was needed we didn’t already have on the work site.

Thirsty?  Lemonade was made and delivered frosty cold along with some salty snacks.  Starting to sweat?  I ran for the dew rags.  Need a different pair of work gloves, hearing protectors, any item they needed I went to gather.  I clocked many a mile all day Saturday. 

As we labored Casino sat in the shade chatting with the girls through the open coop window getting to know them the best he could from so far away.  Yet he refused to enter the coop when given the opportunity.  The drake enjoys his freedom for certain.

So by the end of the day the shanty was torn down and ready to be recycled or burned where applicable.  The fencing was up and we had recycled part of the barn tin from the shanty into a sliding gate of sorts for the newly created gosling day care center in the end of the pen.

Unfortunately we still didn’t have the roof, gates , sun shade or gosling “play pen” fencing up. 

An explanation about the gosling play pen for those who haven’t read my post Lessons Learned post.  Small birds are extremely adept at getting out of what seems to the human eye a secure pen.  Once they get out they are extremely fast and adept of out running adult humans. They will seek shelter under any feathered backside they see and most of the birds that those backsides belong to will fight you to protect those escapees.  I’m too old and fat for such antics any more. If you want to keep them where they belong you add an extra of fencing over the main fencing.  This second layer needs to be either small poultry netting or hardware cloth.  Even with that some baby birds will show you they can climb that stuff and still get out.  So you do your best and create their play pen area with keeping them as secure as possible while leaving them with their Mom.

Luckily goslings two through four had not hatched yet so Jolie and Georgia once again took up their post.

Sunday there was rain in the forecast but it never showed.  We worked hard at trying to complete the areas where goslings needed to be housed and Muscovy hens  needed to be able to get some fresh air.

Not to mention Mr. Casino was getting pretty put out about being able to see the girls through the coop windows, but not being able to really get to know them.  Bless his heart all the time we were working he would set outside the coop at an angle where he could view the lovelies on the roost in the coop and speak softly to them.  What good are other ‘Scovies if a fellow can’t really be near them?

Once again the dogs took their designated posts and the mama goose patiently set on her eggs, we were now headed for day 52.

Sunday morning started out with the aroma of a broken rotted egg coming from under the front porch.  Serenity quickly disposed of the egg, then turned her attention back to the gosling and the two remaining eggs.

We turned our attention to the chores at hand.  While the men put the sunshade over the playpen I started the laundry and baking for the day.  Once the sunshade was up I started adding the layers of wire to keep the little darling(s) in the play pen. 

Saplings were cut for upright supports for the roof for the Muscovy end and the work of putting the roof and predator proofing on began.  Sunday ended with the dogs once again on patrol and the Bird Pen A La Scrounge taking shape nicely.

Yep A La Scrounge.  Because we stay on a strict budget it was determined that this bird pen was to be created with what we had on hand.  We recycled fencing, cut saplings from the property, and the sunshade was an old tarp from another project a few years earlier.  The low gate on the play pen is recycled barn tin, and it is all being held together with, you guessed it baling wire.  Yep we live on a farm. We always have baling wire.

After dinner on Monday the men went outside to finish roofing the duck end of the pen and temporarily put up a gate to keep them secure.  The gate will be permanently hung on Tuesday evening. 

Finally the duck hens were released into the small run.  Casino was absolutely beside himself, not sure which girl to flirt with first.  He is one happy muscovy today.

Under the front porch the little squirt sits in the middle of its mother's back still waiting for those slow poke siblings. Surely they'll hatch soon,

Jan who loves her birds but sometimes thinks they are a lot of work in OK

MUD WRESTLING FOR MY 40TH WEDDING ANNIVERSARY

March 21, 2013

This is a copy of an email I posted on a few groups I'm on March 17, 2013.  It has received so many laughs I thought I'd share it with the rest of you.

For your Sunday entertainment.

Ahhh spring.  The Bradford pears are covered with white flowers, the wild flowers are peeking up through the dead grass and the bird migrations have begun.

 

It is also the season of our 40^th wedding anniversary.  Saturday, March 16, yesterday in fact.  You know when you are on the Dave Ramsey debt payoff plan when you celebrate such a milestone by cutting down dead trees and stacking firewood.  LOL!  Yep, that’s what we did for part of the day at least.  I threw in a little laundry, we sat in the shade and chatted some too, mid  70’s it was nice.  We decided months ago there would be no gifts for this anniversary, that instead we’d work hard on paying our debt off and putting money back for a big trip to celebrate later. 

 

Dh did insist on taking me out for a steak dinner, that we paid far too much for, but he says it will be 40 more years before we have another 40 (80) anniversary and he thought I at least deserved a steak dinner for putting up with him for so long.

 

So we put on our “go to town” clothes and went out to dinner, just the two of us.  The weather bottomed out while we were in the restaurant and I regretted my short sleeved blouse on the run back to the truck, but I enjoyed the meal immensely.  I can’t remember the last time I had steak, I know it was before DR. 

 

Dh also refused to do any errands on the way home, he said “another time, tonight we relax.” 

 

Somebody forgot to tell ds that.  He was waiting for us on the porch when we pulled up. “I need your guys help right away.”  Were the first words out of his mouth.  Not exactly what we wanted to hear.  It seems “Her”, a brown Chinese goose, had some how got into a torn up plastic feed sack and it was now tightly wrapped around one of her legs.  We aren’t sure where she got it, because we keep those put up just because of such situations.  Trash is highly dangerous to birds and wildlife.

 

He said he’d got Her and the other birds in the pen, but he couldn’t catch Her by himself to get the bag cut off her leg.  It needed to come off asap, because a bird can lose a leg/foot quickly due to lack of circulation.  I was wearing a long skirt so I rushed in to change out of it and to grab my Carhardt coat (it was already in the 40’s and the wind was really whipping).  Dh changed coats, but ignored my suggestion he take off his khaki slacks—a decision he later regretted.

 

Then armed with flashlights we three headed to the garden/goose pen, aka: the bog.  You see dh and ds put the water tubs in one of the raised beds and as a result of daily watering the raised bed was now a pond and the middle of this pond stood the diminutive Her. Yes that’s really her name, she just showed up her one day and for a couple of weeks some one would say “who is that goose?’ one of us would respond “which goose” and the first person would point to the little bird and say “Her”, she showed up with “Him”, who we called Who for awhile as in “Who is that?”   Him is also called Zorro, due to his mask, sometimes around here, but I digress. 

 

The bag around Her’s leg was a pretty sizeable piece of one and the other geese kept stepping on the dragging debris causing Her to fall often on her dainty bill.  I was worried her leg would get broken before we got the bag off of it. 

 

None of us had our muck boots on—stupidity I know, but as any homesteader will tell you, when it’s cold, windy, stone cold dark and you have an injured critter you don’t always stop to think about things like muck boots.

 

Her was determined to stay in the muddy “Pond” and the ganders who have decided she’s their girl, remember it’s spring and the only time of year my geese would EVER consider challenging any of us, especially me.  They weren’t too happy at these three humans wanting to “hug” their girl.  Hug is our term for one of us grabbing a goose over their wings and hugging them up to our body to control them while someone else fixes a wound or other problem.  Dh’s light color pants were soon covered with what we’ll call mud—it’s a goose pen, think about it.

 

After about two laps I said “Enough! I’m going in after Her.” I at least had crocs and  old clothes on.   As I stepped into the almost dry shallow end of the “pond” to try and nab her as another goose, Greystoke, conveniently stood on the bag penning her.   All 18 birds took off the opposite direction. Splashing us all royally with the “mud.”  Ds got a huge mouthful of “mud”.  To say he was not amused would be understating it considerably. 

 

Luckily by then dh had got a herding stick, and between the three of us we were able to corner Her on semi dry land.  Ds, still spewing vile “mud”  out of his mouth caught her first with a diving body tackle, but could only pen Her, not pick Her up.  I came in from the other direction and immediately told Her “It’s Mama, I’m alpha, you pinch, you are dinner. “  Then I went past the hissing snapping bill and grabbed Her over the wings to hug her up next to my body in an upright position. 

 

I stood there with the hissing goose as dh fumbled for his pocket knife and ds climbed up off the soggy ground.  Not once did Her try to pinch me, she KNEW better, even if she was an outsider.  She did make a grab for ds once, but he spoke softly to her and stroked her neck as he shined the flashlight on her leg for dh.  She calmed as soon as he started talking to her.  He has that affect on animals.  I’ve seen him with a humming bird perched on his finger as he quietly talked to it and brought it out of the sunroom to freedom outside. 

 

As soon as Her got still dh deftly cut the bag free and examined her leg and foot for injury in case she needed first aid.  Luckily she did not, ds had found the problem early enough. 

 

I then had the guys clear the area so she would have plenty of room to stretch her wings if she felt the need after the “humans” had touched her.  Ds spoke to her softly as I set her down gently on the ground and she fled to the safety of her ganders. 

 

I gathered the bag pieces and we left the birds to discuss the evil humans and console Her for the night. (She was in fine shape this morning) .  Once the bag was properly disposed of it was every man/woman for themselves.  Ds spent considerable time brushing his teeth, gargling, and rinsing his mouth.  Then he and dh laundered their “mud” soaked clothes.  Amazingly enough, I only had the mud on my crocks and those I rinsed and disinfected quickly. 

 

Ahhhh, spring, mud wrestling in the dark.  Who could ask for a better anniversary.  Jan who says her life is NEVER dull in OK

DRIFTER MOON—THE CASE OF BBP

His name is Drifter Moon, by all accounts he is a castaway, a dumper dog, an unwanted, except to us.  To us he is Moonie, or Bubba Bear.  He’s a large lovable black shorthaired dog with black and white spotted feet and tiny brown eyes.  He’s our boy.

Moonie is also a little different.  The boy is not a real fast study, he’s trainable, but it definitely takes longer to train him than it has ever taken us to train any of our dogs. 

What is also is, is fiercely loyal to me.  This canine fellow would put his life on the line for me at any given moment, as one installer who dared to raise his voice to me found out not long ago.  Lucky for him I had the Bear on a leash at the time or the fellow would have needed stitches.  You don’t mess with Drifter Moon’s Mama.

He showed up here one January over ten years ago, and would come and go on a regular basis for the next 2-3 months.  He was under a year old then the best we could tell.  I started calling him Drifter then because he drifted in and out of the homestead and I never knew where I might see him. 

Often all I saw of him was the white moon on his rump as he headed into the woods, thus the Moon part of his name.  I let him stay because he never bothered the birds or anything else.  But I was determined we were not taking on a third dog.

The one time he got into the bird pen I hollered at him and he, to this day,  has never set foot in the pen since then—that he learned quickly.  It crushes him when Mama scolds him—which isn’t often.  He’s a good boy.

By March it had became apparent he’d been dumped.  One day my husband asked me about the dog and what we were going to do about him.  I told him how he seemed to be watching all of us as if guarding the homestead and how good he was around the birds. I mentioned that when anyone came on the place he seemed to place himself between them and me.

I also expressed concerned about the bright red collar that he was wearing that was definitely way too tight. Telling my husband we needed to get it off of him because I feared it would choke him soon.

My husband being the gentle soul he is.  Pulled up a five gallon bucket and set down on the bottom of it.  Then patting his leg he called “Drifter, come here boy, come to Daddy.”

The dog responded hesitantly, tail tucked and let Gary pet him.  While petting him he gently used his pocket knife to cut the strangling collar off the dog. The collar was so tight he had to choke the dog some to get the thin knife blade under it to cut the thing lose. The dog never tried to back away.  He trusted Gary completely to not hurt him.

As soon as I heard my husband say, “come to Daddy” I knew we had a third dog and went to find a feed bowl for him.  That was over 10 years ago.

Today Moonie weighs in around 65 or so pounds and is built solid.  I definitely would never want him to turn on me, but his soul is gentle so we are safe.

He also has a large cyst on his rump near the moon he is named for.  We’ve had it looked at and it is benign.  It grows and shrinks with the seasons and with Moon’s seasonal weight changes.   Although we are told it is not hurting him it still concerns us, so any time he has a health issue our first thought is the cyst.  Some days it is quite large, others you can’t really see it at all.

So when he threw up lame a couple of weeks or so ago we all started checking him closely.  Moonie is a patient boy and lets us check the cyst, his paws and pull ticks (when he gets them) from his eye lids without hesitation. 

It was his front left leg he is limping on and the cyst is on the other end, but we are still cautious. We worry that the cyst could grow into his spine near the tail and cause him problems.  All three of us love this big old dog and want only the best for him.

Around here an animal’s health issues are judged in varying degrees from the “must make a FINAL trip to the vet” to “Boo-boo paw”.  What the first one obviously means is it would be a one way trip and we all do everything we can to prevent those trips, but we will not let our animals suffer. 

Boo-boo  Paw is generally Moon’s sister Misty Georgia, our middle child so to speak.  Whenever Georgie feels she is being neglected she will suddenly be limping and as soon as she gets her attention her limp is gone.

Only Moonie’s wasn’t going away, even with all three of us fondling over him and giving him special treats.  A week later the limp didn’t seem any better, but we could find no swelling, or thorn or anything.  We continued to try and keep him off the foot as much as possible.

Friday when we came home from our movie mystery shop after 10 pm Moon didn’t run out to greet us as he normally does.  He takes his guarding seriously and this concerned us. 

Twice I took the flashlight out looking for him and finally I asked Jolie Marie where Bubba Bear was, fearing the worst. I had called and called and there had been no response from my boy. He always comes when I call.  Jo-Jo immediately took me to the very healthy looking boy on the front porch.  Where he’d been I have no idea, but he didn’t offer to get off the porch and since I knew the steps would be hard on his lame leg I petted him and told him to stay there.  Then went in to go to bed, now that I knew he was safe.

When my son got home from work around three am he called my phone and woke me up.  Moon was laying in the driveway and wouldn’t even try to come to him. 

I told him to give the dog a treat and he’d probably move just fine, since he had been able to climb the steep steps to the porch I knew he had mobility three hours earlier.

 Fifteen minutes later my son called again and said Moon couldn’t get on his feet. 

Gary asked what was going on.  I told him and told him to go back to sleep since he had to get up for work in less than two hours.

I dressed quickly and went outside to check on both the man and the dog.

My son was sitting on the ground with dog’s head in his lap, tears rolling down his face. “Mom he managed to get up, but it was like his rear legs wouldn’t support him, he wobbled for a few steps and then collapsed here.”

The dog rolled his eyes in my son’s direction and whined softly.  That was when my son noticed his left eye was turned inward more than the right one.  “Mom did anyone come over today that might of hit him with their car?”

Moon is a car chaser, that is why his leash is always where we can grab it in an instant.  As long as the leash is on he makes no effort to chase, but if it’s not on he will drag you down the driveway with him if you try to stop him. 

In the past he has attacked bull dozers, tractors, UPS trucks, FEDEX trucks and any other vehicle that has came on the property, except our two trucks and the mower.  The bull dozer actually rolled him three different times when we were having the driveway work done and he still chased it when he could get lose from where we had him penned.  Like I said, not the brightest of our three dogs.

To my knowledge there had been no deliveries that day, but then we’d been gone most of the afternoon. 

I expressed my concern that maybe the cyst had grown into the spine, or was no longer benign. We were both major stressed.

The dog was panting hard and the temperature at 3 am was still in the 80’s so I sent my son to get some water for him.  Telling him what bowl to get while I stayed in the dark with our fellow.  We both feared Moonie was leaving us and we didn’t want him to be alone.

No sooner had Sean got to where he couldn’t see Moon than the rear leg that he “couldn’t use” game up  and started scratching his ear.  I looked at the dog and said “You old faker.”

The paw fell to the ground and the dog hung his head.  He then stood up quickly and walked to another place in the driveway without any problems and laid down saying “humrph!”.

I turned off the flashlight and waited in the dark for my son to return.  When he did I said “I figured out what’s wrong with Drifter.”

“What?” he asked with fear in his voice.

“Sean I don’t know how to tell you this, but it’s the worst case of Boo-boo Paw I’ve ever seen.”

Then I turned the flashlight on to show him the dog laying much further down the driveway.

Sean stammered “What do you mean?”  I told him quickly how Drifter had used his legs just fine as long as he knew Sean couldn’t see him.  He asked me “are you sure it’s Boo-boo Paw?”

I told him to set the water down and tell Drifter he was on to his game and to come get the water.  He did as he was instructed and the dog stood with no problems and came to drink the water dry.  Not a wobble one to his walk, just the mild limp from the front leg.

Sean then said “Well, fellow you nearly cried wolf too hard that time.  I was going to take you to ER for a final vet visit tonight because of the way you were acting.”

The dog hung his head, he really doesn’t like to be scolded.  Then he easily followed Sean to the sunroom for his late night supper Sean gives him every night.

I went back to bed.  As I quietly crawled into the bed my husband said “How’s Drifter?”

Again I responded “Worst case of Boo-boo Paw I’ve ever seen.”

“Drifter?” he questioned, making sure I didn’t mean Georgie.

“Yep” Then I told him what had happened. 

He laughed and said “Guess we’ve gone overboard about the limp and he likes the attention.”

Like I said that was Friday/Saturday, he still limps slightly on that leg, because he won’t stay off of it.  But there have been no more fake “I can’t move” attempts.

Jan who couldn’t believe her good boy pulled such a trick on all of us in OK

THE GREAT PIG CHASE

Or how to nearly get heat exhaustion on a hot summer’s day.

As all such tales begin “I had a plan…”  I wasn’t feeling well last night so I went to bed without showering, telling myself “I’ll get up at 6 in the morning and then I’ll plant those two new heirloom plants in the garden before it gets too hot tomorrow,  Once they are planted and I’ve fed the animals then I’ll shower.” This turned out to be a mistake.  What had been a simple plan ended up being a very smelly, sweaty me.

You know what they say about the best laid plans…first I didn’t get up until 8, I simply overslept.  Generally I’m up early but for some reason I snoozed two hours longer than I should have.  As soon as I realized how late it was I threw on the previous day’s clothes and grabbed the tomato and pepper plants I had purchased with my “will be reimbursed, mandatory purchase” mystery shopping money along with the Epsom Salts and calcium pill for the tomato plant and headed to the garden.

The plan being I’d stick the two plants in the ground, pour some water on them, feed the animals and scoot back into the house immediately because it was already in the mid 80’s and the temperature was climbing quickly. Today’s high is expected to be 106.

While planting the tomato plant I happened to glance up at the nearby grapevines to check to see if the grapes were ripe yet.  NO, in fact they were starting to resemble raisins! 

What the?  Ds had watered them the night before, but the ground was stone dry.  “Okay, so I’ll put a soaker on them.” I thought.  Only the hose for that was not connected to the house.  Great, that one is behind the air conditioner in Sid Snake’s territory.   Sid is a large rat snake that hangs out near the air conditioner to catch rodents and frogs every summer.  He’s harmless and he helps keep the mice down so we leave Sid be.  Only he has a habit of startling me and I don’t like that.

Gingerly I peeked all around the unit and satisfied myself that Sid was not home at the moment and worked with the various hoses and splitters in the area until I found the right one for the hose I needed.  15 minutes later I was back in the weed infested garden area trying to figure out why the soaker wasn’t getting water.  I finally got that hose going and decided while there I’d go ahead and set the sprinkler up for the main garden.  This is where I ran into troubles and an hour later ds called wanting to know where I was.  I was surprised when he called because he works nights and at that early hour has usually just gotten to bed and is unconscious to the daylight world.  The day before had been his day off and he’d gone to bed early so he could get up early and help me with chores.

He immediately came out to help me and scold me for being out in the heat for so long.  I’ve gone down for the count twice in the last 20 years due to heat, so I have to be VERY cautious with heat.  When he came out he brought me a large glass of ice water and sent me to the shade while he argued with the sprinkler system.  The temperature was climbing steadily.  Finally he gave up and set the sprinkler hose near the newly planted plants to dribble into the ground around them and moved the soaking hose to the next grape plant.  Then he escorted me “firmly” indoors.

As we sat cooling down we discussed various things and just as ds mentioned he’d got a text from C the other day wondering how we were he received another one from her.  It read “Are you home? W let the pig out and the babysitter can’t catch it. I’m in Tulsa”

C is a good neighbor who is always there every time we need her, so we couldn’t say no.

Grabbing my son’s dew rag, which at our house is a large muslin tea towel that has been twisted into a roll and then is tied around the forehead, we took off for the mile or so drive to C’s. 

The teenage babysitter was woefully sitting on C’s front porch holding a handful of bread and looking very upset.  She said the pig, a young pot belly pig, had gone into the woods past the pig pens when W had let both pigs out.  The larger of the two had ran back into the pen, but they couldn’t catch the little one and weren’t even sure where it was at that point. 

I told her to keep the four dogs there and we’d drive up the road to see if we could spot it.  I then asked 8 year old W and his 6 year old sister, G, if they had a bucket of feed that the pig really liked I could take with me.  The babysitter gave me the handful of soft bread she was clutching stating “C said that it loves bread.”  I then asked the two kids “when you feed your piggy do you call it in a special way?”  Both shook their head then the girl said “Daddy claps his hands when he feeds them.”  That was what we needed to know.  I reminded them to keep the dogs there and if the pig showed back up to not run at it or scream.

Then riding in the truck with the air conditioning vent blowing on my still much overheated body ds and I cruised the country road at a slow speed looking for any sign of the little black and white pig in the heavy woods.  We drove the two miles to the highway to make sure it wasn’t there and then doubled back. 

No pig, great the temperatures outside the air conditioned truck was now in the 90’s and climbing. We spotted a place in the barbed wire fence that was down in the area I was betting we’d find the terrified piglet.  My son told me to stay in the truck until he spotted the pig and he’d go through the fence and walk the woods just past the easement clearing. 

Grabbing his dew rag he plopped it over his tightly curled red pony tail and ducked through the broken barbed wire fence.  Moments later he disappeared into the woods.

Within a minute he called to say the baby sitter was hollering something at him and asked me to drive down to see what she was saying. 

When I arrived she was very excited.  G was running around like a wild child and hollering. So much for the don’t run or scream edict. W was no where to be seen.  I found out later he’d been sent to the house for a time out because he had first let the pig out, then second would NOT listen to the baby sitter when she told him to not run toward the pig. 

W is a very intelligent little boy, but he has self control issues so the baby sitter had been entirely proper in removing him from the situation.  I reminded G to not holler telling her the baby pig was scared and just like when she was scared and her Mommy talked to her in a soft voice she needed to talk to the baby pig in a soft voice.  G settled down immediately and asked how she could get her little pig.  I told her to get some more bread because the pig would like some and then if she saw the pig again to throw a small piece to it and lead it back to pen and to clap her hands softly like her Daddy did.  She immediately grabbed bread from the sitter and ran into the weeds headed for the woods where she’d seen her pig.  I grimaced as she did because she was dressed in a swim suit and I could see the weeds scratching her little legs.  The baby sitter immediately ran after her youngest charge.

The dogs raced after her.  Because we feed their dogs when C’s family  travels they all know me and my come here whistle.  So I whistled and all came running.  I locked them in the front yard and then trudged down the road to see if I could get in front of the pig and help herd it back toward the house.  At that point no one had eyes on the piglet.

Meanwhile in the heavy woods my son, looking like a very warm redheaded warrior of days gone by, was slowly making his way back toward the house searching the area that G had said she had seen the pig in.  He was watching closely for snakes and other problems because this is a wildlife area, but still very nearly stepped on a hen turkey who suddenly sprang up and took flight in front of him.  She startled him, but then he watched her in awe as she would fly up, then fall down like she was injured, then try to fly again.  He’d seen this tactic by mother birds before so he checked the ground where she’d originally taken flight from.  Sure enough, there was a ground nest of brown speckled turkey eggs not far from his feet.

As he gazed at the nest he heard a rustling in the woods next to him.  Praying it was the piglet and not our friendly neighborhood cougar he slowly turned and looked toward the sound.  For the longest time he saw nothing, then “what was that?” “There it is again.” Focusing his eyes in the deep shade he finally realized it was a pig tail. 

There laying in the shade panting was the terrified piglet.  He threw bread scraps toward it and it eagerly gulped them down.  He slowly edged toward the little guy thinking if he could get close enough to it he might be able to grab it.   Fighting off images of the pig feeding scene in “Hannibal” he forced himself to think “Babe” and remember the last time he’d chased a pig at his great Uncle’s as a teenager.  That pig had been much bigger and all the cousins had worked together to get it into the truck, but still the pig never tried to bite anyone, so it was a good thought. He definitely did not want bit.

Just as he made his grab the pig suddenly scooted past him running toward the clearing where the baby sitter and I were wading waist high weeds in our shorts and wishing we had jeans on. By that time I had stick tights where no one wants them.  OUCH!

G, who had been sent to get a bowl of water and a banana for the pig, had just got back to where we were and I told her to stay outside to the fence to keep the pig from getting out and across the road to woods we would most definitely lose him in.  She obeyed for a long time.  I asked her the pigs name.  She said she didn’t know, that it was new.

My son texted C and asked her.  We were both thinking if we could call it by name it might calm down.  By now the pig was frantic and was having nothing to do with any of us.  He’d catch glimpses of us and then run another direction. 

We spread out in a search grid pattern and slowly worked our way back toward it’s pen.  No one could see the pig anywhere.  Where did it go?  C texted back “Rudy.” 

My son who  can calm any animal down, he’s like a whisper in that way, started softly call “Rudy, here baby, Rudy.”  No response.

G climbed a tree to see if she could spot her “baby”, somehow the dogs had got out of the yard and were back to “help”.  I spent most of my time whistling to the dogs and praising them when they came.  As I stood petting the pit bull I caught a glimpse of something running down the side of the pig pen.

At first I thought it was the first pig, that had been returned to the pen immediately, but then I realized it was the one we were looking for.  It rounded the corner and was sprinting down the driveway headed for the road. I turned to tell G to run fast back to the driveway to keep the pig out of the road, or and to not let  cross it to the woods on the other side. 

That’s when I discovered G had crawled through the fence and was no longer where I had told her to be.  She scrambled to try to get her pig, with the baby sitter fast on her heels. 

The black and white piglet was in full out run, it was in the clear and headed for FREEDOM and there was no way they were going to get there in time.  We were all fast on the move, but it looked like we were about to lose the piglet for certain.

Suddenly out of nowhere appeared a much larger black and white critter easily loping along.  Lassie, the untrained border collie was letting her instincts kick in.  You would have thought she had been professionally trained.  She circled the piglet and gently cut it off from its run for freedom.  Then working it as, if she’d been herding the sheep she was bred for all her life, she slowly worked the pig back to the gate to the pen where G was waiting to let it in.  I couldn’t see G at that point, but my son could and he told me the little girl had suddenly realized the dog KNEW exactly what to do and had gone to open the gate for the stressed piglet  when Lassie got it to that point.

The dog we’d all worked to keep away from the piglet so hard saved the day.  It took her less than 10 seconds to stop the escape of the pig and to put it where it belonged.  Then proudly set down by the gate to accept praise from everyone. 

We all gave Lassie all the loving and praise she so richly deserved.  It was now 100 degrees.

Inside the pen the older pig was busily scolding the truant piglet, who was trying to hide under the older sow.  I am certain it was saying “those mean people tried to TOUCH me!”

As soon as we were certain the piglet was where it should be the babysitter said “W is in SOOOOO much trouble!  I’ve got stickers everywhere and I’m way too hot!”

I told her that once everyone calmed down someone needed to explain to W that he couldn’t be letting the piglet out because it was so dangerous for not only the piglet, but for everyone concerned due to the poisonous snakes in the area and the heat. 

We stayed long enough for G to show us how she could swim and do handstands in the above the ground pool then we drove quickly home.

Back at the house I moved the soaking hose while my son fixed us lemonade. 

Inside I took the lemonade with thanks.  My son said “Mom I love you, but you REEK!  Go take a shower!.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice.  I started the shower warm, and then steadily turned the temperature down to cool my body down without shocking it.  I was exhausted and hungry.  Not only had I not had breakfast, and it was now nearly noon, but we hadn’t fed the animals yet.  Cheez!

  Feeling slightly better I wandered to the kitchen looking for nutrition.  There I remembered quickly what a good son I have.  He had more lemonade and toasted cheese sandwiches waiting on me.  He’d also already feed the animals.  I am so blessed!

So as we set enjoying a good lunch of sandwiches and lemonade and cooling down we sang the praises of how important a good farm dog is.  God bless Lassie or we would have still been out in 100 degree heat. 

We also agreed we’d learned a lesson.  Never underestimate the instincts of a herding dog.

Jan who owns three GOOD farm dogs, but was still surprised by Lassie’s skill in OK

THE MISADVENTURES OF LUCKY, TROUBLE, AND CASINO

When a knock sounded at the camper door, while we were parked at my brother in laws, I climbed out from behind the computer where I had been doing the printing for that day's route of mystery shops calling "Coming. "In just a few short steps I opened the door to find my beautiful great niece holding her even prettier, if at all possible, daughter.

"Hey, girls come in." I grinned holding the door wide so Jessica could safely climb the three steps while carrying Kadence.

We chatted for a little while as Kadence joyfully crawled around the fifth wheel floor, playing with the plastic bowls and wooden spoon I'd set down for her.

"Aunt Jan I was wondering if you and Uncle Gary could take my ducks to your house since you just lost so many, I just can't afford them any more." She finally said, then rushing on to "I don't want to ask Mimi to feed them, they aren't her responsibility. If you don't want them I'll try to find another home for them. I just can't add the stress of them to Mimi, so I thought I'd see if you wanted them first."

The loss she was referring to was the carnage Sean had found the week before in our big coop, 20 or more birds had met their demise in just one night. Sean had found it the next day and was just sick at what he found. Even our beloved Muscovy hen Trudy was dead. Luckily it had only been the broody hens and everyone not in the nesting area had escaped.

I told her I'd talk to Sean, since he is now the main caregiver of the birds, but I thought it would be okay. Mimi is my sister-in-law, Vicki, and Jessie's grandmother, it was her house we were camped at. Sean of course said to bring them home with me that weekend.

Jess had never named the birds and I told her not to worry that they'd get names just like all my other birds, by something about their attitude, or an event in their life. Little did I know they'd get their names before they ever made it to my house.

Because we hadn't known ahead of time I'd be hauling full grown Muscovy drakes home we hadn't brought our usual travel cages with us. Jess said she had some cardboard boxes that were sturdy and plenty big enough if we put one per box. I told her then to be sure and tape the bottom of the box good because Muscovies were escape artists.

Three days later in the gathering darkness of twilight Jess and James chased down the three drakes while Gary put large air holes in the boxes and I stood and laughed as the one with a very white head and almost female markings gave them a run for their money. They were all over the front acreage of the place until both long legged James and his wife were near exhaustion. Just as I got herding sticks to show them how it was done James caught the bird.

The bird was added to the final cardboard box and placed in the back of my truck. As I walked away I said "Be sure and tape the flaps down good on those boxes or they'll get out and Muscovy covered windshields is not a good thing."

While Gary got the camper hooked up I was saying my good-byes and gathering up my last few scattered things as I heard Jess shout "We've got an escapee!" The white headed drake had his second wind and was determined to be free of the cardboard box. You guessed it the flaps had NOT been taped down. Gary had told James not to worry there wouldn't be a problem with them coming open.

Ten exhausting minutes went by as James and Jess chased the bird once again all over the acreage. Finally I suggested he herd it into a small pen in the barn. Once there James once again nabbed the bird, but it took two of us to get it in the box Gary had waiting as Jessie stood guard on the gate in case it got away from us.

Muscovies have long talons and all of us were scraped before it was over. "Boy are you ever a lot of trouble!" I said, as I pushed down on it's head to keep it's feathers from receiving a strip of duct tape. Then I grinned "Therefore, your name shall be Trouble from here on out." Everyone agreed it the perfect name.

This time all three boxes were securely taped shut. It was now dark, which was what we'd been waiting for. We had not wanted to travel with the ducks in boxes on the black bed liner of the dually in the heat of the day. Prior to the run all three had been given an abundance of water. It was an hour and a half to our ranch and we wanted to keep the birds as cool as possible. Therefore they were put at the tail gate area under the tongue of the fifth wheel where they would have air circulating all the way home.

I had reports to file so I worked by the light of my computer screen as we hummed down the Will Rogers Turnpike toward home. Periodically I closed my computer to check on the boxes in the back, or Gary checked his rear view mirrors to do the same. Just as we passed the Claremore, OK exit something in my mind shouted "Birds! Check the birds now!"

Slamming the lid on the computer to end the glare on my side window I looked in my outside mirror to see in horror that one of the boxes was OPEN! "OMIGD! Gary pull over we've got a bird problem!" I hollered. He exited the highway at the next exit to find we were in a construction zone. I watched in horror as the box rose further and further out of the truck bed as he frantically looked for a place to exit that we could safely turn the truck with a fifth wheel behind it into.

Finally we both saw the Hard Rock Casino and he eased through the construction into there as the trailer pushed down on the now nearly out of the truck box. Fearing the worst I jumped out of the truck before Gary even had the truck fully stopped. Rounding the hips of the dually in the dim light of the construction area at the casino all I could see was the box was crushed by the tongue of the trailer and no bird.

Just as tears welled in my eyes I saw the red masque of the male. He was calmly sitting on top of the middle box of the three. The crushed box was the one he'd came out of and it had pinned him ever so slightly, without hurting him onto the lid of the second box, which had given just enough under his weight and pressure. He was completely unharmed!! He was also getting ready to make his escape!

Now those of you who haven't met me don't know I'm a short fat round lady. I'm 5'1" on my tall days, this was not a tall day. We drive a big one ton Chevy Silverado dually. I cannot, normally, reach anything over the sides or tailgate of that truck. But just then, somehow, I managed to boost myself up and grab hold of that bird just as he was shaking his wings free to take flight and hold him firmly in place.

Hollering for Gary to come quick and that the bird was okay I hung on all the while telling the bird to be calm the bright lights and noise were just the Casino and everything was okay. At the word Casino the bird cocked his head and looked around. I swear he smiled at me. His nearly all black body shimmering in the lights he looked around and remained calm. Every time I'd say Casino, he'd react positively. So now that's his name, Casino aka: Cass.

Once Gary got there he took over holding the bird firmly to relieve my aching arms. I then put the tailgate down and loosened the mashed box from where it was penned. It seems while the top of the box had been taped the bottom had not. Someone didn't follow my instructions...

I straightened the box up. Upside down and then Gary and I worked the bird back into the box. Once it was taped firmly Gary slowly rolled it over where the bird and box were then both right side up. At that point I asked if he thought we should go ahead and tape the other two box bottoms. The answer was no. Slowly we worked our way back out to the express way and headed down to the Creek turnpike.

Two miles later Gary uttered a curse word and started exiting onto 11th Street. A second box was rolling up out of the back of the truck. This time on his side. Trouble was being troublesome again. Not thinking ahead of time Gary turned right. The wrong way to go with a big rig we discovered.

Luckily Trouble had not exited his box yet as we stopped. So that tape up job was fixed easily. The problem then was getting turned around. That particular exit, going the direction we had turned leads down to a gravel narrow road with over hanging trees. Definitely NOT the place to take a tall fifth wheel. Luckily that is a very low traffic exit. So in the late night darkness I was out on the highway with a flashlight guiding Gary as he backed UP the ramp far enough to get turned the other direction. Lots of fun I guarantee you considering there is a very DEEP bar ditch on each side of the highway there.

We had decided it was the cord for the trailer lights grabbing the cardboard boxes when we turned a certain way that was flipping them up on end because the middle box never moved an inch. So we rearranged the cord thinking we had solved the problem.

Four miles down the road Casino's box went up on end! AGAIN! It took us to the 161st street exit to find a place to get off that time with Gary crawling along to keep wind from flipping box on out of the truck bed.

Once we were at Wal-Mart I once again rushed out to make sure we didn't have a bird on the loose. Casino was still firmly in his box, but it was standing on end, his tail feathers were up and he was not amused. Muscovies don't quack, they hiss and he was silent. That worried me. As Gary and I lowered him back down to the correct position all the pent up hissing started. This was one mad bird! "Twice in one night!" he was telling me "TWICE! How dare you humans do this too me." He snarled. Soon we sounded like a viper pit as all three drakes hissed and snarled about the indignities they had suffered.

But I wasn't listening, I was trying to figure out what was going on, the cord was still exactly where it should have been. It had not flipped Casino. We'd hauled birds this way many times before and never had such a problem. Not once.

I reassessed the situation and realized what was happening was the birds were walking to the end of the box and then the wind coming through the long air slits Gary had put in the box was lifting the lighter end and turning the boxes up on end. The reason the middle box wasn't lifting was because it was under the actual neck of the hitch and thus blocked from the lifting wind.

I looked at Gary and said "Get the rope!" He made some remark about hanging the birds wouldn't help and I just gave him "the look" He got the rope. We tied it from one side of the truck bed, over the boxes and to the other side of the bed. Problem solved. There were no rising boxes after that for the remaining 45 minutes of our trip.

At home Gary asked me what the third bird's name was going to be. "Lucky." I responded. He said he thought if any bird was Lucky it would be Cass, because he survived nearly being crushed, twice. I said no the middle one that was both white and black, was Lucky because it never got turned upside down. He thought about it as we drug the garden cart carrying all three boxes to the back to release the birds into the cover of darkness and finally said. "I guess you are right, he was the lucky one."

As soon as his box was open Trouble took off for the woods, he was still pissed about being boxed in the first place. The next morning he was out eating with the other birds, so I guess he's forgiven us now.

The boys have had to fight their fair share of battles the last two days. That pecking order thing you know. Casino has already became second husband to our pretty little blue Muscovy hen Cinderella.

I saw Lucky flirting with our chocolate Muscovy hen Red Cocoa Von, yesterday. Trouble is still battling with Jeffery Dalmer, the feather eating black and white Muscovy drake, over who is going to squire one of the mallard hens. So I guess all are doing fine despite trying to literally fly down the highway Friday night.

Want to know more about Muscovies, my favorite non-duck ducks? Google the words "Muscovy Pictures" and you'll find many a web page out there. I personally think the boys a bit ugly, but the hens are beautiful.

I, in fact, prefer Muscovies over regular ducks for numerous reasons. They are much quieter, they are great mousers, they can perch in trees–at least my hens do, my drakes are too fat. They are great moms and will broody any egg given them. They also lay numerous eggs a year.

Jan who will definitely check for tape on the boxes and rope them in herself in the future in OK