They come with the territory. Anytime there’s feed for horses or cattle or even dogs, they’re going to arrive to see what they can salvage from the smorgasbord. You may have the cleanes…
Source: Riding with a Rat
Riding with a Rat
They come with the territory. Anytime there’s feed for horses or cattle or even dogs, they’re going to arrive to see what they can salvage from the smorgasbord. You may have the cleanest barn in the neighborhood, which we do, thanks to my OCD husband who blows out the barn aisle at every opportunity.
For the first time last evening, we saw a little unwanted guest. I, of course, am using that particular adjective loosely. Anything larger than a chipmunk should be charged rent. I heard my husband yelling, “Did you see him? Did you see him? You almost stepped on him!” That was a tidbit that I didn’t need to hear.
It turns out the interloper ran from the front of the barn all the way to the other end and disappeared. The little bugger. I never got an eyeball on him.
“Was it a mouse or a rat?” I’m not sure why that really makes any difference but it does. We horse people are a weird lot. Mice….hmm. They’re cute. Rats! It’s like the elephant in the closet.
“It was about this big.” He held his hands apart about 6″…. yep that’s a rat.
“Well he’s gone now and honestly, all the food is in a metal container. I wouldn’t worry.”
We headed up to the house without a second thought.
The next morning, my husband decided to mow the front lawn before noon. I don’t know about you, but I love the sound of a mower. It brings back childhood memories; the smell of fresh-cut grass, the distance hum of the mower and the memory of my father whipping around on his riding mower with his favorite farmer’s cap perched on his head. My husband is the same. He loves his zero turn, taking great pride in making sure the lines are even and level. Wanting to complete the lawn before the sun got too hot, he was in a particular jaunty mood, turning corners on a dime, zipping right along. Not only was my husband enjoying the ride, so was the rat.
Of course, the stowaway wasn’t discovered until my husband stopped to blow off the debris that collects in the filter. While he’s at it, he blows everything off. That’s when he discovered “Harold” literally flying off the mower when he got caught in the crosshairs. Then the real fun began.
In an effort to hide from both from my husband’s blower and further airborne torment, “Harold” darted into, of all things, our garage which was only open for the guy working on our base boards. In hot pursuit, my husband followed, cornered him and revved up his blower again. Once more, “Harold” was sent airborne, flying in a perfect five foot arch before landing outside the garage. His little legs working overtime, he scrambled toward the screened portch in the back of the house, my husband unsuccessfully trying to send him airborne into our neighbor’s pasture.
I heard a frantic thumping on the door.
“Get Charlie! CHARLIE! Come here Charlie! Rat! Get ’em boy!”
Charlie is our jackshitz…part Jack Russell, part Shitzu. Now you would think any dog with Jack Russell blood would take off like a lawn dart after such a prize catch but after leaping out the door in excitement, all Charlie could do was look up at my husband as if to say, “Yea, so? What am I supposed to do about him?”
“Harold”- unable to climb up the screen eventually took off toward the back yard and tried to disappear into the brush, with my husband, blower revved up to the highest rpm level, right on his tail, no pun intended. I would like to be able to say there is photographic documentation of this. An airborne rat is not something you see everyday. Unfortunately, as with most delightful escapades, it’s a visual one can only imagine.
Ah, life on a farm. It’s never boring.
Shadow
He showed up one afternoon and settled down to watch us from a safe distance. We had recently purchased this farm and had begun the cleanup process…an endeavor not for the faint of heart. In order to entice boarders to our facility, we had to erase years of neglect starting with permanent residents who made it quite clear they resented having their solid webs being vacuumed out of existence.
“Where did he come from?” my husband enquired.
“Who?” I answered, not taking my eyes off a particularly defensive wolf spider.
“That dog over there.”
As if aware he was the subject of discussion, the dog lifted his head, thumping his tail once.
Being a sucker for stray animals, I stepped down off the ladder and slowly walked over to him. Curious but not certain of my intentions, he quickly stood up and walked a few steps away.
“Man, boy, do you smell!” I exclaimed. It was obvious that although he had remained in the area, he belonged to no one in particular. He wagged his tail some more. Yes, I do . I’m really happy you noticed and you’re still petting me!”
As time went on, we gleaned a little more information about him from our neighbors. General consensus said he’d turned up almost four or five years ago, most likely dumped. A “hitch in his get along” indicated he’d been struck by a car. He’d survived all those years going from house to house, becoming a familiar fixture enough that he earned a minimum of at least three names we know of: King, Romeo and Buddy. He answered to none of them, choosing instead to drift, friendly yet aloof.
Most definitely a chow mix, he captured my heart immediately. His warm eyes were hopeful but he remained aloof. I’m not ready to trust you but I think I’m willing to give you a chance. I withdrew. He settled in again.
At the end of the day, as we walked up to the cottage, the dog followed at a safe distance. Later, when we piled into the truck to drive to the hardware store he ran after us for nearly half a mile, desperate to keep us in sight. It was heartbreaking.
That was the pattern for the next few days until finally, after bribing him with canned dog food and his own kibble bowl, he approached us. Yes, I think you are the ones I have been waiting for. I stroked his head as he looked up me with limpid brown eyes. His tail never stopped its slow, metronome tempo.
“Man, boy, do you smell!” I exclaimed. It was obvious that although he had remained in the area, he belonged to no one in particular. He wagged his tail some more. Yes, I do . I’m really happy you noticed and you’re still petting me!”
As time went on, we gleaned a little more information about him from our neighbors. General consensus said he’d turned up almost four or five years ago, most likely dumped. A “hitch in his get along” indicated he’d been struck by a car. He’d survived all those years going from house to house, becoming a familiar fixture enough that he earned a minimum of at least three names we know of: King, Romeo and Buddy. He answered to none of them, choosing instead to drift, friendly yet aloof and watchful, until we came along.
We named him Shadow, for obvious reasons for wherever we were, he wasn’t far away. He didn’t run, he ambled…slowly, deliberately. Once in awhile he would break into a slow trot but it never lasted too long. He was an old soul wrapped in a thick chestnut coat; a master of casual cool. The neighbors across the street owned four boxers who remained contained inside a chain link fence, a territory they guarded ferociously. On a regular basis, Shadow would cross the street, antagonizing those boxers. Deliberately, and I suspect with canine relish, he would meander next to their fence and nonchalantly pee as you please, oblivious to their frenzied barking. He may have been neutered, but he still had balls.
There was an instinctive gentleness about him. On a farm dotted with mature oaks, squirrels are abundant. Surprisingly, baby squirrels drop out of trees on a regular basis. One afternoon, Shadow came ambling up from the barn carrying what we thought was an old shoe. What he dropped at my feet was a baby squirrel he’d gently carried up from the barn. Left alone, the squirrel wouldn’t have stood a chance. To this day, I don’t what compelled Shadow to carefully cradle the helpless animal in his mouth to drop it my feet but four weeks later, we released that same animal in a nearby tree.
Perhaps Shadow fell in love with our walking ottoman, Abby or reveled in the constant pestering from Charlie, our ADD Jack-Shitz. People often remarked how lucky Shadow was to find our family. The truth is, we were the lucky ones. He’d experienced first hand the worst behavior humans are capable of yet retained the sweetness of a gentle soul. He deserved so much more than life had given him. It may have taken a few years to choose a permanent family but when he did, he remained loyal and protective to the very end.
The truth of the matter is this. One doesn’t find these creatures. These wonderful animals, whether they be feline, equine or canine, find you and our lives are so much richer because of it.
Three Little Wrens
Spring and early summer means birds nesting, hidden eggs in some hideaway, the loud chirping of mother birds and the eventual shallow squeaking of the babies when they respond. This is especially true in barns. I mean, what bird could possibly resist? Shafts of golden straw and hay, strands of long hair from horse rubbing their manes on fences all woven together with Spanish Moss from nearby Oak trees.
We were lucky to have two separate nests this summer…of course, when the mother flew up from seemingly nowhere, it caused our hearts to jump. Fortunately, she situated her second nest in a less conspicuous stall and we were able to monitor the babies from a safe distance.
One morning, while emptying the water buckets to refill while the horses were in the paddocks, we were alarmed to discover what I previously thought to be a “road apple” turned out to be drowned wren. Could it be the mother? We crept into the unoccupied stall to check out the now fledgling babies. Immediately three gaping mouths reached upward to receive food, obviously hungry.
Damn!
As animal lovers, we were worried without their mother they wouldn’t last much longer. Immediately, we googled “what to feed fledglings”. Isn’t Google wonderful? I never realized I’d done it wrong all those years ago. Under definite no-no list was bread and water. Surprisingly, soaked dog kibble (very soft) or crushed meal worms. I opted for the soaked kibble and a small syringe, all the while reminding myself their stomachs were half the size of a pea.
Frankly, we didn’t think they would last throughout the night but we tucked them in, made sure their nest remained intact and placed a small wool towel around the base.
The next morning we were greeted with three gaping mouths and high pitched squeaks. Hallelujah…we hadn’t killed them.
About two days later, we heard what was definitely a mature wren chirping quite loudly. Who knew such
a small bird could emit a sound 10x its size? We continued to feed them but since we were now being scolded, we let the male bird take over…or what we thought was the dad.
Doing night check the following evening, we noticed the wee three amigos perched together on the stall door. We had watched the activity from the previous day. Obviously 
the parent had encouraged his entourage to spread their wings. It had only taken 24 hours for them to leave the comfort of the only home they had known up until then and begin their journey into the great beyond. Fortunately, we were able to photograph them before they disappeared entirely.
We are happy to report, the next morning they hopped from hay bale to hay bale before flying to the window and taking that final leap into the unknown. I’d like to think we played a small part in their success if only with a few meals.
Memories of Summer
In response to https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/summer/
Lazy afternoons,
Lying in the tall grass
watching billowing clouds
slowly floating past.
Grilled hot dogs, chips
and root beer floats.
Jumping in puddles
wearing yellow raincoats.
Running with sparklers
on the Fourth of July
capturing lightening bugs
right out of the sky.
searching for crawdads
in the creek down the road.
The smell of green grass
that has been freshly mowed.
“Hide ‘n Seek”, “Red Rover”
“Ollie Ollie Oxen Free”
Games played with friends
when we were carefree.
Catching a snowflake
on the tip of your tongue,
climbing a tree
just because it’s so fun.
Tire swings that arc
over the swimming hole
and the best cannonball
was the ultimate goal.
Those nostalgic moments
that I can recall
Were idyllic moments
all in all.
.
The True Definition of Perfection
In response to DAILY PROMPT They sat together as they had for years, tucked away in their booth, out of the way from the hustle and bustle of the kitchen. Close enough to watch the fascinating d…
The True Definition of Perfection
In response to DAILY PROMPT https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/perfection/
They sat together as they had for years, tucked away in their booth, out of the way from the hustle and bustle of the kitchen. Close enough to watch the fascinating dance of waiters carrying well balanced food trays weaving between tables covered with white linen cloths.
Slowly, he reached across to grasp her hand in a loving gesture of perfect harmony. He felt the softness of her skin and rubbed his thumb over the familiar simple gold wedding ring. A perfect moment where the din of the banging cutlery and china faded into silence. It was their anniversary and here, they could have their own miniature celebration before joining friends later that evening.
For those sitting nearby, their display of perfect affection drew slow smiles of appreciation and yet those witnesses probably didn’t comprehend the thoughts behind the value of perfection.
Perfection to him didn’t mean flawless or a fashion magazine’s interpretation of ideal beauty. No. As he caressed her hand, he could feel the soft skin dotted with well earned age spots and permanent creases. Cerulean blue eyes met his gaze…ones that had seen much edged with radiating crow’s feet signifying decades of laughter and joy. Lines from the corners of her eyes showed where life’s tragic events created a path for tears. Together, they had survived life’s struggles, family tragedy and experienced the most joyous moments life has to offer. When he looked at her, he saw imperfect perfection. The silver hair, the glasses, the soft lines of living and the knowledge that together they had weathered the good and the bad. In sadness, they had discovered strength. In happiness, they had experienced inner peace. In frustration, they had learned the importance of patience. Ultimately, their imperfect life was perfect.
It never gets old
Two days old. Watching her arrival into this world on spindly legs that she fought to control. Now running and trying to splash in the water trough. Never gets old.
Left to left
I knew the news was bad about Philippa hours before it was ever released. I was doing what I always do on the weekends of the “big ones.” Scrolling through Eventing Nation, constantly refreshing, trying to see the latest update or the most recent scores. My trainer Allie was four or five riders away in the 3*, and I just wanted to know if she had gone clean; if she was safe. But then I saw that there was a fall, and a hold. Philippa Humphrey’s had come off, which made my stomach sank.
I didn’t know Philippa well. My only knowledge of her was from sharing a warm up arena a few times at the Kentucky Horse Park. When the bigger riders come to compete against you at novice or training, you know. There is an aura around them. A confidence. And yet as I passed her left to…
View original post 1,009 more words
Repurposed, Reloved, Recycle
I admit it. I’m a sucker for an old, worn wonderful piece of furniture. If it looks sturdy enough and it strikes my fancy, chances are better than average it will wind up in the back of my Jetta Sportwagen for the quick trip back to our garage for a revamp. (On a side note, it’s amazing how much one can fit in the back of that VW. They’ve come a long way from the Beetle) Long ago I gave up trying to sneak any new found treasure into the garage without being discovered. My DH instinctively knew. I don’t know how. He would be standing near the door, arms crossed with a hint of the “stinkeye”. You know the look. One eyebrow raised, lips pursed, wanting to ask why I was delving into another project but knowing it might not be safe to do so – conveying this thought through body language. However this time I felt there was a valid reason. I’ve dabbled in writing most of my life. While I love it, I’m not prolific nor do I write on a regular basis. I admire those who can crank out amazing articles or poems with such ease but I’m more of a percolator. Plots, scenes and story lines play out and rework themselves usually while I’m doing other mundane things.
Worn, scratched but definitely worth it.
Then when it gently falls into place, I try my best to let it flow.
So here I was, walking through one of my favorite unique stores in Orlando, Adjectives Unhinged, when tucked almost from sight, I spied the perfect platform from which I could “let it flow”. Sounds slightly familiar. Well, it was almost perfect. If you could see beyond the red velvet cake mahogany stain, it had the bones and style of something beautiful with three wide drawers neatly placed on either side. It screamed “Take me home! Make me over! ” How could I resist?
Trying to be environmentally correct, I began using
A little elbow grease…
a low VOC water based remover but this stain wasn’t melting off like icing. I had to bring out the big guns. After some diligent scraping, the remover revealed the rich grain long hidden by the mahogany stain. Unfortunately, the desktop still retained too much red for my taste so I selected a gel stain from General Finishes called Java. After applying it, I could understand why.
Show a little leg!
I’m sure the most of the DIY’ers out there have heard of Annie Sloan Chalk Paint. Adjectives Unhinged carries all her colors and although I hadn’t tried the product before, I was drawn to Duck Egg Blue.
Duck Egg Blue isn’t really blue but a soft mixture of grey and blue. It really complemented the darker wood of the desk top. Chalk Paint is an interesting product which I don’t think I would use for every project but in this particular case, the results far exceeded what I could have ever hoped for. Her dark wax added depth to the lower portion and it was easy to manipulate. If I added a little too much dark wax, the clear wax buffed away the mistake. Pretty nifty. For those of you who have used Annie Sloan Chalk Paint, what are your favorite colors?
J’ai fini!
This will occupy a spot in front of a large picture window overlooking a green pasture. Beyond the fence line is a field regularly occupied with cows and their calves. I can almost feel the juices percolating. Time to finish editing that mystery thriller since I no longer have any excuses to procrastinate.
Oh, I would be very remiss if I didn’t acknowledge my loyal crew who stuck with me throughout the process. They may not give advice but they sure made the journey worthwhile. Besides, Oscar (the overly relaxed soul on the left) now has a place to sleep other than draping himself over my keyboard. Charlie can sleep safely underneath.
The “Crew”
Going Out On A Whim 