Barefoot and Pregnant?

I know I promised a blog with pictures of Taco Dog's adventures in the goat pen. Alas I've been swamped with other things, primarily being a parent and making the "best decision" even though it makes me cry. Jolene had to skip her last volleyball game and instead come home and study, but that's another blog. Anyway...This last Saturday, Rod came by and felt up the girls. I'm very excited.

To begin, Jolene and I had to rearrange panels and do all the regular ranch chores. The fun came later. As I was pulling T posts and scooting Jenny Cow (technically still a heifer but you get the point) out of my way, Jolene was filling water troughs and feeding the critters in the barn. I yelled at her to get me a bag of range cake/cow cookies. She had been driving the ATV from pasture to pasture with the hose and back to the barn for about an hour. Instead of dumping the fifty pound bag of range cake on the ATV and bringing it to me, she decided to throw it over her shoulder and haul it 'old school' as she says, over to the cow pasture. It didn't go as I would have planned but I'm sure dropping it in the driveway and putting a hole in the paper bag was in Jolene's plan.
She did it on purpose, I'm sure. She wanted to make sure that I left my duties to assist her with the bag. After rescuing the range cake from certain scattering, I released Jolene to return to her piddling. I got my catch pen and squeeze chute placed just as I wanted and went to seek out Jolene. She was kissing Taco Goat, (clearly not Taco Dog, a whole other species) and feeding peppermints to the donkeys, Tansy and Ellie. I told her I was ready and she said that she had completed her chores as well. We jaunted down to the chicken coops and collected eggs. As we were returning to the barn, Rod pulled up with his magic tank of frozen straws.He glanced at the girls and opened his magic tank. We pushed, pulled, and finally bribed Jersey Cow into the chute. Bing, Bang, Boom it was done. Jersey squeezed her wide girth out the front of the chute and we yanked Jenny Cow in. Jenny was nervous, asked all kinds of questions, requested a reprieve (which I denied), and asked about government provided parenting classes. I told her not to worry and relax. Soon enough Jenny's date was complete too.

We gave both girls a few cookies and chit chatted with Rod for a few minutes. Rod sealed up his magic tank and he was off again. Jolene and I rushed to the house to get a shower before heading to the Creek. Jersey was left standing it the pasture with a look of dissatisfaction. How now brown cow, don't you worry with any luck next August you will have a new bouncy bundle of joy.

Oh Saturday, the time we have!

So the weekend started out like any other. We failed to set the alarm for Saturday morning. Since there was no possibility of a blaring annoyance in the morning, the Universe must have posted a memo to the dogs, stating that it was okay to sleep in. We woke up at 727am. We were scheduled to leave for Ordway at 730am. The Bean had a volleyball game. I wanted a shower but Shelly felt the need to consume all of the hot water in 7.2 minutes. We managed to get out of the house at 8am, and actually arrived on time.

Bean and I had originally planned to check out a firearm exhibit at a museum in Canon City. Since Shelly is not he museum type we opted for a pumpkin patch and corn maze. Shelly acted more like the 11 year old than Bean did. Fun was had by all, pumpkins picked out and maze conquered, we headed out of town after our usual cherry dipped ice cream cone from Dairy Queen.

On the way back to the ranch we stopped to watch a herd of cattle being pushed back to their pasture behind the fence. They had been free range grazing for most of the summer along the county road. Along the side of a hill were two little boys with their terrier watching what I only assume were their parents on horseback pushing the cattle. The whole scene made me nostalgic. I'm not sure of what or why, but I just had the feeling.


When we arrived back at the ranch, after a change of clothes and a bathroom break we all headed down to the barn. Jersey and Jenny were scheduled for a 5cc shot of Lutalyse. Both girls will be having a happy, happy moment with a straw of swimmers from a beautiful bull named Jamal on the 23rd of this month. I'm very excited. Since our squeeze chute is at Phoenix Ranch, we just walk the girls up between two panels. Since there isn't a 'back' to the two panels someone has to stand at the hind end and keep the bovine from backing out. I'm not sure why I generally get that job, but I do. It's not discussed, it just happens. Shelly stands outside the panels with the syringe I get behind the behind of the cow. We start with Jenny, the heifer, she walks up between the panels without too much trouble. I pull the panels in and squeeze her a bit, she resists a bit and tries to back out. I push her forward again and grab the bars on the panels to hold her in place. Shelly jabs her with her finger a couple of times in the rump and then sticks her with the needle. As I watcher her inject the hormone, I feel a warmth oozing down my abdomen. Then I smell the warmth. My oh so cute, little heifer let loose and pooed all over my University of Kansas sweat shirt. As soon as the injection is completed I open the panel and let Jenny out. I look down at my sweatshirt and see the splotch of stinky feces oozing down my body. My clothes are stuck to my body. In an attempt to rectify the sticky situation I put my hand in the pocket of jacket only to discover that the poo has filled it and is now covering my fingers and under my nails. The smell is overwhelming. I don't do well with poo, of any sort. Shelly and Bean are laughing uncontrollably. Shelly helps me shuck the jacket and we push Jersey up between the panels. Jersey is usually predictable, as she was today. She separated her back legs, lifts her tail and lets it go. I wait until she's finished and push her up in the panels. Shelly gives her the injection and we let her out. Both girls laugh at me again. I grab my sweatshirt and head to the barn. I strip down in the wash rack. I hose off my boots and put them back on. I'm now standing in the wash stall with my bra and undies, sporting my classy cowboy boots. Bean helps me rinse out my sweatshirt. She sticks the hose in the pocket and makes noises as the poo flows out of the other side. We finish with my clothes and flop them on the side of bed of the truck. I climb in, still wearing very little and we head to the house. Bean drives to the end of our drive and instructs me that I will have to walk to the cabin as she and Shelly are going to feed the chickens. That's the last time I let the 11 year old drive. She was mistaken thinking I was going to walk up the drive in my undies.

After completing evening chores, letting dogs in, letting dogs out and letting dogs in again, and feeding the outside cats we settle in to a relaxing evening. Shelly and Bean decide that a little play on the Wii is in order and retire to my bedroom with my computer as I have clinical notes to catch up on. After about an hour of which I completed zero notes and winning 3 dollars of "real money" playing online poker I venture back out into the living room to check the progress of the video gaming. I see the tail of what I think is a cat outside eating the cat food. I approach the patio door to see which cat it is and find an itty bitty skunk chomping on the cat's food. I inform the girls and everyone gets up to see the unusual site on the porch. We watch for minute and then the skunk starts to wander off. Everyone resumes their places on the couch and I see another skunk, only bigger than the first. The larger one finishes off the cat food, sniffs around the wood box and then ventures off the porch into the darkness.
I guess in the end it was a pretty normal Saturday.

The Long, when it should have been very short.

Last evening the pager toned information about a possible structure fire in our district. Since Shelly was busy working in Cripple Creek for the emergency service there, I was left to cover our district. Since the Bean was home and was planning an eventful, slumber party like evening, I had planned to just call our ambulance out of service. Instead Bean got very excited and asked if we could go. I explained that we might be sitting the ambulance for a long time with nothing to do. She claimed that she understood. So instead of eating junk food while snuggled with critters on the couch and watching some movie that we know every line to, we rushed to the rig and headed out.
Turns out it wasn't a structure fire but a small wildland fire. After two hours of playing "911 Paramedic" (and killing every patient) on the computer, discovering that the port-a-potties at the Four Mile Church are locked, asking what every button in the ambulance is for, and begging to test my blood glucose level the kiddo had finally had it and pleaded to go home. Since the scene of the fire was only about two miles from the ranch and the awesome Four Mile Crew was pretty much done, I gave into the 5th grader's whining and we came home.

After letting dogs out, letting dogs in, picking out a movie, and arguing about teeth brushing we settled in. We opted for a movie that was playing on television. After one of the commercial breaks Bean said, "Mom, I don't understand that." I asked what she was talking about and she referred to the "What Happens in Vegas" ad that had just aired.She asked if Vegas was like Cripple Creek. I explained that both places allowed gambling but Las Vegas is much bigger than Cripple Creek. I tried to explain the slogan from the commercial but failed miserably. Instead of saying, "Oh okay I get it now." She said, "So, if everything stays in Vegas, if you win money you have to leave it there?" What? She went on, "Why would anyone even want to go? Dad goes to Vegas a lot, he won't leave money anywhere." Hmmmm, just where did I go wrong? I tried again, this time explaining decisions made after drinking copious amounts of alcohol and secret bonds of friendships made during spontaneous and sometimes questionable situations. She asked if I had ever been in any of those situations. I told her that I hadn't been to Vegas in a long time but that I had did have some of those "secret bonds." She wanted to know all the details.
So for example, what is discussed over a cherry dip cone and a half stick of gum is sacred. I still eat cherry dip cones outside the presence of a certain friend but it's just not the same. It made an appearance (with planning and effort) the day I married the boy, it was present during deep conversations and afternoons filled with laughter. It can mean lots of things but most importantly it means, "I'm here for you no matter what happens."
And a half stick of gum...well I still trying to figure that one out. Who really only chews a half a stick of gum?
Then I explained that sometimes certain situations can cement friendships. Like when you miss the left turn at Chicago and end up eating cheese curds in a Culvers Restaurant in Wisconsin and then turning around to take pictures of round barns, or going out of the way to buy a quart of cream from a raw dairy.
Then I used the raggedy old John Deere shirt as another example. I told her that I still have it because it reminds me of an evening that I spent with the Aunts and only they know how I ended up with it.
I tried to use several other examples. In the end I talked a lot but didn't really say anything that Bean found of value. She finally rolled her eyes and said, "Okay Mom, I get it. You could have just said whatever stupid thing you do in Vegas, your mom won't find out about." My daughter is not going to Vegas until I'm in a home with senility.

Sometimes I can really over explain things.

Busy Season?

I've had lots of people comment to me lately that things at the ole rancho must be busy as I haven't updated my blog lately. That's pretty much the truth. Things are always busy here though. I really should not use that as an excuse for slacking on the writing. The whole truth is much more boring. Shelly hasn't done anything silly, I need material. Shelly did pass on a little story about Evelyn (Shelly's mom) getting peed on by one of the dogs. That should be good enough for me to embellish. Alas I wasn't there and I can't seem to fill in the blanks.

Here is what has been happening:

I got bored one evening and ripped apart a pallet and made my niece the Alien a little picnic table.


Here it is in it's natural form, which means it is full of staple holes, nail holes, it has warped boards and lots of places to get splinters.

Here it is painted green, after a little sanding too. Still has those warped boards though. I was able to complete it with mostly recycled material. I had to buy wood screws but the wood came from one pallet and the paint was left over from some project of the past. Now I'm brainstorming on what to create from lousy, splintery pallet wood for the nephew.

Jersey Cow is in full milk again. We sold Pasquale the calf to the Plumber Donnie. Actually we traded. If there is a barter to be made, I'm on it. Donnie the Plumber has been out to the ranch a couple of times lately. The first time he came out and tightened a screw so that the ice maker/water dispenser on the new fridge wouldn't leak. I managed to convince him that Shelly was feeling weak and that's why we had to have him out. I paid him in beef jerky. The next time he was called to replace the toilet guts at the renter's house and adjust the flow of a hydrant. He got a three month old, newly steered calf on that visit. In hindsight, I think I got the short end. I didn't mind trading the calf for the work. I had to castrate the guy with an elastrator band before they hauled him off. Apparently being squished with a panel and having someone fiddle with your testicles is not a pleasurable experience. The darn bovine decided that my white tshirt needed enhancing, and he pooed all over me as I removed my applicator pliers.

Pasquale at one day old.

I'm a little sad knowing that he will be dinner for Plumber Donnie's family however I know that up until then he will be treated with honor and respect. AND...Jersey is more than happy to head to the milking stand. Today she gave me just over three gallons of milk. I only milk once a day, around 1030 in the morning. Jersey is at the gate every morning mooing as if to say good morning and ask me how I'm doing. There is a connection between milker and milkee. Jersey is patient most days. If I upset her routine or so something that she just doesn't like she will let me know in some fashion. I have enlisted a friend to milk her one day per week. In exchange for milking her, he gets that days milk. My friend is overjoyed with the arrangement. Jersey is not as impressed. She tends to wait until he is almost done milking. Enough milking is completed to make her feel better, relieve the pressure of a full udder (I'm sure anyone that has breastfed can relate.) and then she lifts her tail and pees. So my friend has worked hard to fill his bucket with milk only to have to ruined by a splatter of urine from a sassy cow. I'm hoping that she will come to accept the arrangement. I swear she scolds me the day after. Tells me that I have some nerve to let someone else squeeze her teats.


I am so thankful for the milk and I'm sure to tell Jersey everyday. I think it's safe to say that I'm a milkaholic. I LOVE milk. I had a fellow counselor tell me once that I was addicted to the histamine dump that milk provided. Okay, whatever-->I know that I really like milk. Since I've been squeezing my own, either from my cow or one of my goats my addiction has increased. I have not had store bought milk for over a year. I hope to never have to again. I'll save my raw milk, homegrown, No Farms->No Food speech for another time. Just know I love milk. So today since I had just over three gallons I strained the extra into a Kerr jar and placed it in the coldest part of the fridge. After I returned from being bounced around in the tractor I found that my extra milk was good and cold. I squirted in some chocolate, screwed the lid on and gave it a shake! YUM!


Unfortunately we've been busy on the emergency service end too. We've had several interesting calls and one helicopter take off that almost made me wet myself. Recently a wildland fire had our awesome crew working 24 hours plus in a row. Four Mile Emergency Service is just an extraordinary group of people.

So in short those are a few of the festivities. We did manage to have a family day a couple of weekends ago. We took the kiddo to the Royal Gorge Bridge and Park.


It's just down the road. Just down the way is an old west town attraction, Buckskin Joe's. On the way to the bridge all three of us commented on Buckskin Joe's, saying that we should stop on the way out. On the way out, we commented saying that it wasn't too far from the house and we will make it a point to come see it sometime. I had been there as a kid, Shelly and Jolene had never been. At any rate we didn't visit the attraction that day. Later that evening, I was watching the news and discovered that Buckskin Joe's had been sold for something like 2.2 million and would be closing it's doors FOREVER the next day. Sometimes I just wonder about my sense of timing.
Other than the usual daily ranch stuff; we've had a couple of lambs, the turkeys are getting big and making noises, I've sent a few goats off to other homes and somehow accumulated a few too. At the end of each day I try and take a few moments and reflect on how wonderful my life is and am thankful to live on this beautiful mountain. Now I just need to find a few minutes to start working on Halloween costumes and creepy food!

You wouldn't believe it!

Shelly is a wonderful person, even if I get cranky with her, bicker with her on a daily basis. However, she does have a way of trying to credit someone else with her "animal" decisions.

Once in awhile, the ranch breaks my heart. Yesterday, Shelly had to load up the remaining Highland cows and transport them to their new home. Shelly assured me that the girls will be very happy and have a great new home with loving caretakers. The day before, I left Shelly with the terrible duty of putting one of my Saanen goats down as she had dislocated her hip and we couldn't get it back into place. So, in the short the past couple of days have been emotional. Shelly has emotion phobia. I think it is because I generally have emotion overload. Having emotion overload is not necessarily a bad thing as long as one stays in the same general area with those emotions. I tend to flip between being a crying, weeping, twit to a raging, screaming, ogre. I could understand how that would wear on a person but for goodness sakes she's been exposed to it for more than half a decade now. ADAPT! Okay, that's harsh.So I'm guessing that my recent sadness, started to weigh on Shelly's mind. I was doing okay. On the return trip yesterday, Shelly decided that the local animal shelter needed a visit. A couple of months ago we ventured in to see if they had any dogs that might fit into her parents life. They had recently lost Newton their dog of 13 years. While there I noticed a sweet hound in the back of one of the runs. I commented on him. Shelly said she had been wanting to get me a puppy but figured I'd be happier with a shelter dog. She was right, I am happier with shelter dogs but.....we already have seven dogs. I hope our daughter is incredibly smart as she is going to have to get some serious scholarship money to pay for college and I don't want to tell her that I spent her education money on dog food. At any rate Shelly arrived home with a new dog. I was milling about the ranch with the tribe of Nigerian goats when she pulled into the barn. The goats noticed she was home and took off to meet her. I soon received a text message to come to the barn as she needed help. Upon my arrival I found sweet Dillweed running about with Patch. Shelly started right in with her explanation. It really didn't matter what she said, one look at that sweet face of his and I was hooked. So here we are with dog number eight.
Look for us on that new television show, "Animal Hoarders." I am very blessed. I've always wanted a large family, it's just different than most.

Oh the times we had.

So...Today my Pop would have been 59 years old. As things happen, he left us in September of 2007. I really try not to remember dates such as birthdays, anniversaries, and such. I've been trying really hard to live in the moment. Leading up to this day I couldn't help but remember things. I couldn't help but remember my Pop.

For example this past Monday as I was driving into Florissant I saw a tow truck at the Sinclair station. Pop had a heart attack at this very gas station on St. Pat's day in 1998. He was loading a car onto his tow truck when he said he felt like he had been kicked in the chest by a jackass. Apparently he went inside and asked for help and then decided that he could probably finish loading the car onto the tow truck. This particular day it wasn't the tow truck or the gas station that sent me down that sorrow sweet road of recollection. It was the old Ford truck that was being towed away. Despite what my brother might tell you, Pop was once a FORD Man! I remember several Fords. One was purple in color, maybe plum would a better way to describe it. Before that there was a red one and another red one with a flat bed. The flat bed would shake and shimmy as it would increase in speed. I remember riding on the bed, standing up and looking at the ground pass underneath as I pressed my head in the space between the cab and the headache rack. Our Great Dane, Dana would stand on her hind legs with her front paws atop the roof and enjoy the view through town. He had a pea green, one ton that I drove to swim practices on summer mornings. There was the little blue Ranger from the salvage yard too. Ford trucks make memories flood. I would stand on the seat next to Pop, place my arm around his neck and request the eight track of "Nile Demoned" better know as Neil Diamond. We went fishing in Ford trucks, went to the Minute Market for chicken and Mountain Dew, we went to the A&W for root beer floats. I have a Ford truck too. In fact today, as my kiddo was sitting in the seat beside me and the truck was lugging the trailer full of lambs to the sale I thought of Pop. I think he would have been okay with bouncing down the road in a truck on his birthday.

I think he would be okay with a few other things too, like milk cows. I sat at dinner many evenings and listened to the stories that so many parents tell kids. In fact I find myself telling my kid the same kind of stories. The ones that start with, "When I was your age..." Pop told stories of rushing to cold barns to milk bossy cows before breakfast and school. He told of a grandfather's discipline when things weren't done as they should have been. He told racing on a horse named Jude while riding backwards in the saddle. He made teachable moments of errors made in his youth in attempts to steer the path of his children. He beamed with pride when speaking of his family, and always had a boyish look about him when he spoke of his mother.

Pop, in short was incredible. I'm happy that I've inherited some of his finer traits. Pop passed on special genes like; the prankster gene, the everyone has a nickname gene, the never take a serious picture gene. He made everyday an adventure.

No Rest for the Wicked! Sheesh!

Life is a grand thing and I live in a grand place. Lately this grand place has been filled with lots and lots of grand chores....SO--->I've been slacking from the blog writing. We've had visits from skunks who really enjoy the chicken's eggs and occasionally a chicken. We've rushed to the pastures in pursuit of a mountain lion to find that it's a coyote. We've spent a short period of time each day cleaning up the mess the bear makes each night as it ventures through the ranch in search of a snack. We've been zipping down county roads in the ambulance only to find we didn't have lights in the dark. We've been busy. Lucky we aren't too busy to fish in the rain, and share a few giggles. Life really is grand.