Range to Range

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

Just Chillin'

It’s weaning time on the ranch. I won’t be participating this year, sadly. Wimpy, my old Quarter horse will be celebrating that, as every other year we have worked 11 hour days at the corral and he’d get pretty darn tired. There are boatloads of cows and calves here that have to be worked.

The days are cooling off and the nights are freezing. The little pasture is pretty much down to dirt, which is a good thing, as we have been wanting to replant it with something that will be able to choke out all the foxtail and thistle that tries to grow in there. Next spring, I hope, will have a better pasture for them to graze on. Meanwhile, they spent nights and early mornings there, then I let them out to graze in the old ‘milk pasture’ where there is still a LOT of grass. The ‘sheep pasture’ they have all been living in for the summer will be taken over by some of the weanling calves that come in from the ranch this week.

Mister, my trusty old Paint horse, is nearly recovered from his barbed wire injuries and also has to move. Randyman is fencing a corner off the milk pasture so he can safely stay there for the winter. I am hoping he will be able to access the old kill shed as a shelter, providing the ground does not get too boggy for him to cross. It would make a great little barn for him...only not so little. It’s actually an enormous shed that has been rendered unusable, like the old milk barn, due to a really bad flood years ago. It's overgrown with willows and wild roses, but if he can get thru the boggy spots, he'll have a nice dry place to wait out the storms.

Willy and Moe, EmmaLouMoo and Dolly’s babies from last year had escaped sometime in the spring. My nephew brought them back a few days ago and they are pretty darn big! Our plan has always been to ‘finish’ them and stock some freezers as Christmas gifts. In this economy, I know it is something that is desperately needed and not easy to come by. They look pretty nice just coming off the grass.

The frost at night finished off the garden, so I had to grab what I could for the last time. The brocolli is still doing ok, but I only wound up with 1 plant, so its just a little here and a little there. Lots of squash and tomatoes, jalapenos and a couple bitty pumpkins.

One of my favorite things this summer was zuchinni/cheese sandwiches. It sounds weird but its really good. Just saute' the zuchinni in some butter or ghee and a little garlic salt, then put it between two pieces of bread and two pieces of pepper jack or cheddar cheese and grill it. What I liked the best, is that I made every single ingredient myself. I grew the zuchinnis, made the sourdough whole wheat bread with my own home milled flour, made the ghee and made the cheese. How cool is that?

I've been slowly trying to pull out the ginormous squash plants and toss them over the fence where the sheep and Emmalou enjoy diving in and picking out the good parts. They already pretty much OD'd on sunflowers. No one seems to care much for tomatoes or tomato plants though, which is too bad, because they became quite a jungle over the summer.

I have been trying to spend some time out in the pasture with the dogs and sheep to take my mind off of the things I can no longer do. We wander down the alley to the old milk pasture which is pretty huge with lots of wild terrain there where predators can easily hide. The Maremmas do a perimeter check, cruising through the tall grass and checking under the willows and around the creek. The sheep spread out and glut themselves on the variety of forage out there. At one point, Bruno returns to rest in the shade where he can see both the sheep in the milk pasture, as well as those still behind the fence. Cletus precedes the sheep furthur out where there is more choice in the pickings. He suddenly stands at attention, his tail tightly curled. He barks an alarm and dives through the fence, disappearing in the tall weeds, while the sheep do an aboutface and run directly to Bruno for protection. It's so funny to me, the way they have all worked this out. At night, Bruno does the patrolling and in the event of a problem Cletapotamus makes sure all the stock is near the house and either pushes them up there or stays there with them. By day, they change jobs and Bruno rests and remains with the stock while Cletus confronts any threat that may occur. If it's in the same pasture they both pounce on it, but if it takes them away from the stock, only one dog will go. Even more interesting is that the sheep know which dog to run to or follow at any given time.

A happy Salty, headed for the big Buffet

The 'polar bears' doing a security check

Headed for the safety and security of Bruno

waiting for the all clear.

Cletus remained in the other pasture out of our sight for the rest of the day. That's where the goats have been hanging out and there has been at least 1 coyote seen out there frequently. The dogs are working all the time, even when they don't look like it. I can walk up and step right over them without their twitching an ear, or opening an eye, but if a raptor flies over head, they are instantly in pursuit. All this, and they still have time for...

SYNCHRONIZED PEEING!!

When do they find time to practice? I don't know, but these two are like book ends. They always have been. Sometimes I think I am seeing double.

Note* They are even walking in sync

If you want to know what teamwork and efficiency looks like, these are the guys to watch.

Friday, October 5, 2012

In Defense

Due to some complications in my life, I have not been blogging much lately. I will spare you the details.

One night, however, was noteworthy. Randyman had been called away to fight fire again, this time in the next state. Home alone, I had all the chores to do myself. It took a little longer than usual, of course. Before dark, coyotes started howling close-by. Their voices rose in crescendo and through out the night, I could hear them from all directions, surrounding us. About midnight it got so bad that Cletapotamus returned to stay close to the sheep so nothing could get by him. This seems to be a mutual understanding between the Maremmas, when things get out of hand. He had a shallow slash across his muzzle where it looked like he might have been in a scrap. He’s never gotten one from play-fighting before, so I suspected he had engaged a threat. I was grateful for his heavy coat which acts as a kind of shield against fangs and claws.

Bruno stayed out alone, running the perimeter trying to keep the predators at bay. I spent a sleepless night, both creeped out by the howling and worrying about Bruno, who was now on his own and outnumbered.

Potamus was still with the sheep in the morning when I went to feed. Bruno was nowhere to be found. I filled all the waterers and served all the animals and could still hear an occasional coyote as late as 9 in the morning. I’ve never found a coyote howling to be ‘romantic’, like in the songs and movies. I think of my neighbor’s small dog in California, that was snatched in the middle of the day just 3 yards from where we were talking and the kids in cities who have been stalked and attacked, as well as the hundreds of thousands of domestic animals that have been slaughtered by them. I think of when I have witnessed a pack harrying a cow and engage her in fending them off, while the others came around behind her and killed her calf she was so valiantly trying to protect. I think of the calves we have found that became warm meals for coyotes while still in the process of being born. The coyote is a canny beast who can adapt to any situation and thrive, including city living. I worry about my stock and my pets and my LGDs. Several small dogs on the ranch have been lost to the packs. For someone whose life and experience is far from living with the reality of the threat, their perception might be different.

It was not a restful night for me.

Just as I was finishing up morning chores, Bruno showed up, slowly making his way to me. I opened the gate up and he collapsed in the shade of it. I’ve never seen a young dog so exhausted. He couldn’t even make it to his food. He did not stir for over 3 hours. At the risk of his own life and well being, he had singlehandedly spent the entire night running, barking, advancing, to keep the enemy at bay and protect those he chose to protect. Even after Cletus had returned to stand watch over the stock from a more secure position, Bruno fought on.

By day the coyotes have been making it into the very pastures where the sheep are grazing. Even after a full night of patrolling, the ‘boys’ have to remain vigilant all day in order not to fail. They do it without expectation of compensation or gratitude, although gratitude is all I have to offer them. They are just born responsible, compassionate and sacrificial.

I think of our American soldier, on the front lines and bases across the world, protecting us here at home. As with Bruno and Cletus, I have nothing to offer them but my heartfelt appreciation. They do it out of a sense of honor and loyalty. It’s not for the reward, as they are poorly compensated, under appreciated and often overworked, over-faced and overwhelmed.

In a world that is growing increasingly more hostile, more dangerous, more unstable, our troops fight on against almost impossible odds. More recently, they have received far too little support, in numbers, hardware, recognition, moral support and national esteem. Many give the last full measure of devotion, as they are struck down, often in the prime of life and become a mere statistic for the cable network news scrawl.

In a recent disaster when 2 of our elite Navy Seals, our Ambassador and another American were brutally tortured and murdered in Benghazi, the only thing that is clear, is that they did not have adequate protection. Regardless of who is at fault, or what information may surface out of future investigations, that one fact is certain. They were unprepared, unprotected, underarmed and outnumbered. As a result, their families are left with nothing but grief and loss.

Recently soldiers were killed at Fort Bastion in Afghanistan, as well as $200 million in military hardware destroyed, yet the media remains all but silent, lauding trivialities such as political ‘gotcha' videos in their place.

Our heroes are all but forgotten and America is letting them and their families down.

Those who make it back, find jobs scarce, food and gas prices skyrocketing and life overall, increasingly challenging.

Soon defense budgets are about to take alarming cuts under sequestration, ($ billions) affecting both jobs at home and military readiness. Our men and women are already receiving minimal troop support, less protection and often inadequately fortified protective equipment and this is only going to make things worse.

The Middle East is burning, Turkey and Syria exchange salvos, Russia is saber rattling, China and Japan are on the threshold of war, Israel is under threat of being 'wiped off the map' and as N Korea flexes its muscles, Iran is going nuclear as Ahmadinajad boasts about bringing on Armageddon. Closing our eyes, singing peace songs and ‘minding our own business’ is not going to change the state of current affairs, or keep us safe. The threats surrounding us, both within and without are increasing and our military which has voluntarily vowed to protect us, is being systematically weakened.

This trend can be changed and turned around. It’s up to us. This is not a time to abdicate our responsibility as citizens and insulate ourselves in our private worlds as though the threat to America and the world doesn't exist. It is a time to step up and provide the support and protection, which our heroes and thru them our families, both deserve and require. I implore you, register to vote and use your vote wisely. Do it for all of us, but mostly for the ‘boys’(both men and women) and for those at home for whom they sacrifice.

We cannot morally or responsibly allow this course to continue, anymore than I could allow my dogs to be defanged and chained up, leaving them to watch their sheep defenselessly slaughtered alongside them.

My remote location should allow me to shut out the world and deny all that is happening and coast along in calculated, blissful ignorance far more easily than most people, but my conscience will not allow it.

To our American servicemen and women, to our Veterans, I offer my most heartfelt thank you. May God bless and protect you and may America step up and do right by you.

Sunday, September 9, 2012

Just Another Day

The dog days of summer are behind us, but days do seem long. Pain has been absent from my life lately, for which I am grateful, but fatigue has taken its place. I pull myself from chore to chore trying to enjoy the day, sometimes succeeding, sometimes falling asleep, sometimes just not caring about it much. Life is still good though, because I know it will not always be this way. God is still on the throne and His mercies really are new every morning.

This day, we had to dispatch the 12 game roosters that came as “packing material” when the hatchery shipped the meaties to us. They grew up to be truly ugly and flighty birds without much meat on them. I was hoping to save the breasts for canning, but their purpose will be better served as sustenance for the dogs. Randyman heads off to work so I begin harvesting chickens. I get through 3 of them before I am too tired to go on.

I head back to the house with Cider after gifting a bird each to the ‘polar bears’ who have done such a beautiful job protecting all the stock. After securing their treasures, they both come to the house for a nap inside the cool, dark living room. There aren’t many windows in this house and the light shines dimly across the kitchen.

I choose to work on my grandaughter’s birthday clothes. It’s not a birthday ‘suit’, as she, naturally already has one of those. One outfit, requested by her mom, needs eyelet lace which I forgot to buy on our trip to town, so I ordered 3 yds online. It came and I see that I got the wrong size. It will have to be set aside until we go to town again next week. I begin again on another outfit only to find the seam binding I was SURE I had purchased, is nowhere to be found. I dig around in my patterns and fabric piles to look for yet a THIRD choice.

Randyman shows up for lunch and I pull out what is left of the Claypot chicken from last night’s dinner. The meat birds were such a good investment. The flavor and the amount of meat on them has been a boon for us. I wish I had known about them years ago. 34 isn’t going to be nearly enough to get us thru the year. I wish we had room for one more freezer, of just chicken...maybe some other time. I grab some pepperjack, tortillas and Cholula and make a couple of quick and tasty quesadillas. We scarf them down and I put the rest of the leftover meat back in the fridge for later.

I had pulled out the 50 lb bucket of hard white wheat berries and milled them earlier, putting the flour in to soak with some fresh buttermilk, courtesy of EmmaLou Moo. I grab the jar of sourdough starter I had fed earlier and put it all together and make a round of bread. I’ve not been as constructive this week as usual, do to the lack of energy, but I did manage to make some fettucini noodles for the first time using the pasta press I had finally ordered. They came out fantastic and even Randyman said they were perfect. That’s a big deal for a guy who never has an opinion.

A couple of hours later, Randy shows up and asks if I want to go with him to fix an irrigation pipe. I grab my camera, just in case, and climb up in his work truck.

Leaving Cider home with the polar bears, we head down the ranch road to where he goes to work fixing the water problem while Scotty, his dog, bounces around watching.

Afterwards we head down the public road, which is 50 miles of dirt and gravel from the ranch to the first pavement. It’s fall now, and the 750 pair that had been pushed up to the top of the mountain are on their way home. The ranch cowboys spent a week up there gathering them and pushing them down the long, steep, winding path to the valley floor where they are left to wander the 10 miles back to the ranch at their own pace. I always find it interesting that they remember where to go, traveling these great distances from the desert permit back to the ranch, or from the top of the mountain and down the long road thru the valley back home.

We pass 15 pairs but as we approach the cattle guard we notice a cow in the middle of the road that isn’t moving. With a groan we see she has walked into the cattle guard and gotten both front legs stuck thru the pipes. It’s obvious she has been there for quite some time as she is drawn up and both legs are swollen and a lot of the hide has been rubbed off from her efforts to free herself. There is a set of tracks where someone, a tourist most likely, drove around her and continued on their way without bothering to let anyone know there was an animal trapped and needing help out on the road. This is just another confirmation of why I am glad we live where there aren’t many people. So few leave a favorable impression on me.

Seriously...could you just leave her there and keep driving? These are probably the kind of folks that say we are cruel for roping the cows so we can doctor them. My experience has been that most of them people are uninformed, with tunnel vision. Am I ranting?

Randy tries to free her but it can’t be done. He calls the boss who jumps in a truck and heads out to join him in freeing her. He shows up after about 15 minutes and grabs several fence posts out of his truck, placing them between the bars of the cattle guard as a bridge, in case she tries to go forward after being freed and prevent her putting a leg through again. After looking the situation over, they decide the only option is to cut her out. Randyman grabs the welding torch and sets about cutting a notch out of the pipe while the boss does his best to keep her head and legs pushed as far away from the work as her situation will allow.

He sends me to his truck for a gatorade, which he then pours on the hot pipe to cool it before they try pushing her legs over to the notch. The liquid steams into small clouds, rising from the cattle guard as the red hot steel slowly cools. Between them, they finally manage to pull one foot free. She promptly jerks it over next to her other leg and jams it through the pipe again.

Groaning, they go to work restraining and cutting once more. Sparks fly and dry mustard weed, under and next to, the cattle guard and cow erupt into a blaze. The boss asks me to grab a shovel and I begin putting out the small fire while they continue their work, focused only on freeing her.