Love Means Rotting Leaves!

My wonderful husband built me a compost bin today!

We went to our local salvage yard, where they give away old pallets, and got five of them.  A couple of packages of L-shaped brackets did the trick for connecting and securing them, and one of the pallets he cut in order to put in the little leaf-retaining knee wall I wanted.  Our winds can be so bad here that I thought it best to try and keep the compost *in* the compost bin.

The pallets already had the perfect spacing between the slats that would hold the leaves, yet allow enough air circulation so they can break down.

Now to load the thing with the half billion tons of leaves that blew across town to collect in MY yard.  I expect to be able to mulch my roses in a few months with the stuff, so my hubby gave me roses for Valentines Day, just in a roundabout way!

By the way, every time he builds something, his 30+ years of building things for a living leaps to the fore.

'This thing isn't level!'
'Honey, it's a compost bin made from old pallets, which aren't anything great to begin with.  It's gonna hold rotting leaves, it doesn't have to be perfect.'
'YES IT DOES.'
'The leaves don't care.  The chickens will be the only ones besides us who see it, they don't care.'
'I'LL see it.  It'll drive me bug shit.'
'Just avert your eyes when you walk by it!'
'I'LL KNOW IT'S THERE.'

*Sigh...*
All I know is it's nice and strong and will do what it's supposed to do and I'm thrilled with the thing.  Now for me and the kid to run back and forth with wheelbarrowloads of leaves.  The chickens, of course, were in agony on the other side of the fence, because they could only provide Chicken Supervision from afar and were simply about to die of curiosity.

Also, Spring is coming and my dog is quite the little hippie and needs to be de-shaggyfied.

The kid and I gave her a bath the other day and combed about 40 pounds of loose fur out of her, but she's gonna need her annual clipping soon, probably by the end of the month.

Meanwhile I'll have to trim her face up here and there so she can do things like see and eat.

As I told her this, the chickens sat on the other side of the fence looking superior...I just reminded them that Spring *also* means chicken butt shaving, because SOME of the fluffier butts aren't quite performing their poop curtsies effectively enough and are ending up with soiled butt feathers.  That and they need a certain amount of trimming to ensure fertile eggs come Chickam time...

So don't look so smug, girls!

Dog Shaming, v2.0

I was putting together some kusudamas last night--sewing the modular components together--and had gotten up to add more wood to the fireplace.  I had literally gone three steps and turned back to look, even though I was only away from my project for a second and it was on a high table.  I swear that dog sprinted for the damned thing the instant my back was turned.

So, Dusty earned herself a neck sign today.

Damned dumb dog, she's lucky I turned around and caught her.  Also lucky that the needle had fallen off of the thread, which I ended up having to pry her mouth open and go spelunking for.  Nothing like yanking a wad of dog-spit-covered thread out of an unwilling dog mouth while scanning said mouth for a needle.  The kid found the needle on the floor, thank God, so the dog was spared a trip to the vet's office.

The kid insisted on making her a neck sign, though Dusty realized it was not a Good Thing and didn't really want to get her picture taken with it.

New Fence, Last Two Days!

The final two days of fencing went smoothly, thank goodness!

On Thursday, they strung chain link and got the gates ready to hang.  Looking through the new partition fence walkgate opening to the trail gateway.

The walkgate opening and the double drive gate opening into the future vegetable garden area.

The garden partion is 5 feet high, all of the perimeter fence is 6 foot.  I figured 5 foot high was good enough to keep chickens out of the garden...hopefully.

So straight! So shiny!  Doesn't lean in 9 directions at once!

The corners all meet correctly and the fence goes all the way to the ground!  No furry critters can enter!

I may have petted the new fence and cooed at it.  Just a little.

Friday was the last day!  The new double drive gates are installed.

As is the new gate to the trail!

Future vegetable garden area, yay!

Dusty the dog, who has been confined to the front yard all week, is finally allowed out back again.

She is understandably confused.  The guys had peeled off the old chain link that used to seperate Dusty's yard from the chicken yard.  Out of habit she entered the back part of the property through the old gate.

We told her this was going to be her one and only chance to roam the full extent of the property.  Once the fence is done, the chicken yard is off limits forever.

The chickens are cooped until tomorrow, when they will be allowed out of the coop and run for the first time since we moved in here 2 1/2 years ago.

It's been a long time coming, and we feel bad that it took this long.

But they'll have a nice, big area!  It still needs some trees and shrubs added, that'll be next.

 
Weedcat is NOT impressed with the dog sniffing around and keeps an eye on her.

The chicken/dog yard partition fence ready to go on.  I will NOT miss the old horse-damaged chain link.

DONE!  This part was the last to be done, along with some minor tweaking of the existing gates on the property to make them hang straight and open and close properly.

For the chickens, tomorrow is the big day!  I'm so happy I could spit.

Arg Fargl...

So the kid has been out back playing in the little bit of snow we got today, and just came in the back door while I was making enchiladas.  I hear her ask from behind me, "Do I have snow on my head?"

I cringe.  I know my child well enough to know that I probably do not want to turn and look. *sigh*  I do anyway.  "Yes, you do.  Go OUTSIDE and brush it off."

She does so, then returns and races down the hall.  "Imgoingrightbackout!" she calls over her shoulder.

Meanwhile I shove the enchiladas into the oven to do their thing.  I glance at the sliding door and outside is Dusty, covered in snow.  "Geez, the dog is covered in snow, too!"

The kid calls out, "That's because she's been rolling in it!"

Oh, swell.  I leave the kitchen and head into the living room.

"I have, too!"  chirps my child.

AUUUGGGHHHHH...  I don't realize that I have actually voiced my anguish aloud until the kid says, "What?"

"Nothing."  I grump.  "I'm sure there isn't an ounce of dirt in your hair."

...so does anyone make industrial-strength shampoo?

Here's Your Morning Activities...

So we're getting all settled in to watch the MAVEN launch this morning...husband on the couch with the NASA feed running, I'm putting the finishing touches on some pumpkin bread before tossing it into the oven.

It's times like these that all Hell seems to break loose, when you are least expecting it.

Three things happen nearly simultaneously.  The brand-new washing machine (I consider any appliance less than 2 years old 'brand-new' and it damned well better WORK with no problems, goddamn it) suddenly starts to gleefully make godawful, LOUD 'BANG BANG BANG' noises.  Jesus, it sounds like 4 maniacs with 25 pound sledgehammers are tearing the roof off the house.  It's the kind of thing that scrambles your brain for a few seconds and makes you run around like a cockroach after the lights have been turned on.  We  both rush to the hallway where the laundry machines crouch in a large closet and fling open the doors.  There is the washer, leaping about, out of balance and clearly trying for a murder-suicide pact with the BRAND NEW water heater sitting innocently next to it.  It couldn't go the other way and aim for the 20 year old, garage sale bargain, battle-scarred dryer, oh no.

Husband whips open the lid of the washer, growling 'Why the Hell didn't this thing stop itself when it went out of balance?!' and as it finally, begrudgingly gives up and stops, plunges his hand into the thing and rearranges the clothes.  Closes the lid and we both stand there, poised to leap at it again as it restarts...peacefully, thank God.

We no sooner walk back and sit down with our coffee to watch the launch, which has 1 1/2 minutes to go, when suddenly the feed blinks out and is replaced by a feed from 'Eagle Cam'.  Coffee cups halfway to lips, we freeze.  WTF?  Husband leaps for the remote and within 15 seconds has it back to the NASA feed...


...which now shows MAVEN computer animation with the launch narrator talking about how many miles downrange the thing is.  I think we've discovered time travel, here.  This is now also the time when Dusty the dog suddenly goes into a positive frenzy of barking--because, you know, someone is riding a horse down the street, which is cause for total canine panic/property defense with extreme prejudice.  Meanwhile husband is roaring four-letter words at NASA, UStream and the universe in general while charging back and forth from the TV to his computer, trying to figure this out.

Clearly we've magically somehow missed the launch.

Luckily all is resolved by screaming 'Shut up, Dusty!' at the dog and waiting for NASA to rerun all the camera angles of the launch, which they always do.

But lord, things happen when you least expect it.  Weird shit, Maynard.

In Which My Life Hooks A Sharp Left And Goes Offroading Into The Ridiculous

So because of the massive amounts of thick, nasty smoke from the Rim fire near Yosemite, we had to take the extreme step today of bringing ALL of the animals into the house.

ALL.

Including 4 cage birds, a dog, a bunny and 50 chickens. Thank God I do not have horses.

To say that this was neither easy nor joyously experienced by all is a massive understatement.

We prepared by clearing out anything chickens could break/accidentally choke to death/poop on and laying out our handy thrift store sheets to protect the floor and furniture. Some of my paint cans came in handy, as did the roll of blue painter's tape.

Weedcat at first stayed by the back door and stared unhappily at the ceiling until I caught on and turned off the ceiling fan. None of the others gave a hang about the thing, but he did. They all stood around looking like they were politely waiting for a bus, no doubt wondering what the Hell was going on. We plied them with various goodies to keep them occupied and distracted until it got dark enough for them to roost.

Which they did on my kitchen island, table & chairs as planned. The youngest babies hied themselves up on the island early on and stayed there. We have two broody banty hens at the moment and they were NOT happy being away from the nest boxes, but we'd tried to accomodate them by draping the sheets so there were dark hidey places for them to go sit.

Meeko liked this paint can.

Finally they were all tucked in for the night...

Wait...what's that up there...?!

Oh, fantastic, it's Pele, who considers herself Queen of the Wild Chickens. After a struggle and much outraged Pele squawking, husband unceremoniously grabs her and puts her on the ground, where she remains...

for about 5 minutes. Then, right in front of my eyes, she flies from the ground straight up to the top of that cabinet again.

This time she got a military-style wing trim, which put an end to her adventures.

Lord, at least the dog behaved.

Dog Shaming...

The other day we were watching a craptacular Roger Corman chunk called 'Camel Spiders' on TV, mostly due to the fact that it was shot at the old abandoned ore processing plant at Owens Lake, in and around the Alabama Hills and several other sites (hello Ranch House Cafe!) along Highway 395 that we know.

During the movie the kid went and got a couple of her toys to entertain Dusty.

She was less than excited. Dog 'Meh'. So the kid upped the ante. This one at least earned a confused look.

And yes, my kid owns several giant insects, she loves them. No Barbies for her.

The expression here is mostly, 'Oh, is this a thing? Are we doing a thing? What the Hell is goin' on here, mom?'

...and then back to Dog 'Meh'.

In other news, Dusty managed to injure herself up under her tail, then chew the spot raw and would NOT leave the damned spot alone. Yeah, Cone Of Shame time.

Rather that a true cone which she no doubt would have used to knock everything off dog-level tables and destroy furniture, we went with a towel safely wrapped around her neck, it works very nicely to keep her from chewing her sore tail. She gets around, eats & drinks just fine with it, but is horribly embarassed by it.

Plus I got that 'Seriously...?' look out of her. Yup, 'fraid so Dusty, for now.

Bath Day!

Dusty was looking and smelling...well, dusty. So today she got a bath.

She was not impressed.

But later, after she was dry, she did the typical over-the-top happy dog thing and rolled on the carpet with the kid.

We're letting her fur grow out a bit, probably not much longer than this, but her little eyebrows are sure cute and she has quite the 'Benji' look going.

Dog Days Of Fall...

So yesterday we whisked Dusty off to the vet for her shots, and also because the night before we'd caught her scooting her bottom across the carpet, much to our delight.

When I was a kid, catching your dog doing the boot scoot boogie across the floor usually meant one thing--worms.

It turns out that these days there is a more likely culprit, at least in smaller dogs. It's blocked anal glands, of all the charming notions. So our vet said to bring in a fecal sample along with us in order to rule out parasites. Under Dusty's disbelieving eye we collected our treasure and went along to the vet, where Dusty ignored the little dogs and growled at the big ones--in particular a very large, beautiful Smooth Coat Collie who entered the office like a rock star, exuding an 'I'm HERE, everyone, yay me!' air.

Eventually we got taken back to an exam room, where Dusty has to be held by us while the vet tech takes her temperature, in the only region you CAN on a dog. We make the requisite jokes about 'she didn't even buy you dinner' while all this is going on, Dusty just looks confused and embarassed. Like most vets they like to take the dogs in the back, leaving you in the room to wait, while they do anything stressfull (mostly to the owners) out of sight.

So now off Dusty goes to the nether regions of the office for shots while we cool our heels. They brought her back a few minutes later and we waited a bit...the sample turned up no parasites, so anal glands it was!

Back Dusty went to the inner office for anal gland squeezin's, casting us a decidedly pained look as she went.

...and back she came a few minutes later, all cleaned out. After chatting with the vet for a minute, we asked her to note on the paperwork that Dusty had been spayed, since it's cheaper to license a spayed/neutered pet.

Oops, they'd forgotten to check for surgery scars to prove that, and it turns out that Dusty will have to be shaved a bit in order for them to see the scars. You guessed it, time for a third trip to the back room where all the magic happens.

So here comes the vet tech for her again. By now Dusty is firmly hiding her head in my daughter's lap, with an 'If I can't see them they can't see me' attitude.

Nonetheless she is once again led to the door, at which point she looks back over her shoulder at us as if to say, 'First you allow someone I don't KNOW to stick things up there, then they stick me with needles, THEN they...oh God, you don't want to know--! Now I'm getting SHAVED?! What is this, Hell Week? Am I pledging some dumb fraternity? What's next, you gonna hang Christmas lights back there?!'

Dog's faces can be very expressive.

But Dusty went along with the program and returned. She was much happier after getting some treats from the vet and lots of pets and praise.

But on the way out she fairly bolted for the door.

It's Dusty!

We'd promised the kid we'd get a dog when we moved...so here is our new family member--and our daughter's 13th birthday present--Dusty!

We found her on Craigslist, her owners (two ladies both named Jennifer) were moving and needed to rehome her. She is perfectly wonderful in every way--quiet, polite, well-mannered and housebroken. Dusty is a Cocker/Schnauzer mix--a 'Schnocker' according to the Jennifers. They were kind enough to leave her with us for a weekend to see how things went--we weren't sure how Dusty would react to the other animals and the chickens--but after an initial curious inspection, she disregarded them. Heck, she doesn't even go after the quail and other wild birds that walk around near her in the yard.

She knows she isn't allowed on the couch though, which prompted this expression when I took this picture:

The kid and dog are inseperable, Dusty has a special pillow to sleep on at night right next to her bed. The other night, after running around playing with the dog the kid flopped down on the living room carpet, dog in arms and sighed, 'Best birthday ever.'

Thanks, Jennifers! :)

Saturday Night Wrestling...

...pit bull wrestling, that is.

Tonight when J. came home from a late-night foray to Starbuck's, he found a young male pit bull sitting very nicely on our doorstep, as though politely waiting for him to get home. It had been raining and we had had a massive thunderclap earlier, so we suspected that the dog had done the dog thing and gotten loose when the thunder scared him. Luckily he had both collar AND two tags, so armed with a rope, pen and notepad, we attempted to sit him still long enough to get a look at his tags.

This was easier said than done, since he was SO very happy to have found friendly, awake people at 10PM. He demonstrated this by continuously leaping up to try and lick our faces, despite being tied to the front rail.

My, but pits are STRONG! I genuinely feared for my wrought iron porch railing.

To add to the fun he was wet and muddy, and his name tag was so worn as to be very nearly unreadable. His animal control tag was legible, but was zero help that late at night.

**Note to all dog & cat owners--read your animal's tag aloud as if you have NO IDEA what it's name or address is. If you can't read it, neither can the Good Samaritan that is trying to return your animal to you.

Everytime we got him still long enough to allllmmmost read the tag, up he'd leap again to slobber all over one or both of us or even worse, thump that oh-so-solid head into your breadbasket. He just couldn't help himself, he was SO grateful. We learned eventually that his name was 'Sam', and that he at least DID know the command 'Sit!' when combined with a healthy shove downwards on his fanny. Down he would sit, just long enough to sucker you in so you'd lean down and get your face down next to those tags.

Eventually J. had taken numerous knock-ya-down-and-lick-ya-silly episodes and I had been suckered in for a couple of jump-up-and-place-his-paws-on-my-shoulders affection attacks, along with one VERY memorable claw up my left nostril. That one ran me right off the porch for a moment while J. retreated into the house to get a flashlight.

It took 20 minutes of bellowing "Sit!" and pleas for him to be still, combined with wrestling and huffing and rolling around on the porch before we finally got his info. I can only imagine what the neighbors thought was going on. Turns out Sam had only wandered over a few streets.

The number on his tag was a cell phone. His owner was driving around looking for Sam, and was smart enough to have his cell with him. Once we read his tags, Sam was picked up within 5 minutes. The owner confirmed that Sam had freaked out in the thunder and jumped a fence that his owner had no idea he could clear.

We did tell the guy that Sam needed new, LEGIBLE tags, waved goodbye and then went indoors to get hot showers and Bactine. The next day we compared sore arms from doggie wrestling. Thank goodness N. was already asleep at that time of night and didn't insist on getting involved.

Fun begins at home!