Ice cubes have been my constant companions for three days.
It's an involved story starting with me out chopping fresh grass for the rabbits and a dog that won't come when called.
I let Bear loose as usual when we're outside.
The porch kittens had finished eating breakfast and went down to the ground to play in the jungle. Bear proceded to chase them up a tree for their first time. I yelled. Bear ignored me. 'Boat, the Momma Kat, rushed to their rescue. I'm still shouting, and throwing down my Ko Gama, I go for the dog, now under the porch being whupped on by 'Boat.
The two explode out from under the porch and shoot across the ramp. Yelling more, I turn and my foot slips into one of the holes Bear has dug when he's bored. Of course I end up on the ground, no longer yelling because the air's been knocked out of me.
Ok, on the ground isn't my favorite place; it's hard to get up on my feet. Stupid dog comes to see what I'm doing on the ground. I seize his collar and give him a good shake. Deciding I wasn't hurt enough to cry, I pick up on the yelling where I left off.
Art found me, head resting on the steps, dog by the collar, feet in the hole, fuming. I can't bear to be helped to my feet, so I have to do it myself. It wasn't pretty, but I did it.
Three days of ice on my knee and I'm up and at it again. Still some pain when bending the knee, but happy to be up. I found my exercise bands and am working on building upper body strength. This is the second time I've found myself on the ground since spring. I don't like it, but I must be really relaxed (or incredulous) when I hit the ground. Fortunately, I don't get hurt much. Getting up needs to be easier -- I need to be stronger. Or maybe I shouldn't have put the crutches down to chase the dog.
Stupid dog! When we go to town next, he's getting a training collar. Momma needs to teach Bear to come when called -- especially when he's in trouble. As for Momma, where can I get an old fashioned ice bag?
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Sunday, June 20, 2010
HomePlace critters wish you a Happy Father's Day. Feed us-- NOW!
You hug us, kiss us, make us cry.
You think you are a funny guy.
We sit our butts where you rest your head,
and cough up hairballs on your bed.
The House Cats
You bring us "Viennas" for our snacks.
You rub our bellies and our backs.
We love you, Dad,without a doubt.
Let us in, and the other cats out!
The Porch Cats
(We love you best!)
I am your dog, I love you dearly,
Even when you yell so clearly:
" Stop chasing chickens; no stealing the cat food!"
I'll come to your call if I'm feelin' the mood.
"Bring me food. No! I am first!"
" Hurry, water me; I thirst!"
I'll have a tantrum and throw my dishes
If you don't cater to my bunny wishes.
The Rabbits (all 37 and counting)
Lean down and reach for eggs, we beg.
We'll peck you sharply on the leg.
Feed us now and make it snappy,
Kitchen scraps might make us happy.
The Roosters and Hens
(You know better-- chickens aren't ever satisfied!)
Have a busy, yet happy day.
The woodland creatures decline to comment! Too much with the shooting and traps!
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Summer roared in early this year on tongues of flaming temps. Usually late May and most of June are moderate. Too may days in the 90's already. Working up a sweat in the garden daily, slugging down plenty of water, but...
Never trust poultry around melons. Ever. This Silver Dorking
hen convinced me to either eat melon in the house or
pen up opportunist chickens before eating melon outside.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Bought a beer yesterday to kill the slugs in the garden; it was Callie's favorite brand.
Callie, a Spanish goat, lived at HomePlace for many years.
Some of you met her here, and knew she was sometimes amusing, occasionally aggravating, destructive when unsupervised, and always her own "person".
Frequently stolen from a living history museum to attend frat parties in Waco, her owners gave her to us before she decided to join the fraternity full time.
At those parties she developed a taste for beer (and cigarettes, which she ate). Free grazing one day she discovered Butch visiting us. He liked beer too. She snuck up and stole a long-neck off the ground by his chair. Tipped it up and finished it, before he knew what happened.
He became a special friend as long as he let her have the dregs from a bottle. Providing it wasn't that cheap, nasty beer. She had her standards, even though she was a goat.