It's that time of year when I search my blog for my resolutions of 2010 and see how they panned out.
This is what I wished for in 2010:
1. Train Gabbrielle under saddle successfully. (She got more time under saddle and then started having lameness issues, so we have more work ahead of us.)
2. Do more trail riding with all three horses. (I did a lot of trail riding with Lostine, but Bombay kept injuring himself in the trailer and then got a mean hoof abscess, and Gabbrielle went lame. Eventually, Lostine went lame as well due to pedal oseitis.)
3. Get a riding partner for the trails. (This didn't happen to no fault of my own. I did advertise for a riding partner and approached other riders on the trail, but I guess everyone thought I was an axe murderer. In the end I decided I prefer riding alone anyway.)
4. Make a career change into some field that moves at a slower pace and never asks for more than 40 hours a week of my time. (I got laid off in October and started a photography business, but am still waiting to turn a profit.)
5. Move onto a 40 acre farm with no neighbors and ride to my heart's content. (Yeah, right. Maybe when I win the lottery.)
6. Oh, and we can't forget the need to lose weight. I won't go into specifics. (This has happened, but I've still got plenty more to lose.)
7. If I have to see a doctor next year, let it be a good one, for God's sake. (I tried. I really tried, but somehow ended up back with my original doctor. Long story.)
8. Let it rain on the weekdays so that I don't have to hand-water, but leave the weekends clear and warm. (Nope. It's still raining and snowing on the weekends for the most part, but I do have more free time now.)
9. I want someone to invent a food machine that drops food into my mouth, so that I don't have to stop doing the things I enjoy in order to cook and eat three times a day. (Big buckets of trail mix became my friend.)
10. I want one of those soft, fuzzy jackrabbits under my apple trees to let me pet it for once instead of hopping away. (Nope. Still waiting for that to happen.)
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With that, here are my goals for 2011:
1. Take care of my family. My husband yearns for a new job, my son will be graduating from high school and entering college, my daughter will be entering her senior year of college and will be making big decisions about the next path to take, and my mother's health is failing her. This will be challenging year for all of us.
2. Start making money doing something I actually enjoy.
3. Keep my horses healthy. I'm keeping this one simple, because I'm tired of the disappointment of not being able to ride due to horse injuries.
4. Continue my recent effort at exercising both myself and the dogs through jogging.
5. Finish at least one novel for once in my life. I've attempted this multiple times, but before I can complete a novel, I always get thrown into some job that sucks up all of my time. I've been putting in long hours to try to beat the clock on this one.
6. This is a tricky one, because it requires both money and time, but I'd really like to visit my blogger pals in the southwest, and use the time to scope out new living arrangements to someday escape my outrageously nosy and annoying neighbors.
7. Improve my photography.
8. Stay out of doctors' offices and hospitals.
9. Focus more on the spiritual.
10. Finish that dang king-sized Storm at Sea quilt I've been working on for several years.
Our current bed quilt is thrashed and I'm cold all the time. However, I must mention that I do have my purple Snuggie, purchased for me by my son as a Christmas gift, and that thing is a science in itself: Lightweight, yet traps in all the body heat. Truly awesome. Too bad it's too long to ride a horse in. Hmmmm. Perhaps it's time I invent a lightweight fleece riding suit complete with gloves and hand-warmers. I'll call it the Onesie Close Contact Wedgie-Free Snugger with Hoodie, Riding Helmet, Riding Boots, and Riding Gloves. There will be a flaps in the back and front for emergency relief, and pockets for peppermints, of course. Next I will move on to inventing the lightweight fleece whole body, head, tail, and hoof Horse Snugger. You can turn your horse any color you desire, including tie-dye, hunter vest orange, or camouflage.
HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ALL!
Friday, December 31, 2010
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
A Golden Visit
We had a visitor yesterday who had the Midas touch. I was outside tending to the horses, and this stranger was running around the neighborhood greeting everyone who barked at him. I called out hello to him, but he seemed a bit shy. I opened the gate and stepped out onto my driveway to make myself more accessible, I crouched down to his level, smiled, and welcomed him in a friendly voice.
That did the trick. He smiled back at me, came forward to shake my hand, and happily wagged his fluffy tail. This visitor was a Golden Retriever. His legs and belly were covered in mud and he had a patch of fur missing on his croup. I invited him to follow me, and he bounded up to my front door ready to go inside. Uh uh, not with all that mud. I let him into my dog run. He had a collar, but no tags. I brought him food and water, but he wasn't interested in either. He just wanted to play.
I went inside and called the animal shelter, but no one was answering at the non-emergency number, and their emergency number was not in service for some reason. I went back outside to look the dog over more closely and I realized that he had been just recently brushed, had recently trimmed nails, had clean teeth, knew how to sit, stay, shake, come and heel. This was a well cared for dog. Not abandoned.
Considering his juvenile status, I was betting that he jumped someone's fence while they were away at work. I called the animal shelter again with the intention of just finding out if someone reported him missing or if they have picked him up before and know who the owner is, but they still weren't answering. I didn't want to have to load him up in my truck and drive him there covered in mud. It was too cold to give him a bath. I just wanted to find the owner and have him or her pick him up at my house.
I contemplated walking around the neighborhood knocking on doors, but so many of my neighbors either have shotguns or gates locked or Dobermans so you can't reach their front door. They like their privacy as much as I do. Much of the time, even if they are home and I can knock on their door, they just hide inside and refuse to answer.
Then I remembered that my husband mentioned meeting a really friendly dog a couple of weeks ago, so I called him at work and had him describe the dog. It was this same juvenile Golden Retriever. If my husband saw him on our lawn two weeks ago, and the dog was looking as good as he did when I met him, he definitely lives close by. Some people actually cut their dogs loose in the morning to have the run of the neighborhood while they are away at work.
The dog definitely had some Labrador in him, because his head was big and wide. He stuck his face up against the glass of our french doors, and Scrappy went nuts barking and lunging at him through the glass. I had to lock Scrappy and Midge up in a room where they couldn't see him.
I suspected if we just let him loose, he'd go back home. Dogs know where they live. I was just worried about him getting out in the road. On the other hand, this dog was exceptionally smart. Somehow I knew he knew how to handle himself around moving vehicles. So, we let him out of the dog run to finish his inspection of the neighborhood, and I let my dogs out of their room.
Next thing I knew, Scrappy and Midge were barking and throwing themselves at the front door. I looked out the window to see the Golden lying on our front porch relaxing. He just completely ignored the ruckus he was causing. I realized that this dog didn't bark once the entire time he was at our house. I love dogs that don't bark.
I needed to pick up the mail, but didn't want the dog to follow me, so my son distracted him with a wrestling match and a game of fetch. This dog was up for anything and instantly understood every game that my son tried to play with him. Watching this made me think of Dean Koontz, an author who owns Golden Retrievers and often includes a highly intelligent talking dog or two in his novels. I finally understood why Koontz would view Goldens as being somewhat alien. They are exceptional animals.
I had to run some errands and as I was away from this dog, I realized that I missed him. My son did too. He said, "I love that dog!"
I decided that if he was still lying on our doorstep when we got home, I'd unofficially adopt him... at least until his owner made an effort to track him down. I mean, considering that the dog visited us two weeks ago, and the owner still hadn't put an ID tag on his collar, I doubted that his owner was very responsible. On the other hand, maybe the owner relied on a microchip to identify him.
Unfortunately for us, the dog did head for home. It was probably getting close to feeding time. We really don't have room in our house for a big dog, nor the money for the vet bills. He clearly had a skin condition that needed treating. So, it is what it is. We had a nice visit. In retrospect, I probably should have attached a note to his collar saying something like, "Hello. We love your dog. Can we keep him?"
That did the trick. He smiled back at me, came forward to shake my hand, and happily wagged his fluffy tail. This visitor was a Golden Retriever. His legs and belly were covered in mud and he had a patch of fur missing on his croup. I invited him to follow me, and he bounded up to my front door ready to go inside. Uh uh, not with all that mud. I let him into my dog run. He had a collar, but no tags. I brought him food and water, but he wasn't interested in either. He just wanted to play.
I went inside and called the animal shelter, but no one was answering at the non-emergency number, and their emergency number was not in service for some reason. I went back outside to look the dog over more closely and I realized that he had been just recently brushed, had recently trimmed nails, had clean teeth, knew how to sit, stay, shake, come and heel. This was a well cared for dog. Not abandoned.
Considering his juvenile status, I was betting that he jumped someone's fence while they were away at work. I called the animal shelter again with the intention of just finding out if someone reported him missing or if they have picked him up before and know who the owner is, but they still weren't answering. I didn't want to have to load him up in my truck and drive him there covered in mud. It was too cold to give him a bath. I just wanted to find the owner and have him or her pick him up at my house.
I contemplated walking around the neighborhood knocking on doors, but so many of my neighbors either have shotguns or gates locked or Dobermans so you can't reach their front door. They like their privacy as much as I do. Much of the time, even if they are home and I can knock on their door, they just hide inside and refuse to answer.
Then I remembered that my husband mentioned meeting a really friendly dog a couple of weeks ago, so I called him at work and had him describe the dog. It was this same juvenile Golden Retriever. If my husband saw him on our lawn two weeks ago, and the dog was looking as good as he did when I met him, he definitely lives close by. Some people actually cut their dogs loose in the morning to have the run of the neighborhood while they are away at work.
The dog definitely had some Labrador in him, because his head was big and wide. He stuck his face up against the glass of our french doors, and Scrappy went nuts barking and lunging at him through the glass. I had to lock Scrappy and Midge up in a room where they couldn't see him.
I suspected if we just let him loose, he'd go back home. Dogs know where they live. I was just worried about him getting out in the road. On the other hand, this dog was exceptionally smart. Somehow I knew he knew how to handle himself around moving vehicles. So, we let him out of the dog run to finish his inspection of the neighborhood, and I let my dogs out of their room.
Next thing I knew, Scrappy and Midge were barking and throwing themselves at the front door. I looked out the window to see the Golden lying on our front porch relaxing. He just completely ignored the ruckus he was causing. I realized that this dog didn't bark once the entire time he was at our house. I love dogs that don't bark.
I needed to pick up the mail, but didn't want the dog to follow me, so my son distracted him with a wrestling match and a game of fetch. This dog was up for anything and instantly understood every game that my son tried to play with him. Watching this made me think of Dean Koontz, an author who owns Golden Retrievers and often includes a highly intelligent talking dog or two in his novels. I finally understood why Koontz would view Goldens as being somewhat alien. They are exceptional animals.
I had to run some errands and as I was away from this dog, I realized that I missed him. My son did too. He said, "I love that dog!"
I decided that if he was still lying on our doorstep when we got home, I'd unofficially adopt him... at least until his owner made an effort to track him down. I mean, considering that the dog visited us two weeks ago, and the owner still hadn't put an ID tag on his collar, I doubted that his owner was very responsible. On the other hand, maybe the owner relied on a microchip to identify him.
Unfortunately for us, the dog did head for home. It was probably getting close to feeding time. We really don't have room in our house for a big dog, nor the money for the vet bills. He clearly had a skin condition that needed treating. So, it is what it is. We had a nice visit. In retrospect, I probably should have attached a note to his collar saying something like, "Hello. We love your dog. Can we keep him?"
Monday, December 27, 2010
Ouch, Ouch, and Ouch
It was supposed to snow today, but instead it was a gloriously sunny winter day without wind, so I had to get out and do something. Both of my kids have decided that they hate geocaching, so I went out by myself to revisit the spots we previously searched, only this time I took the GPS device. I was 0 for 3.
I don't think those geocaches exist anymore. One was planted in a lot in front of an elementary school where children walk to and from their homes and school five days a week. I seriously doubt an Altoids tin filled with trinkets would have survived in that location.
Another was planted in a planter maintained by the Department of Parks and Recreation. The planter was constructed mostly of river rock. I turned over about a dozen rocks before deciding that the search was futile. The last rock I turned over smashed my fingernail. Ouch!
The final geocache I searched for was supposedly in a 4x6" box under some sagebrush. However, it looked like someone ran over the sagebrush with their truck or ATV and I found plastic and toys smashed in the vicinity. There was an action figure with its arm ripped off. Ouch!
When I got in the car I found blood dribbling down my wrist. I had forgotten my gloves and had cut my hand on the sage. Ouch!
I drove back home, cleaned my wound, ate some lunch, and then my daughter and I went for a walk/jog/race with the dogs. I somehow managed to stab my finger with my fingernail lifting Midge into the backseat of the truck, and drew blood. Ouch!
My daughter and Scrappy won the first race and the second race, but then I cheated and got a head start on the third race, so Midge and I finally won one. Scrappy had to stop to take a dump in the worst possible place. He backed into a sticker bush. No, this was more like a thorn bush -- just bare branches with half-inch thorns. His poop was actually hanging on the bush like brown leaves.
Again, I didn't have gloves, only a sandwich bag, so I had to reach into the bush with the sandwich baggie over my hand and just grab those thorns, which punctured the bag and my hand. Ouch!
So, I drew blood for the third time today. We got home and I thought, "What the heck. I may as well work on the horses' hooves since I'm on a roll with the hand injuries."
As a rule, I have to rasp a knuckle at least once. Somehow, I managed to pick out and smooth down twelves hooves without a single hand injury. Go figure.
I don't think those geocaches exist anymore. One was planted in a lot in front of an elementary school where children walk to and from their homes and school five days a week. I seriously doubt an Altoids tin filled with trinkets would have survived in that location.
Another was planted in a planter maintained by the Department of Parks and Recreation. The planter was constructed mostly of river rock. I turned over about a dozen rocks before deciding that the search was futile. The last rock I turned over smashed my fingernail. Ouch!
The final geocache I searched for was supposedly in a 4x6" box under some sagebrush. However, it looked like someone ran over the sagebrush with their truck or ATV and I found plastic and toys smashed in the vicinity. There was an action figure with its arm ripped off. Ouch!
When I got in the car I found blood dribbling down my wrist. I had forgotten my gloves and had cut my hand on the sage. Ouch!
I drove back home, cleaned my wound, ate some lunch, and then my daughter and I went for a walk/jog/race with the dogs. I somehow managed to stab my finger with my fingernail lifting Midge into the backseat of the truck, and drew blood. Ouch!
My daughter and Scrappy won the first race and the second race, but then I cheated and got a head start on the third race, so Midge and I finally won one. Scrappy had to stop to take a dump in the worst possible place. He backed into a sticker bush. No, this was more like a thorn bush -- just bare branches with half-inch thorns. His poop was actually hanging on the bush like brown leaves.
Again, I didn't have gloves, only a sandwich bag, so I had to reach into the bush with the sandwich baggie over my hand and just grab those thorns, which punctured the bag and my hand. Ouch!
So, I drew blood for the third time today. We got home and I thought, "What the heck. I may as well work on the horses' hooves since I'm on a roll with the hand injuries."
As a rule, I have to rasp a knuckle at least once. Somehow, I managed to pick out and smooth down twelves hooves without a single hand injury. Go figure.
Yule Logs
First off, I must say it is GREAT to have my daughter home for the holidays. She has this strange desire to learn how to cook, so I happily turn her loose in the kitchen. However, she does come up with some odd concoctions. You may recall our unintentional pornographic baking disaster from last month...
Well, this time she chose to bake some "Holiday Triple Chocolate Yule Logs". This is what they look like in the cookbook...
And this is what they looked like after my daughter substituted dark chocolate for white chocolate...
Hmmm. Remind you of something? Any dog owners out there want to venture a guess? No no, D-Meister, don't eat that!
Geez! I don't know how many times I've told these kids not to put strange things in their mouths when they were growing up. Now they are all grown up and they still don't listen to anything I say. Well, at least the yule logs looked a little more edible once the sprinkles went on...
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Thursday, December 23, 2010
First Attempt at Geocaching
At first I just mapped the coordinates and wrote down a description of where the geocaches are located, but my daughter and I quickly found out that geocaching is nearly impossible in our area without the use of a GPS device. There are these "greenbelts" (really dirt alleys) between houses in our neighborhood that lead to huge lots (like 20 acres) filled with sagebrush and trash. We weren't having any luck finding the geocaches based upon an icon on a map, so we drove back home and grabbed both my son and my son's GPS device.
The second geocache was a little more difficult to find. We had to move a row of tumbleweeds against a fence and dig around. I don't know what made me notice it, but there was a magnetic tin attached to a metal fence. Unfortunately, the logbook was soaking wet, so I wasn't able to sign it.
The third one was on a road that was flooded...
Here the kids are telling me to hurry up while we were searching for the fifth one...
By the time we stopped to look for the sixth one, my son was complaining that he wanted to go home, so we had to hurry. This one was planted on the border of the planter's property. We turned over every rock and looked under the one tree, but couldn't find it. When we got home I read the comments from those who found it, and realized that I should have paid attention to the title of the geocache, because I had the container in my hot little hand and didn't even realize it! Needless to say, we'll be making a return trip the next time I can convince the kids to go with me.
So far the biggest difference I see between geocaching and letterboxing is that I've never found a letterbox in a location that made me feel uncomfortable, while some of these geocaches were in very inappropriate locations. For instance, one was located on a lot overlooking a main road, right on a blind curve where people are supposed to be driving 25 MPH, but instead drive 45 MPH. Anyway, my daughter commented that no one was watching the road. All the drivers were gawking at us. Next thing we knew, we heard the sound of tires squealing and someone leaning on a horn. There was a near miss in which one driver nearly rear-ended another, so we quickly left without further searching for that geocache.
Also, many geocaches were planted in residential neighborhoods, and as soon as I parked my car, people started coming out of their houses to watch us, which makes me think that the people who planted the geocache did not bother to ask permission from the residents, and the residents are probably trying to figure out why strangers keep driving into their neighborhood, parking, and wandering around.
I like my privacy, so I can totally relate if neighbors are annoyed by all of the activity. Also, many of the geocaches were in locations near private backyards and our presence created a stir among the neighborhood dogs. I think in the future I will just stick to those located along trails or in business districts.
In the end we found four geocaches, didn't find two with the GPS device, and didn't find four without the GPS device. So, I made ten stops, all within ten miles of my home. I think the nearest letterbox to my home that I didn't plant is a twenty-minute drive, so it was nice to not have to burn so much gas geocaching.
And The Winner Was...
The winner of A New Sport was, believe it or not, my daughter and the shrub-obsessed, sage-sniffing, territory-marking madman, Scrappy! This was one case where the rabbit won out over the tortoise.
Scrappy in action.
Scrappy celebrating his victory. Scrappy says, "Please excuse the extra rolls of skin. My previous owner overfed me, but I'm getting in shape and sexy now."
Scrappy sticking his tongue out at the losers. We'll have to work with him on the concept of winning graciously.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
A New Sport
My daughter and I took the dogs for a jog yesterday. At first the dogs were out in front of us pulling us along on their leashes, but being little dogs, they both tired out pretty quick. At one point I had Midge on a leash, my fat Corgi who was panting in 38 degrees while my daughter had Scrappy on a leash, who was stopping to sniff and pee on every bush. We decided to race to the 500-foot marker, the only rule being that we couldn't drag or carry our dogs. In other words, we could only go as fast as our dogs could go.
Who do you think won? Me with the fat, panting Corgi who kept chugging along straight ahead or my daughter with the littlest and oldest dog who stopped to sniff and pee at every bush?
Oh, and if you think we were fortunate to have weather that was good enough for us to go jogging, think again. When we got home, I discovered mud all over in the backseat of my truck. Not just muddy paw prints, but mud smears from muddy dog bellies.
Who do you think won? Me with the fat, panting Corgi who kept chugging along straight ahead or my daughter with the littlest and oldest dog who stopped to sniff and pee at every bush?
Oh, and if you think we were fortunate to have weather that was good enough for us to go jogging, think again. When we got home, I discovered mud all over in the backseat of my truck. Not just muddy paw prints, but mud smears from muddy dog bellies.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Gifts of Music, Song and Dance
Do you recall the things you wished or prayed for when you were younger? Have you noticed if you ever received them? I like to tell this story about how when I was a young adult in college, I wished that I would be surrounded by live music. I was friends with two radio D.J.s in college who were also musicians. They both lived across the hall from me in the dorms, and they would sit on a bench outside of my room playing their guitars and singing. I felt really happy when they played and sang.
I also went to a campus nightclub whenever they had live music and somehow always ended up living in the same dorm hall or apartment building as many of the bands that played in the nightclub, so they would visit me and bring their instruments or I would visit them and they would play and sing for me.
I ended up marrying a man who could play several instruments and sing, so I was covered in the live music department. However, as the years wore on, life became all about work and earning money, and I even stopped listening to music on CDs while my husband only rarely played his guitars and the piano. Our kids were always taking music lessons in school and could play multiple instruments. We'd go to parades, school ball games, concerts and band competitions to watch them march and play. My daughter's high school band got to play at George W. Bush's inauguration in Washington D.C.
Then our daughter left for college and our son was taking a guitar class, but never really participated in any performances. He made friends with another musician and the two of them tried out for the school talent show. I thought they were fantastic, but they didn't make the cut. My son and his friend weren't deterred. They still practice and talk about playing in coffee houses together. I feel fortunate that I get to listen to my son's music.
My daughter came home for the holidays and showed us a video of a group dance performance she did for her Hip Hop class at the university. All semester she had been talking about how bad she is at dance, but she was having so much fun. Her performance in the video blew us away. She stole the show. Not only does she have rhythm and knows the moves, but her personality beamed enthusiasm.
That brought back memories of when I enrolled her in ballet as a preschooler. I remember taking her to the dance studio every Wednesday afternoon in her pink leotard, tutu, and ballet shoes. At the end of each class, the instructor led the girls around in a line on their tiptoes saying, "Chugga chugga chugga chugga choo choo!"
Ultimately, the girl in front of my daughter would be moving too fast and the girl behind would be moving too slow, pulling on her waist, and my daughter would fall down. Then the entire train had to stop to let her back on. After two years she lost interest, and moved on to other things. Who knew she'd end up doing Hip Hop? And do it well!
The Hip Hop video isn't on YouTube, but my daughter is in a music video with her friends. The band is called While We're Up and this is their very enjoyable cover of Frosty the Snowman. For those of you stuck in snow and freezing temperatures like we are here in the Eastern Sierra, you'll enjoy winter in Tempe, Arizona in this video. Wait for it in the end...
You can also find the video at this link.
May everyone be surrounded by music, song and dance this holiday season.
I also went to a campus nightclub whenever they had live music and somehow always ended up living in the same dorm hall or apartment building as many of the bands that played in the nightclub, so they would visit me and bring their instruments or I would visit them and they would play and sing for me.
I ended up marrying a man who could play several instruments and sing, so I was covered in the live music department. However, as the years wore on, life became all about work and earning money, and I even stopped listening to music on CDs while my husband only rarely played his guitars and the piano. Our kids were always taking music lessons in school and could play multiple instruments. We'd go to parades, school ball games, concerts and band competitions to watch them march and play. My daughter's high school band got to play at George W. Bush's inauguration in Washington D.C.
Then our daughter left for college and our son was taking a guitar class, but never really participated in any performances. He made friends with another musician and the two of them tried out for the school talent show. I thought they were fantastic, but they didn't make the cut. My son and his friend weren't deterred. They still practice and talk about playing in coffee houses together. I feel fortunate that I get to listen to my son's music.
My daughter came home for the holidays and showed us a video of a group dance performance she did for her Hip Hop class at the university. All semester she had been talking about how bad she is at dance, but she was having so much fun. Her performance in the video blew us away. She stole the show. Not only does she have rhythm and knows the moves, but her personality beamed enthusiasm.
That brought back memories of when I enrolled her in ballet as a preschooler. I remember taking her to the dance studio every Wednesday afternoon in her pink leotard, tutu, and ballet shoes. At the end of each class, the instructor led the girls around in a line on their tiptoes saying, "Chugga chugga chugga chugga choo choo!"
Ultimately, the girl in front of my daughter would be moving too fast and the girl behind would be moving too slow, pulling on her waist, and my daughter would fall down. Then the entire train had to stop to let her back on. After two years she lost interest, and moved on to other things. Who knew she'd end up doing Hip Hop? And do it well!
The Hip Hop video isn't on YouTube, but my daughter is in a music video with her friends. The band is called While We're Up and this is their very enjoyable cover of Frosty the Snowman. For those of you stuck in snow and freezing temperatures like we are here in the Eastern Sierra, you'll enjoy winter in Tempe, Arizona in this video. Wait for it in the end...
You can also find the video at this link.
May everyone be surrounded by music, song and dance this holiday season.
Monday, December 20, 2010
The Ice Princesses and Their Ice Prince
This is what happens when you have a snowstorm followed by a rainstorm followed by a snowstorm...
It looks like mud, but it has a thin layer of ice over it, so with each step you take you first hear a CRAAAAACK followed by a SPLAAAAAT!
Sections of the paddock have little unintended ponds underneath the ice, and the feed troughs are halfway full of ice as well...
The horses have been stuck in their stalls for three days and three nights. I tried to let them out for exercise when I cleaned the stalls, but none of them wanted to venture out from underneath the awning as long as some form of precipitation was falling from the sky. I had to keep shooing them out of their stalls so I could finish cleaning. Despite their desire to be indoors when the sky was falling, they were still quite fired up with claustrophobia this morning.
I had to put a halter on each horse, get a good grip on the lead rope right underneath the chin, and firmly order him or her to walk. I pointed to the ground to get their attention on the footing. Gabbrielle was excited, but she trusted me and followed my directions. She hesitated at the pond in front of Bombay's stall, and he kicked the stall wall in that very instant, which sent her straight up in the air. I yelled at Bombay to be quiet so Gabbrielle could muster up the courage to walk through the gate on ice. With each storm, the hay tarp lays on the ground in a different way from the day before, so she always has to pause here, study the tarp, and cut a wide wake around it.
I was hoping to get out before they started dynamiting the snow on the mountain. Our avalanche potential is at its highest, so we hear booming all morning most days. Unfortunately, they started dynamiting before I could get Gabbrielle through her final gate. She got away from me, but ran to her food without slipping, so all was well.
Bombay's lock on his stall was covered in ice and snow and it wouldn't budge. I cupped my hands over it and blew on it until I could brush away most of it and open the snap. He was puffed up as tall as could be. I could tell that he intended to bust out the second I opened the door and make a run for his food. I only opened it enough for me to squeeze through and halter him. He too got to the gate of his pen and hesitated. There was a big dark pond underneath the ice. He wouldn't go through the gate until I did first, but the meant I had to step into the pond. He could avoid the pond if he just stayed to the right, so I swirled the end of the lead rope beside him and he pushed through.
I knew from past experience that Lostine would be the worst. She gets very excited in cold weather and does not like to be led to her food. She has this attitude that she knows how to get to it and doesn't need some dumb human showing her the way.
Sure enough, after I commanded her to walk, she jumped through her stall door and reared up underneath the awning. Dang it! Here I was trying to prevent her from breaking a leg on ice, and now she was about to konk herself on the head. I stayed with her, keeping my hand on the lead rope right underneath her chin so that she'd have to pull the weight of me up with her. As soon as she hit that resistance, she came back down and I had to watch my knees and feet.
I led her a few steps out from underneath the awning, and up she went again. This time I gave her yank and yelled NO! I tried leading her again, but she was walking sideways like a racehorse. I tried turning her so that she was walking forward beside me, but she took that as her chance to bolt. I hung on and she spun to face me. I ended up walking her BACKWARDS all the way to her food. It was the only way I had control.
I don't usually feed the horses off the ground, but the food troughs were too loaded down with ice for me to empty. Horse management is all about having to improvise because if Mother Nature can throw a problem your way, she does. She likes to keep us on our toes. Here's a spot where my boot fell through the ice on the manure pile...
It's a lot deeper than it looks. SPLAAAAAT!
Sections of the paddock have little unintended ponds underneath the ice, and the feed troughs are halfway full of ice as well...
I had to put a halter on each horse, get a good grip on the lead rope right underneath the chin, and firmly order him or her to walk. I pointed to the ground to get their attention on the footing. Gabbrielle was excited, but she trusted me and followed my directions. She hesitated at the pond in front of Bombay's stall, and he kicked the stall wall in that very instant, which sent her straight up in the air. I yelled at Bombay to be quiet so Gabbrielle could muster up the courage to walk through the gate on ice. With each storm, the hay tarp lays on the ground in a different way from the day before, so she always has to pause here, study the tarp, and cut a wide wake around it.
Sure enough, after I commanded her to walk, she jumped through her stall door and reared up underneath the awning. Dang it! Here I was trying to prevent her from breaking a leg on ice, and now she was about to konk herself on the head. I stayed with her, keeping my hand on the lead rope right underneath her chin so that she'd have to pull the weight of me up with her. As soon as she hit that resistance, she came back down and I had to watch my knees and feet.
I led her a few steps out from underneath the awning, and up she went again. This time I gave her yank and yelled NO! I tried leading her again, but she was walking sideways like a racehorse. I tried turning her so that she was walking forward beside me, but she took that as her chance to bolt. I hung on and she spun to face me. I ended up walking her BACKWARDS all the way to her food. It was the only way I had control.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
22nd
No, my horses didn't come in 22nd place in a race. They are still out in the barn in their blankets surviving snowstorm after rainstorm after windstorm. Nothing much to report there, but my husband and I had our 22nd wedding anniversary yesterday. We saw the movie The Tourist in a shockingly small theater. There were only seven rows of seats. We actually arrived early and didn't have much seating left to chose from. It's sad how a movie gets a few bad reviews and the theaters downsize it within a few days of its release to their smallest theater, assuming no one will want to see it because of the reviews.
I'm usually not one to see a movie in a public theater, but wait for it to come out on DVD. Much of the time the theater turns up the volume so loud that my ears actually hurt. I also have an aversion to the smell of buttered popcorn. It makes me nauseated. It grosses me out listening to the sounds of people eating so close to my ear. Then, of course, there are the kids who kick the back of your seat, people with body odor, people with bad breath, people with gas, and all the sick people who cough and sneeze on you. I'm a bit like the TV character Monk and try to avoid large crowds or situations where people are crammed together.
I tried leaving a seat beside me so I could breathe, but these people showed up who insisted that everyone stand up and move down to fill in one empty chair so that they could sit together. My husband and I ended up being surrounded by people eating buttered popcorn and candy. The lady beside me was opening individually wrapped candies so slowly that I was about to strangle her because I couldn't concentrate on the movie over all that crinkling. I did have an allergic reaction to something and rubbed my eyes raw. However, there were no kids kicking and the worst smell was the perfume of the lady beside me, so overall I got lucky.
I enjoyed The Tourist. From the reviews, Europeans love it while Americans hate it. We think it is probably too simple and slow paced for us Americans, but I was there to relax, and there was not one single moment in which it moved so slow that I was bored and checking my watch. In fact, I was surprised when the movie had ended. Had we really been sitting in there for two hours?
Plus, who doesn't love Johnny Depp and Angelina Jolie? I've been a fan of Johnny Depp's since 21 Jump Street, which was the only show I watched religiously as a teenager, and I have been fascinated with Jolie's beauty and acting skills since Girl Interrupted.
My husband and I contemplated the ending and decided our own version of it would have been better. This is one of those movies that potentially could have come out with multiple alternate endings. However, it's chosen ending did not disappoint from the perspective that it forces you to think back to earlier scenes knowing what you know now.
Angelina's cat walk and booty shaking seemed a bit erratic. In much of the movie she came across as a sophisticated lady, head up, lips glued in the same expression, large cat eyes always wide open, never blinking, perfect posture, etc. However, there was one scene in which she shook her booty so hard she looked like a drunk side-winder slithering her way into a building. Both my husband and I thought that was beyond ridiculous, but it is a subtle comedy, and for $20 million a movie, Angelina Jolie can do whatever she wants. As usual, she is astoundingly beautiful in this movie. People in the theater gasped and commented on how stunning she was in the very first scene.
The setting of the movie is Venice, Italy and it really takes you into the culture, only instead of traveling via gondola, the characters get around in speed boats. Can you imagine stepping out of your hotel, calling for a taxi, and stepping onto a boat instead of into a car?
Just in the last few minutes of the movie, the perfumed, candy wrapper crinkling lady beside me farted. Loud. Loud enough for me to hear. I immediately put my hand over my nose and mouth, which must have embarrassed her, because she got up to go to the bathroom and never returned. Anyway, when the lights came up, I had to step over piles of candy wrappers left by the lady beside me. I was like, "Oh for Pete's sake! How hard is it to bring a bag for your own garbage?"
Some people truly believe it is the theater's job to clean up after them. I think my dog's butt is cleaner than that lady was.
After the movie, my husband and I went out to dinner at a new restaurant and winery in town. It was one of those fancy places where you order a $10 glass of wine, and they deliver only a tiny bit in the bottom of the glass, but it was worth every penny of it, because it was best wine I ever tasted. My husband ordered a duck omelet and said it was fantastic. I had a delicious salmon fettuccine and penne concoction. It was well worth splurging the $16 a plate to eat something put together by a professional cook. I was starting to think that all American food sucks because I was tired of the same old, same old.
We were seated by a fireplace. I gave my husband his anniversary card and gift at the table, and the waitress inquired if it was a birthday or anniversary. I had hoped she was asking because they would give us a complimentary dessert, but it turned out she was just curious. I was too full from the pasta to eat dessert anyway. I gave my husband a new wallet with incredibly soft leather. He gave me a gift certificate to Staples, so that I can buy office supplies I need for my photography business. Woo hoo! You know what that means, don't you? Shopping spree!
I think I'll wait until the Christmas shoppers and after Christmas exchangers clear out, though. I don't want anymore farting incidents.
I'm usually not one to see a movie in a public theater, but wait for it to come out on DVD. Much of the time the theater turns up the volume so loud that my ears actually hurt. I also have an aversion to the smell of buttered popcorn. It makes me nauseated. It grosses me out listening to the sounds of people eating so close to my ear. Then, of course, there are the kids who kick the back of your seat, people with body odor, people with bad breath, people with gas, and all the sick people who cough and sneeze on you. I'm a bit like the TV character Monk and try to avoid large crowds or situations where people are crammed together.
I tried leaving a seat beside me so I could breathe, but these people showed up who insisted that everyone stand up and move down to fill in one empty chair so that they could sit together. My husband and I ended up being surrounded by people eating buttered popcorn and candy. The lady beside me was opening individually wrapped candies so slowly that I was about to strangle her because I couldn't concentrate on the movie over all that crinkling. I did have an allergic reaction to something and rubbed my eyes raw. However, there were no kids kicking and the worst smell was the perfume of the lady beside me, so overall I got lucky.
I enjoyed The Tourist. From the reviews, Europeans love it while Americans hate it. We think it is probably too simple and slow paced for us Americans, but I was there to relax, and there was not one single moment in which it moved so slow that I was bored and checking my watch. In fact, I was surprised when the movie had ended. Had we really been sitting in there for two hours?
Plus, who doesn't love Johnny Depp and Angelina Jolie? I've been a fan of Johnny Depp's since 21 Jump Street, which was the only show I watched religiously as a teenager, and I have been fascinated with Jolie's beauty and acting skills since Girl Interrupted.
My husband and I contemplated the ending and decided our own version of it would have been better. This is one of those movies that potentially could have come out with multiple alternate endings. However, it's chosen ending did not disappoint from the perspective that it forces you to think back to earlier scenes knowing what you know now.
Angelina's cat walk and booty shaking seemed a bit erratic. In much of the movie she came across as a sophisticated lady, head up, lips glued in the same expression, large cat eyes always wide open, never blinking, perfect posture, etc. However, there was one scene in which she shook her booty so hard she looked like a drunk side-winder slithering her way into a building. Both my husband and I thought that was beyond ridiculous, but it is a subtle comedy, and for $20 million a movie, Angelina Jolie can do whatever she wants. As usual, she is astoundingly beautiful in this movie. People in the theater gasped and commented on how stunning she was in the very first scene.
The setting of the movie is Venice, Italy and it really takes you into the culture, only instead of traveling via gondola, the characters get around in speed boats. Can you imagine stepping out of your hotel, calling for a taxi, and stepping onto a boat instead of into a car?
Just in the last few minutes of the movie, the perfumed, candy wrapper crinkling lady beside me farted. Loud. Loud enough for me to hear. I immediately put my hand over my nose and mouth, which must have embarrassed her, because she got up to go to the bathroom and never returned. Anyway, when the lights came up, I had to step over piles of candy wrappers left by the lady beside me. I was like, "Oh for Pete's sake! How hard is it to bring a bag for your own garbage?"
Some people truly believe it is the theater's job to clean up after them. I think my dog's butt is cleaner than that lady was.
After the movie, my husband and I went out to dinner at a new restaurant and winery in town. It was one of those fancy places where you order a $10 glass of wine, and they deliver only a tiny bit in the bottom of the glass, but it was worth every penny of it, because it was best wine I ever tasted. My husband ordered a duck omelet and said it was fantastic. I had a delicious salmon fettuccine and penne concoction. It was well worth splurging the $16 a plate to eat something put together by a professional cook. I was starting to think that all American food sucks because I was tired of the same old, same old.
We were seated by a fireplace. I gave my husband his anniversary card and gift at the table, and the waitress inquired if it was a birthday or anniversary. I had hoped she was asking because they would give us a complimentary dessert, but it turned out she was just curious. I was too full from the pasta to eat dessert anyway. I gave my husband a new wallet with incredibly soft leather. He gave me a gift certificate to Staples, so that I can buy office supplies I need for my photography business. Woo hoo! You know what that means, don't you? Shopping spree!
I think I'll wait until the Christmas shoppers and after Christmas exchangers clear out, though. I don't want anymore farting incidents.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Indoor Arena Photography
I meant to mention this to everyone. You know how when you go to a horse show and attempt to take pictures of the horses moving around an indoor arena, all the pictures come out blurry -- even those in which the horses are merely moving at a walk? Something as simple as the turn of the rider's head can result in ghost trails. The only photography experience I've had that has had worse results is trying to take pictures of my son playing basketball in an indoor gym. You just get a bunch of orange blurs with comet tails.
Anyway, I've been reading a book written by an equine photographer, and he said that he has to rent strobe lights and install them himself in the ceilings of indoor arenas before the show. Then he has a remote trigger attached to his camera that sets off the flash of those overhead strobes when he hits the shutter release. He said it is incredibly expensive, and that most professional basketball stadiums already have them installed for photographers. Well, no wonder us hobbyists can't get good shots.
Also, he said that the short burst of a strobe from above is a lot less disturbing and distracting to the horses than a flash attached to the camera. Good to know. All I have to say is yay for outdoor arenas... in the summertime, of course.
Anyway, I've been reading a book written by an equine photographer, and he said that he has to rent strobe lights and install them himself in the ceilings of indoor arenas before the show. Then he has a remote trigger attached to his camera that sets off the flash of those overhead strobes when he hits the shutter release. He said it is incredibly expensive, and that most professional basketball stadiums already have them installed for photographers. Well, no wonder us hobbyists can't get good shots.
Also, he said that the short burst of a strobe from above is a lot less disturbing and distracting to the horses than a flash attached to the camera. Good to know. All I have to say is yay for outdoor arenas... in the summertime, of course.
Community Lost
I only drive into town once a week, and each week based upon the amount of vehicle and foot traffic, the length of lines, and the poor service, it feels as if the population in my town has doubled from the previous week. I keep seeing more and more evidence that I am losing my quality of life, and it saddens me. I know it is only a matter of time before smog starts eclipsing our beautiful view of the Eastern Sierra.
The town is trapped in a bad state between being what it used to be and the city it is becoming. For example, in the good old days you could walk into just about any business and be the only customer. As a result, people would hang out and chat, talking about their children, their grandchildren, and their holiday plans. People still do that, only they fail to notice the long line of people behind them waiting to be served. And the employees doing the serving would rather continue their conversation, because socializing is way more interesting than doing their job. I run into this problem at the bank, the pharmacy, the market, the deli, the tire shop, just about everywhere but Jiffy Lube. I still give Jiffy Lube credit for keeping up a fast pace, while still offering coffee to its customers. I guess it helps to put a word that implies speed into the name of the business.
The last time I went to the market, I couldn't find any of the items I usually buy. This market, which I have shopped at for 20 years, trained its cashiers to always ask the customer if they found what they needed, and if they didn't, they would put the item on a list to be ordered. They stopped doing that.
They also used to schedule two courtesy clerks per cashier stand to bag the groceries, push the cart out to your car, and load them into your trunk. One would stay indoors to help the next customer while the other walked you out. They don't do that anymore.
I looked around and saw most customers bagging their own groceries, and only three check stands were open. In the past, as soon as a third customer stepped into a line, they opened another cash register and took the next person in line over to it. The cashier would physically pull their cart or carry their basket so that no one else could leap in front of the customer she's inviting over to her stand. In some other stores, the cashier would yell out to an elderly person in line at another stand, that her stand is open. By the time that person maneuvered out of the one line over to the other stand, three or four people who were just showing up would already be in line at the other stand and the elderly customer discovers she would have been better off staying where she was. That never happened at my favorite market. However, now they have just stopped opening new check stands, allowing the customers to form such long lines that they block the front of all the aisles.
If the market could keep plenty of staff on the schedule back when the population was smaller and the food was less expensive, and suddenly now can no longer afford to pay its employees after raising food prices and getting 10x their usual business on any given day, something is seriously wrong with this economy. Either that or the market just has new managers who want to keep all that money for themselves.
Once I needed to return my empty cart to a rack, I couldn't find any. They had removed all the cart return racks to make room for more parking spaces. What are we supposed to do? Walk the cart all the way back to the inside of the store? I'm one of those people who always parks way out to avoid getting boxed into my parking space, so I certainly would get my exercise, but if I've got people waiting for me in the car or truck, that's rather inconvenient.
I found an employee in the parking lot and asked him if they had any cart racks left, because people were just leaving carts scattered around in parking spaces. He said, "I don't know. I just moved here and am new at this job."
Case in point.
The town is trapped in a bad state between being what it used to be and the city it is becoming. For example, in the good old days you could walk into just about any business and be the only customer. As a result, people would hang out and chat, talking about their children, their grandchildren, and their holiday plans. People still do that, only they fail to notice the long line of people behind them waiting to be served. And the employees doing the serving would rather continue their conversation, because socializing is way more interesting than doing their job. I run into this problem at the bank, the pharmacy, the market, the deli, the tire shop, just about everywhere but Jiffy Lube. I still give Jiffy Lube credit for keeping up a fast pace, while still offering coffee to its customers. I guess it helps to put a word that implies speed into the name of the business.
The last time I went to the market, I couldn't find any of the items I usually buy. This market, which I have shopped at for 20 years, trained its cashiers to always ask the customer if they found what they needed, and if they didn't, they would put the item on a list to be ordered. They stopped doing that.
They also used to schedule two courtesy clerks per cashier stand to bag the groceries, push the cart out to your car, and load them into your trunk. One would stay indoors to help the next customer while the other walked you out. They don't do that anymore.
I looked around and saw most customers bagging their own groceries, and only three check stands were open. In the past, as soon as a third customer stepped into a line, they opened another cash register and took the next person in line over to it. The cashier would physically pull their cart or carry their basket so that no one else could leap in front of the customer she's inviting over to her stand. In some other stores, the cashier would yell out to an elderly person in line at another stand, that her stand is open. By the time that person maneuvered out of the one line over to the other stand, three or four people who were just showing up would already be in line at the other stand and the elderly customer discovers she would have been better off staying where she was. That never happened at my favorite market. However, now they have just stopped opening new check stands, allowing the customers to form such long lines that they block the front of all the aisles.
If the market could keep plenty of staff on the schedule back when the population was smaller and the food was less expensive, and suddenly now can no longer afford to pay its employees after raising food prices and getting 10x their usual business on any given day, something is seriously wrong with this economy. Either that or the market just has new managers who want to keep all that money for themselves.
Once I needed to return my empty cart to a rack, I couldn't find any. They had removed all the cart return racks to make room for more parking spaces. What are we supposed to do? Walk the cart all the way back to the inside of the store? I'm one of those people who always parks way out to avoid getting boxed into my parking space, so I certainly would get my exercise, but if I've got people waiting for me in the car or truck, that's rather inconvenient.
I found an employee in the parking lot and asked him if they had any cart racks left, because people were just leaving carts scattered around in parking spaces. He said, "I don't know. I just moved here and am new at this job."
Case in point.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Just In Case You Haven't Got Enough...
...snow, here are some pics from this evening after it had been snowing all day. I took this picture within a couple of seconds of stepping outside...
And I took this picture within about 20 seconds of stepping outside...
The horses are happy to see me, because they know it means they will soon have a clean stall and a fresh flake of hay. I had a nice picture of Bombay with his ears forward, but within 30 seconds of me stepping outside, my nosy neighbors drove up the road, which explains the worried eye and the ears suddenly flicked back to listen to the squealing fan belt behind the barn...
I guess their satellite view of my house showed me coming outside to clean stalls, so they had to race home to watch. Here's another picture ruined by the flick of an ear in the direction of a slamming car door...
So much for the magical peace and quiet of a snowy evening. And here I had a really cute picture of Gabbrielle with her ears forward asking for a kiss, but before I could press the shutter release all the way down, they slammed their front door as they came outside to walk their dog...
So, I flipped up my flash and took some pictures in their general direction and they suddenly became camera shy and went back inside their house. My camera is my friend. The snow? It has its charm, but only for a short while.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Junkyard Dogs
I've been trying to take the dogs out for a run every sunny afternoon I can get. First I took them to the canyon where I ride the horses. Then I took them to a local dog and horse park, and we took the dog-walking trail that is more toward the center of the park. By "park", I mean it is a huge vacant space filled with sagebrush, and someone ran a tractor around it and laid down pebbles and decomposed granite for trails. That's a Nevada style park. No green grass. They do have playground equipment for the kids, a few scattered benches, and tennis courts, though.
This time I ran with the dogs on the horse trail, which is around the very outer edge of the park. I talked about this park last year, wondering how I would squeeze a horse through those tight openings they make to keep out ATVs and motorcycles. Obviously, it can be done, because I see horse prints in the sand all the time.
I know I would have to have the time to desensitize my horses to squeezing between posts, though, and I've never had the opportunity to try it. My horses go through gates at home, move in and out of their stalls, and sometimes get in and out of the trailer, but every new space brings out their prey instinct and I have to start all over in their training just to get them through a new gate in a new place.
Anyway, jogging with the dogs around the outer edge of the park was an eye-opening experience. The trail is lined with the back yards of some very seedy homes. Most of the back yards are filled with broken down vehicles and garbage piles. Four of the homes had vicious dogs that lunged at us through the fence. I was out of breath from having to pull Scrappy back. He was ready to engage in any challenge. I started thinking about how my horses might react being charged by large barking dogs with deep voices. I'm sure that if I were leading them, I wouldn't be able to hold onto the rope. If I were riding them, I'd probably have the ride of my life. At one house, the dog nearly cleared a 7-foot fence in its effort to get to us.
Needless to say, our exercise was far from relaxing. I think I'll stick to the interior trails for my dog walks from now on. On the way home, I came around a bend and an oncoming driver got right up to me and then crossed over the center line right at the side of my truck. I had to swerve onto the shoulder and honk. I see people on the upside of the curve bank down into the oncoming lane on that corner all the time, but usually if they see a car in the oncoming lane, they move back into their own lane. This is the first time I had someone actually aim their car at me. Sometimes I think half the people around here are on drugs. All I can say is thank God for anti-anxiety medication, because without it I'd have a hard time getting in cars at all.
Oh yeah, and there is one property at that park that has a horse. I remember the horse owner put up a sign that read, "Please do not feed the horse." I also remember having to chase off some kids who were ignoring the sign and feeding the horse sagebrush one day, which can be poisonous to horses in large amounts. Today when I passed that house, the fence was broken, the horse and the sign were gone, and the horse trailer was being used as a storage unit. I worried that the horse might have died from colic, but hopefully the owner just had to board it someplace else for its safety. I know that if someone constructed a public park right up against my horse paddock, I wouldn't sleep at night wondering what stupid things people are doing to my horses now.
This time I ran with the dogs on the horse trail, which is around the very outer edge of the park. I talked about this park last year, wondering how I would squeeze a horse through those tight openings they make to keep out ATVs and motorcycles. Obviously, it can be done, because I see horse prints in the sand all the time.
I know I would have to have the time to desensitize my horses to squeezing between posts, though, and I've never had the opportunity to try it. My horses go through gates at home, move in and out of their stalls, and sometimes get in and out of the trailer, but every new space brings out their prey instinct and I have to start all over in their training just to get them through a new gate in a new place.
Anyway, jogging with the dogs around the outer edge of the park was an eye-opening experience. The trail is lined with the back yards of some very seedy homes. Most of the back yards are filled with broken down vehicles and garbage piles. Four of the homes had vicious dogs that lunged at us through the fence. I was out of breath from having to pull Scrappy back. He was ready to engage in any challenge. I started thinking about how my horses might react being charged by large barking dogs with deep voices. I'm sure that if I were leading them, I wouldn't be able to hold onto the rope. If I were riding them, I'd probably have the ride of my life. At one house, the dog nearly cleared a 7-foot fence in its effort to get to us.
Needless to say, our exercise was far from relaxing. I think I'll stick to the interior trails for my dog walks from now on. On the way home, I came around a bend and an oncoming driver got right up to me and then crossed over the center line right at the side of my truck. I had to swerve onto the shoulder and honk. I see people on the upside of the curve bank down into the oncoming lane on that corner all the time, but usually if they see a car in the oncoming lane, they move back into their own lane. This is the first time I had someone actually aim their car at me. Sometimes I think half the people around here are on drugs. All I can say is thank God for anti-anxiety medication, because without it I'd have a hard time getting in cars at all.
Oh yeah, and there is one property at that park that has a horse. I remember the horse owner put up a sign that read, "Please do not feed the horse." I also remember having to chase off some kids who were ignoring the sign and feeding the horse sagebrush one day, which can be poisonous to horses in large amounts. Today when I passed that house, the fence was broken, the horse and the sign were gone, and the horse trailer was being used as a storage unit. I worried that the horse might have died from colic, but hopefully the owner just had to board it someplace else for its safety. I know that if someone constructed a public park right up against my horse paddock, I wouldn't sleep at night wondering what stupid things people are doing to my horses now.
Food Fights and Truces
Between the weather and our lack of motivation to run yet more errands thanks to being burnt out over holiday shopping, our cupboard-filling expeditions have been haphazard. Sometimes my husband and/or I do our marketing at Wal-Mart because we happen to be there to get something else, but we do the marketing without the list of items we actually need.
Sometimes we run into town on a week evening to pick up a few items at the market, but are often unwilling to do a full marketing because we are too tired or the market is too crowded. I'd swear that every time I go into town, the population has doubled from the week before. As a result, food has been difficult to find around our kitchen lately.
To make matters worse, the boys have big appetites. They can polish off two huge jars of trail mix in a couple of days. When I cook something, I have to give them triple servings from what I eat, and still they fix something else for themselves after they finish what I served them. All the quick and easy pre-packaged stuff such as granola bars get grabbed on the way out the door to school and work.
Having a teenager who drives can be quite fun if you aren't wracked with worry over the statistics. My husband and I play this game where we say, "I have a taste for ________." Fill in the blank. It can be pizza, tacos, cheeseburgers, beef jerky or even tapioca pudding.
Then our son says, "YEAH! That sounds good."
Then we hand him a twenty dollar bill and the keys to a vehicle and send him on his way. It's a very special delivery. And we don't even have to pay a tip.
Well, our son has caught onto this game and has been losing his enthusiasm regarding these "tastes" that we get. So, the other afternoon, after not eating since breakfast because there wasn't anything appealing in the house, I said, "I have a taste for a Subway sandwich."
No response.
I repeated myself for good measure, just in case he didn't hear the first time. Still no response. So, lazy me waited until dinner to put something together for everyone.
The next day lunch time was approaching and I still had a hankering for a Subway sandwich. I raced out to my truck to try to beat the lunch hour crowd. You can easily spend half an hour standing in line between 11:30 AM and 1:30 PM, so I left at 11:10 AM. Only one person ahead of me. What a deal! I came home with my foot-long sandwich, but could only eat half. I rolled up the other half and put it in the fridge.
The next morning while gathering his breakfast and lunch items, my son asked, "What's that in the refrigerator?"
All my life I've been buying food that I looked forward to eating, but always ended up giving it to my kids when they showed an interest in it if there wasn't enough for everybody. However, on this day I was really, really looking forward to eating the other half of that sandwich.
"That's my lunch," I said, feeling like I just took food from the mouth of a babe.
"And you couldn't have picked something up for me?" he asked.
"Well, I said I had a taste for a Subway sandwich the other day, and you showed no signs of interest. I didn't want to buy you something you wouldn't eat." I was teasing him. The truth was that I was low on cash.
He snorted his disgust at me. Now he was in a pickle. Does he show an interest in our tastes or not?
My son was late for school and ended up abandoning finding a lunch to take with him. I offered him what little change I had for him to hopefully be able to buy lunch, but he wouldn't take it. As I heard him outside scraping ice off his windshield, I knew the taste of that Subway sandwich just wouldn't be the same knowing that my son had nothing to eat at school. I put it in a brown bag and tip-toed outside on the ice in my socks and handed it to him.
"Thanks," he said, not looking inside the bag.
A short time later he came back in the house and said he couldn't get the ice off his windshield. He scraped and scraped, but it just kept freezing over. Defeated, he sat down in a chair knowing he was beyond late to school. He said, "Can you write me a note while I fix a bigger lunch? I don't know how much you gave me."
He then looked in the bag and said with surprise, "Oh, it's your sandwich."
He started slathering some peanut butter on bread while I wrote the note. Once he had a bigger lunch packed, he headed back out the door hoping the car's deicer took care of the problem. As he drove off, I looked in the fridge for some breakfast, and found my Subway sandwich back where it was before. There is a Food Fairy after all.
Of course, after that experience, I went to the market and bought a couple of hundred dollars worth of groceries to stock up. That should last the boys at least three days. ;}
Beginning on Friday, we are supposed to get snow all the way through to Christmas. I miss the good old days of grocery deliveries.
Sometimes we run into town on a week evening to pick up a few items at the market, but are often unwilling to do a full marketing because we are too tired or the market is too crowded. I'd swear that every time I go into town, the population has doubled from the week before. As a result, food has been difficult to find around our kitchen lately.
To make matters worse, the boys have big appetites. They can polish off two huge jars of trail mix in a couple of days. When I cook something, I have to give them triple servings from what I eat, and still they fix something else for themselves after they finish what I served them. All the quick and easy pre-packaged stuff such as granola bars get grabbed on the way out the door to school and work.
Having a teenager who drives can be quite fun if you aren't wracked with worry over the statistics. My husband and I play this game where we say, "I have a taste for ________." Fill in the blank. It can be pizza, tacos, cheeseburgers, beef jerky or even tapioca pudding.
Then our son says, "YEAH! That sounds good."
Then we hand him a twenty dollar bill and the keys to a vehicle and send him on his way. It's a very special delivery. And we don't even have to pay a tip.
Well, our son has caught onto this game and has been losing his enthusiasm regarding these "tastes" that we get. So, the other afternoon, after not eating since breakfast because there wasn't anything appealing in the house, I said, "I have a taste for a Subway sandwich."
No response.
I repeated myself for good measure, just in case he didn't hear the first time. Still no response. So, lazy me waited until dinner to put something together for everyone.
The next day lunch time was approaching and I still had a hankering for a Subway sandwich. I raced out to my truck to try to beat the lunch hour crowd. You can easily spend half an hour standing in line between 11:30 AM and 1:30 PM, so I left at 11:10 AM. Only one person ahead of me. What a deal! I came home with my foot-long sandwich, but could only eat half. I rolled up the other half and put it in the fridge.
The next morning while gathering his breakfast and lunch items, my son asked, "What's that in the refrigerator?"
All my life I've been buying food that I looked forward to eating, but always ended up giving it to my kids when they showed an interest in it if there wasn't enough for everybody. However, on this day I was really, really looking forward to eating the other half of that sandwich.
"That's my lunch," I said, feeling like I just took food from the mouth of a babe.
"And you couldn't have picked something up for me?" he asked.
"Well, I said I had a taste for a Subway sandwich the other day, and you showed no signs of interest. I didn't want to buy you something you wouldn't eat." I was teasing him. The truth was that I was low on cash.
He snorted his disgust at me. Now he was in a pickle. Does he show an interest in our tastes or not?
My son was late for school and ended up abandoning finding a lunch to take with him. I offered him what little change I had for him to hopefully be able to buy lunch, but he wouldn't take it. As I heard him outside scraping ice off his windshield, I knew the taste of that Subway sandwich just wouldn't be the same knowing that my son had nothing to eat at school. I put it in a brown bag and tip-toed outside on the ice in my socks and handed it to him.
"Thanks," he said, not looking inside the bag.
A short time later he came back in the house and said he couldn't get the ice off his windshield. He scraped and scraped, but it just kept freezing over. Defeated, he sat down in a chair knowing he was beyond late to school. He said, "Can you write me a note while I fix a bigger lunch? I don't know how much you gave me."
He then looked in the bag and said with surprise, "Oh, it's your sandwich."
He started slathering some peanut butter on bread while I wrote the note. Once he had a bigger lunch packed, he headed back out the door hoping the car's deicer took care of the problem. As he drove off, I looked in the fridge for some breakfast, and found my Subway sandwich back where it was before. There is a Food Fairy after all.
Of course, after that experience, I went to the market and bought a couple of hundred dollars worth of groceries to stock up. That should last the boys at least three days. ;}
Beginning on Friday, we are supposed to get snow all the way through to Christmas. I miss the good old days of grocery deliveries.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
The Scrappy Factor
Scrappy and Midge have been doing such a good job getting along together lately that I forgot all about "The Scrappy Factor", and I attempted to play an old game with Midge. This is how the game is played:
1. Get eye contact with Midge.
2. Bend your knees from a standing position.
3. Say, "Reeeeaaaaaady?"
4. As you are saying, "Set, Go!", turn and take off running as fast as you can through the house, hurdling couches, jumping on beds, and hiding in showers and closets. It is imperative that you get a head start, otherwise you will have a dog attached to your pant leg in the first two seconds of the chase.
5. When the pant leg is caught, you lose... and you always lose.
I don't think I got four steps into my escape when I heard Scrappy growling and barking in attack mode behind me. I stopped and turned around to see Midge sitting still and Scrappy "pointing" at her to hold her there.
Midge was looking at me with big, terrified brown eyes saying, "I want to chase you, but I can't because Scrappy has me under arrest."
I keep forgetting that when Midge and I play games, Scrappy misinterprets Midge's behavior as aggressive, and then he attacks her to protect me. By attacking, I mean he growls and barks and tugs on her long fur with his teeth, herding her into sitting position.
Oh well, I guess in the future I'll have to remove "The Scrappy Factor" by putting him outside while Midge and I play our "reindeer games".
Sunday, December 12, 2010
A Warm Winter Ride
Here are some pics I took of the horses with my point-and-shoot yesterday with their winter blankets removed. I stood on the wheel well of my horse trailer to get a higher perspective.
I got a chance to ride Bombay today just around the paddock. I had so many barn chores to do that there wasn't time to do much more beyond ride at home. The neighborhood was quiet and vacant all day. However, the chores tuckered me out and Bombay reflected my energy by pussy-footing around and pretending not to feel the squeeze of my legs and hear the cluck of my tongue.
Even though he is very sweet and kind, he does have a stubborn streak. I blame myself, because I'm in the habit of establishing dominance over the mares since they are bossy, and then I baby Bombay since he's usually the victim of the mares' bossiness. As a result, the mares respect me and do what I say, while Bombay just thinks I'm his hugging machine.
After our ride a miracle happened. This guy who always speeds up and down the street in his truck actually noticed me walking through the gate with my horse beside me, and he slowed down to probably less than 10 MPH as he passed. That tells me he didn't want to spook my horse and didn't want me to get hurt. I like that. What a concept. I had given up on trying to get people to see past the noses on their own faces years ago, so it warms my heart to see someone do something respectful toward me.
It was such an unseasonably warm day that I was actually hot in my log sleeves, and there were a ton of motorcycles on the road. It almost felt like summer. We're supposedly going to get snow next weekend, but I'm really appreciating this sunshine while we've got it. It's tough going through a long, cold, wet, dark winter.
I got a chance to ride Bombay today just around the paddock. I had so many barn chores to do that there wasn't time to do much more beyond ride at home. The neighborhood was quiet and vacant all day. However, the chores tuckered me out and Bombay reflected my energy by pussy-footing around and pretending not to feel the squeeze of my legs and hear the cluck of my tongue.
Even though he is very sweet and kind, he does have a stubborn streak. I blame myself, because I'm in the habit of establishing dominance over the mares since they are bossy, and then I baby Bombay since he's usually the victim of the mares' bossiness. As a result, the mares respect me and do what I say, while Bombay just thinks I'm his hugging machine.
After our ride a miracle happened. This guy who always speeds up and down the street in his truck actually noticed me walking through the gate with my horse beside me, and he slowed down to probably less than 10 MPH as he passed. That tells me he didn't want to spook my horse and didn't want me to get hurt. I like that. What a concept. I had given up on trying to get people to see past the noses on their own faces years ago, so it warms my heart to see someone do something respectful toward me.
It was such an unseasonably warm day that I was actually hot in my log sleeves, and there were a ton of motorcycles on the road. It almost felt like summer. We're supposedly going to get snow next weekend, but I'm really appreciating this sunshine while we've got it. It's tough going through a long, cold, wet, dark winter.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
A Warm Winter Weekend!
While my pals in the midwest and east have been suffering through awful snowstorms, we finally got a dry, warm weekend for the first winter in two years here in Northern Nevada. I happily skipped outside to remove the horses' blankets and let them romp together in the paddock, only to come face-to-face with my nosy neighbor. She stared almost as hard if not harder than her husband does when I come outside. My instinct was to say, "What? What do you want? Why do you keep staring at me?"
The problem is that she's my neighbor. I have to see her again tomorrow, or more likely within the next hour. I can't be too rude despite her rudeness. I try so hard not to stoop to their level and to just ignore the staring. Anyway, the woman finally turned away from me. She had her back to me. She wasn't facing anything reflective. So, I stuck out my tongue.
I know. It's incredibly immature, but it's my way of releasing some of my own frustration without causing a confrontation. Much to my horror, she whipped around and glared at me good and hard like a teacher who just caught me chewing gum in class. This lady really does have eyes in the back of her head. I knew I couldn't spend another lovely, sunny day hiding in the house from these creeps, so I decided to take the dogs on a very special field trip.
Do you recognize this place?
Yes, it is the same trail where I like to ride my horses. Despite being cloudy all week, it was still warm enough to melt all the snow in the foothills. Because the trail association laid down D.G., the footing was nice and dry. I wasn't sure how the dogs would do, because I rarely take them off the property. They have lots of room to run around at home. The only time they ride in a car is when they are going to the vet.
I decided to put Midge in the backseat and Scrappy in the front next to me. The animal control officer who helped me adopt Scrappy said she used to take him for rides in her truck, and he'd sit next to her in the passenger seat nicely as long as she didn't roll down the window all the way. Then he tried to jump out. So, I just cracked the window, and he did sit nicely. Still, I held onto his leash while driving, because I didn't want him to suddenly leap under my feet and press on the gas pedal or something.
When we got to the trail head parking lot, a dog came leaping down the trail and circled my truck. Scrappy and Midge were squealing at their windows, which broke into a bark fest. I couldn't tell where the dog was, so I just stopped the truck and waited for the dog's owner to come get it before finding a parking space.
Scrappy was excitedly pulling on his leash all the way up the trail, peeing on everything in sight. That dog sure does like to mark his territory. I don't think we got more than 100 feet past the doggie bag dispenser and bucket when Scrappy stopped to do his business. I cleaned it up and returned to the bucket to dispose of it.
Midge was very well behaved, heeling beside me on a loose leash. I don't think Scrappy has had any training in that arena. I heard voices up ahead and one of them said, "Oh God, not more dogs."
I looked up to see two horseback riders. The other one talked about how popular this place has become. Of course, I could totally relate to their desire to be alone. We stepped off to the side of the trail for them, and Midge had what I call one of her asthma attacks. She started snorting through her nose repeatedly as if struggling to breathe. The horseback riders became very concerned, but she did recover. Fortunately, these were not spooky horses. They watched her with interest, but not fear.
When I saw loose dogs up ahead, I stopped to pick up Scrappy. I wasn't sure how he would handle himself in that kind of a situation. I knew Midge would just hide behind my legs while the loose dogs sniffed her rear. Fortunately, Scrappy stayed quietly in my arms until the dogs passed, instead of struggling to jump free and bite them. I think he was on good behavior because he wasn't at home trying to protect his own territory.
Eventually, Midge and Scrappy walked side by side, weaving back and forth, getting their leashes all tangled. They also got their leashes tangled around my legs every time I stopped paying attention to them and started taking pictures.
I was proud of both of them, because they made it to my mounting block under the shade tree. We rested there until they stopped panting.
Scrappy was a dynamo.
But Midge got tuckered out fairly early on due to her thick coat. We did come across a woman with two Corgis and another little dog, which she carried in her arms just like I carried Scrappy. Our three Corgis were so cordial toward one another. I wish I weren't busy holding Scrappy, because I would have loved to have taken a picture of them together. Each Corgi had different coloring.
I discovered that Scrappy is quite a jumper.
He could jump both into and out of my Crew Cab. I can hardly climb into that monstrosity myself. Here we are heading back down the trail. Midge didn't heel as well on the way down, because she was excited to get home. My shadow looks weird because it was so warm that I had to remove my jacket and tie it around my waist.
Just when we reached the bottom of the hill nearing the parking lot, a lone man crossed our path who gave me the heebie jeebies. He seemed so out of place. I know most of the regulars on this trail. I know their dogs and horses. We all wear jeans while hiking. This guy was all dressed up like he was going to church and he reeked of cologne. He started talking to me a little too much so I pulled the dogs along to keep moving. I had left my mobile phone in the truck, so if something did happen I couldn't call for help. I doubted that either Scrappy or Midge would protect me if the guy were up to no good.
I watched him out of the corner of my eye as I moved down the trail and I could see he was standing there watching us instead of hiking. Maybe he was just a friendly fella, but he sure didn't dress appropriately for a hike. He seemed to be there on impulse. Whatever that impulse might be, I don't know. He just didn't have normal hiker behavior, if you know what I mean. I'll have to get out earlier in the mornings to avoid such encounters, like I do when I take the horses.
I love zooming in on the farmland down below and seeing all the animals out in their pastures.
As we were driving home, I breathed a sigh of relief that we made it without any incidents. We came around the corner, and I realized that I relaxed too soon. My nosy neighbor was out in front of my house walking her dog. Ack. After sitting quietly on the ride home, both dogs jumped up to the windows and started barking. I came to the realization that even though I can't escape my nosy neighbors around my home, I've never actually seen them in town or on any of my hikes or trail rides. So, I can escape them as long as I leave my home.
For that reason, it's really important that I get Bombay comfortable in the horse trailer so that I have a horse to trail ride. I'm not sure if Lostine can withstand anymore hilly rides with her pedal osteitis. I've also got to get Gabbrielle trained so she will be safe on the trails. Until then, I know the dogs will enjoy the trails with me.
The problem is that she's my neighbor. I have to see her again tomorrow, or more likely within the next hour. I can't be too rude despite her rudeness. I try so hard not to stoop to their level and to just ignore the staring. Anyway, the woman finally turned away from me. She had her back to me. She wasn't facing anything reflective. So, I stuck out my tongue.
I know. It's incredibly immature, but it's my way of releasing some of my own frustration without causing a confrontation. Much to my horror, she whipped around and glared at me good and hard like a teacher who just caught me chewing gum in class. This lady really does have eyes in the back of her head. I knew I couldn't spend another lovely, sunny day hiding in the house from these creeps, so I decided to take the dogs on a very special field trip.
I decided to put Midge in the backseat and Scrappy in the front next to me. The animal control officer who helped me adopt Scrappy said she used to take him for rides in her truck, and he'd sit next to her in the passenger seat nicely as long as she didn't roll down the window all the way. Then he tried to jump out. So, I just cracked the window, and he did sit nicely. Still, I held onto his leash while driving, because I didn't want him to suddenly leap under my feet and press on the gas pedal or something.
When we got to the trail head parking lot, a dog came leaping down the trail and circled my truck. Scrappy and Midge were squealing at their windows, which broke into a bark fest. I couldn't tell where the dog was, so I just stopped the truck and waited for the dog's owner to come get it before finding a parking space.
Scrappy was excitedly pulling on his leash all the way up the trail, peeing on everything in sight. That dog sure does like to mark his territory. I don't think we got more than 100 feet past the doggie bag dispenser and bucket when Scrappy stopped to do his business. I cleaned it up and returned to the bucket to dispose of it.
I looked up to see two horseback riders. The other one talked about how popular this place has become. Of course, I could totally relate to their desire to be alone. We stepped off to the side of the trail for them, and Midge had what I call one of her asthma attacks. She started snorting through her nose repeatedly as if struggling to breathe. The horseback riders became very concerned, but she did recover. Fortunately, these were not spooky horses. They watched her with interest, but not fear.
Eventually, Midge and Scrappy walked side by side, weaving back and forth, getting their leashes all tangled. They also got their leashes tangled around my legs every time I stopped paying attention to them and started taking pictures.
I discovered that Scrappy is quite a jumper.
I watched him out of the corner of my eye as I moved down the trail and I could see he was standing there watching us instead of hiking. Maybe he was just a friendly fella, but he sure didn't dress appropriately for a hike. He seemed to be there on impulse. Whatever that impulse might be, I don't know. He just didn't have normal hiker behavior, if you know what I mean. I'll have to get out earlier in the mornings to avoid such encounters, like I do when I take the horses.
I love zooming in on the farmland down below and seeing all the animals out in their pastures.
For that reason, it's really important that I get Bombay comfortable in the horse trailer so that I have a horse to trail ride. I'm not sure if Lostine can withstand anymore hilly rides with her pedal osteitis. I've also got to get Gabbrielle trained so she will be safe on the trails. Until then, I know the dogs will enjoy the trails with me.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Communication Breakdown
We were running out of bread, milk, eggs, and food in general, so I had to go to the market yesterday. The wind was screaming, clouds were bearing down on us and I was afraid I'd get stuck out on the town in an ugly storm, but I had to get food. It seemed no one else in town was concerned about the storm, because traffic was as bad as ever.
When I go to the market, I have to make a left off the second busiest street in town onto the first busiest street in town, then I have to immediately change lanes and make a right into the market parking lot. By law, drivers are supposed to turn from the left turn lane into the left lane, then put on their turn signal and move over into the right lane if it is clear. However, all these newcomers just turn straight into the right-hand lane from the left turn lane, even though there are other drivers trying to turn right into the right-hand lane from across the intersection. After successfully cutting off the other driver's right-of-way, they then gun it so that us law-abiding citizens who made a left in front of them into the left-hand lane can't get over to make our turn off. Right-hand turn signals are completely ignored, because God Forbid the driver might have to slow down when the person makes her right-hand turn into the supermarket.
So, I had a guy in a big black pickup truck behind me, and I knew he was going to pull that stunt. I don't know what it is about big black pickup trucks, but they seem to attract the most aggressive drivers. I handled it by turning into both lanes so that I was half-way in the left lane and half-way in the right lane, and I quickly put on my right turn signal. Still, he tried to cut me off by getting half-way in the right lane and half-way in the shoulder and gunning it to pass me on the right, but I beat him to it by coming right over. Fortunately, it didn't lead to a road rage incident. I was desperate, because if I miss my turn I have to drive way out of my way to reach the next street with a signal that will allow me to turn around.
While pushing my cart past aisles, reading the signs hanging from the ceiling listing which foods were where, I became aware that someone was pacing me, pushing his cart at the exact same speed on the opposite end of the aisles. This was suspicious, as I usually push my cart much faster than others, as I like to get in and out as fast as possible, but without crashing into someone. I looked at the man's face, and he was not looking at the signs. He was looking at me. The next aisle... still looking at me. Next aisle... still looking.
Now, I've heard that supermarkets have become a more popular place to pick up on women than bars, but I wasn't in the mood. From that distance, the man couldn't see that I was wearing a wedding ring. As soon as the next line of shelves cut off his view of me, I spun my cart around and headed in the opposite direction successfully losing my tail.
A short time later I was debating over which flavor of muffins to get for my teenage son... same old apple cinnamon or something different? I was vaguely aware of a woman in her 50's standing next to me with her cart. A man in his 60's put his hand on her her shoulder and I turned to look because he had a Scottish accent, which is rare to hear in these parts. He said something to her along the lines that she shouldn't leave her purse sitting in her cart, because someone could reach into it and pull out her pocketbook when she's not looking.
I figured this man was her husband. He talked to her for a bit and I really didn't pay any attention beyond that until I felt the woman tense up. She said something about her husband and the man just kept talking to her while she tried to get away from him. It hit me that he was trying to pick up on her, and she was married and didn't want to have anything to do with him. My guess is that the Scottish accent was probably fake.
I had to rescue the woman, so I turned toward the man and gave him this look that told him to back off, and the woman was able to escape while I distracted him. He moved on and I started looking around me. I realized that for some reason my regular supermarket that I've been shopping at for 20 years had turned into a meat market on this day. Men were all over the place hunting down women. It was bizarre.
All the while an announcement kept coming over the loudspeaker saying that the debit machines were down and everyone would have to pay with cash, a check or credit. I wasn't happy to pay with credit for groceries, because I've already run up our credit bill with all our Christmas gifts. The checker and bagger were saying that they heard a rumor that all the machines were down for all the businesses in the valley, and it was due to that WikiLeak attack.
Right then another announcement came over the loudspeaker that due to someone digging with a backhoe, there was a break in a main cable and the phone lines were down for several counties in both Nevada and California. Ugh. This is getting to be a habit in this town. Newcomers move here and start digging to build things without the proper permits, and then everyone suffers because they break some major communication cable. Happens at least every six months.
I then stopped at a pet supply store in search of some personalized attention from a knowledgeable salesperson. All the dog foods that I buy at the feed store and the market haven't worked out for us. The feed store keeps recommending dog foods that my dogs hate, and what they sell in the market in the way of kibble is just too big. Scrappy is such a little dog with bad teeth that he has a hard time chewing the bigger pieces. The vet wants me to keep him on kibble to get the tarter off, but he struggles to break up the big stuff.
So, I needed assistance finding tiny bits of kibble that are somewhat soft. The owner of the store was all aflutter because of the debit machines being down. She couldn't even take credit cards, so she was turning away customers. I paid with cash, but she was also low on small bills, so I had to count out a lot of change -- something I haven't done in years. I usually just hand someone a twenty, take the change, and when my purse gets too heavy I toss all the coins into a pickle jar. Then when the pickle jar gets filled up we have the kids take turns putting the coins into rolls, and carrying them to the bank, where we deposit the amount into their bank accounts. Sadly, I learned that I no longer have the skill to count out change thanks to years of laziness and using plastic. I may as well have been in a foreign country trying to learn a new currency.
Because I don't normally shop at that pet supply store, I got disoriented and realized that I turned up the wrong street. With traffic being as thick as it was, there was no way I could make a left onto the main highway without the help of a traffic light. So, I had to turn right back into the parking lot I just pulled out of and circle past the store a second time.
I became aware that there were a bunch of cops around the storefronts. I worried that someone had done something bad and I was now making myself look suspicious by circling the stores. I reached the stop sign at the driveway and put on my right turn signal. I realized that I was about to make the exact same mistake I made before, so I switched to my left turn signal. Then it hit me that perhaps I should go straight, so I turned my signal off all together.
This must have confused the man making a left out of the driveway in front of me, because he stopped right in the middle of a busy street and motioned for me to go. He had been at his stop sign long before me, so he had the right-of-way. I motioned to him to finish his turn, but he shook his head and insisted that I take his right-of-way. I looked around confused, because I wasn't blocking him in any way, so I didn't know why it was so important to him that I move.
I still hadn't made up my mind as to which direction I wanted to go in, so I yelled at him that I didn't know where I was going and that he should JUST GO! He was holding up traffic on the cross street that did have the right-of-way. He finally finished his turn and gave me a few seconds without pressure to think through how I was going to get out of this maze of streets.
I was so relieved when I finally did get home. It was crazy out there. Each time I run an errand in town I feel like I'm in the Twilight Zone, because there are so few people who I recognize anymore. I used to know most everyone at least by face, if not name, because the population here was fairly stable, but now we have so many people moving in and out of this area that the demographic is ever-changing. I'm thinking that I should change my label for these types of stories from "rural lifestyle" to "not-so-rural anymore".
When I go to the market, I have to make a left off the second busiest street in town onto the first busiest street in town, then I have to immediately change lanes and make a right into the market parking lot. By law, drivers are supposed to turn from the left turn lane into the left lane, then put on their turn signal and move over into the right lane if it is clear. However, all these newcomers just turn straight into the right-hand lane from the left turn lane, even though there are other drivers trying to turn right into the right-hand lane from across the intersection. After successfully cutting off the other driver's right-of-way, they then gun it so that us law-abiding citizens who made a left in front of them into the left-hand lane can't get over to make our turn off. Right-hand turn signals are completely ignored, because God Forbid the driver might have to slow down when the person makes her right-hand turn into the supermarket.
So, I had a guy in a big black pickup truck behind me, and I knew he was going to pull that stunt. I don't know what it is about big black pickup trucks, but they seem to attract the most aggressive drivers. I handled it by turning into both lanes so that I was half-way in the left lane and half-way in the right lane, and I quickly put on my right turn signal. Still, he tried to cut me off by getting half-way in the right lane and half-way in the shoulder and gunning it to pass me on the right, but I beat him to it by coming right over. Fortunately, it didn't lead to a road rage incident. I was desperate, because if I miss my turn I have to drive way out of my way to reach the next street with a signal that will allow me to turn around.
While pushing my cart past aisles, reading the signs hanging from the ceiling listing which foods were where, I became aware that someone was pacing me, pushing his cart at the exact same speed on the opposite end of the aisles. This was suspicious, as I usually push my cart much faster than others, as I like to get in and out as fast as possible, but without crashing into someone. I looked at the man's face, and he was not looking at the signs. He was looking at me. The next aisle... still looking at me. Next aisle... still looking.
Now, I've heard that supermarkets have become a more popular place to pick up on women than bars, but I wasn't in the mood. From that distance, the man couldn't see that I was wearing a wedding ring. As soon as the next line of shelves cut off his view of me, I spun my cart around and headed in the opposite direction successfully losing my tail.
A short time later I was debating over which flavor of muffins to get for my teenage son... same old apple cinnamon or something different? I was vaguely aware of a woman in her 50's standing next to me with her cart. A man in his 60's put his hand on her her shoulder and I turned to look because he had a Scottish accent, which is rare to hear in these parts. He said something to her along the lines that she shouldn't leave her purse sitting in her cart, because someone could reach into it and pull out her pocketbook when she's not looking.
I figured this man was her husband. He talked to her for a bit and I really didn't pay any attention beyond that until I felt the woman tense up. She said something about her husband and the man just kept talking to her while she tried to get away from him. It hit me that he was trying to pick up on her, and she was married and didn't want to have anything to do with him. My guess is that the Scottish accent was probably fake.
I had to rescue the woman, so I turned toward the man and gave him this look that told him to back off, and the woman was able to escape while I distracted him. He moved on and I started looking around me. I realized that for some reason my regular supermarket that I've been shopping at for 20 years had turned into a meat market on this day. Men were all over the place hunting down women. It was bizarre.
All the while an announcement kept coming over the loudspeaker saying that the debit machines were down and everyone would have to pay with cash, a check or credit. I wasn't happy to pay with credit for groceries, because I've already run up our credit bill with all our Christmas gifts. The checker and bagger were saying that they heard a rumor that all the machines were down for all the businesses in the valley, and it was due to that WikiLeak attack.
Right then another announcement came over the loudspeaker that due to someone digging with a backhoe, there was a break in a main cable and the phone lines were down for several counties in both Nevada and California. Ugh. This is getting to be a habit in this town. Newcomers move here and start digging to build things without the proper permits, and then everyone suffers because they break some major communication cable. Happens at least every six months.
I then stopped at a pet supply store in search of some personalized attention from a knowledgeable salesperson. All the dog foods that I buy at the feed store and the market haven't worked out for us. The feed store keeps recommending dog foods that my dogs hate, and what they sell in the market in the way of kibble is just too big. Scrappy is such a little dog with bad teeth that he has a hard time chewing the bigger pieces. The vet wants me to keep him on kibble to get the tarter off, but he struggles to break up the big stuff.
So, I needed assistance finding tiny bits of kibble that are somewhat soft. The owner of the store was all aflutter because of the debit machines being down. She couldn't even take credit cards, so she was turning away customers. I paid with cash, but she was also low on small bills, so I had to count out a lot of change -- something I haven't done in years. I usually just hand someone a twenty, take the change, and when my purse gets too heavy I toss all the coins into a pickle jar. Then when the pickle jar gets filled up we have the kids take turns putting the coins into rolls, and carrying them to the bank, where we deposit the amount into their bank accounts. Sadly, I learned that I no longer have the skill to count out change thanks to years of laziness and using plastic. I may as well have been in a foreign country trying to learn a new currency.
Because I don't normally shop at that pet supply store, I got disoriented and realized that I turned up the wrong street. With traffic being as thick as it was, there was no way I could make a left onto the main highway without the help of a traffic light. So, I had to turn right back into the parking lot I just pulled out of and circle past the store a second time.
I became aware that there were a bunch of cops around the storefronts. I worried that someone had done something bad and I was now making myself look suspicious by circling the stores. I reached the stop sign at the driveway and put on my right turn signal. I realized that I was about to make the exact same mistake I made before, so I switched to my left turn signal. Then it hit me that perhaps I should go straight, so I turned my signal off all together.
This must have confused the man making a left out of the driveway in front of me, because he stopped right in the middle of a busy street and motioned for me to go. He had been at his stop sign long before me, so he had the right-of-way. I motioned to him to finish his turn, but he shook his head and insisted that I take his right-of-way. I looked around confused, because I wasn't blocking him in any way, so I didn't know why it was so important to him that I move.
I still hadn't made up my mind as to which direction I wanted to go in, so I yelled at him that I didn't know where I was going and that he should JUST GO! He was holding up traffic on the cross street that did have the right-of-way. He finally finished his turn and gave me a few seconds without pressure to think through how I was going to get out of this maze of streets.
I was so relieved when I finally did get home. It was crazy out there. Each time I run an errand in town I feel like I'm in the Twilight Zone, because there are so few people who I recognize anymore. I used to know most everyone at least by face, if not name, because the population here was fairly stable, but now we have so many people moving in and out of this area that the demographic is ever-changing. I'm thinking that I should change my label for these types of stories from "rural lifestyle" to "not-so-rural anymore".
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
A Quiet Ride in the Mud
I forgot that even though she walks nicely on trail rides, she's a dynamo in the flats. For years she was my favorite horse to ride at the lope because of her comfortable strides, so she's a bit conditioned to go fast when we are in arenas or the paddock. I had to correct her a few times to keep her at a walk. She was sinking down in mud about four inches in some spots, so I worked on steering her around the deeper sections. She quickly picked up on the fact that this lesson was different and was more about watching where she stepped.
She is now so fat that the cinch stopped in a spot where there were no holes to put the buckle through. I had to play around with wrapping it different ways until I could secure it. She's also out of shape and was huffing and puffing while carrying my heavy butt through all that sludge.
I do hope her toe pain doesn't return, because I want to keep her alive as long as possible, and part of keeping her in shape involves exercise and doing activities that keep her mind busy. I don't know how she can see anything past those "bangs"...
Monday, December 6, 2010
My Horse and Hay Maze
We had quite a downpour last night. I know that if it gets loud on our composite roof, it's really loud on the barn's metal roof. I could hear a horse kicking a stall wall, so I grabbed a flashlight and went outside to assess the situation. Bombay was nervously bobbing his head up and down through his stall window and doing a little dance with his front legs. Lostine just seemed annoyed that I came outside without food. Gabbrielle was happy as couple be, actually sticking her neck out as far as it could go so that she could feel the rain on her face.
It was pretty obvious that Bombay was the horse who was trying to kick his way out of his stall. I petted him and talked to him in a soothing tone until he relaxed, but come morning he was completely riled up. I have three outdoor pens that I put the horses in. I tend to put the horse who is having the most problems in the pen closest to my bedroom, so I can keep an eye on it each time I pass the window.
I organize the horses by putting a flake of hay into the pen that I want the horse to enter, then I let one horse at a time out of its stall to find the hay. Of course, it would be much easier in the short run to just halter and lead them to which pen I want them to go to, but I'd rather the horses exercise their brains and ultimately choose that pen because it has food. I have one pen that none of the horses care to be in, because it's further away from the other horses and right on the other side of the fence from the dogs. Lostine, especially, throws a tantrum when I put her back there, so my hope is that if the horses choose to be back there, they won't run themselves into the ground while they are in the pen.
Today I wanted Bombay to go into the dreaded back pen. I let him out of his stall, and he galloped back and forth in the paddock bucking with his hind legs straight out and up like a bronco. He had to celebrate his freedom and get his ya-yas out before he could concentrate on food. I held up the flake of hay so that he could see where it was, but he just ran to everyone's favorite pen and stood there as if demanding me to bring the hay to him. I sat down so that he'd know I had no intention of doing that. Still he refused to go where the hay was, because it was in the pen that no one wanted to be in.
Next I got my long whip and tried herding him to the back pen. He'd walk or trot in front of me until he sensed some inattention on my part, and then he'd spin and bust right past me back to his favorite pen. He was like a kid in a buffet who kept running back to the dessert bar when his mom was trying to lead him over to the salad bar. My coffee was getting cold, so I had to resort to something more effective.
Normally, I would just go back into the house to drink my coffee, and when I came out ten minutes later I'd find the horse in the back pen eating the hay. But, going in the house meant removing my boots, putting on my indoor footwear, only to turn around and do the opposite a few minutes later, thanks to all the mud. No, once I've got those muddy boots on, I want to complete all outdoor tasks.
So, I gave up and got the halter and lead rope. Bombay walked right up to me and let me put it on. A huge gust of wind came up right when I was buckling the halter and something large crashed in the neighbor's yard. Amazingly, Bombay held still. He then walked like a prince next to me all the way to the back pen. Of course, the other two horses completed their maze and found their food, because they had the good pens.
Do you think it is better to keep horses in the exact same stall each night and the same pen each day for the sake of routine and comfort? Or do you think it is better to move them around and expose them to different sights and sounds? If your horse is clearly unhappy where you put it, how do you deal with it?
It was pretty obvious that Bombay was the horse who was trying to kick his way out of his stall. I petted him and talked to him in a soothing tone until he relaxed, but come morning he was completely riled up. I have three outdoor pens that I put the horses in. I tend to put the horse who is having the most problems in the pen closest to my bedroom, so I can keep an eye on it each time I pass the window.
I organize the horses by putting a flake of hay into the pen that I want the horse to enter, then I let one horse at a time out of its stall to find the hay. Of course, it would be much easier in the short run to just halter and lead them to which pen I want them to go to, but I'd rather the horses exercise their brains and ultimately choose that pen because it has food. I have one pen that none of the horses care to be in, because it's further away from the other horses and right on the other side of the fence from the dogs. Lostine, especially, throws a tantrum when I put her back there, so my hope is that if the horses choose to be back there, they won't run themselves into the ground while they are in the pen.
Today I wanted Bombay to go into the dreaded back pen. I let him out of his stall, and he galloped back and forth in the paddock bucking with his hind legs straight out and up like a bronco. He had to celebrate his freedom and get his ya-yas out before he could concentrate on food. I held up the flake of hay so that he could see where it was, but he just ran to everyone's favorite pen and stood there as if demanding me to bring the hay to him. I sat down so that he'd know I had no intention of doing that. Still he refused to go where the hay was, because it was in the pen that no one wanted to be in.
Next I got my long whip and tried herding him to the back pen. He'd walk or trot in front of me until he sensed some inattention on my part, and then he'd spin and bust right past me back to his favorite pen. He was like a kid in a buffet who kept running back to the dessert bar when his mom was trying to lead him over to the salad bar. My coffee was getting cold, so I had to resort to something more effective.
Normally, I would just go back into the house to drink my coffee, and when I came out ten minutes later I'd find the horse in the back pen eating the hay. But, going in the house meant removing my boots, putting on my indoor footwear, only to turn around and do the opposite a few minutes later, thanks to all the mud. No, once I've got those muddy boots on, I want to complete all outdoor tasks.
So, I gave up and got the halter and lead rope. Bombay walked right up to me and let me put it on. A huge gust of wind came up right when I was buckling the halter and something large crashed in the neighbor's yard. Amazingly, Bombay held still. He then walked like a prince next to me all the way to the back pen. Of course, the other two horses completed their maze and found their food, because they had the good pens.
Do you think it is better to keep horses in the exact same stall each night and the same pen each day for the sake of routine and comfort? Or do you think it is better to move them around and expose them to different sights and sounds? If your horse is clearly unhappy where you put it, how do you deal with it?
Sunday, December 5, 2010
My Name is Mud
I apologize for the lack of horse posts. I've only ridden once in the past two months mainly because of the weather. The ice in the paddock has finally melted and the water troughs are liquid instead of solid, but now I am battling my other nemesis: Mud.
I've been doing everything in my power to avoid going outside, because each time I go out, I have to put on my shoes on the cold doorstep and take off my shoes on the cold doorstep. If I hope to wear that pair of shoes in the house or my car, I have to carry them inside and rinse them in the sink. Shoes with treads are not my friends, because they are harder to clean.
I've been wearing my rain boots when I go out to the paddock to do anything with the horses, clean water troughs or stalls. Those boots have a permanent home on the deck. The horses are still slipping and falling down in the mud like they did on the ice, so I'm not interested in riding. I probably would get more use out of a sure-footed mule during our winters.
I do see other people riding their horses in this weather, which makes me wonder why I have such difficulty doing the same. Are these other riders just foolish and taking chances or am I overly cautious? I realized that this cold weather seems to be affecting me worse than others. Every day I bundle up in several layers of clothing and still all I feel is ice against my skin. So, I pile blankets on top of myself, but still I feel incredibly cold. In the meantime, my husband and son are walking around the house in short-sleeved T-shirts and shorts!
If I'm this cold inside the house, I certainly have no motivation to go outside the house and ride a horse. I do go outside to clean stalls and whatnot, but I always come in with frozen fingers and toes. I don't know why this winter is especially cold to me. Obviously, I've survived a lot of Eastern Sierra winters, and a little rain or snow never stopped me from living my life before. What is different?
All I can figure out is that perhaps either the prescription medications I'm now taking to lower my blood pressure are lowering it so much that my blood isn't being pumped well enough to my limbs and digits, or I'm sick in some other way that's not so obvious because of the antibiotics I've been on to clean out my lungs. I've spent the majority of my time working on a novel on my laptop in bed, because even getting up to work on a quilt is too much for me since it means coming out from under the covers to sit at the sewing machine. I may as well dive into an ice-fishing hole.
The days are so gray and rain is forecasted for as far as I can see. I try not to look at the weather forecasts too often, because they are constantly changing for the worse. I'll spot a day in which we are actually supposed to get a little sun, and I'll look forward to that day, only to have the forecast change to more clouds and rain and mud and snow and ice. It's depressing to know this is only December and we've most likely got another three to four months of this kind of weather.
At least I've got a good book to read and review, and I'm also using this time to study the seemingly unlimited uses of Photoshop. I find it ironic that I've looked forward to having free time for so many years, and now that I've finally got it, I can't do what I want with it, because I'm so uncomfortable in these temperatures and with this lack of light.
If I didn't have to be so careful about money, I'd get on a plane and fly to visit some of you who are still experiencing warm weather. I wish I could put my horses on that plane too. I'm sure they'd appreciate getting out to experience dry ground and some sunshine too.
I've been doing everything in my power to avoid going outside, because each time I go out, I have to put on my shoes on the cold doorstep and take off my shoes on the cold doorstep. If I hope to wear that pair of shoes in the house or my car, I have to carry them inside and rinse them in the sink. Shoes with treads are not my friends, because they are harder to clean.
I've been wearing my rain boots when I go out to the paddock to do anything with the horses, clean water troughs or stalls. Those boots have a permanent home on the deck. The horses are still slipping and falling down in the mud like they did on the ice, so I'm not interested in riding. I probably would get more use out of a sure-footed mule during our winters.
I do see other people riding their horses in this weather, which makes me wonder why I have such difficulty doing the same. Are these other riders just foolish and taking chances or am I overly cautious? I realized that this cold weather seems to be affecting me worse than others. Every day I bundle up in several layers of clothing and still all I feel is ice against my skin. So, I pile blankets on top of myself, but still I feel incredibly cold. In the meantime, my husband and son are walking around the house in short-sleeved T-shirts and shorts!
If I'm this cold inside the house, I certainly have no motivation to go outside the house and ride a horse. I do go outside to clean stalls and whatnot, but I always come in with frozen fingers and toes. I don't know why this winter is especially cold to me. Obviously, I've survived a lot of Eastern Sierra winters, and a little rain or snow never stopped me from living my life before. What is different?
All I can figure out is that perhaps either the prescription medications I'm now taking to lower my blood pressure are lowering it so much that my blood isn't being pumped well enough to my limbs and digits, or I'm sick in some other way that's not so obvious because of the antibiotics I've been on to clean out my lungs. I've spent the majority of my time working on a novel on my laptop in bed, because even getting up to work on a quilt is too much for me since it means coming out from under the covers to sit at the sewing machine. I may as well dive into an ice-fishing hole.
The days are so gray and rain is forecasted for as far as I can see. I try not to look at the weather forecasts too often, because they are constantly changing for the worse. I'll spot a day in which we are actually supposed to get a little sun, and I'll look forward to that day, only to have the forecast change to more clouds and rain and mud and snow and ice. It's depressing to know this is only December and we've most likely got another three to four months of this kind of weather.
At least I've got a good book to read and review, and I'm also using this time to study the seemingly unlimited uses of Photoshop. I find it ironic that I've looked forward to having free time for so many years, and now that I've finally got it, I can't do what I want with it, because I'm so uncomfortable in these temperatures and with this lack of light.
If I didn't have to be so careful about money, I'd get on a plane and fly to visit some of you who are still experiencing warm weather. I wish I could put my horses on that plane too. I'm sure they'd appreciate getting out to experience dry ground and some sunshine too.
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