Who Let the Goats out? Who?! WHO?!

Now each of my goats have -- believe it or not -- pretty distinct voices.  I certainly can't tell them all apart, but:

• Cleo sounds like "Bap-bap-bap"
• Texy says, "Ba-ah-hah-ap."
• Harry is a "Maa" -er
• Kiss sounds like "Buhaaapppp"
• Cheater says in a very small voice  "b-b-baa"
• Cherish, Molly, Glory rarely say anything at all.
• and BIG, being the only buck on the property now, says in his new, very big boy voice : "BAHH-T, BAHH-T"

So yesterday I heard: "BAHH-T!!! BAHH-T!!!  BAHH-T!!!"
and I knew it was Big ---

--- and something was amiss.

Because Big is the only buck on the property, he's in a pen with one doe while the herd runs amok free.

I knew he was yelling because, most likely, the rest of the herd had wandered out of sight.

So I looked out the window and saw this:

an apparent breaching of the back yard. And as soon as I hollered at them, they all dashed around the pool....

where Cleo was trying to camouflage herself in the rock fountain. (often pygmy goats in the wild will camouflage themselves near suburban pools.)

But it was too late.  Her fellow scofflaws gathered around and threw her under the bus.

Once busted, they agreed to remove themselves in an orderly fashion.  Sure there was a little pushing and shoving and they hit a small bottleneck. (No pygmy seems to realize that just because their head will fit through an opening, it doesn't mean their less-than-svelte bodies will.)

and here they come...

a few fell out of the ranks,

but they safely landed. And no one was talking.  No one would admit a thing.

Who, Us?

'Tis the Season

I was in Trader Joe's this evening, and amidst all the hustle and bustle of holiday shoppers, there was a woman wearing a 1950's era coat like this:

Except her coat was green and beneath it, she wore a very red dress.  Accessories included vintage Christmas earrings, some sort of a wreath corsage, and a generous application of vivid red lipstick.

So right there in the cheese aisle of Trader Joe's, I went over to her and said,

"My, you look so pretty today.  You are so festive! You must be going to a party."

Then, her husband -- who was probably a head shorter than her and dressed just as nattily -- came over..

"Oh no," he said. "We've just come from a dance."

"We try to dance two or three times a week," added the wife.

"Well," said the husband, "We are in our 80s." 

It IS a wonderful life!





Overheard in Ithaca

"No, we never split up, never got divorced. It was because neither of us wanted the kids. He didn't want them, I didn't want them, so we had to stay together." 

(made me giggle. mothing more. nothing less)

All I want for Christmas...

Now that we have conquered the first event in the Holiday Season Eating Marathon, it's time to start thinking about MY Christmas list.  I'm afraid there may be some of you who have not decided on an appropriate gift for ME, so I'm really giving MY wish list some serious thought...

Of course, first I have to ask for the impossible:  For Christmas I want all the bad in the world to go away.  No more war, famine, violence, disease, cruelty, prejudice...

Since that may not be practical, how about probably-impossible-but-more-possible-than-the-former?  Let's see: My own little tractor? Being 10 lbs thinner, painlessly? A new wardrobe? A personal chef? A clean car? A clean house? How about a self-cleaning house and car? 

Okay, well some of those items may be a little rough to wrap and put under the tree.  Oh, I know!  For those of you who have been stumped in determiing the perfect gift for me, all I really want is....................

......a car-washing, organic-gardening, laundry-loving, gourmet-cooking, extremely tidy, always cheerful...........

HOUSE ELF!

Thankful...

Heavy digging leads to heavy thought.  While Superior Ditchdigger SamDammit and I worked on another drainage ditch in a paddock, I had to time to think about what I'm thankful for this Thanksgiving Day.*

• I am thankful for my family and friends.
• I am thankful for my health.
• I am thankful for my freedom -- my right to vote, the right to bear arms (and not arm bears!), and all the other freedoms given to us by our forefathers and maintained by our veterans. 
• I am thankful that -- while I gripe about the calories and needing to lose weight -- that none of my nearest and dearest go hungry.
• And I am thankful for my toes.

December 31, 2007, was my first round of chemo.  Six sessions in five months left me with not only no hair, but my nailbeds got infected and I lost most of my nails.  It's taken nearly three years for them to fully grow back, and this week I got a pedicure!  I feel like I've kicked Cancer again. Take that, you nasty BUG!  HA!

And, yes, I am thankful for SamDammit even though he had to be in every picture.

* One might think that the amount of kvetching we do about rain and mud, that we Californians must be inundated with rain and mud.  In fact, it's the opposite.  The lack of rain we receive makes every rain shower an absolute crisis around here!

A Letter to My Daughter on Her Birthday... well, 19 Days after Her Birthday

Dear Jessica,

You recently turned 20. I wanted to do some sort of a -- I don't know -- photographic history of your first 20 years. And I wanted to tell you how I am so proud of you.  And how much I love you.  And how I would do anything for you.  And how I know I am not a perfect mother, but I have tried to be a good mom.  Then, as I went through the old pictures, I found some pics that really just summed up you.



Do you see that picture above?  Look, I'm pregnant.  That's you hiding under that pink tent.  That's probably about the last time I ever really had control over you....

 ...now look at the pictures below... that face...that face...

That is the face of a girl who ripped off her shirt and threw it into the giraffe enclosure at the Animal Park because she didn't like the shirt (damn you were quick).  That is the face of a someone who came running to me crying that she had cut her finger -- trying to shave the dog's tale with my razor.  That is the face of someone who never believed in "no." That is the face of YOU.

(Didn't I ever tell you not to make that face; that it could freeze that way?)

The next group of pictures called to me as well.

Once again, I have tried to be the best mother I can,

and I know I have made mistakes,

but some things you just can't hold me responsible for:

you have a certain style, Jessica, you certainly do.

Love, Mom

(ps don't make fun of your sister, Larry.  I have many, many more photo albums)

A Rare Sighting of an Endangered Species.

There is a little-known animal skulking the La Mesa area.  Not too many people have ever seen it, because it rarely goes outside.  Here's a rather grainy photo of a recent sighting...

and a slightly closer view as we sneak up on the elusive animal....

Because it's difficult to make the above photos, we were lucky enough to get a slightly closer view:

These photos are, in fact, some of the few known substantiated photos of the Domestic Interior-Dwelling Weiner, which is also known as the "asblik plukker" (Afrikaans) or the "selector de basura" (Spanish). Here in the US, the slang name for this dog is a "parlor pooper," due mostly to the difficulty in housebreaking these dogs and the common occurrence of finding, well, poop in in the parlor.

These dogs are thought to be descendants of the Dachshund, but are probably not closely related as this particular dog abhors cold or inclement weather and remains indoors for long periods of time. (which may explain the poop in the parlor)

We do believe that one of the founding sires of this breed was a dog by the name of "Gaw-Da-Mitt," because so many of these dogs have that as a first name.  (as in "Gaw-Da-Mitt Ozzie," our own Domestic Interior-Dwelling Weiner)

Below are some photos of the DID Weiner in its natural habitat:

As depicted below, these dogs are quite often ambidextrous...

and spend much of their time in a horizontal position....

These animals are also amazing singers.....

While these dogs are known to be docile, gentle animals...

...one should never forget that these Weiners are predators...

...and once they sight their prey...

...they attack viciously...

...using both teeth and paws...

...they are known to recruit help...

...and they blindly attack...

...over and over...

...snapping, snarling...

until nothing is left but the tattered remains

A Post That is Not for the Faint of Heart

The worst part of owning an animal is the time when you're faced with make the ultimate life-or-death decision:  the one that ends in Death (euthanasia).  The second worst part of owning an animal is what to do with that animal after you've made that God-awful decision.

I had Justy euthanized yesterday.  Even though I logically knew it was the right thing to do, I was still a basketcase all day, until Greg (the vet whom I have known for 20+ years)  finally showed up.  Then the question became:  What do you do with a 60-pound dead pygmy goat?

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when Annie died

I had her cremated...

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when Stuffy err.....  Fluffy died....

I brought her home to be buried in the backyard.

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Toby was cremated and is, I think, still in the hall closet...

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After her dramatic demise, we buried Maria

because she was awfully special (to no one but me!)

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But what do you do with your animals when you've run out of burying holes and it costs too much to cremate them (not to mention having enough room on the mantel)?  Well, I discovered two options here in San Diego: one was D & D Disposal Services.  They pick the animals up and deliver them to a rendering plant.  The other was ThaniCare, who calls ahead to our local landfill to have them dig a hole, and then he buries them there.

The latter may sound rather undignified and kind of gross.  But let me say that I am not a bleeding liberal. I am not a card-carrying member of PETA. I am not a vegetarian, much less a vegan. But I do believe that these animals deserve fair and honest treatment and -- whether they are beloved pets or food animals destined for the table -- a quiet and pain-free death.

 That said, do you have ANY IDEA what a rendering plant does?    This gets a little graphic here... use some discretion as to whether you want to read on. 

A Melancholy Sort of Day

I took PerfectGrace to the vet today.   Nothing life-threatening, but the arthritis in her knees has become bad enough that she's having a hard time getting around.  She can't jump up onto the bed or into the car anymore; she slips on the hardwood floors and goes down.  It's very sad.  We're putting her on Rimadyl daily, plus a month's worth of weekly Adequan injections.  She is truly PerfectGrace...

And while I hate that she -- or any of the animals in my life -- are getting old 

 this post isn't really about PerfectGrace.

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It's about my Justy.

Justy's not even old, but I've decided it's his time. 

What a horrid decision...

...and it's one I didn't want to make...

...But I did.

I made that decision

and called the vet today...

 Justy is tired and he hurts.

I suspect he had an injury before he came to live with me

that affected his shoulder.  He has terrible arthritis in that leg and 

 has become so lame on that leg, that he rarely walks upright.

He recently has taken to scooting along with that knee on the ground..

I've had him on double the recommended amount of Previcox

to make him comfortable.

He's only five.

He was never very friendly -- a little timid --

but he's a good boy.

Even though he didn't ask to be mine, he is.

and he deserves a soft landing...

No Casseroles, Please....

It seems a little odd (even to me) to be writing of epitaphs on Jessica's birthday.  But I actually was thinking about her turning 20 (shitting!) and somehow that led me into thinking of epitaphs.  Epitaphs are a source of amusement and conversation among us as we struggle to come up with the one that we think will sum up our respective lives.

Mine:

1. "Still vacuuming with no bag attached" (voter favorite)
2. "Dogs liked her."
3. "If there's no God, who's laughing at us?" (okay. not really an epitaph, but still a great quote)

Diane:  "Back in 5 minutes" (after 20-plus years as a sole proprietor, even she needed to pee)

Stewie:  "Stewie's dead. Quick. Good things are going fast. No casseroles, please." (yeah, none of us really get it.  That's more like a funereal notice than something to carve on a headstone, but what the hell!)

Tab: "Bon Vivant"

Matt "Always"

Jess:

1. "Took no prisoners."
2. "Never looked back" (it was a sign of weakness)
3. "Wore pants and took a helmet."

Allan:  "HERO" (of course)

Larry hasn't weighed in this; mostly, I think, because it's a girlie-weekend kind of thing when it comes up, usually right after we exfoliate.  He probably needs to though.  Otherwise, we'll come up with one for him.

Then I started thinking about what epitaphs or one-liners I would choose for some of those who are or have been near-and-dear to me. Some are from songs. Some are from the Bible.  Some I don't know where they came from...

Mom -- "My Ride is Here" a Warren Zevon songs from the last albun, which leads into...
Dad's potential epitaph:  "ENJOYED EVERY SANDWICH!" (more than once, as well as his weight in Tums)
Woolee's -- "I'll be the greatest fan of your life" (and he was)
Grace: "Perfect." ('nuf said)
Maria: "and then she died very old and full of years"
Toby: "What Dog?" (also a runnerup for Dad's headstone)
Annie: "None Better" (and there wasn't)
Thomas  "No mas, Thomas"

And I can't forget Bonnie: "Perfectly Bitchy. Bitchily Perfect."



Aww....

Bowling with Bullets.

Tomorrow is my last class of "Firearm Safety."  It's a class held at the San Diego Police Department gun range and taught by retired cops.   Every Tuesday for the last 10 weeks, Teri Corle and I have gone "bowling" -- bowling with bullets, that is!  We've talked about taking this class for a couple of years and finally we are.  After two classes of theory, they sent us out to the range to learn to shoot...

Teri is shooting this --

--a standard police-issue 38 revolver.

I am shooting this --

-- a 9 mm Glock that Allan has.

While I have become a lot more comfortable handling the gun, I wish I was more accurate at the target.  My highest score so far is a 50.  I think Teri has shot close to 80.   Of course, I can't even see my shots on the damn target.. HEY!...before anyone says anything: Could you see a half inch bullet hole at 75 yards? 

Okay, then.  'Nuf said.

Next on my bucket list is learning to play the drums.  I think I'll ask Marigold if she wants to join me on that adventure.

Frequent Flyer Miles

Excuse Me, Young Man, May I See Some ID?

So Liz and I took Nate and
 Sam.............

to Happy...er....Yappy Hour at a local tavern

where they have outside seating and serve dogs, too!

On the menu that evening were "Puptini's"

a lovely (if you're a dog) concoction of chicken broth garnished with a hot dog on a pretzel stick.

..

Sam U.L. Fraser sips his first puptini...

But decides to hell with the chicken broth...pretzel be damned!  Give me the hot dog! (bars are notorious for encouraging bad language in puppies)








Oh, my aching puppy-head.  I'll never drink like that again!