Gibby is Independent & Still Single

I had about an hour today to get a little painting done on my front porch. The porch has been a ten year project and it's almost finally complete. Last summer I had some boys install a recycled door, and they surrounded it with plywood made from wood chips that was left from re-roofing the other house. Painting it wasn't fun, the paint didn't want to stick, so I only did the bottom sections. I think I'm going to have to cover the boards with cedar shingles, which will make the porch match the rest of the house anyway. While I was painting, Gibby decided he didn't need a

person to throw the ball for him. He proved he could be perfectly happy playing by himself. At first, he

grabbed his volley ball and tossed it around some, then he switched to stick tossing and chasing.

I wasn't able to get through to the dog pound to check on the lady lab - I'll just have to hope she is still there by Monday.

A Gibby Companion?

I stopped at the dog pound yesterday. I saw about a dozen dogs that were very appealing, but one has stayed in my mind. She's a nine year old black lab. She was in the same "stall" that Gibby was in. She was quiet, sweet, and hopeful. She looked like a really good dog who has lost her family. She must not have been a stray, must have been turned in by her family, because there was information on her card - she's never bitten and she is house trained.

A nine year old wouldn't make much of a playmate for Gibby, but might make a good companion. My other labs lived to be sixteen and seventeen, so she might have some really good years left. I've been thinking maybe no one will adopt such an old dog.

I think I'll give the pound a call tomorrow and see if she is still there.

These are the last of my horses. Four horses, retired before they worked very hard. On the far left is Weaver, the last offspring of my beloved stallion, Dan Bally. The next one is a black gelding named Skedadle Man, called Manly, out of a beautiful bright bay mare named Skedadle Dandy, out of my all-time favorite mare, Tempatation Dandy. Facing away from the herd is Lacy, mother of Weaver and niece to Temptation Dandy. Dandy's sire was Jim Dandy, the first Quarter Horse stallion to stand in Michigan - back when I was a toddler. The buckskin mare on the right is Tammy, formally named Tam Burn after her sire, Big Burn. She is out of Chi Chi Deck and half sister to the best horse I ever had, Miss Shiloh Deck. That bloodline goes back to Top Deck, a Thoroughbred stallion who established modern Quarter Horse race breeding.

I've always wanted to have sheep at the farm, and now I do. They aren't my sheep, they belong to Jim, the neighbor who has helped me a lot. A friend loaned him the movable pen set-up that can be electrified with solar energy, so he has about 20 of his sheep in my hay field. They're helping to clean it up to get it ready for haying next year. My vet says a good rotation program to keep down parasites is moving them about once a week, but Jim is moving them every other day. I haven't been in the field to see them moved, but I'd like to see how he does it.

Gibby Video

A new video camera has enabled me to post a video of Gibby playing - with his friends and with his old volleyball.

Cats Here, Cats There, Millions and Billions and...

Cats here, cats there, cats and kittens everywhere!!

This is about 90% of the feral cat colony that owns my farm.

The idea of free-roaming farm cats is that the cats will eat the mice. Ha! A few days ago, I was about to fill one of the horse water tanks and saw something floating in the water - I had my gloves on, so I grabbed it - a dead mouse. That happened three more times.

Four drowned mice, see how they run, they all run after the cobbler's wife, who cut off their tails with a butcher knife, four drowned mice.

Gibby's a Jumper

I arrived at the farm today in the middle of a cell phone conversation. I stopped in the driveway and talked for another ten minutes or so, then got out of the car and opened the gate - with two dozen cats leaping and bounding trying to get me to hurry to feed them. Just as I started to pick up the Watch Cat, me cell phone rang.

The call was from another country, from someone I had been trying to reach for days, so I was anxious to talk on the phone. We talked for a long time. I could hear Gibby barking, but I ignored him. My cell phone only works in a few select spots on the farm, so I couldn't walk and talk and do my chores at the same time. We lost our phone connection, so I started to run up the driveway with the cats, and the phone rang again. My friend had called back. We talked some more, and Gibby must have gotten tired of waiting. All of a sudden he came running up to me, big smile on his face. He didn't chase a single cat - Whew! He must have jumped or climbed over the dog pen fence.

He was out loose a few days ago when I opened the gate. I looked everywhere and found no evidence, no unlocked door, no broken window, no gate chain broken, so I had to conclude that he somehow jumped the fence, and that must be what he did today, too. I don't want him out loose, mainly because I don't want the cats chased, but also I don't want him to start wandering. I've had my years of wandering dogs, of tracking lost dogs, of waiting in panic for missing dogs. I want Gibby to go right on being the perfect, agreeable, unworrisome dog he has been.

More Animals

I was so pleased with my fawn photos yesterday, that I decided to go on a hunt for more today.
I packed my mother into the car and we went for a drive.


I thought maybe someday I could use these animal photos for rug designs. The fish in the stream have a most unusual background that I didn't even see until I uploaded the photo. The background almost looks like the trunk of a tree, it could
be interesting to hook.

Maybe I could make a Michigan rug - deer abound in Michigan, as do black bear in Northern Michigan.

I think there aren't as many beaver as there were when I was young enough to go camping in the wild areas. There was one area in the Northwest lower peninsula that had been completely flooded by beaver. I used to haul an aluminum rowboat, all my camping and fishing gear, and a friend and we'd go fishing all day. We didn't catch huge, record-breaking fish, just nice size pan fish. I remember one morning when a friend and I spent the morning fishing from the bank, we'd throw in a line, catch a fish, fillet it, fry it, and eat it - the two of us literally at 45 fish that day!

We could hike around that area and see beaver dams, but I never saw any more than the smack of a tail, some large mounds of sticks, and some chewed off tree stumps.

Great Animal Day

On the way to the farm tonight, I had a treat. There's a house perched on the edge of a hill, with a swamp down below. An older gentleman built the house some years ago and dug out the swamp so it's now arranged as a pond and a stream. The gentleman seems to be gone most of the time now, and when I've seen him, he looks quite ill. For a couple years, a deer family has been grazing on his grass and drinking from his stream. The doe seems to have twins each year,

and this year is no exception.
The doe was standing in the road when I came around the curve tonight.
I thought her youngsters must be nearby, so I stopped the car, and the twins came over the lip of the hill. The doe dove into the woods on the opposite side of the road, so I had to just hope that no car would come along when the twins decided to follow her. I took a photo through my windshield, and then I decided to open my car door so I could get out and get a better photo. Suddenly, they both bounced across the road, so I only had to lower my window to get a picture,

Then I had another animal surprise at the farm. I have thought for a few weeks that there was a kitten living next to the chicken house, under the tarp that hangs down over the side of the chicken house. I've heard mewing and looked unsuccessfully for a kitten. Yesterday, I saw a kitten in the space between the fence/wall and the tarp.

Tonight I discovered how the little tyke is surviving - he's eating chicken food.

I'm really surprised the rooster doesn't attack the kitten. When I first saw the kitten, the rooster was roosting, in the end of the chicken yard, far away from the kitten, but when I walked closer to take a picture, the rooster jumped down and followed me - he's always hoping I'll get my toes close enough to the fence so he can bite me. Thankfully, he was more interested in my toes than in the kitten.

As soon as I walked away, the rooster jumped back up on the roost.

Little Gibby

I realized today that Gibby is no longer a great big dog. I used to describe him to people as "this really huge dog" while holding my hand at a level slightly lower than my shoulder. I guess he felt that big to me, but he no longer does. I was sitting on the fender of my stock trailer while Gibby was catching his breath from a series of magnificent leaps and runs. He rolled in the grass, then picked up his ball and carried it over to me. He knew I was resting, too, so he placed the ball on the ground at my feet, then he moved sideways over to my knees, pressed himself against my legs and made it clear that he wanted to be petted. I petted him and rubbed his back enough to rub out some of his shedding hair. Somehow, he's gotten smaller and cuddlier.

When our time is up, I tell Gibby, "It's time to go into the house" and he turns and walks right to the door. Last night, for the first time, he didn't head for the door, he layed down and then rolled on his back and pushed his ball around with his nose - it was quite clear to both of us that he knew his time was being cut short. I guess he just doesn't understand how uncomfortable it is for people to get soaking wet in the rain - anyway, when I said, "Gibby, it's starting to rain and I can't stay out here", he got up and ran to the door.

Once he's inside and his bowl has been filled with his kibble, he stands next to the bowl and looks at me. We've reached a routine which includes my giving him a head pat before I leave. If I forget the pat, he follows me to the door. When it's really hot, I'm usually worn out by the time we get inside, so I sit down for a minute. If I have already given Gibby his head pat, he dives into his bowl and starts crunching food, if I haven't, he comes over and stands as close to me as he can get so I'll give him some petting. I guess it's that need for petting that has made him a smaller dog. Now, when I describe him to people, I find I extend my arm downward to show he's not much taller than my knees. Funny how dogs shrink when they're happy and lovable.

The above photos record about one minute in the life of Gibby - one minute with the love of his life, the old volley ball.

George had Surgery Today

I've been unsuccessfully trying to cut down on prednisone for George. He has to come down off of the steroids because his liver and kidneys are indicating trouble. Everytime I cut back a little, he becomes so itchy it sounds like he's beating on a big bass drum as he scratches non-stop. Unhappily, he scratched his ear so much he caused a hematoma. Sometimes you'll see a dog or a cat who has gone through having an ear hematoma - they look like someone skrunkled their ear up like a piece of lettuce. I held him all one evening with a bag of frozen peas trying to cool his ear down. I didn't want poor George to have the irritation or the disfigurement of a crumpled ear, so we made an appointment and I was to take George to his vet's this morning. I got him there about nine o'clock and knew I could stay around for a while because my mother was sound asleep at home. Our vet has her clinic open only Mondays, Fridays, and Saturday morning, but she works only as needed on other days. Thursday mornings she has a puppy class. Several people bring their puppies to the clinic to socialize while their human companions have a lesson on some kind of puppy development. What a huge treat to watch the puppies - all about six months old - greet each other and then play wildly. One lady brought her children as well as her puppy and one very charming little boy got right into the middle of the puppy play, so all of them, big and little puppies and little boy rolled and tumbled and ran around in circles and up and down the hallway - I couldn't watch fast enough!

Suddenly it was noon and I knew I had to leave George and go home to feed Mother. George had his surgery, had the hematoma cleaned out and his ear stitched back together with tidy little knotted stitches - so now his ear looks like a very small quilt - the tied kind.

When George arrived home, the drain in his ear was still dripping quite a bit and poor George was a little car sick and still staggering around. I left him outside so the other dogs wouldn't bother him and he just collapsed on the wooden wheelchair ramp. After about an hour, he got up and staggered over to his swimming pool. He waded around in the water, sat down for a minute, had a drink, and came out all recovered. I feel so sorry for him.

All of the time I've been writing about George, he's been hugging my leg and his draining ear has made a red puddle on the carpet. Sometimes it's nice to have forty year old carpet.

Gibby the Happy Dog

The first photo shows the Oliver tractor and my new brush hog that I mentioned in my last post. That's what the two machines looked like before I made the mistake that caught the brush hog on the trailer hitch. I finally figured out that a lever would move the brush hog as well as a jack, so I used a length of 2"x 2" that I use to brace the kitchen door shut and easily lifted the brush hog off of the hitch - but I haven't had time to get it all hooked up again. I chose to use the little time I had to play with Gibby. We had a good time playing catch, but Gibby stopped frequently to lay down and hold the ball.

I worry that he's going to actually start chewing on the ball, ruin it for playing and maybe swallow pieces of it, but - so far - he mostly just mouths the ball. I haven't seen any tooth marks on it at all.

Anyway, Gibby hadn't had a photo here for a while, so I wanted him to have a chance to show off his handsome self.

So, he's sending you a few happy barks (better hold your ears.)

Ten Minute Farming Doesn't Work Very Well

This is a week of receiving help from a number of people and having everything I touch fall apart. I bought a brush hog a month or so ago and Becky, the clerk at the store, offered to deliver it - she and her husband live just down the road from my farm. I learned today that the husband, someone I've never met, put a lot more than delivery effort into my machine. It was raining on the delivery day, so Becky took it home instead of delivering it. Her husband looked it over, noticed that there was no oil in it, filled the oil, found some bars in the wrong place and moved them, and even had to drill a hole that hadn't been completely drilled through the steel for one of the bolts. Unbelievably nice of him - but, after all that, it took me all month to try to get it hooked up to my tractor. Of course, I only had about ten minutes a day to work on it - and those ten minutes had to be stolen from my play time with Gibby.

A few days ago, I was talking with Jim who lives across the street. We talked about brush hogs and I told him about the problem I was having getting mine hooked up - well, anyway, he came across the road when I was gone, wrenched open the bolt I couldn't move and connected my power take-off. He had also come over two days earlier to help Walt, who brought his giant back hoe to bury poor Teague. Walt has been burying my horses for me for thirty years. He's had diabetic foot problems in the past, but this time he's waiting to have a hip replacement. He couldn't jump up and down to open gates, so Jim came over to help him. I couldn't be there because I had to pick my mother up to take her home from the nursing home. I don't have a horse cemetery, we usually bury the horses close to where they breathed their last, so I have horse graves scattered all over the front of the farm, some in the pasture, some in the yard, and a few in the old orchard.

Yesterday, I tested the new brush hog and chopped down a good portion of the waist high grass in the yard. It worked really well, even though I ran into quite a few low hanging branches, so I thought I would cut some more today. My mother had a home health aide for two hours this afternoon and that gave me time to run down to the farm. I had to buy gas and lead substitute for the tractor and then fill the tank using several plastic gas cans. Getting the tractor ready used up all of my time, but I knew I'd be back at feeding time.

When I returned, I checked the high grass that I hadn't cut yesterday and spotted a gray cat hiding behind some wide leafed weeds. I chased her away then I saw one of the wee little kittens. He was so still that at first I thought he was dead, but I picked him up and he let out a yowl. It was the same black kitten with gray frosting fur that I have picked up out of the driveway several times. I think the gray cat is his mother, but she has two other little black kittens and seems to let this loud little guy wander. I suppose she was sitting there watching over him, not really hiding behind the weeds. Her litter of three was the most recent litter born and they're almost three weeks old.

I decided I didn't dare cut the grass in that part of the yard, so I used the hydraulic system on the tractor to raise the brush hog. I heard an awful steel-on-steel clanging noise when I did it, but I foolishly didn't suspect there was a real problem. I didn't suspect anything until after I had driven over to the house and wanted to lower the brush hog - and heard the horrible clanging again. When I raised the brush hog, it had landed on the steel tongue that sticks out of the back of the tractor like a trailer hitch. All but one of the three hitch points had broken free and the brush hog was still connected to the power take-off but it was going nowhere. I'll have to get a good jack to lift it off of the tractor hitch tomorrow. UGH! I guess I've already used up all of my chances to ask friends and strangers for help, I'll have to figure this one out by myself.

Even though I was at the farm twice today, Gibby didn't get nearly enough attention and I not only didn't get anything done, I took steps backward.

This funny little photo is one I used on stationery and I can't seem to make it any bigger. If I had another one, I'd use it - I'll never be able to get another one. This horse is Ballyteague, known in the barn as Teague. He was named after a town in Ireland where my great great grandfather lived and nicknamed after a very bright young man who was one of my students many years ago. I lost Teague last weekend. He died during a big storm. Apparently he was hit by lightening.

Teague's mother was Blue Dexsun, a Quarter Horse mare I bought from one of the bus drivers down at school many years ago. Dexsun had been in a severe car accident - she had survived the accident, the driver who hit her did not. She was a sweet mare, with a very large dent angling across her face as the only evidence of the car accident. I lost Dexsun while she was foaling about a dozen years ago. She and her foal are both buried in my yard at one end of my old riding ring. Now her son is buried at the opposite end in the lane behind the ring.

Teague was born dark, almost black, but gradually turned gray. His gray lightened as he got older and gradually he turned white, just like his mother. His father was a rich chestnut, my Quarter Horse stallion, Dan Bally. Danny's been gone for half a dozen years.

Teague had a bad accident as a two year old. He reared up to get away from the vet and fell backwards, banging his head so hard that his brain was damaged. He was always head shy, right up until this last year. He was never ridden and never became a brave horse, he spent most of his life in the pasture with his friend Manly, a black Quarter Horse. In recent months, he developed a habit of coming to me whenever I was in the barn and he let me rub his head and neck. Two of my friends buried him yesterday. I should be used to losing horses, but he wasn't as old as the rest, only in his mid twenties. I've worked hard to not cry, but I'm really going to miss him.

I've Been Away a Long Time

I haven't been blogging for the last couple months. My mother was ill, in the hospital, then into a horrible nursing home, then back into the hospital, and finally into the facility in the photo. That's the back entrance to Caretel in Brighton, Michigan. It's a nursing home, but they treat the patients like hotel guests, and even call them guests. There is a whole different attitude compared to the previous nursing home.


The care they have for the guests shows in the wall decorations. There are interesting Americana prints in the hallways and some of the rooms, and one hallway is even a museum style display of the works of a famous painter named Turner.

There are several prints from this series of rocking chair pictures - I'm not sure whose they are, but they make me think of Warren Kimble.

There are wooden signs in the hallways and the dining rooms with "pithy" sayings.

At any rate, the decor is warm and welcoming.

My mother is living there temporarily, to regain strength after a long hospital stay and to get rid of a drug resistant infection. Everyone there treats her with great respect and kindness, saying she has a wonderful smile.

Here she is walking with Robin, one of her physical therapists. Mother frequently walks quite a distance after she says she can only walk four steps.

I spend most of the day with Mother, although I don't feel it's as desperately important as it was at the hospital and at the other horrible nursing home. After dinner, Mother crawls back into bed and falls asleep. I go home and pick up the dogs and go down to the farm.

Gibby is there, with eleven adult cats (three have been killed on the road in the past months) and, amazingly, fifteen or sixteen kittens. Gibby anxiously waits until I've fed the cats and chickens so we can play ball. He dearly loves his old soccer ball. It's the first thing he grabs when he comes out of the house and he holds onto it until he steps into the house.

I stand in the grassy place that used to be the parking lot and throw the ball as high and as far as I can - usually almost to the house. Gibby runs as fast as he can and often catches it before it hits the ground.

The other dogs sit and wait - Patches is the only one who pays much attention and she barks endlessly. I think she's cheering for Gibby - her barking gets louder and faster when Gibby does a spectacular catch.

I had two really negative experiences today - so I was very pleased to spend time with happy dogs. Two people, professional people, lied to me today. Lied in obvious ways, and lied unneccesarily. Makes me feel really uncomforable with both of them. One is my doctor. Her office staff is terrible and I have complained about them more than once - when my pharmacy calls for a prescription renewal, they never respond - so I wasn't surprised when they hadn't responded for the last five days. I went to the doctor's office and told the receptionist what I needed. After I was finished, my doctor walked into the office area, saw me, and came right over saying that they had never received a call. How did she know why I was there if they had never received a call?

The other person who has proven she can't be trusted is Ella, my mother's guardian. She called to ask if our lawnmower was broken - I haven't mowed the lawn for three weeks, not since I tried mowing when it was getting dark out and ran over a dog cable that wrapped around the mower blades. I told her yes, it is broken and she foolishly went on to tell me that the neighbors have been calling her to ask if the house was deserted. I have to assume it was my evil brother who called, since he is the only neighbor who even knows that Ella exists. I told her he had to be the caller and she said he wasn't. I asked her who it was, and of course, she couldn't remember. Then she asked if I had not raked the leaves last fall and had let them blow into neighbors' yards. I told her I did exactly what the township told us to do, let the last "leaf storm" lay on the grass. She asked where the leaves are now, and I said as far as I know they are on the grass, breaking up to form new soil, just where the township said they should be. I told her again that my brother must be the complainer and she denied it - I told her I know all of the neighbors and I know that none of the neighbors know her, but she stuck to her falsehood. If she lies about the little things, how trustworthy is she with the big things?