Hunters - hate 'em

Hunting season is striking early at Pirate's Place Farm. For the last twenty years, hunting season has meant Trespassing and Poaching season on my property. It's not even official hunting season yet and a ten point buck has already been poached and my friend and his grandson have been unpleasantly confronted in my woods. I've spent the afternoon on the phone trying to find the supervisor of the man who yelled at them. He claims to be a conservation officer but none of the supervisors will claim him because he doesn't wear a uniform. His conversation with my friend proved he is the trespasser who has been causing me a lot of grief for the last couple months - leaving my road gate open, leaving barn doors open, leaving barn lights on - all of those things that leave a message that someone without permission has been there.

The story is that Mr Gooding, whose property is next to mine, called this morning because there was a strange truck parked in his driveway early this morning. He apparently foolishly gave some men permission to take "nature walks" in his woods - and it turned out they are really poachers. Allegedly Jason Smith responded to the call and caught two men with a ten point buck, but one of the men escaped and ran across my property. So, just like the trespasser/poachers who always say they are only on my property because they wounded a deer and it ran onto my property, Jason Smith ran onto my property and confronted my friend and his grandson. No escaped poacher seemed to be anywhere around. What he did today was annoying, but add up what he's been doing to me for weeks and I think it's criminal.

Someday with all of the crazies who illegally hunt in woods there is going to be a terrible accident. The area just isn't big enough for a bunch of armed men to shoot at everything that moves and never hit each other, and, at the moment, I wouldn't feel bad if the man who has been scaring me for weeks was an accidental target.

Gibby's Maybe Friends

Gibby's potential friend, the nine year old black lab, was still at the dog pound today - but, she has been adopted. I was a little disappointed for Gibby, but very pleased for the old girl. Then I met the two women who have adopted her. They are adopting dogs who are on their last day, last hour, and taking them home to find new homes for them. I tried to have a conversation with them but the dogs were barking so loud it was impossible. There was one dog who fit what I'd like to find for Gibby but he wouldn't stop a horrible high pitched bark. The only comment on his registration card was, "barks too much". There was another perfect dog. He looked like a smaller Gibby. I could tell he was sick of the barking, too. He gave me a look that said as much and then went out through the opening at the back of his cage. I walked around a second time, came back to "Little Gibby" and he plastered himself against the cage wall. I reached my fingers through to pet him and he pressed harder against the wall - by doing that, he reminded me of George. I think he is up for adoption in a couple days. I think I'll go back again to see him.

I tried to upload a video of the kittens born on the porch where I feed my cat colony, but it didn't work, so the following is the youtube address for that video.
http://www.youtube.com/user/phylblade#play/all

Newborn Kittens

After I fed the cats and chickens today I was walking across the yard to play with Gibby when I heard a crying cat. I walked back over toward the porch where I feed the cats and found a newborn kitten on the plastic tray where the cat food is served. It's probably going to be a yellow kitten, but it was still too wet to tell. I went to the car to get my camera and then sneaked back to take some photos. While I was photographing the yellow kitten, I realized the mother cat was having another kitten. I'm sorry she decided to have her kittens on the cement porch, but maybe they just surprised her and started popping out. Blackie, the grand dame of farm cats, is the grandmother of the kittens, and she stopped by a couple times to see how her daughter was doing. Some of the other young cats looked in, saw the baby, and left.

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.