Wednesday, September 22, 2010

The Grim Reaper Wears a Fur Coat

The barn cats have been released!  Their two weeks of solitary confinement is up, they know where home is and where to get food, so now the hunt begins!

As it turns out, Licorice (Shadow Death) has passed on her ninja-like ability to hide in plain sight to Taffy (Mind Bender).  They avoid any human contact at all costs.  So let's focus on the star of the barn cats, Kit Kat (Rodent Ripper).




































"What should I do first?!" Kit Kat ponders as she explores the great outdoors for the first time.



















"I know! Stick my face in a hole! Mmpphhh!"



















 "What the Friskies is that?!"



















"I'll need some camo if I'm going to be out here."



















"Here's your first problem.  Rats can fit right through this!!"



















"Time to find something to eat."



















"What's this like?"



















"Ack!"



















"I am Kit Kat.  And I am ready to brave the great outdoors."  So with that, we left her out and didn't see her again until the next morning.



















"No one said ANYTHING about coyotes!!!"

Thursday, September 16, 2010

Goat VS Dog

Hunter has always been a great dog, but now he's gone from great...to AWESOME!

From the moment Hunter saw us scold our cat, he wanted to help. In no time at all he learned that when we hiss the word, "Psssssst!" he's to chase after, and stop the cat from whatever he's doing. It works every time!

Cat Herding - Hunter in action

Now Hunter has stepped it up a notch. As some of you know, portions of our fencing is in poor shape. A hole here, a hole there. It doesn't take much for a goat to find the weakness in a fence and exploit it. Once they're in, it's a pain to herd them back out into the pasture. People just aren't as fast or as agile as a goat, but dogs are.

We were always afraid that Hunter might enjoy a goat-chop if he had the chance, so we kept them separated from the start. Gradually, he got more and more time with the goats as they partied in our yard while we were away. It was clear that Hunter didn't like them, but he let them off with nothing more than a casual butt sniff.

When it came time to herd the goats out of our yard, Hunter was put into the garage for safe keeping. Then I would seek out the wayward goat, trying to either catch it or chase it through the gate.

"C'mere goat, goat, goat!" I cooed cheerfully to Patches, one of our more feral youngsters. Slowly I crept in a squatting position.
"Good goat, atta goat." I said as Patches stopped munching to stare at me out of one wide, rectangular pupil. I wasn't close at all when he decided that he didn't like the cut of my jib and took off. I tore after him down the hill that is our property.
"You're mine, goat!" I yelled as I gained on him with downhill momentum.
Zip! He easily jumped left and dodged my grasp, mocking me with his freaky goat eyes. Up the hill he bounded. I gave chase.
"Get back *puff* here *puff* goat..." I wheezed after going up and down the hill three more times.
I collapsed. He grazed.

Eventually, we got him back where he belonged. We've had several more goat-break-ins; each time Hunter was shut away.

Then I got fed up with those blasted goats. It was just too darn hard! So I unveiled the secret weapon. Release the hound!


Hunter couldn't believe it. He seemed shocked at what I was asking of him.
"Are you sure, boss?" His eyes asked me with a gleam.
I had one word for him, "Psssssst!"
Hunter began to vibrate as a mechanical "whir" hummed from inside his body. Twin turbo boosters unfolded from his back and Hunter rocketed toward the goat, leaving behind a pile of black fur.

I was excited, yet scared for the goat. Would Hunter have it for dinner? Nope, he knew exactly what to do. Hunter nipped at the goats flanks, barked at it, and chased it until the goat jumped over the fence into the pasture unscathed.

"Good boy!" I cheered as fireworks exploded around me. No more huffing and puffing, Hunter is now the official goat chaser.
And stay out!

Monday, September 13, 2010

War Party

Oh, rats.

No really, RAAAATS!!!

Our property is infested with the fury spawn.  When we moved in, we thought that there might be one, maybe two. Now we know that there are many. My guess is that the inner property, on the people side of the fence, has become a safe-haven for the four-legged vermin because of little to no predation. Our dogs won't chase or eat rats, but they chase and scare away the things that do. So we're left with no natural pest control and poison is too risky to use for the sake of the other animals.

You see, the snakes have it good out in the field, the hawks can't spot the rats through our ivy or structures, and we have no barn cats...until now.

Meet our new crack team of specialized hunters.

Name: Taffy (AKA Mind Bender)
Specialty: Mesmerizing stare - Confuses her prey.

Name: Kit Kat (AKA Rodent Ripper)
Specialty: Rapid bunny kick - Shreds rodents in seconds.


Name: Licorice  (AKA Shadow Death)
Specialty: Invisibility - Can't be seen, even by the keenest eye.
 
Well, you try getting a shot of an invisible cat.

We got our barn cats through an interesting organization who supplies rescued cats to people with vermin problems. These cats come in three types; friendly, part friendly, and feral.

We talked with the owner of the rescue and she recommended three cats for our infestation. Kit Kat is friendly, Taffy is part friendly, and Licorice is feral. I haven't seen Licorice once since she came, though I have heard her, so we know she's around.

The best part about this particular cat rescue is that if anything happens to a cat, they will take it back and care for it. Naturally, they are very selective about who the cats are loaned to.

The cats have a two week waiting period while they adjust to their new surroundings. They're staying in our tack room and coming to know it as home. This is where they will find regular food, water, and shelter so that they don't stray too far and always come back.



Here is the ramp I've built to ensure that they always have quick and easy access to safety and their commodities. I'm sure it will come in handy when Hunter wants to "play" with them. Heaven help that dog if he ever corners one. It would be his first time being mauled.

Friday, July 23, 2010

Memoir of a Numnut

Where on Earth should I start with this dog?

In a nut shell, Piper is an over-sized Teddy bear with an under-sized brain. If he were human, he’d be the guy who laughs loudly at your jokes without the slightest idea of why it’s funny. He’s a good soul trapped in an ignorant body.

“Why is this dog the way he is? I thought Golden Retrievers are smart,” you might say. The ugly truth about Piper is that he is the disastrous result of experimental breeding. His father got together with Piper’s sister and voila; an idiot is born.

Piper is my wife’s dog, so I haven’t known him his whole life. He earned the nickname, “Numnuts” in his first few months of life simply because he feared everything. To this day he still fears many, many things. Like darkness, things that wave, and backing up. If he can’t go forward or to the side he’ll just stand there for about 15 minutes, then bark and wait for help. He once had such a terrible hot spot that a cone was needed over his head. He would hit his cone against walls, tables, and chairs and stand stalk still, petrified. He hit his cone against my leg too, which jolted him so he stopped and jerked his head up at me. “What?” his eyes questioned. I pet him and walked off. He stood there for 15 minutes. Typically, if Piper feels stuck he will sound off a high-pitched pitiful yelp-bark or a “yark” as I call them. The first night he had his cone he walked into the bedroom (very carefully) and stood on his doggy bed. I had to physically lay him down since he was too afraid. Later that night we woke up to his yark and found that he had stood up, went forward towards the wall and looked like he got suction cupped to it. He refused to back up and needed help. And so there was a muffled, “Yark!”

He also fears the sound his dog tags make against his food bowl and the water bucket. Piper will go to get a drink, his tags will clink against the bucket and he will jerk back with this, “I’m so thirsty, but I’m so scared” look on his face. He rarely wears his collar anymore.

Piper still has normal dog qualities though. He won’t pass up the chance to eat used tissues, dog doo, or even used “feminine products”. Heck no. He’ll even take time out of his busy schedule to lay down behind your feet in hopes you might tumble over him, or he’ll lick you directly after eating one of the unmentionables above.

This brings me to my next subject; Piper’s tongue. It’s probably the best thing about him. When he uses it he is very meticulous and thorough, so he gives the best foot massages. I know, I know, “Eeeewww!” but after a hard day of delivering mail over eleven miles of walking, it’s Heaven on Earth. Besides, that’s what showers are for.  It’s not just feet that Piper likes to lick, it’s all kinds of stuff. Skin, the floor, the table, and especially metal. He could lick metal for hours. You know how some people over exaggerate and say, “Look out, my dog will lick you to death”? Piper actually will. So we have to be careful when we put Aidan on the floor because he won’t have a face if Piper gets enough lick time.

Piper also enjoys lazily thrusting at the air sporadically with his hips. I kid you not when I say that sometimes he will be pumping the air, blank-faced, with his front half trying to make a break for it. It's as though he is dominating himself without his approval.

As for my dog, Hunter doesn’t hump him or beat him up or do anything violent really, he just acts like Piper doesn’t exist.

Hunter will drop toys on him:





















He will sit on him:























And there was one time, a few years back, when he actually relieved his bowels on Piper while we were all on a road trip.

Piper is now nine years old going on fourteen. He’s developing arthritis, can’t hear as well, and his face is all white. We can recall the day we first saw those gray hairs on his muzzle because it was at the end of our first cross-country trip; he was six. We didn’t want any doggy projectiles in case of an accident so Piper wore a seat belt.  He worried the whole time.

We think he’s aging faster because of the incestuous breeding. We’re not sure how much longer he has.

Thanks for being such a great source of comic relief Piper, we will miss you when you’re gone. So here is a poem just for you.

Your ways are so quirky, to this I confess.
Yet when you crap on our flowers, we love you no less.
You’ve brought us so much love, laughter, and joy.
I hope that you’re there, to see Aidan, the boy.
But those are His rules, that all life must end.
This family is grateful that you were our friend.

Saturday, June 26, 2010

Hilarity in the Country

We started out with three young male goats, Finnegan, Frosty and Danny. Since then we have acquired two milking goats and another young male, but this post is about the first three goats and our son, Aidan.

Finnegan, Frosty and Danny grew up being bottle-fed, so we’ve been able to watch them grow and learn their unique traits. We found that Frosty and Danny have melodic voices complete with your typical goat vibrato. Then there’s Finnegan…no vibrato, no pleasant tone, no sense of volume. Just a wide eyed, “BAAAAAHH!” like a bleating idiot.



Now that you’ve been formally introduced, here’s what happened last night.

It was about 2:00 AM when Aidan woke up wanting his bottle. He fussed for a little bit with sleepy frustration while I made the formula, but when he was in Mommy’s arms he became fully alert and cried with all his might. Well our windows were open and the goats heard his cry and became concerned.
Aidan: Waaaaaaah!
Danny: Bah-ah-ah-ah.
Frosty: Bah-ah-ah-ah.
Finnegan: BAAAAAHHHHH!!
Babies and goats can sound awful similar, so they thought one of their own was in trouble and Finnegan wasn’t about to miss a chance to bawl into the darkness.

Friday, June 25, 2010

Hunter

Hunter, first in command of the animal hierarchy on our property. Adored by his master and respected by all, Hunter is a dog among dogs. While his name is a bit cliché, there is an interesting story behind it. When my wife went to pick out a puppy for me in 2006, she went against my wishes. I felt that another mouth to feed was a terrible idea. She did anyway and I fell in love with a ball of black and tan fur. It took several days to decide his name. We tossed around a few ideas but couldn’t settle on one, all the while keeping one name a secret from the other. Finally, after exhausting all of our ideas, we returned to the name we both thought of first but never mentioned. Well that sealed it, Hunter was it!

Erin said it was tough picking out a puppy. After all, it was going to be the dog we have for the next ten plus years. She spent a long time examining the pups but there was one instance that sealed the decision. Clouds had rolled in and static began to accumulate. Then, CRASH! Lightening and thunder boomed overhead and the puppies ran yelping to their box. Guess who got to the box first and waited for all the other pups to get inside before he did? That’s why Erin chose Hunter, because he showed true bravery.

Photobucket

Hunter is a great ranch dog and exceedingly intelligent. He knows sit, down, come, stay, stand, hop, roll over, spin, drop it, get it, and "Psssss!" which means to get after the cat. Knowing tricks is always great, but learning on the fly and thinking fast are things you just can't teach. The best example would be when I was a nimrod and left the gate open to the horse pasture. One of the horses, Astro, decided to meander through it. Neither Erin nor I were close enough to stop him from getting loose. We ran anyway yelling, "Whoa!" to no avail. Hunter knew what we wanted, he stood at the gate and barked at the 1500 pound animal. Astro stopped.

Thanks Hunter!