The Phantom Horse

The day before Christmas Eve I was outside feeding the furry herd when I noticed a big brown something. From about 50 feet away it looked like Bob might have done a job. As I moved closer there was a whole lot more DNA than what Bob would leave behind and by the way he usually does his business in the pasture.

I examine the large specimen and rule out dog, cat, moose, deer, rabbit, cow, fox, owl coyote and the fake stuff you buy at a gag store. The fibrous mounds were road apples. A horse left the droppings but was no where in sight. A tour of the Catillac Ranchette revealed many horse prints in the snow. The equine was wearing shoes and appeared to have done the polka all over the snow covered yard. Looking inside the compound I noticed a few pails knocked over but no damage to any of the items I keep in the outdoor fort. Walking down the driveway, I followed the hoof steps coming into my yard from the main road and running parallel. Wandering onto the gravel road I saw a few prints indicating the horse came from the north and hung a right at the entrance. What was even stranger than a phantom horse leaving his scat and a mass of hoof prints was no marks exiting Catillac Ranchette. I checked the adjoining pastures in case it was a jumping horse. No, only cat and dog paw prints.

I have to travel at least three miles in any direction to find a horse. The trail went cold on the gravel road about 20 feet from my driveway entrance. I could not guess where the mysterious horse came from and how it left or where it went. What I could guess is how it must have drove my dog crazy watching the phantom horse trespass through his territory and powerless to chase it while confined in the kennel overnight.

Inconsolable

Gramma’s Eye Candy had to be euthanized today. It is never a good day to die, but especially Christmas Eve.
His real name is Pugsy. He was a city cat owned by a senior for 11 years. When his owner passed away, there was no place for him to go except a humane society for adoption. Sadly older cats don’t usually get re-homed.It would have been a long shot to find Pugsy a new family because of his odd diet and rather unsociable manner. Pugsy’s good looks belied his real demeanor.
He came home with me.
For three days he refused to come out of the crate. I was concerned that Pugsy might not adapt to a new home with – at that time – one other neutered male.
I cut up some ham and that seemed to entice him out to have a look around. He lived on a diet of ham. I was determined to change that in a hurry. One month later after a trial of every cat food product ever made, Sunday-cooked chicken and roast beef Pugsy had me trained to buy ham and cut it into bite-sized pieces.
The running joke was my husband ate peanut butter sandwiches while the cat dined on Black Forest ham.
I still tried to introduce him to other foods and was successful with dairy products. I noticed he began showing an interest in my toast. A little piece of crust with butter and Pugsy would nibble it then walk away like he conquered the chef.
His beautiful white coat was fine and long. Playing hairdresser consisted of three or four strokes with a brush then he would try to lay the smack down if I didn’t stop. A coat like that needs daily grooming and sometimes a good clip. Because he refused to be a lap cat, cuddle bunny or allow anyone to hold him I was concerned about how much trouble it would be to shave him. I don’t have enough metal armor to do the job myself. To pay a vet to put Pugsy under while being groomed was more than I spent in a lifetime of haircuts for myself.
I found a dog groomer that also groomed cats.
If the first trip to the groomers was any indication, I might have been talked out of any future grooming sessions.
I donned a pair of coveralls and heavy gloves to put him inside the crate. The entire trip to town was filled with unhappy and disgruntled meows. I turned up the radio to drown him out.
It was a full house when we arrived. Dogs were barking inside crates while hair dryers blasted heat to their wet bodies. I had to pry the cat out of the carrier. This was not going to be a cake walk. The groomer instructed me on how to hold Pugsy down while she operated the clippers. He tried to fight it and was quite strong despite his age. I told the groomer that the cut did not have to be pretty. His nails were also clipped. Another activity he would seek revenge upon me. When the job was done I opened his crate which he gladly walked into, but not without taking a swipe at me as I closed the door. The drive home was quiet.
When we arrived the other cat came to smell Pugsy. What the heck happened to you he likely said to Pugsy with his body language and sniffing. My husband laughed and Pugsy retreated to his room with a bruised ego.
Later that night he actually jumped up beside me on the couch as if to say, Okay I guess we can sort of be friends again.
It’s been almost five years since he had arrived and despite acting like he was above everyone, Pugsy wormed his way into our hearts. He rarely acted like a cat, but when he did it became the talk of the neighbourhood.
This morning I awoke to find Pugsy in distress and his hind legs were limp. I bundled him up and drove into town to the vet. His meow was sad and sounded like he was experiencing a lot of pain. I instantly knew this would be the last time we would travel together. I talked to him the whole way there and promised him relief. I told Pugsy that he was going on a special trip to see his former owner and would be missed by all on the Catillac Ranchette.
But I had one request for him to do after crossing the rainbow bridge. Make sure to have lunch with my husband – peanut butter sandwiches and a nice bowl of Black Forest ham.
Pugsy was laid to rest at 9:15 a.m. A blood clot travelled through his aorta to the lower extremities where it lodged and prevented blood flow to his hind legs. The chance of him making a come back was not to be.
The vet shaved a spot on his front leg and I scooped up the little tuft of fur. He inserted a catheter to administer the drug that would send him to the other side. The vet inserted the needle and pushed the plunger. About halfway through the drug, Pugsy gave one last swipe, then died peacefully in my arms.

is it spam, scam or someone wanting to jam?

Now the title might have you asking what does spam, scam or someone wanting to jam have to do with rural life.
Let me explain.
I have some faithful readers that visit my blog but rarely comment on the site. Some of my closer friends may email my private address and share their thoughts.
Lately I have seen some comments that were quickly put in the spam category by WordPress administration. Some of the remarks and addresses seem almost real. The names appear foreign, but plausible. Their addresses look like they too could be real.
But how do you know for sure?
Not being a savvy techie I always remember the words of a teacher. “When in doubt, don’t”
So I could be missing out on making a new acquaintance or preventing malware from getting in front door.
If you are reading this post and wonder why I have not written back or why the computer isn’t passing on my super secret recipes through your Trojan horse, it is because I fell asleep during that Microsoft class and only use it as a glorified typewriter.

Conflicted

The first winter storm of the season is abating while the temperature is falling. The main activity at the Catillac Ranchette is feeding the recently installed wood stove and snow removal. In 24 hours the snow shovel has earned its keep with a half dozen workouts to keep outside paths clear.
It will be another long season of unplugging the driveway.
Yet my eyes soak up the stark beauty especially at night when the stars twinkle and the snow glistens.
I love and hate winter.
Its benefits are few, I muse, until I remind myself there is more to the season than fighting the forces of nature.
The snow insulates and the cold kills off a host of undesirable things. Out come the skates and hockey sticks, sleds and skis. Rosy cheeks and red tipped noses. Toques, mitts and scarves are needed accessories. Crisp and fresh air.
Baking, reading and any other hobby or pastime ignored during summer.
Mother Nature’s way of slowing life and providing time to reflect.
The furry herd isn’t impressed with winter. The only exceptions are higher calorie meals and warm milk. They are disgusted to get their paws wet for a trip to the water bowl or outside business. Where are those mittens you should make for us, they ask. Better yet, carry us through the snow is what I imagine they really mean.
Aging presents challenges dealing with harsh weather. Bob, the guard dog, has fewer frenzied romps through the snow than the year before. I, too, move at a slower pace.
Seasons are not just part of the landscape but also reflect the human journey. Spring is new and full of hope, Summer energetic and growing, Autumn mature and subtle, and Winter deliberate and final.
With the seasonal forecast calling for a colder winter and above average snow fall, I will have plenty of time to debate the positive and negative aspects of winter.
Time to gather more wood and clear the snow.

Off with their heads

It is a violent title, but don’t worry no humans or animals were injured writing this post.
Whether you live in town or the country, weeds are going to thrive and try to take over. A lot of my yard work is focused on removing weeds without lawn drugs. If I am not pulling them out then I am cutting them with a gas-powered whacker. Sometimes the whacker likes to play games with me and not start. She laughs at me as I pull the string over and over again. Eventually she gives in, starts, and gets to work trimming grass and conquering weeds.
I had a nostalgic thought one day and borrowed the neighbour’s scythe.
Despite its simple design there is a knack and rhythm to operating the green-powered Grim Reaper.
Once I caught on it was an efficient method of removing the heads of my yard nemesis – Canada Thistle. Of course there is an assortment of other unwanted weeds to destroy, but they are not as wicked and determined to overtake my domain.
It took longer to attack the enemy using the Halloween prop. Still, I was victorious in my quest to remove the heads of the thistles before they went to seed and re-populated my piece of earthly heaven.
With the recent mini frosts, plants and weeds are heading into hibernation ending my relentless summer siege. While they sleep I will plan next year’s attack when the army of thistle doom returns to stage a coup.

The hitchhiker

About one month ago I took in a homeless kitten by request. Now this is no ordinary young feline.
The tiny tuxedo female allegedly hitched a ride between a gas tank and the frame of a large farm vehicle.
The truck owner was bringing it to his licensed mechanic that runs a shop in the country.
The little fur baby went unnoticed for at least a day. An itty-bitty mew gave away her location and the search was on.
The mechanic did not want to keep her as a garage cat because of the traffic in and out, and a dog that hunts cats. The farmer could not say for sure it was his. For three days the kitty darted in and out of hiding places to elude capture while several people were pondering the cat’s future.
By the fourth day she was caught then transported to me.
I wasn’t planning on adding another inside cat to my gang, but looking at the size of her, I couldn’t imagine her integrating with the outside furry herd. She is much younger and they would take a while to warm up to her. And, in that time she is at risk without a mother figure to show her the ropes on the Catillac Ranchette.
She earned the moniker of Tennessee after the cartoon “Tennessee Tuxedo” because of her beautiful black and white markings.
Tennessee was barely six weeks old and skittish of people.
I had some doubts as to how she would get along with Gramma’s eye candy, the household resident president – Goomba, and the rascally Chi-lo.
After several days Tennessee allowed me to touch her if I had food in hand.
It was Chi-lo’s attention to the newcomer that sped up the process of feeling secure in her new home.
He played with her, chased her and groomed her. To see a larger than average cat cuddle with a teeny kitten was heartwarming. Chi-lo demonstrated that he is a gentle giant when putting Tennessee in a headlock and lavishly washing her ears.
The pair of them have been joined at the hip except for when Chi-lo goes out to the prison yard. Tennessee is too tiny to be allowed access to the big cat’s outdoor enclosure. She could escape through the bars and so she naps while he is away.
My initial thoughts were to foster Tennessee until I could find a forever home, but have since changed my mind.
I believe Chi-lo would be heartbroken if she moved away. Not to mention me.
They say everything happens for a reason — how else can I explain getting another cat when I have a full house and an army of felines outside.

Hawks and doves

The title does not refer to opposing viewpoints on conflict. Rather I am going to tell you about the feathered friends popping by this summer.
The neighbour is blessed with tall trees and an abundant shelterbelt to house numerous birds.
The red-tail hawk couple that return every year to raise their young in the tall stand capture most of my bird watching attention.
This year they followed the same routine including when they evicted the young adult child to find his or her own place to hang out until migration.
For some unknown reason my yard seemed to be far enough away to comply yet close enough to spy on mom and dad hawk.
Every morning the new resident would perch on the wind board fence, let out a few squawks and begin to hunt.
By noon the power pole close to my house became another look out for the newcomer.
The rest of the critters on the Catillac Ranchette hardly noticed, despite the constant screeching throughout the day.
I was the only one excited to play host to a magnificent raptor.
Around the same time a pair of doves took a liking to my almost barren yard.
It was an interesting contrast that I hope to see repeat itself next summer.
And speaking of summer, September is kicking July and August’s butt for warm weather. Some record-breaking temperatures around the province as the Catillac Ranchette smiles when the mercury soars to 30C. It will also help to finish off the late starting crops in the area and provide good harvesting weather.

Summer vacation

The title is a misnomer of sorts. What I am actually saying is that my computer is getting a summer vacation from me. Even though it has mainly been monsoon season and not enjoyable outside due to constant rain or the onslaught of mosquitoes. Still, Mother Nature whispers to me.
At best, I fire up the computer to check mail. My legs get antsy. They want fresh air – albeit covered with bug spray.
The lawn begs for a haircut.
The barb-wired fence says mend me.
The weeds try blending in with the regular flora, hoping not to be noticed, then plucked.
A beautiful black bird with a red neck tie serenades me every morning morning and early evening.
Heifers in the north pasture ask for a scratch when they come to the fence.
The cats outside want belly rubs.
Dogs need a ball to chase.
My truck wants a bath.
Out buildings want a makeover with a fresh coat of paint.
The deck asks for support.
Laundry wants to suntan on the clothes line
The list goes on and summer is short.
No gripes. No complaints. It is the best way for me to spend my time. And, I relish every moment. The pace is selectively mild – like when you are told to stop and smell the roses. It is void of hurry, go, run. There is a prize for being last: no stress.
So for now, my computer takes a back seat.
However, that does not mean I won’t share something when time allots.
For now: Have a wonderful summer.

Foxy visitor

A lot of mini dramas play out on the Catillac Ranchette daily. All you have to do is watch the animals. And, animal animation does not stop at the furry herd.
I can spend time observing the bird community and how the magpies taunt the furry herd. Or the soaring antics of the Red-tailed hawk. The geese and ducks along with some of the smaller feathered friends provide a lot of entertainment too.
But it is the rare events that fire up the brain and often launch a Google or Yahoo search, and a story for the Catillac Ranchette blog.
For example, about three years ago I discovered a Northern Flying Squirrel on the property. I had heard about the elusive gliding mammal but was surprised to find it on an acreage without one tree. Sadly the little guy was dead. How he came to be at the Ranchette is anyone’s guess as his body was unmolested and the cats did not seem remotely interested in him.
Another fine discovery was a few weeks ago. I found a recently deceased adolescent Short- tailed Weasel. Again, this find had me scratching my head, because it too was not in a natural habitat yet was intact.
It is possible that a cat or the dog dragged it home after its demise. Still, that seems highly unlikely.
Last night almost changed my mind on how seemingly out-of-their-neighbourhood critters appear at the Ranchette and to never assume animals will behave in a way humans expect them to.
About seven days ago I thought I had witnessed a red fox playing with one of my cats. By the time I got my binoculars up to my eyes they had disappeared. About four years ago a young cat fell victim to a fox and was snatched from my back deck. This new potential siting had me concerned about the safety of my felines.
About an hour after a late supper, Bob my loyal and watchful dog became interested in the territory near the front of my house. He moved into a sentry position and began his watch. I scanned the horizon but could not see what had attracted his attention. Patiently I kept my eyes on the dog. Eventually he sauntered down the driveway towards the gravel road. About 20 feet from the end of my driveway he stopped and became engaged with some dubious aroma in the grass. I was about to continue with my inside chores when something told me to wait it out.
I could not imagine what was so intriguing at the location Bob was so engrossed with because I had passed by it a few hours before and nothing appeared out of the ordinary.
Just then, something red moved into in my peripheral vision as I staked out the canine. At first I thought it might be one of my red tabbies strolling home from the neighbour’s barn. My eyes squinted in disbelief as I watched a red fox walk right past my dog on the gravel road. I grabbed my binoculars to validate what my eyes were witnessing.
The red fox sat down on the far side of the gravel road and tried to get my dog’s attention.
A funny sounding bark emanating from the fox seemed to be an invitation to play. Bob kept sniffing the ground and ignored the high pitched pleas of the fox for about five minutes. I looked around the general vicinity where the two sat for an indication of another reason why the fox remained vigilant at his location. A few yards to the south of my dog was Ginger, a red tabby. He sat in the high grass watching the fox and the dog as if waiting for a showdown. Nothing about the three of them in close proximity made any sense, at least to me.
I only had my small point and shoot digital camera handy, but decided to try and capture a once in a lifetime Kodak moment from 300 feet away.
The sound of the shutter was the cue for Bob to look up and accept the invitation from the fox. Off they went on a chase that would result in Bob walking home sore and tired from the fast sprint. It took me several minutes to gather my thoughts about what just happened.
After a computer search, a report on a wildlife website and my blog entry I was still smiling about why I love living in the country.
I look forward to another encounter with my foxy visitor.

decisions, decisions, decisions

Residents of the Catillac Ranchette were discussing the federal Canadian election to determine whom they would vote for or what style of government would be best – that is if they had actually registered to vote. But, since they are minors and cats, a lively discussion would have to suffice.
The Yard Nazi wanted the furry herd to follow his line of thinking, which of course in his opinion is always right. He is in favour of receiving cradle to grave care from a socialist type government, yet he does not want to give up his imagined power and be equal to the others. And he has no idea about the cost involved to support that type of government. He clearly wants to be in charge at the Ranchette and should maybe reconsider finding a party that supports a dictatorship instead of socialism.
The Alpha female supports the idea of a childcare program that does not cost very much. Then she could go off on her hunting trips and not worry about who will look after her kittens while she is away. An older female suggested the herd should shoulder some of the burden when they could and devise a program that is flexible, accessible and creative. That, she said, would work better if they figured something out instead of the government.
Gramma’s eye candy had concerns about meals that are served on a timely basis, clean sheets on his bed, along with a tidy litter box. A party would best serve his interests by initiating beneficial policies that will care for an aging generation.
Chilo had a list a mile long of wants and needs. His priority is freedom — to do as he pleases. His other wants seem to reflect his best interests while not necessarily being the best direction for all concerned. His political desires reflect a sovereign way of living. But, he is the youngest and will learn that flying solo can be very lonely not to mention more challenging.
The toms jumped in with requests for better representation and more ladies so they would not have to leave their residence for seasonal nuptials. Everyone groaned at that request. Okay, well how about healthcare and battle fatigue – they quipped.
Everyone groaned again. The toms admitted that they may have contributed to their own health issues from skirmishes and acknowledged that they did receive fair health care treatment compared with others not living in the vicinity. Yet, they believe there is always room for improvement. Some of the herd suggested they stay home and not go off to war with neighbouring toms, and instead find more diplomatic ways to deal with issues or just mind their own business. They agreed to consider the suggestions.
Some of the younger ones wanted to know what their future would be like if the vermin population declined or became extinct and what would happen if the tall grasses that concealed them during hunting trips failed to grow.
One piped up that maybe someone could enforce a law for all to follow and prevent or mitigate those potential calamities. The alpha male mewed that the entire herd had a responsibility towards their shared environment without involving an election. It would be better to work together on keeping it fit for the next litter of kittens, he explained.
The oldest resident listened intently to the others. The feline sage asked some hard questions about what they were going to do to bring about positive change that would benefit at least the majority of the herd.
They conversed well into the night on building a better future. There were only a few things they agreed on. That was a good start for a foundation to build on. They knew not all of their desires would be met and sometimes they would be mad or disappointed with decisions or policies. They began squabbling and nothing got done or settled. Clearly a coalition was powerless.
The wise old cat rounded them up to have the final word.
He said they are different but need the same things such as a place to live that is safe and keeps them protected from harsh weather. Also important is good food and water. Choosing how to maintain these vital needs will require deep thought because an election is not a popularity contest. In the end though, whatever path they select another opportunity would come along in the future and allow them to reverse their direction. That is how democracy works, he explained. Everyone gets a vote and should not take that for granted.