At last

I haven’t been ghosting this blog intentionally. Why I took a two-year hiatus from writing is an enigma to me too.

Playing catch up will likely have some missing pieces and require several posts.

img_0891On a sad note two members of the Catillac Ranchette crew passed away.

Bob, the 12-year-old resident farm dog, was diagnosed with bone cancer mid 2014 and crossed the rainbow bridge on Thanksgiving. Bean, the alpha neutered male cat passed away the following year near his 16th birthday.

About three months before Bob died, a puppy stole my heart and moved to the Catillac Ranchette.

Willow is a purebred Border collie and it takes a big thinking cap to be smarter than the dog.

She is amazing at herding cats and yielding to their wily personalities. Hardwired to gather moving objects, Willow is never a “ free Willy “. We tried that program a couple of times after she was well versed in commands, and yup, all that instruction goes in the weeds when off leash.

I ran out of enticements to get her back. Treats, truck ride, the ball she worships, oh look someone is here and help I’ve fallen and can’t get up failed to lure her back under my control.

Eventually she got hungry and wanted inside. More about her later.

The neighbouring north pasture was converted to growing barley the past two seasons.

The pasture to the south remains lush for grazing Holstein heifers during the summer and early fall.

Change at or near the Catillac Ranchette can be as slow as dial up or faster than the speed of skunk spray christening a dog. I’ll be back to share the comings and goings of the furry herd.



The boys come calling

bull calfThe eight neighbouring heifers, that I watered all summer, moved into my small pasture to give the sprawling grassland a daily haircut.

Within a few days the mini herd settled in and looked forward to seeing me on the lawn tractor. That meant they would soon receive a starter salad of clippings.

My country intuition knew it was only a matter of time before company would come calling.

Late in the afternoon three bull calves sauntered up the driveway curious about the new black and white boarders.

All of the pregnant girls were eager to meet the adolescent beefers from across the gravel road to the east.

However, visiting was cut short when their mothers bellowed for them to come home for dinner.

A couple of months later the heifers went home to have their calves and the entire herd of beef cows from the east pasture ended up at the Catillac Ranchette. It took some convincing but they eventually went back to their home pasture. They too vacated the day before the first snowfall ending unexpected wanderers until grazing season returned.


And the parade of visitors continued


Bob broke into a lightning version of “ All around the mulberry bush (actually it was a dogwood) Doggie chased the weasel”. At first I couldn’t figure out what he was after until the smell hit me. The little guy expressed his scent glands and pee-yew.

Yup, I got it.

Despite his impeccable olfactory skills Bob couldn’t find the Mustela erminea. Perched atop the front deck railing, the weasel seemed calm and unaffected by the canine predator who was in a frenzy to find the intruder. I brought Bob inside the house so the weasel could escape before the furry herd got involved in the hunt.

But he took his sweet time. I grabbed the camera and approached him from the front of the bush. Gently and slowly I tried to move some of the limbs to snap a shot of the cute little critter. There were many branches to lift and arrange to capture a headshot. It wasn’t going to happen as I gingerly tried to get that Kodak moment while not startling him or her into bolting from the deck or launching towards my camera.

I returned inside and waited for a possible photo opportunity. Still the little fellow lingered.

Finally he turned around and began investigating the deck table. Click, click, and click I managed to get a few pictures. His curiosity brought him down to the deck and he moved about with nary a care.

Eventually he left, but his scent remained driving the dog and furry herd a little crazy.


Who let the cows, bull and horse out — did I mention the deer too.

Summer is shaping up to be remembered as hot and a little bit crazy.

Most of my time is spent cutting and weed whacking an acre or two of lawn. What is unusual about that is the tremendous growth rate this year. I think the past long, hard and cold winter tricked Mother Nature into mass production of grass in case there is another wicked brumal season.

When I am not riding the lawn mower the furry herd demands attention along with all the other summer fix-it projects. But all that activity gets plenty of interruptions of the pleasant variety.

About 4 a.m. the dog wants to go outside to begin his morning shift of doing what a watchdog does – watch. As I open the door a deer is munching in my pasture and Bob lets out a medium sized woof. The deer takes notice, but isn’t worried and meanders to find a good spot to vault the fence.

I pitter-patter down the hall to catch a few more winks and then the day begins.

Morning feeding inside the house for myself and part of the furry herd.

Outside critters on the Catillac Ranchette are lazing on the deck waiting for breakfast. I load up all the food and make my way to their feeding stations. Rounding the corner I spot a large amount of black and white. Eight neighbouring Holstein heifers are loafing in my yard. On either side of the Catillac Ranchette is pasture belonging to my neighbour. The girls were originally in the pasture to the south. They were temporarily moved to the north side pasture to accommodate silage harvesters driving in and out of the adjacent crop field.

After 24 hours on the north side the girls were antsy to get back to the south side and found the weakest link. One of the north side pasture gates opens to my driveway. A bit of pressure and down it went. I called in the cow wranglers who were still at morning chores a few miles away. I might be a cow whisperer to a couple of heifers, but eight was above my pay grade.

Four decided to go back through the open gate, which was flat on the ground, and hang around the north pasture while the other four went on a leisurely county tour.

Soon two quads rolled up and parked nearby while the riders dismounted and began their search for the missing four.

Three hours later and all of the ladies were back inside the south pasture, hanging around the water cooler while chatting about their great escape.

Later that night I do roll call and the entire furry herd along with the Rock dove are accounted for and Bob is ready for bed. Counting cows sounded like this: two, three, five, seven, eight, nine…wait a minute…seven, eight, nine. Need my zoom lens. Out come the binoculars and whoa – the neighbour’s beef bull is in the pasture. I know there won’t be any hanky panky between the only male with eight females because the heifers are all bred. But, if he can get in, they can get out. Mr. beefcake spent the night and his owner rounded him up and fixed the breach in the fence. Now I want to point out that Bob only barked at the deer and not the heifers in the yard or the bull visiting

I thought that was enough excitement for 24 hours, but more was on the way.

The next day I was getting ready to hang a load of laundry on the outside line when I heard that familiar woof –“there’s something that needs your attention”.

Up the driveway trots a beautiful horse with a halter and a long lead shank attached and dragging on the ground.

It was obvious that he didn’t want much to do with me and instead decided to inspect the Catillac Ranchette.

I have a bit of horse experience, but that was with my own. I had to draw upon a few television lessons from the horse whisperer Monty Roberts to get the equine into my fenced pasture until I could find his owner.

A direct approach by grabbing the lead was not going to work. Instead I did a little trick by turning my back on him and looked towards the ground. Well son of a gun it worked. He walked right up to me as if we were long lost friends.

Just as I managed to grasp the lead a white truck slowly drove into my yard.

It was the owner. She explained that “Mouse” had travelled a considerable distance.

Watching her slowly drive the truck with horse in tow, I wondered why so many escaped animals have arrived in my yard over the years when there were several other places along the way to visit. And then it hit me. Animals have their own social networking and I must be on their “like” and “must see” list.


Much ado about furry things



Recovery from major surgery last fall has taken its toll on me — especially when it comes to writing. However, I do seem to be turning a corner and I hope I won’t be walking down a dead end road.

So to catch up on my observations I am going to blitz you with a few honourable mentions.


Winter was long, cold coupled with enormous amounts of snow. To keep the furry herd cozy I had extra bales of straw along with two heated pet beds in their shed. Being that there are a couple of seniors — Bean, aka the yard nazi and Leo — I wanted them to be comfortable during the harsh temperatures.

A few stragglers also showed up this winter but kept their distance from not only the main cat shed but also me.

A second shed, a bit larger than the 10 X 10 foot abode, is where the covert kitties would lurk.

In my daily outdoor feeding rounds I would ensure the second shed had an ample supply of food and a couple of bales of straw for warmth.

Usually feeding is done during the extremely short period of daylight that we have during winter. On one occasion I returned home after sunset and was greeted by a skunk in the second shed.

Slowly backing out I managed not to alarm the skunk and returned inside my home without an extra aroma.

After confronting the cat-poser I realized it was the skunk that had sometimes pushed the cat food dishes around on the floor. Now the moochers get fed on the shelf where they can jump up and the skunk can’t.


Early in January my neighbour’s home burned down. On March 18th an older home was moved onto the site. The mover had to cross the field and enter the homestead through the back because of the dense shelterbelt that not only surrounds the property but also lines the driveway. There was a flurry of activity with men and machines setting up the new abode. When it appeared that there would be no more vehicles parked on the main gravel road that separates my place from the neighbours I let out my dog. He marched down to the end of my driveway and began dancing around the only tree of height substance on my property.

I couldn’t see any birds that might have caught his attention, but he continued trying to climb the tree despite me calling his name over and over.

On comes the winter gear and I walked towards him with a “this better be good” state of mind.

At the top of the naked tree a small squirrel was hanging on for all of his worth. Poor little fella. Likely all the commotion across the road had displaced the little critter from his home. Who knows, maybe it was necessary to cut down a few trees to get the house properly sited and that might have been his home. Bob wasn’t budging he wanted that squirrel. I had to coax him with promises of treats if he came back to the house with me. After hearing the word cookie about a dozen times he finally surrendered and walked back with me. As we returned I looked back and watched the squirrel scamper across the road safely.


The pasture north of my property was a temporary home to nine mares over winter. It was nice company especially when they would come to the fence for a scratch or pet. Everyday I am watchful for change of weather, animal behaviour and tracks. I noticed one that was a bit distorted because of a light snowfall overnight. It was larger than a dog’s paw but did not resemble horses or cattle tracks, which would be the most likely wanderers onto the Catillac Ranchette. Neither was it belonging to a deer or moose.  It resembled an oversized cat’s paw, but there are no kitties that large hanging around. I kept my eyes and mind open to the possibilities.

A few months later the owner of the mares stopped by when I was out on my feeding rounds. Our chat turned towards animal tracks. He had seen a cougar in the pasture near the willows close to where his mare had spent the winter.

It was one of those aha moments, making perfect sense that the unknown track belonged to a cougar. Confirmation was in a book about animal tracks as it was hard to fathom a cougar in an area that is mainly farmed or used for pasture. Even though it doesn’t appear to be cougar habitat it is rich in prey.

Now I take attendance on the Catillac Ranchette twice a day. And yes, I hear all of the silly “cougar” jokes when I share this story with friends.



It’s not what you say but how you say it

A poor digital zoom picture of a coyote and dog conversing from more than than 1,500 yards away

A poor digital zoom picture of a coyote and dog conversing from more than than 1,500 yards away.

While making my daily rounds during a frosty and chilly winter morning on the Catillac Ranchette I heard the beef farmer’s dog barking. After feeding the furry herd and the rock dove while checking their housing and water I noticed the dog was still barking. Woof, woof, woof, woof and so on and on and on. Dog would not let up. I rarely hear the neighbour’s dog that lives the next quarter section over; about a kilometre southwest. I thought the canine would lose his voice from the rapid-fire barking. It wasn’t the non-stop yipping that was stirring my curiosity. The tone indicated something different was happening.
I couldn’t see what was going on, but knew where the sound was coming from and with some elevation I might find out what was causing the dog to continue barking without a break.
Out came the binoculars as soon as I got inside and removed my winter gear. While scanning the white landscape through the window, I spotted a pair of four-legged figures a mere foot apart. The black dog was having words with a coyote. I watched as the dog wagged his tail and the coyote occasionally bared his teeth. A bit of movement occurred – mostly in miniscule increments and cautiously.
I was mesmerized, yet fear was lurking in my mind. I didn’t want to witness a violent confrontation between the two distant relatives. Grabbing a digital camera with a poor excuse for a zoom lens, I snapped some photos.
At least thirty minutes had elapsed and it appeared neither was giving up their ground. As much as I wanted to see how long the stand-off would last and how it would end there was the makings of an uprising inside the house. The furry five were getting restless for their breakfast. I didn’t want an ambush and fed the felines while shooing Bob out of the cat queue. After dealing with the feeding frenzy I looked through the binoculars and was pleased to see they had parted ways without any wounds. The day was just beginning and it was anyone’s guess what else would transpire on the Catillac Ranchette.


Does absence make the heart grow fonder?

To my faithful followers I apologize for not posting for several months. And it might be a bit longer before my fingers tickle the keyboard.

A longtime autoimmune illness flared several months ago rendering me to my bed. Instead of quieting it escalated to near death and forced a sudden emergency decision of major surgery. It has been barely three weeks and I have had numerous setbacks. Needless to say I am a private person and only share personal information in person instead of online. Still, I believe anyone stumbling on my blog deserves a reason why I have not posted for sometime and will likely take more time off before updating on the comings and goings at the Catillac Ranchette.

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