ANIMAL TALES

One or two of you have intimated that perhaps we should work harder to find just who could be missing a horse. We also know that if livestock goes missing, owners often aren't in a hurry to correct the situation. So much the better for the budget if they eat elsewhere.

Mike contacted one horse owner in the canyon who said the horse wasn't his, and we believe him. So, yesterday afternoon, Mike climbed onto his XT and approached Little Canyon by road. He found a second horse operation, and the hired hand said they keep a lot of horses, not just their own, and allowed that one or two might be missing. It's unclear if anything will come of this contact.

We didn't see Blaze the Horse yesterday. That doesn't mean he isn't here -- just that we didn't see him. It's usually early morning or evening when we catch sight of him, but after lunch here he showed up at the barn. He moved off into the south field with Mike calling, "Come back." Mike says he thinks Blaze would come to him if it weren't for Bess, who has never cared for horses. Nellie, on the other hand, saw horses as friends. Anyway, Blaze moved away into the south field and kept going. He's been eating too much fruit, and we could all benefit by a change in his diet.



Last night, Mike went upstairs to shower after supper and called down for me to see the doe and her fawn under the pear tree. I took the camera and crept into the downstairs bathroom. They both saw me immediately -- whether by sight or by scent. (I expect I do have a scent of some sort.) The doe was eating the pears while the fawn stood back near the grass where it was nearly camouflaged. Knowing I was there, the doe commenced to stamp the ground, which I took to mean that she really wanted pears for supper. Meanwhile, Bess stood in the hallway whining to go out, and when I opened the kitchen door for her, the doe whistled -- yes, whistled -- for her offspring, and off they ran behind the grove. I think she was a young doe, but she was doing her best for her baby. KW

PARTING . . . “SUCH SWEET SORROW” – AND OTHER TALES

Moping Nellie pretends to nap

Nellie was overjoyed to greet Hallie again on Sunday morning. She was hopeful of a nice treat – one of the "pig ears" Hallie brought especially for her, but alas! The pig ears were all gone and Nellie had to settle for a common dog treat – not quite the same thing.

We have discussed that Nellie knows Hallie belongs to the family. "The DNA scent is right," explained Hallie. And Nellie and Hallie bonded in the few precious puppy months before Hallie graduated from U-I and her home visits were less frequent.

Somehow, as Sunday morning progressed, Nellie knew this was the day – the day that Hallie and Nick would leave. How does she know? – we wondered. There were no suitcases in evidence. But it was obvious from her demeanor that she did indeed know. As Hallie gave me last minute instructions on the new blog lay-out, Nellie was lying glumly at her feet. During final leave-taking in the house, she rested her head gently on Hallie's knee. As the humans left the house for outdoor hugs and handshakes and "come back soons," Nellie stayed back in the house.

"I can tell you exactly what she'll do when you leave," I told Hallie. "She'll lie on her pillow and pretend to nap but mostly she'll be moping. This afternoon she'll perk up a bit, say 'oh well,' and insist on a trip to the beach for a refreshing swim. By the time the day is over, she will have accepted that it's once again the three of us." This proved to be the case.

Hummingbird on wire in garage

So, Mike and I spent a few days in town doing "town business," and this morning we began to pack the Dakota, parked in the shed, for the trip back to the farmhouse. "What's that noise?" I asked Mike. Looking up, we saw a hummingbird fluttering his wings against the white insulation in the ceiling. With the light from the open garage doors reflecting against the white vinyl coating on the insulation, the poor thing could not find his way out. He kept looking up. We made a few initial efforts with a broom and a ladder to encourage him to fly down and out. He just didn't get it.

Mike tries to sweep bird out door

"it's survival of the smartest . . . " said Mike. The comment seemed a little harsh to me. Mike so enjoys watching the hummingbirds at the feeders on the farm. But I had to agree that we could invest a lot of time in this dilemma, only to be disappointed in the end. I was slightly amused but not too surprised on my next trip to the Dakota to find Mike once again attempting to encourage the little creature to fly out of the pole barn garage. He gave it up several times, but another idea would occur to him and he'd try again. He took his Moss Point Tiger beach towel and covered the window, closed the garage doors and left the side door open, thinking the hummingbird would migrate toward the light source. No such luck. Mike used a stool, a 6-foot ladder, and a 15-foot ladder. He used a broom and a pole and then attached the broom to the pole. In the end, he was able to catch the hummingbird in his hand from the 15-foot ladder and then released him into the sky. We watched him soar freely, higher and higher, turn and head back, then turn to the south and fly off. Hopefully he remembered where to find a feeder or nectar source. I'm sure he was hungry and exhausted. Mike worked at least half an hour to free the hummingbird from the garage. Yes, we hit the "easy button."

Now we were ready to leave the house for the farm. Mike had decided to ride his Yamaha XT-whatever road/trail bike because he wanted it at the farm while I drove the Dakota. I went one way to stop at the produce mart on my way out of town while Mike went on ahead. Once my errands were completed and I was out on the highway, it occurred to me that I should be watching for Mike at the side of the road – just in case he had a problem. (I have been known to drive right by as he frantically attempted to wave me down. I have also been known to drive off as he yells for me to stop.) Just then I saw him. I recognized the man and the shirt and pulled onto the shoulder. He had lost compression – a mystery as to why – and was indeed stranded by the side of the road. We were just at the point where the bike path ends, within a mile from the casino. So we drove on to the casino service station and bought some oil. Mike was unable to get the motor started, so we went back to town and arranged for the good folks at the Yamaha shop to pick the bike up. We came on to the farm in the Dakota.

Today feels as though it has been two days. KW

OF MICE AND AFGHANS

On a chilly evening at the farm last month, Mike and I were sitting side-by-side on the sofa watching tv when he reached for his "Dallas Cowboys" afghan and unfolded a despicable sight. The mice had made themselves "to home" in it. I'll spare you the description except to say they had gnawed through the yarn and it was badly stained. I was heartsick at the sight.

When Hallie was 14 or so and just learning to crochet, Mike wordlessly handed her a copy of Herrschnerr's Needlework catalog turned to the page listing sports afghans. "I think Dad wants me to make this Cowboys afghan for him," Hallie said to me. "Will you order the kit for me?"

Frankly, I had my doubts that she could do it. The pattern required the making of afghan stitch panels to be embroidered with a football helmet in the team colors, blue and gray. Hallie had made only a couple of afghans and this one seemed pretty ambitious to me. If she didn't like doing it, what then? I knew the answer. I would be finishing the afghan and it might take me years. But it seemed endearing to me that she wanted to comply with Mike's wishes. So I ordered the kit, which came as a pattern booklet and sufficient yarn to complete the afghan. I had also ordered the long afghan hook. I remember showing her how to pull up the loops, being sure to catch the very last stitch on the row, and then draw them off again. After that I didn't see much of her for about a month as she spent long quiet hours crocheting in her room. Sometimes teens need that. I knew what she was doing and didn't worry. I had anticipated that she would have questions and I would help her. She never asked and I didn't pry. Before long the afghan was completed beautifully and wrapped for Christmas. My only part was to put a backing on the pillow.

Returning to the now damaged afghan, I was particularly distressed that I had been so stupid as to have left this particular afghan on the sofa. Honestly I never thought about an acrylic fiber afghan being susceptible to damage, a mistake I won't make again! We couldn't exactly pinpoint when it had happened either because otherwise we hadn't seen much mouse sign in the house since installing the little sonar gadgets. At least we thought that was the reason. I never imagined they were hiding out in the afghan. And – I still had to tell Hallie about it.

"I have to tell you something bad," I said into the phone during one of our regular conversations. "Remember the Cowboys afghan . . . ."

"Oh," Hallie laughed, "I thought you were going to say the dog is sick." She was more philosophical than I about the afghan, reminiscing about how she had enjoyed the process of making it, more or less saying nothing could take from her the satisfaction of having completed the afghan successfully.

So, I stuffed the afghan into a large "Penney's" shopping bag I found and took it to town to wash in my gentle-action front-loading washing machine. It took some weeks for me to get to it. Once Nellie caught a whiff of the bag as it sat by the washing machine. "Do you know about this?" her eyes seemed to ask. Then one day when Mike was off to Oregon, I donned surgical gloves, removed the afghan from the sack and carefully stabilized the holes with yarn. I was so pleased when the horrible stains washed out. I'm sure I can repair the holes somehow, but if the stains had remained, I would have had to think again about saving the afghan.

I was trained to treasure things for their special significance in my life and also to keep anything that might be useful, and I kept the leftover yarn from this afghan. Not only had I kept it, I found it! "It's just white yarn," observed Mike, but those who work with yarn know that it's not all created equal. Having the original yarn means one less problem to solve in the process. I also found the instruction booklet, though I probably won't need it.

So the lesson I have learned in this is that when fighting the great rodent war, you can never relax your vigilance. If you live in the country, the problem is never solved. The enemy is out there and it's name in the broad category is "rodent." KW

IT’S ALWAYS SOMETHING

We hadn't been to the farm since March 27, the weather and our social schedules keeping us in town. It's well past time for us to begin to establish our "summer residence," so Saturday morning (May 8) Mike and I packed the Dakota with the Montmorency sour cherry tree, the supplies and "needfuls" we had gathered, and Nellie (of course)and headed out to the farm. As we traveled we listened to a Louis L'Amour audiotape, "Law of the Desert Born," and companionably anticipated the planting of our sincere little cherry tree. It felt really good to be going to the farm again.

At first sight of the farmyard from the old Plank place, we were relieved to see the tall pines in the grove still standing like sentries, having survived another winter. From that distance, the house and grounds looked good. But as we drove into the yard, Mike exclaimed, "Oh no! The horses are here again!" The yard was trampled and flower pots sitting on the porch had been pulled off and broken. Manure everywhere. Truly – it smelled like a barnyard. I'm not a forensic scientist but upon examination of the natural stuff, it looked as if the horses had been in residence some weeks, including that very day.

Of course we had to deal with the situation, but taking first things first, we decided to plant the cherry tree. You may recall that the cherry tree is Hallie's gift for our 35^th wedding anniversary. We chose a spot in the grove, back of the area designated as the orchard, and Mike dug a hole according to instructions – as deep as the root ball and twice as wide.

In the course of the planting, we provided plenty of water.

The tree seemed to perk up immediately it was in the ground, apparently sensing it was home. As the final step, Mike placed fencing around it that will hopefully provide some protection from the deer if not the horses.

After lunch we set about assessing the damage and righting the yard as much as we could. The horses' hooves made divots in the soft ground, and they had trampled all around the house and the woodshed – also behind (on the east side) of the barn. What we know is that soon the ground will harden like the clay it is and those divots will be permanent dents unless we do something to smooth the ground soon.

Mrs. Dobson's little girl Kathy was not raised to shovel manure, but shovel I did. I filled the composter with the stuff around the woodshed and as I worked I entertained myself with thoughts of all the beautiful dresses I have had in my life. "If only the ladies of the club could see me now," I thought. Then Mike helped me – or I helped him – and together we scooped more and established a secondary pile. Actually, the manure is the least of our worries – perhaps even a good thing for fortifying our gardens.

Sunday morning Mike made a trip to the canyon and took pictures of the defunct fence. The owner showed up about noon and said he would make repairs. As you can see from the pictures, the fence really needs to be replaced / renewed rather than repaired. The horses have just freely moved between the canyon and our property for so long that a little fence doesn't hold them. And why should the owner care if we aren't complaining? KW

KATHY AND THE GREAT RODENT WAR

Yesterday, after Ken and Mike left to hunt doves in the late afternoon, I was sitting at the diningroom table, working away at my laptop, when movement on the floor caught my eye. I saw a mouse scamper silently around the corner and into the kitchen.

"No!!!" screamed the inner voice. No, I didn't say "Eeeeeek" and climb onto a chair. I just think it's disheartening when the cheeky enemy resists my efforts to control him and now flaunts himself in my house during daylight hours.

"We'll re-bait the traps tonight and we'll get 'im," said Mike confidently. But as we examined our eight traps, we noted that the enemy has been effectively stealing bait, mostly without getting caught. Not a good sign. That means we've been feeding him and he will be back – or, worse yet, hasn't left.

Last night as we watched television in the dimly-lit livingroom – our guest shorthair Duke on his blanket, Nellie sleeping at my feet – I saw it AGAIN! "There's that mouse!" I exclaimed.

"Where?" asked Mike.

"On that side of the chair. No – now it's right there. No, now it's gone again." I'm not sure Mike ever caught sight of it. We tried to rouse the dogs and get them interested. I'd like to say they caught a scent. They sniffed a bit here and there – probably just to placate Mike. So, we gathered up our traps, baited them with old peanut butter, and set them out in the livingroom and kitchen before we went to bed. In addition, we set out two commercial traps, which used to work well but haven't in the last months.

Upon arising this morning, I crept around the house, checking the traps. The enemy successfully eluded us this time, stealing the peanut butter off all the traps. He overlooked only one.

After discussing the enemy's strategy, we realized that we have to work harder at keeping him (who may well be a her) on the trap a bit longer. The traps seem to trigger well, but the mouse in question (if indeed there is just one) is quite small. So, this morning Mike again baited the traps, this time using the peanut butter as glue for cheese.

So, I decided, if the enemy is so bold, I'd better check out the sofa, an old hide-a-bed that used to be in my dad's studio. I know the enemy loves the sofa and I've done much with duct tape and Bounce sheets to try to protect it from them. This constitutes real work in my book, and I just hate to face the fact that it's not really effective. But this morning I made myself open it out -- and guess what I found. Dog chow! No-o-o-o! So, that's where I started my fall housecleaning. Up until yesterday it was useless to clean because Farmer Kyle was still working on the hill. [The photo right shows the sofa and Mike's newly renovated rocking chair.]

Does anyone know if those plug-in mouse-repellent units are any good? KW

ANOTHER BATTLE IN THE GREAT RODENT WAR

Well, we let down our guard and became lax in our battles. We believed the enemy otherwise occupied and disinterested. Isn't that why generals fail?

"There's dog food in my boot!" Mike exclaimed. "My boot is full of dog food."

"When did you wear them last?" I asked.

"Yesterday." So, we drew the conclusion that overnight a mouse found dog chow in Nell's dish and moved it three feet to Mike's boot for storage. It seemed a gigantic task for a little critter. I have to admire the enemy's resourcefulness and foresight. Still, it won't do to have an infestation.

One thing we've learned about the enemy: they are somewhat predictable. Where they deem themselves successful, they will return. Sure enough -- one fat female down – thousands to go.

Mike poured the dog food into Nellie's dish. She sniffed it good, then looked at Mike, but eventually she ate it.

While Jack was visiting, we drove to the farm in the Magnum. The three of us don't quite fit in the Dakota any more. But the incident in question happened when we returned to town. Mike had just parked the car behind the house and switched off the engine. Just then, a mouse popped up from under the windshield wiper on the passenger side and went down again on the driver's side. Mike let Nellie out and lifted the hood, but there was no action nor did we really hope for any. Jack thought he saw the mouse run under the car later that evening, and of course, that was entirely possible. And that's how a country mouse becomes a city mouse -- bringing in new blood, refreshing the gene pool, and all that.

Carol (Mike's sister) and Max in Memphis have a strobe light in their attic, installed by an exterminator. The theory is that the strobing light hurts the eyes of the rodents, in their case roof rats, and they don't enter. We think that might be worth a try in our farm attic.

Jack told us that Kelly bought one of those devices that emits a high-pitched sound to dissuade mice at their Denver home. They don't see many mice so he wasn't sure if it really works. Mike says it's worth considering.

A snake in the grass is a dangerous thing.

Nellie has been telling me about a rodent between the railroad ties of my raised bed garden. I wish I could say it wasn't so. If your new raised bed garden is already so invaded, what can you do? Well, I can fight back with some "ProZap" and hope for the best, I guess. So, I sprinkled a little in the ties and then, having some left in my cup, I toured the yard for rodent holes, finishing at the barn. At the big open door, I saw it in the grass – a small rattler, barely visible. Happily, Nellie didn't notice and I took her with me and went back to the house to get Mike. Leaving Nellie at the house, I took Mike with me and returned to the barn. I wasn't sure the rattler would still be there, and in fact, it took both of us a moment to see it. But it was still there and as Mike tried to catch it on a pole, it slithered under the wall and into the barn. We found it there and watched as it raised itself onto a ledge. It was still protesting as we left it there.

I think it was July 15 when we left the farm to get ready for our trip to the south. There were lots of hummingbirds and I was cooking nectar twice a day to keep up with them. I thought they would probably be gone when we came back. But, while their numbers are reduced, we seem to have a dozen or so still using the feeders. "Tough little birds," Mike remarks. "Nothing seems to bother them but wasps." Yes, they are wary of the wasps who like to share their feeders but they seem to manage.

The high last Saturday was 103. This morning we arose to a low of 52. We had a long soaker rain in the night and it's raining as I post this. I'm not sure the farmers wanted such a rain right now with harvest about to begin. The prediction is for cool weather in our part of the world today. Some call it cold. If I weren't getting ready for a wedding, I believe I would be inspired to get ready for Christmas -- or Halloween anyway. It feels very fall today. Back to town for the weekend. KW

RATTLER!

Here's a case in point -- the reason we bought the interim cheapy camera.

Our neighbor warned me. She said they had seen the first rattler of the season. When I stepped onto the kitchen porch about 5:00 this evening I heard the unmistakable rattle. I could see the snake in the grass -- beyond the cistern and to the right of the raspberry patch. I don't have a picture of its position, but let me assure you it was in the yard and close to the house, coiled and on guard. Most folks in these parts do not let rattlers live, but Mike has decided they play their part in the Great Rodent War. Still, they must be carefully removed from the yard. But first, I took pictures.

When we went for our walk this evening, I heard rattles in the very rustling of the grass and Nellie did a double-take on a section of exposed phone line. KW

ELK PHOTOS

With improved weather the last several days Mike has been able to ride his mountain bike daily -- weather permitting. Arriving home yesterday, he told me he had seen three big cow elk -- so big he wondered at first if they were moose.



Today, as I was working in the bedroom upstairs, I glanced out the window and saw big creatures slowly moving in a field to the north. I thought at first they were horses but soon came to realize they had to be elk. I called to Mike and we identified them as elk -- two adults and two young ones. Mike took the binoculars and I grabbed the camera. I was delighted to see I actually got pictures. We've seen a few deer this season, but we seldom actually see the elk.


We don't know how Nellie knows the deer are out there in the evening. She'll arise from her evening nap, go to the window, and give a low growl and a woof or two, as though she's quietly giving them a piece of her mind. Just as the trees and shrubs at the pond were turning to shapes last night, I stood beside her at the window. It took me a long time to see the three deer in "June's" field beyond the pond.

WATER DOGS

Duke's folks are out of town this week, so Mike agreed to see he got out for some exercise. Today we took both dogs -- Duke and our Nellie -- and went down to that place near Swallows' Nest on the Snake River where people can run their dogs. The day is chilly but Duke asked Mike to throw a stick in the water for him to fetch, and both dogs enjoyed that game for a while. Then there was some dispute between the two of them as to who should fetch the stick back to Mike. That ended that. [The photo to the left is Nellie. On the right, a wet Duke is poised for the next toss of the stick.] KW

POOR OL' DUKE

Duke stopped by this noon on his way to the vet to have his "bell" and stocking cap removed. The cap was necessary to keep him from flapping his ears and opening his wound. The bell was to keep him from bumping into things. Seems like overkill to me. Ken said Duke has been feeling sorry for himself. But -- it's all over now.

Another cold snap has me bundling up when I go to bed. Of course, we have an electric blanket but I use it just to warm the bed. So I'm wearing soft socks on my feet and practicing another technique I actually learned from little girl Hallie. Once covered, she positioned her baby afghan and blanket across her neck. So, I've been using the red shawl I made for Ina across my neck and shoulders. Mike says that prevents me from holding the covers tightly to my chin and then snoring. (Now, if we could just discover what would keep him from snoring . . . ) KW

Guest Blog: Hallie the Dog-Sitter

Due to Mom’s current technical issues I’ve decided to entertain the blog audience with a correspondence I had with Mom during a long weekend of dog sitting for a co-worker. I’ve eliminated the responses since they’re not really relevant to the story. I hope you enjoy the progression…

E-mail # 1
I came over to Robert's house last night for dog sitting and in the first hour I 1) cleaned up a poop pile, 2) stepped in a poop pile, and 3) cleaned up watery vomit. Then I went out and met up with Nick and friends for a couple hours. When I got back the doggies were excited to see me but not interested in peeing in the back yard. So, add to the list that I cleaned up pee. Luckily, Robert has all wood floors! I'm going to walk these doggies (a full 8 blocks) and then go home, shower, and grab breakfast. The dogs can be left alone for a whopping hours. I don't know why anyone would sign up for such a sentence!

Anyhoo, I've got to walk these dogs. I'm about to die of hunger.

Talk to you later!

E-mail #2
ha ha! That's funny. I was typing quickly since I was so hungry. The dogs can only be left alone for 3 hours. Quite restricting, really. They are only 3 and 6 months old, so they are both prone to inside accidents. Thank goodness for wood floors!

E-mail #3
Did I tell you that these dogs sleep in the bed? The first two nights I left the bigger one in the living room and took the puppy to bed. The puppy snores a little, but not too bad. This last night I felt bad for the bigger one so I brought her up, too. Goodness she snors like you wouldn't believe AND she likes to rest her head right on mine! I got up at 5:30 so I could walk them and get ready for work. I'm VERY tired and I have that burning sensation in my nose that often indicates an impending cold. I will be sure to get some sleep tonight.

E-mail #4
Last night I was subject to my father's luck (a Mickey Warnock experience at it's height). I got a migraine at 3 o'clock, took medicine, and had a co-worker drive me to where I was dog sitting. I rested for a time, but as I started feeling sick, I decided to take another dose of the headache drug. Not but 5 seconds after I swallowed the pill, I had an uncontrollable urge to vomit. I covered my mouth and stood up, causing my vomit to spew out in all directions (and all over my sleeve). As I ran out of the room, I glanced at the floor and noted that my gel capsule had flown out. When I got back, the puppy was very happily cleaning up the mess and had already consumed my pill. A very upset Hallie called the emergency vet, but they were unfamiliar with my migraine medicine and referred me to animal poison control. When I called animal poison control, it was an automated recording with choices that stated that the call would be $50 and to have my credit card ready. Geez! HE-LLOO, EMERGENCY! To complicate matters, the puppy has a respiratory cold and was taking an antibiotic and cough syrup. I was very worried!

As it turns out, they said that she would be fine, and would either become very sedate or would have the opposite effect and become agitated. If she became agitated she was to go to the vet immediately. But alas, I had no car because I got sick and couldn't drive! Well, she did become very sedate and was a good and very sleepy puppy all night. Jane didn't get home until almost midnight and I was exhausted! I called Nick on their house phone while I was on hold with animal poison control and he came over and waited with me. I was throwing up almost every hour while trying to keep a watchful eye on the dog. I called Robert (Jane's husband and my co-worker) as soon as I got off the phone with APC, and he was appreciative of my action and I think he felt pretty sorry for me, too.

Meanwhile, they utilize Tivo to the max so we were stuck watching VH1 tributes to heavy metal rock and roll bands or something lame like that. It was one of the worst nights of my life, but I am so thankful that I have Niko to come to my rescue.

I hereby resign my position as dog-sitter.

A CHUKAR TALE

I recently read that Idaho Fish and Game will close the partridge season, including chukars, as of Saturday, January 10, because of low populations and stress conditions for the birds. Normally the season would have extended to the end of the month, I believe. This reminded me of an experience our friend Cris, my supervisor at the Industrial Commission, shared with us last summer. At that time she had just moved to a Clarkston Heights neighborhood on the other side of the golf course from our house. We have game birds in this area, including chukars.

One day Cris' dogs (Bubbies and Muffy) walked through some thick pampas grass disturbing two chukars that ran out squawking. Cris said this experience made her aware of the chukars in our area and she then began to enjoy watching them with their "chicken-like sounds and behaviors. Some days later, she cut back the pampas grass and discovered a chukar nest containing 16 eggs in the center of the plant. She stopped cutting immediately, hoping the mama chukar was still taking active care of the nest. She could see into the nest from her kitchen window, so she watched it for about two weeks but saw no activity. Her friend who works at Juvenile Corrections told the science teacher there about the nest, and he suggested she bring it to his classroom. After some additional lapse of time, the friend delivered the nest to the science teacher. Because it was a Friday, the teacher put the eggs into the refrigerator to hold them over the weekend. Unfortunately someone "adjusted" the refrigerator temperature that day so that on Monday it was noted that the food had frozen a bit – a little cold for the eggs as well. At that time the teacher cracked open an egg and determined it was fertilized, so he put the remaining eggs in an incubator and also involved the students in this experiment.

Cris put the whole thing out of her mind, thinking these eggs would not develop further. She has a soft heart toward all animals; I'm sure she was disappointed. But -- A few weeks later another egg was cracked open to reveal a moving chick. Though it was too early for the chick to survive, at least they knew the incubation would not be fruitless. Within a couple of weeks, the 14 remaining eggs all hatched – after all the adversity they had endured. Cris called them "cute little tiger-striped chicks" and compared them to chicken chicks except for the color. One chick died but the rest were all close to developing regular feathers at the time she wrote. I'm sharing here a few of the pictures she provided.

Cris recently updated her story for me: "We got to release four at the house here and the rest were released around juvenile corrections. I released them under the pampas grass and left chick feed and water. I think a cat got one, another was a bit skittish, but the other two would often be up by the front door and around the house. It wasn't long before they were wandering farther away and I lost track of them. I did see younger birds later and now adult birds and I wonder if any are the ones we released. When there was snow on the ground, I counted 14 chukar that would be under the camper pecking at the gravel. The dogs could see them from the back door. They would run out inside the gated area and cause quite a commotion with all the birds flying away clucking. I really enjoy watching them."

Mike said he has heard that the chukar population can come back quickly from low numbers because of their huge hatches. KW

WAR REPORT -- RODENTS

I had a meeting in town yesterday afternoon, so we didn't leave for the farm until about 4:00. Let me preface this blog by saying it was lovely here with the rosy evening light reflecting off the shorn fields against the mottled gray sky. We unloaded the pick-up, performed our entry chores, and settled down to watch the presidential debate. I turned on the oven to warm leftover roast chicken and put a little heat in the house.

What's that smell? Oh-Oh. I forgot to check the oven before I turned it on. I was almost afraid to look and my angst was totally justified. There in the bottom of the oven was what looked like strands of stuffing out of our sofa (I've seen it before) and mouse sign. I turned off the oven, opened the window, and moved casually to the living room where the debate had begun. I could see that Mike was "gone," as it were, already into the debate, so I didn't bother him with my troublesome discovery. But I did lift the center sofa cushion – just to see – and there I found two pens, a crochet hook, AND 15 pieces of dog chow. ARRRGH! I removed the pens and crochet hook, deciding that the rest could wait till morning. I did clean out the oven and warm supper.

So, my first chore this morning was to clean the sofa. Armed with a hand broom, dustpan, and vacuum cleaner, I spent an hour at this task. When I was satisfied that it was reasonably clean, I tucked new Bounce sheets into the fold under the back cushions. I also put duct tape over the "pulled" places in the upholstery and packed plastic shopping bags behind the seat cushions to fill that area. I don't know if that will work, but it couldn't be worse.

I admit that I don't know when the mice put the dog chow in the sofa, but I know that they put the stuffing in the oven since we were here last week. Tonight we'll move the box traps and also set the old "snap traps." KW

[Above photos: My dad bought this sofa, a queen-size hide-a-bed, for his studio in the early '80s. We moved it to Mike's office on Broadview in 1991, and Mike, Hallie, and I moved it to the farm in 2002 or so. It's a chore to move because it's so heavy. Looking at the photo on the right, the mice love to cavort on a board that lies behind the back cushions, so I reached into that area with Bounce sheets and then packed plastic sacks between the board and the upholstery. In the last photo, the innocent-looking sofa seems in denial about its role in illicit activity.]

GOT ONE!

"Nothing in the traps again this morning," said Mike.

"I beg to differ," was Nellie's response. She focused on the trap next to her food dish, looking me square in the eye as if to say, "I'm telling you, you need to check this out."

"Okay, Nellie, I'll show you there's nothing in here," said Mike, carefully drawing the lid back while Nellie stood poised for a possible chase. "Oh!" laughed Mike, "she's right!"

That mouse was the only one we caught this week, but we left all three of our commercial traps in the kitchen / dining area when we left.

Here are a few photos for Nellie fans.

"They're packing up again. What if they don't take me?" (Taken last week.)

"I know I'm in the way, Kathy. But I'm just slightly irked that you're so slow in getting dinner tonight." (right)

"I'm waiting here under the pear tree to see if they invite me to go with them. I'm a little nervous about it." (Taken yesterday as we packed for the trip to town.) KW

HORSES

“How did I miss this pile?” I asked myself. “How could I have missed it? I got the one over there. Did I walk right by it? Am I crazy? That’s a scary thought! Or – have the horses been here again?” I really couldn’t be sure but the stuff seemed – well, kinda fresh. I grabbed the shovel and a pail and with my trusty companion, Nellie, I set out for the pond again. I felt as though I should wear a clown suit and a big bulbous red nose. “This is pretty silly,” I say to myself. “Just think how rich in nutrients next year’s compost will be,” came the counter voice. “Just think how much better this year’s garden is than last year’s was. Yessirree! It’s a fine thing you’re doing.”

So, I cleaned the yard and then I went back in the house. Erelong Nellie spoke. “Bark – bark bark,” she said tentatively. So, I stepped out to see – and there they were – five of them standing under the trees in the grove. “Get out of here!” I yelled, sounding rather more authoritative than Nellie, I thought. And to my surprise, all five horses turned and ran toward the canyon. At that moment I realized I could have had a beautiful photo of them standing there if only I hadn’t been in haste to shoo them away.

So, I grabbed the camera, called Nellie, and we went off into the field in search of the horses. (Watch your step!) Now, if I’d really thought I could catch them, I probably wouldn’t have gone, but I did think I could probably see them in the distance and get some photos. However, the phantom horses were nowhere to be seen.

I did see them again, though. As I sat at my sewing machine this afternoon, movement caught my eye, and there they were – six of them running past the pond and into the field, again heading westerly toward the canyon. I don’t know why they were running. It seemed too hot to run to me!

But even as I'm writing this post, I look out the diningroom window to the north and see Nellie watching something. There they are again! The horses are now moving eastward through the north field. They cross the lane and one of them heads off through the grain to the top of the hill. The others seem reluctant to follow. Eventually they all head off to the pond where they stop at the southern edge and then pause to enjoy the shade.

They are gone again now but will likely return in the middle of the night to have a sip from the pond.