Friday, February 8, 2008
Thursday, February 7, 2008
A day in the life...
Every single solitary day is started with this. The life blood. I started out drinking my coffee in a big sozy mug, but I only ever drank half. The Cowboy protested, seeing as HE could have drank my wasted half. So I slimlined down to this- the only teacup I have. Even then I sometimes don't finish it. But that's between you and me.
Usually Little Buckaroo is already up and into trouble, but I'll put this in for effect: Wake my slumbering prince.
Feed him the breakfast of champions, usually cold, from the can. Which he likes better, go figure. 
Yesterday I finished my spur straps, tried them on, and realised they are too small. At least they're pretty! 
Then off for a day of grooming. Dogs, not myself, although the way my hair is going, I might have to put myself on the table. This is Sammi the ragamuffin.
And this is Sammi the Westie. I like a nice shaved back myself, but the owners like her a little shaggy. And she does have ears, she was just terrified of the camera.
After Sammi I had a horse of a german shepherd to shave. I dragged myself home, exhausted and made myself a sandwich. I copped out on dinner with a frozen pizza, and watched Finding Neverland to end the evening.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
2 heaping helpings of cuteness
Caleb will be One year old this month!! February 12th! Of course I will be 28 this month, which is MUCH more exciting. My birthday is on the 9th, and I accept all packages sent to me. Especially ones with a Kitchen aid mixer inside.
This is why everyone should have a Schnauzer
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Bringing in the herd, even with my help.
I spent most of today groaning on my couch and covering myself in a mountain of snotty tissues. While I was lying there whimpering, this memory came to mind and I share it to get the snotty tissue picture out of your mind:
HOW TO BEHAVE AT A CATTLE BRANDING WHEN YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHATS GOING ON:
You may never need this information, but I did. Desperately.
In October, a friend of ours (5th generation rancher-which means something in WYO) invited The Cowboy to help him with some calves he needed to brand. I obnoxiously invited myself along because I can't help exposing my general ignorance whenever I can. He said kindly I could come along as long The Cowboy came too.
THINGS NOT TO BRING TO A BRANDING:
1. Your dog. Everyone else will, but you don't if you want to be invited again.
2. Manicured nails. 'Nough said.
3. Arabian stallion. I did not intentionally bring one, but the horse I rode had illusions of grandeur.
4. The idea that you have an idea of what to do. Unfortunatly I brought this one along too, until The Cowboy squared me away.
WHAT TO BRING TO A BRANDING:
1. The Cowboy. I scored on this one.
So we started off at Western Frontiers. I grabbed my trusty Arabian stallion wanna-be and saddled up. Since we had WAY too many riders for a short drive with few cattle, The Cowboy stayed in the truck. I was sure they needed my expert horse handling help.
We get to the ranch (next door) and the rancher politely says good morning. He mentions casually that everything he had that morning bucked and that's why he had his little girl along. I'm sure that would make sense to another 5th generation rancher but I was lost to it's meaning. However I DID touch spur to my wanna-be to take him down a notch. He didn't even crow hop when I saddled up. Poser.
We move the cows along nice and slow. Its a mixed herd of cows, heifers, bulls and calves. The season is October and the calves(about 100 of them) have'nt been branded yet. this means:
A. they are big! If we were doing it old fashioned, the calf wrestlers never have shown up and quickly have turned around to go home again, but Jimmy has a chute that we will run them through.
B. If this was the 1800's, they all would have been stolen and branded with other brands because they can live on grass alone and they aren't branded yet.
We get all the cows into a large square pen. I have embarrased myself once already, in standing in the wrong spot and causing extra work for Jimmy. However only once is really good, considering my track record.
So, the pen is about 20' by 20'. Understand, I might be wrong about the dimensions, but I'm probably only 10 or 50 feet off the mark. If you imagine that you are a fat little cherub and are looking down on the pen, then the gate in and out of the pen is on the southeast side of the square. The cows and calves and heifers (we weeded out the bulls along the way) are squishing themselves on the north and west sides of the pen and we are bunched by the gate. Now, this is a bit tricky of a procedure so the inexperienced are told to tie up thier horses. The Cowboy tells me to stay mounted for his entertainment and Jimmy doesn't know any better so I am a member of the three part cutting process.
The GOAL: Have only calves left in the pen
The MEANS: cut the mama cows out by subtle pressure and force them through the gate with out their babies.
The PROCEDURE: I have no idea at this point
We start. This isn't the older cows' first square dance so they head out the gate practically by themselves, without a backwards glance for their babies. The heifers (teenage girls of the group) act typically their age by bunching up and acting cool in the corner. They kick out the little ones and talk about lipgloss amongst themselves until we go after them. Then they head towards the gate in a tight bunch like a bathroom trip at the rollerskate rink.
Now, Sounds easy right? You would be wrong, as I was. Some of the cows didn't want to go and those heifers CERTAINLY didn't want to go. And this is where I embarass myself for the second time.
Things go smoothly when the cutters work in a group, squeezing the cows out of the group like rolling up the toothpaste tube from the bottom. I am a middle of the tube type squeezer so that cows squish out the top and bottom. Jimmy, the 5th generation rancher, like all cowboys, politely mentions some obscure story about his father in the river that I don't understand until I wake up in the middle of the night with a big "OH!"
If I wasn't such a city girl I would have gotten the ghist: Work WITH the flow, not against it. But I don't get it and he doesn't mention it again.
** Cowboy culture hint: Cowboys are unfailingly polite. They will let you make a complete ass of yourself without telling you what to do, believing that if you give a person a chance they will figure something out on their own. Which is usually true. But you have to get through the complete ass part first. At least I do every single time. And if they like you, generally they will make you look like a bigger ass than you normally would. I am very well liked.
So, apart from my "help" they get the cows sorted and start the branding process. I am given the official job of calf counter, which tells you how highly they value my imput. But it's nice in the truck bed. The sun warms up the weather to a balmy 40 degrees and I like counting calves. They feed us and send us home. I know they are sorry to see me and my arabian stallion wanna-be go. At least The Cowboy likes watching my backside.
HOW TO BEHAVE AT A CATTLE BRANDING WHEN YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHATS GOING ON:
You may never need this information, but I did. Desperately.
In October, a friend of ours (5th generation rancher-which means something in WYO) invited The Cowboy to help him with some calves he needed to brand. I obnoxiously invited myself along because I can't help exposing my general ignorance whenever I can. He said kindly I could come along as long The Cowboy came too.
THINGS NOT TO BRING TO A BRANDING:
1. Your dog. Everyone else will, but you don't if you want to be invited again.
2. Manicured nails. 'Nough said.
3. Arabian stallion. I did not intentionally bring one, but the horse I rode had illusions of grandeur.
4. The idea that you have an idea of what to do. Unfortunatly I brought this one along too, until The Cowboy squared me away.
WHAT TO BRING TO A BRANDING:
1. The Cowboy. I scored on this one.
So we started off at Western Frontiers. I grabbed my trusty Arabian stallion wanna-be and saddled up. Since we had WAY too many riders for a short drive with few cattle, The Cowboy stayed in the truck. I was sure they needed my expert horse handling help.
We get to the ranch (next door) and the rancher politely says good morning. He mentions casually that everything he had that morning bucked and that's why he had his little girl along. I'm sure that would make sense to another 5th generation rancher but I was lost to it's meaning. However I DID touch spur to my wanna-be to take him down a notch. He didn't even crow hop when I saddled up. Poser.
We move the cows along nice and slow. Its a mixed herd of cows, heifers, bulls and calves. The season is October and the calves(about 100 of them) have'nt been branded yet. this means:
A. they are big! If we were doing it old fashioned, the calf wrestlers never have shown up and quickly have turned around to go home again, but Jimmy has a chute that we will run them through.
B. If this was the 1800's, they all would have been stolen and branded with other brands because they can live on grass alone and they aren't branded yet.
We get all the cows into a large square pen. I have embarrased myself once already, in standing in the wrong spot and causing extra work for Jimmy. However only once is really good, considering my track record.
So, the pen is about 20' by 20'. Understand, I might be wrong about the dimensions, but I'm probably only 10 or 50 feet off the mark. If you imagine that you are a fat little cherub and are looking down on the pen, then the gate in and out of the pen is on the southeast side of the square. The cows and calves and heifers (we weeded out the bulls along the way) are squishing themselves on the north and west sides of the pen and we are bunched by the gate. Now, this is a bit tricky of a procedure so the inexperienced are told to tie up thier horses. The Cowboy tells me to stay mounted for his entertainment and Jimmy doesn't know any better so I am a member of the three part cutting process.
The GOAL: Have only calves left in the pen
The MEANS: cut the mama cows out by subtle pressure and force them through the gate with out their babies.
The PROCEDURE: I have no idea at this point
We start. This isn't the older cows' first square dance so they head out the gate practically by themselves, without a backwards glance for their babies. The heifers (teenage girls of the group) act typically their age by bunching up and acting cool in the corner. They kick out the little ones and talk about lipgloss amongst themselves until we go after them. Then they head towards the gate in a tight bunch like a bathroom trip at the rollerskate rink.
Now, Sounds easy right? You would be wrong, as I was. Some of the cows didn't want to go and those heifers CERTAINLY didn't want to go. And this is where I embarass myself for the second time.
Things go smoothly when the cutters work in a group, squeezing the cows out of the group like rolling up the toothpaste tube from the bottom. I am a middle of the tube type squeezer so that cows squish out the top and bottom. Jimmy, the 5th generation rancher, like all cowboys, politely mentions some obscure story about his father in the river that I don't understand until I wake up in the middle of the night with a big "OH!"
If I wasn't such a city girl I would have gotten the ghist: Work WITH the flow, not against it. But I don't get it and he doesn't mention it again.
** Cowboy culture hint: Cowboys are unfailingly polite. They will let you make a complete ass of yourself without telling you what to do, believing that if you give a person a chance they will figure something out on their own. Which is usually true. But you have to get through the complete ass part first. At least I do every single time. And if they like you, generally they will make you look like a bigger ass than you normally would. I am very well liked.
So, apart from my "help" they get the cows sorted and start the branding process. I am given the official job of calf counter, which tells you how highly they value my imput. But it's nice in the truck bed. The sun warms up the weather to a balmy 40 degrees and I like counting calves. They feed us and send us home. I know they are sorry to see me and my arabian stallion wanna-be go. At least The Cowboy likes watching my backside.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Naticus
My brother wrote this on his myspace:
"I used to think some of these typical MAN things were true. What do you think? I've had this stuff and it seemed to have no connection with my character. Isn't manhood really about character? Love, loyalty, honor, generosity, strength, compassion, servanthood, selflessness, A willingness to put another before yourself. Isn't that what make a good husband, father and friend?
I never had much as a kid because my parents chose a lifestyle of love versus stuff. My dad sacrificed his comforts for my family so that we would be close and connected. He drove a black and pink pinstriped Chevette to work for crying out loud. (google Chevette and hilarity will insue) That is being a man to me, choosing love first no matter the cost, even if it's your pride. Being willing to lay down your life for others. I want to be that kind of man. I want to live my life with truth in my words and love in my heart. "
Wham. Just sum up the gospel in two paragraphs. This right now is a struggle for me- pride in my service. It's hard to pastor a church of 30 people and not feel like that defines me. No, I'm not the pastor, but I am married to the pastor and we share in the burdens of leadership. I was thinking today- Man, if I could just let go, set down the yoke I carved for myself and simply love the 30 people He's given us, Be faithful in my small things and love my Lord. Not even care about what it looks like, how it's growing, if people leave or don't serve. How freeing would that be!
Love is such a difficult concept. I mean true love. Jesus kind of love. It works like a grator to my flesh. Nothing takes it out of me more than loving people I don't want to love.
'Lead me down into the pain.
I'm willing to go if this is your way-
You didn't say I'd make it through,
You said "Peace, child, I'll walk with you." '
"I used to think some of these typical MAN things were true. What do you think? I've had this stuff and it seemed to have no connection with my character. Isn't manhood really about character? Love, loyalty, honor, generosity, strength, compassion, servanthood, selflessness, A willingness to put another before yourself. Isn't that what make a good husband, father and friend?
I never had much as a kid because my parents chose a lifestyle of love versus stuff. My dad sacrificed his comforts for my family so that we would be close and connected. He drove a black and pink pinstriped Chevette to work for crying out loud. (google Chevette and hilarity will insue) That is being a man to me, choosing love first no matter the cost, even if it's your pride. Being willing to lay down your life for others. I want to be that kind of man. I want to live my life with truth in my words and love in my heart. "
Wham. Just sum up the gospel in two paragraphs. This right now is a struggle for me- pride in my service. It's hard to pastor a church of 30 people and not feel like that defines me. No, I'm not the pastor, but I am married to the pastor and we share in the burdens of leadership. I was thinking today- Man, if I could just let go, set down the yoke I carved for myself and simply love the 30 people He's given us, Be faithful in my small things and love my Lord. Not even care about what it looks like, how it's growing, if people leave or don't serve. How freeing would that be!
Love is such a difficult concept. I mean true love. Jesus kind of love. It works like a grator to my flesh. Nothing takes it out of me more than loving people I don't want to love.
'Lead me down into the pain.
I'm willing to go if this is your way-
You didn't say I'd make it through,
You said "Peace, child, I'll walk with you." '
Friday, January 11, 2008
February, sweet February!
Well. Christmas is past and the New Year has begun. I won't bore you with details of my trip home (although it was awesome) and will merely join with you as we look ahead to what we have been waiting for all year: Valentine's Day.
Now I know that in most of your marraiges, you have Valentine's Day every day, but alas, mine is a touch different. Clean out frozen sewer pipes he can. Scrape off my windshield and warm up my car in the bitterest of winter weather, he does. In fact he even indulges my creative zeal with sewing machines and scrapbook store visits. But good old hearts and flowers, not so much.
I know, I know, with a man like that, why don't I view my life as one long string of loving effort on his part? I do! It's just that a girl gets a hankering for some roses, some chocolate, some sweet nothings whispered in the ear. And I have been waiting all year for Valentines Day- a day when I am assured of some of the softer means of showing affection.
And! Not only is the month for lovers, it's also mine and Caleb's birthdays! So, taking all that in, February, the month of ice and nasty weather, is quickly becoming my favorite month. Forget your golden Augusts! Forget your mild Mays! February is the month to remember!
Now I know that in most of your marraiges, you have Valentine's Day every day, but alas, mine is a touch different. Clean out frozen sewer pipes he can. Scrape off my windshield and warm up my car in the bitterest of winter weather, he does. In fact he even indulges my creative zeal with sewing machines and scrapbook store visits. But good old hearts and flowers, not so much.
I know, I know, with a man like that, why don't I view my life as one long string of loving effort on his part? I do! It's just that a girl gets a hankering for some roses, some chocolate, some sweet nothings whispered in the ear. And I have been waiting all year for Valentines Day- a day when I am assured of some of the softer means of showing affection.
And! Not only is the month for lovers, it's also mine and Caleb's birthdays! So, taking all that in, February, the month of ice and nasty weather, is quickly becoming my favorite month. Forget your golden Augusts! Forget your mild Mays! February is the month to remember!
Thursday, November 29, 2007
A dog on the table
**** Note: Readers be forewarned, this is a ranting post. If you do not like whining, just skip it. If you are curious about what a dog groomer has to complain about, read on....
You've seen them everywhere... A bent old woman with fluffy fluffy hair and a little dog on her leash with fluffy fluffy hair. Yesterday I had a run in. Maggie Hatt and her little shitzu Colby. (Names have been changed to protect the not so innocent) Maggie comes in.
"OOOHHHHH, my arm it is hurting so bad, and my knees! My knees!"
"What happened Maggie?"
"I've been giving Colby his baths and he has hurt me....."
Red flags one and two: She has been bathing her own dog, which she doesn't brush. That means whatever tangles and mats Colby started with, they are bigger, meaner and cemented into his coat now. Also, he is a Shitzu. If he hurt her, that means he's a hellion in the bath.
"I'm so sorry Maggie.."
interuppting "Yes, and I can't brush him. It hurts him so bad and he doesn't like it."
Red flag three: She has trained him to hate brushing and fight until she gives up and lets him go.
"How would you like him groomed?"
"I want him, I don't know, like 2 inches long all over. I want him to look like a teddy bear or a puppy."
OK, barring the two different animal species, She wants him too long to clip, which means hand scizzoring the whole dog. Sigh.
'OK, I'll see what I can do."
So long story short, he's actually a nice dog but hyperactive and afraid of everything. He fights being brushed, which unfortunatly I have to do all over. He's afraid of the clippers, the dryer, the kennel, my smock, well everything in my shop I guess.
After fighting with him and his wispy coat, I throw him in the bath, condition the heck out of him, rinse and dry. At this point I am sick of this dog who has pooped in the bath and on the table. Forget the 2 inches, he's getting shaved. I decide one inch will be fluffy enough, so I start to clip him and he is terrified of the clipper. I mean scratching, biting terrified. I get him in a chokehold Mr. T would be proud of and clip the little bugger. I hand scizzor his legs and head to moderately OK ness. Then the nails. He's screams when he feels the least pressure. By the time I'm done my nerves are shot and my back is killing me.
But the washmop looks adorable. I mean Cute. I potty him, call her, and cleanup while I wait for her to come. It was such an ordeal that only now do I realise my second dog is a no-show.
She shows up.
"Oh he is so cute blah blah blah." fine. I just want to go home and feed my screaming baby.
"How much?"
"30 dollars please."
"Oh, my husband and I are on a fixed income." What? He is a real estate agent! What's fixed about that?
"Oh."
"And he thinks we spend to much on Colby anyways."
I'm getting a little heated. It would be better if she just paid and took little Colby home, who has peed on my foot in excitement when he saw her.
"Well, having a pure bred can be a little extra time and money. Colby is no ordinary dog and his coat needs extra care. I was going to suggest you bring him in monthly so we can keep him looking cute and fluffy. (instead of twice a year and being mistaken for a dirty welcome mat) I'm sure you and your husband thought about this when you first got him. That will be 30$ please."
Mollified by the thought that her baby is extraordinary, she pays up and leaves.
Just another day in the exciting life of grooming. While writing this, I thought of my brother Matthew, who had to try and decorate the homes of dozens of Maggie types. Now that would make ya crazy.
One last tidbit- as Mattie leaves, her fluffy transparent hair almost lifting off in the faint breeze she says:
"Oh! Do NOT go to the new hairdresser! She doesn't even know how to back comb!"
You've seen them everywhere... A bent old woman with fluffy fluffy hair and a little dog on her leash with fluffy fluffy hair. Yesterday I had a run in. Maggie Hatt and her little shitzu Colby. (Names have been changed to protect the not so innocent) Maggie comes in.
"OOOHHHHH, my arm it is hurting so bad, and my knees! My knees!"
"What happened Maggie?"
"I've been giving Colby his baths and he has hurt me....."
Red flags one and two: She has been bathing her own dog, which she doesn't brush. That means whatever tangles and mats Colby started with, they are bigger, meaner and cemented into his coat now. Also, he is a Shitzu. If he hurt her, that means he's a hellion in the bath.
"I'm so sorry Maggie.."
interuppting "Yes, and I can't brush him. It hurts him so bad and he doesn't like it."
Red flag three: She has trained him to hate brushing and fight until she gives up and lets him go.
"How would you like him groomed?"
"I want him, I don't know, like 2 inches long all over. I want him to look like a teddy bear or a puppy."
OK, barring the two different animal species, She wants him too long to clip, which means hand scizzoring the whole dog. Sigh.
'OK, I'll see what I can do."
So long story short, he's actually a nice dog but hyperactive and afraid of everything. He fights being brushed, which unfortunatly I have to do all over. He's afraid of the clippers, the dryer, the kennel, my smock, well everything in my shop I guess.
After fighting with him and his wispy coat, I throw him in the bath, condition the heck out of him, rinse and dry. At this point I am sick of this dog who has pooped in the bath and on the table. Forget the 2 inches, he's getting shaved. I decide one inch will be fluffy enough, so I start to clip him and he is terrified of the clipper. I mean scratching, biting terrified. I get him in a chokehold Mr. T would be proud of and clip the little bugger. I hand scizzor his legs and head to moderately OK ness. Then the nails. He's screams when he feels the least pressure. By the time I'm done my nerves are shot and my back is killing me.
But the washmop looks adorable. I mean Cute. I potty him, call her, and cleanup while I wait for her to come. It was such an ordeal that only now do I realise my second dog is a no-show.
She shows up.
"Oh he is so cute blah blah blah." fine. I just want to go home and feed my screaming baby.
"How much?"
"30 dollars please."
"Oh, my husband and I are on a fixed income." What? He is a real estate agent! What's fixed about that?
"Oh."
"And he thinks we spend to much on Colby anyways."
I'm getting a little heated. It would be better if she just paid and took little Colby home, who has peed on my foot in excitement when he saw her.
"Well, having a pure bred can be a little extra time and money. Colby is no ordinary dog and his coat needs extra care. I was going to suggest you bring him in monthly so we can keep him looking cute and fluffy. (instead of twice a year and being mistaken for a dirty welcome mat) I'm sure you and your husband thought about this when you first got him. That will be 30$ please."
Mollified by the thought that her baby is extraordinary, she pays up and leaves.
Just another day in the exciting life of grooming. While writing this, I thought of my brother Matthew, who had to try and decorate the homes of dozens of Maggie types. Now that would make ya crazy.
One last tidbit- as Mattie leaves, her fluffy transparent hair almost lifting off in the faint breeze she says:
"Oh! Do NOT go to the new hairdresser! She doesn't even know how to back comb!"
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