Territory

It's funny how we are all so territorial.  I noted in school years ago that where a student sat on the first day of class became "their" desk and they sat there for the rest of the semester.  Rarely were there disputes because everyone else had staked out their own territory, too.

The loveseat is Bessie's spot to nap.  The slipcover always looks like this (unless company is coming).  I leave it this way because my old girl can't jump up anymore.  It's hard to watch her struggle and it takes awhile, but finally she gets it done.  She'll get her forefeet up on the cushion, and one hind leg.  Then, with great effort, she gets the other hind foot up as far as the folds and uses them as a sort of ladder step to push/pull herself up on the couch.  No wonder she sleeps well when the deed is done.

There is a dog bed beside "my" chair that is Bess's other spot.  She gets discombobulated when Celeste, who thinks the whole house is her territory, lies down on the dog bed.  Bessie stands and looks at the cat and the mental telepathy is almost audible.  "But that's my spot.  You're in my spot!"  The cat doesn't care.

We all have our self-assigned places on the bed at night.  Lucky for me, they leave me just enough room to lie down on "my" side.

Countdown

As our late friend Dan would say before we were all to go camping, "Two more days and a wake-up!"  Thanksgiving is just around the corner and, as usual, I'm not ready.  Like a deer in the headlights, I look at the To Do list and get stunned into immobility.  I'm old enough to know there's no magic wand I can wave and make it happen, drat it, and still....  With everything there is to accomplish in the house, there are other priorities, too.  Literally scraping the bottom of the barrel and with rain due tomorrow, I had to go to the feed store for chicken scratch.  They can't eat excuses.  The new owners have taken over at Mt. Aukum.  It was very strange; I've been dealing there with Dave for over twenty years.  The new gentleman was very pleasant, but completely unknowledgeable about livestock feed.  I was able to show him on his lists what it was I needed and we got the deed done.  Patrick hoisted the fifty-pound sack of scratch to his shoulder like it was a bag of potato chips.  It was not the same with me when I got it home.  Even with the help of the wagon, the effort of getting it inside wiped me out.

So much for housework.  Like Scarlett O'Hara, I live by the motto, "Tomorrow is another day."  The problem now is, tomorrow has become today.

Beauty And The Beast

Helper Dude came early in the day and gave Bessie Anne's nails a much-needed trim.  Time slips by and I didn't realize how long her nails had gotten until I heard her tick-tick-ticking across the kitchen floor.  HD is always so very gentle with her, but Bess is not a fan of pedicures.  He uses a very quiet Dremel tool to smooth rough surfaces after clipping and I think she doesn't like the vibration.  Being flipped on her back doesn't thrill her, either.  She doesn't fight the indignity, but, oh, the look in her eyes.  HD is well-practiced and the whole procedure takes less than ten minutes.  Ta da!  Bess gets up, shakes herself off, and looks to me for the treat she knows I'll have for her.  That, and lots of reassurances that she looks beautiful.  I'm sure she must be more comfortable now.

Later on, it came to me that the house was not warming up, even though the sun was shining.  I weakened and decided to light a fire.  Where I go, Bess goes, and we went out on the porch to get wood.  She showed particular interest in a spot in the corner by the rack.  Hmmm.  There was a splotch of blood and the one organ (I think it was the stomach) that predators will not eat.  I've found such squirrel remains before, but never so close to the house.  Whatever beast it was had been pretty darned bold.

The Seahawks played a tight game, the Steelers came from behind to win, Bowyer made the top ten in Stage 3, but the Vikings were just miserable.

Larry called from Hawaii, the house was warm, it was a good day.

Bird Brain

Turkeys are just plain weird.  How can birds smart enough to elude hunters and most predators and fly 50-60 feet up to roost in a tree at night suddenly forget how to get out of the goat pen?  I've seen it happen time and time again.  Yesterday morning a group of toms had gone into the pen.  All but one flew out when I approached.  The one saw them fly out!  Distraught, he started walking the fence line, calling all the while, "Hey, fellas, don't leave me!  Come back!  I'm all alone!  Help, I'm stuck here!"  I thought his memory might come back when I entered the pen, but no.  Back and forth, back and forth.  This went on the whole time I was tending to the girls and Missy.  "Help!  Help!"  I think it might have gotten on Sheila's nerves because when I let the goats out, she went up for a closer look and almost nosed him.  That didn't stop him, he just walked a little faster, still crying.

His tribe was gathered in the front yard.  "Oh man, Wilbur has done it again.  He never learns.  Fly in, fly out.  It's so simple.  I guess we'll hang out here until he figures it out.  Again."  Maybe the gang coached him or his bird brain started functioning, but he wasn't in the pen later in the day.  Go figure.

Wouldn't You Know?

Nature is about as perverse as they come.  After such a prolonged dry spell, wouldn't you just know that rain is predicted for Thursday next week?  Couldn't she wait another day or two and let company come and go on a dusty, dry dirt road instead of slushy mud?  Ratchafratch.  I'm certainly not complaining about the prospect of long-awaited, much needed rain, only the timing.  She does love to play dirty tricks.

I did get the hole(s) in the chicken pen filled yesterday.  In addition to the cavern in the yard, there was a smaller one inside the coop.  If any of the girls had laid an egg, if would have rolled down that chute right into a waiting mouth.  I put an end to that curb service.

Missy is filling out nicely.  She'll probably never be plump as she's a busy, busy girl, but at least her ribs aren't sticking out anymore.  She comes running up the path to meet me every morning and, boy, does she know the routine.  She leads the way to the barn and we go into the milking (now feeding) room.  She jumps up on the stand while I fill Sheila's bowl with cereal that she won't eat and Li'l Miss goes in circles until she gets a good petting.  The she leads the way back to her stall (in case I forget) so I can fill her dish.  Her mission accomplished, she purrs loudly while she chows down on breakfast.  At night when the goats are out, she just waits in her room for dinner.  There's no guaranty she'll stick around, but I think she's here for the winter.

True to form, after the stress of shopping yesterday was a day off.  I've got to get off my rusty-dusty today and get ready for guests next week, including bringing firewood to the porch.  Flatlanders don't tolerate cold very well.

Shop Till You Drop

Another look at the calendar sent me into a panic.  Thanksgiving is next week!  It was a case of go shopping yesterday or lock the doors and hide when company comes on Thursday.  Okay, fine...I went shopping.  Knowing that I could find everything needed at the market in Cameron Park, I headed down the hill.  Good grief!  There was certainly smoke up at my place, but dropping farther down was like driving into a fog bank, the smoke was that thick.  The sun was obscured and I could feel it in my eyes and throat, but still I knew it was worse in the valley and up north.  Yuck.

Steve, and later my friend Doris, and I used to go to this market once a week and I knew the aisles like the back of my hand.  Now I go there once a year to buy supplies for Thanksgiving.  They always have a great deal on turkeys and carry a lot of specialty items.  My problem was I didn't have a road map and spent a lot of time cruising up and down and back and forth.  Whoever planned the layout and I differ on what items should be grouped on shelves together.  When the signpost says "Nuts," why were the large bags of pecans across the store next to syrup?  I am not an impulse buyer on the best of days so their plan was for naught.

Deb and I had talked, not about the menu (which never changes), but quantity.  I like to send home large care packages of leftovers so the working crowd is set for lunches and dinners, and cook accordingly.  This year Deb and Craig are leaving on vacation that weekend, Dave usually gets a bonus turkey from work, and Jester always declines, so that leaves Clay and me.  I bought a 20-pound turkey, the smallest bird I've ever gotten, and plan on five instead of ten pounds of potatoes.  I feel like a piker.

I was ahead of most of the after-work traffic and was never so glad to get home.  The turkey will have time to thaw and the breakfast room table is the staging area and stocked with supplies.  All in all, shopping notwithstanding, it was a good day.

Not The Only One

It wasn't just me who appreciated Stove a couple of nights ago.  Celeste staked out her favorite cold-weather spot in front of the hearth.  "What took you so long, Mom?"  The house critters are very democratic.  When they've toasted both sides, they move away and let another take the warm place.

Yesterday was a keep-your-jacket-on day, but not cold enough to call Stove to duty.  I will say, however, that in the evening two cats on the lap were better than one.  What's a little crowding among friends?

For the last week I've been engaged in battle with another unknown Thing.  It's probably a ground squirrel, but the size of the crater it makes in the little chicken pen is big enough for a badger.  I fill it in every morning, and every night the hole is there again.  I'm going to have to pull out the big guns.  The only effective way I've found to permanently plug a tunnel is (don't judge me) to empty the cats' litter box in the opening and cover it with dirt.

Tessie gets better every day.  Yesterday she actually ran up the hill, and by bedtime she had no hint of a limp.  Whew!  Both goats' tails have stopped whirling.  The period in heat never lasts long.