As has been the case a lot lately (See last post), I have been seeing things at the Farm that are a bit on the unexpected side. Today, I decided to document this in a somewhat creative manner. I hope you enjoy.
P.S. The unusual thing was that I never see the pigs using the plank...normally it is only for us people who also fear what lies amongst the depths of the Pig Pond..
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Sunday, February 19, 2012
See What?
Today I find myself secluded in the house like a freak having been the "victim" of a botched hair dye job which has left me with "old lady" pink hair and a scalp that is covered with random purple leopard spots. Shockingly, it turns out that I am not licensed nor bonded by the State of California as a hair stylist and our homeowner's policy doesn't cover it either. In the spirit of looking on the bright side, it means that I have time on my hands to write about the past week and some of the interesting sights that made me do some double takes (Like people will with my hair until I figure out what to do with it next).
The first story involves a simple tree on the Farm in what is called the Oak Tree Pasture. As you can probably guess from the name, it is an oak tree. For anyone whose imagination has been hopelessly compromised by the effects of today's media and the Internet (Except for my blog, of course which can only make you a better person), I was hoping to provide a good picture of it. Imagine my surprise as I went through literally hundreds of pictures only to find that I have never taken a picture of it, even by accident. When I look at how many pictures I have of rocks, my leg, my finger (I think that's what it was), it is astounding that I never got the tree, even if it was barely in frame.
Well, the tree really isn't that notable anyway, although don't tell the tree since I suspect it is old and it may hurt its feelings. What was notable was what happened to be in the tree on Friday. While doing feeds, I was called over by one of the other caregivers and we both looked in amazement at the two goats who had decided to climb the tree. Noel and Justin had apparently managed to jump up to the first "V" before the branches split and were quite contentedly nesting there. Every once in a while, Justin would try to get higher, but then he would come back, seemingly disheartened. Just when you thought you had seen it all, you see not one, but two goats in a tree!
The next notable observation came on Saturday when I was cleaning the Sheep and Goat Barn. Now, for those who are do not have a BSE (Bovine Sanitation Engineer) degree like I do (See below), I may need to set the scene.
When we facilitate soiled straw extraction and disposal, our primary implement for collection and secondary ground abrasion effect is the rake. Now, amateurs may think that they know all about the simple rake, but trust me pal, you don't! While you may use rakes to pull sedentary debris, I can use mine to kill a man in seventeen increasingly gruesome ways and I have single handedly fought off several rogue vampires by staking them through the heart with the handle (I can't go into more detail on this right now since there is a legal case pending since I couldn't prove they were vampires, but hey, the upside is that the duck hunting across the street has decreased significantly!). As a 27th level BSE, I also know that a rake can be used to push things if you flip it over and push at just the right angle and hold on to the handle hard enough to prevent impaling yourself (Vlad the impaler style where you run yourself through and slowly slide down the rake until the word goes out for a "Clean-up in Stall 4"). This allows us to move large quantities of straw around quickly and is somewhat of a trade-secret (Oops!). Kids, do not try this at home, we are trained professionals!
Anyway, I was in the middle of this dirty business when Madeline Goat came by the gate and seemed to have something important to tell me. She did, but it was only that she wanted me to come over and open the darn gate so she could come in. I did since technically i work for her and the review cycle is coming up and what she did next surprised me. As I was rake-pushing, she stepped in front of me, positioned her head against the rake handle so that it was between her horns, and she began pushing with all her might. It was actually helping! I didn't have the heart to tell her this since I am sure that was not her intent, but it was another amazing image that happened because I left my camera at home.
The last story that I will share before I run off to try to wash the spots off my head again is somewhat sad, but sweet. Anyone who has read my entire blog and is not currently committed to a mental institution or wondering how they came to waste such a valuable portion of their life, will know about Whitaker; The cow that wants to be a human. For those who are new to this (Who am I kidding), Whitaker came to Farm Sanctuary as a calf and bonded strongly to people. The saddest thing used to be hearing him moo for his "people herd" to come get him away from the cows. He has come a long way now and has some good cow friends, but he still sees himself as one of the caregivers who just happens to be deep undercover with the herd.
So it came to be that yesterday the main cattle herd came down to pay a visit to the barn. It was nice seeing all of my old friend in one place, but after a while they began to filter back to the pasture and I needed to get back to my cleaning. When I finished and started to drive the tractor out, I heard and caught a glimpse of something almost simultaneously. After a brief investigation which involved rotating my head eighty-four point six degrees (Hey, I am an "engineer" after all), I saw a very confused Whitaker. Specifically, I saw an adorable former calf who was wondering why this bulging, stuffily dressed (Accidental pun), grotesque person with hair that was so fried it looked like straw wouldn't accept his "friend request". This broke my heart a little so I knew I had to get off my high-tractor and go give him the human hug he needed. He gave plenty of cow kisses and then reluctantly went to back to his undercover assignment.
The upside to this last story is that, if worse comes to worse, I suspect I may be able to get Whitaker to use his tongue to de-purple my scalp when I go back to work on Tuesday. As for the "old lady pink", I guess I need to take up bingo at the local casinos!
The first story involves a simple tree on the Farm in what is called the Oak Tree Pasture. As you can probably guess from the name, it is an oak tree. For anyone whose imagination has been hopelessly compromised by the effects of today's media and the Internet (Except for my blog, of course which can only make you a better person), I was hoping to provide a good picture of it. Imagine my surprise as I went through literally hundreds of pictures only to find that I have never taken a picture of it, even by accident. When I look at how many pictures I have of rocks, my leg, my finger (I think that's what it was), it is astounding that I never got the tree, even if it was barely in frame.
Well, the tree really isn't that notable anyway, although don't tell the tree since I suspect it is old and it may hurt its feelings. What was notable was what happened to be in the tree on Friday. While doing feeds, I was called over by one of the other caregivers and we both looked in amazement at the two goats who had decided to climb the tree. Noel and Justin had apparently managed to jump up to the first "V" before the branches split and were quite contentedly nesting there. Every once in a while, Justin would try to get higher, but then he would come back, seemingly disheartened. Just when you thought you had seen it all, you see not one, but two goats in a tree!
The next notable observation came on Saturday when I was cleaning the Sheep and Goat Barn. Now, for those who are do not have a BSE (Bovine Sanitation Engineer) degree like I do (See below), I may need to set the scene.
Anyway, I was in the middle of this dirty business when Madeline Goat came by the gate and seemed to have something important to tell me. She did, but it was only that she wanted me to come over and open the darn gate so she could come in. I did since technically i work for her and the review cycle is coming up and what she did next surprised me. As I was rake-pushing, she stepped in front of me, positioned her head against the rake handle so that it was between her horns, and she began pushing with all her might. It was actually helping! I didn't have the heart to tell her this since I am sure that was not her intent, but it was another amazing image that happened because I left my camera at home.
The last story that I will share before I run off to try to wash the spots off my head again is somewhat sad, but sweet. Anyone who has read my entire blog and is not currently committed to a mental institution or wondering how they came to waste such a valuable portion of their life, will know about Whitaker; The cow that wants to be a human. For those who are new to this (Who am I kidding), Whitaker came to Farm Sanctuary as a calf and bonded strongly to people. The saddest thing used to be hearing him moo for his "people herd" to come get him away from the cows. He has come a long way now and has some good cow friends, but he still sees himself as one of the caregivers who just happens to be deep undercover with the herd.
So it came to be that yesterday the main cattle herd came down to pay a visit to the barn. It was nice seeing all of my old friend in one place, but after a while they began to filter back to the pasture and I needed to get back to my cleaning. When I finished and started to drive the tractor out, I heard and caught a glimpse of something almost simultaneously. After a brief investigation which involved rotating my head eighty-four point six degrees (Hey, I am an "engineer" after all), I saw a very confused Whitaker. Specifically, I saw an adorable former calf who was wondering why this bulging, stuffily dressed (Accidental pun), grotesque person with hair that was so fried it looked like straw wouldn't accept his "friend request". This broke my heart a little so I knew I had to get off my high-tractor and go give him the human hug he needed. He gave plenty of cow kisses and then reluctantly went to back to his undercover assignment.
The upside to this last story is that, if worse comes to worse, I suspect I may be able to get Whitaker to use his tongue to de-purple my scalp when I go back to work on Tuesday. As for the "old lady pink", I guess I need to take up bingo at the local casinos!
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Thirty Nine Feels a Lot Like Thirty Eight - Only Smellier
It was a long time ago that I stopped seeing birthdays as exciting milestones and started to see them rather as milestones along the way to whatever lies beyond this mortal coil. Once you pass the "good years" like eighteen (When you are officially and adult), twenty-one (Where you can begin to indulge "adult" habits), and twenty-five (Where you can rent cars, at least in Hawaii), the rest don't come with new "powers". Where once there was excitement, now there is the promise of new aches and pains, diminished mental capacity, and most of all, a need to invest more and more in hair dye.
I have, on more than one occasion, wondered whether the difference between mortality and immortality is our apparent need to keep track of time. Maybe God just stopped counting!
It was in this somber mood that I turned thirty-nine this week. My current employer actually gives you your birthday off as a paid vacation day. I think that this is a really cool thing. Apparently, however, this is not an automatic vacation day, so I found myself on the schedule and working. I am in no way bitter about this. Anyone who has read more than three of my posts will know that there is nowhere that I would rather be and few intelligent creatures that I would rather spend it with (By this I mean the animals and not the humans at the Farm - Just kidding!).
Since Lori seems to like keeping track of the withering count of years ahead of me, I had hoped to be able to get off work on-time - in this case 6PM - so that I could get home to whatever special birthday treats awaited me. Having recently celebrated our dog Heidi's fourteenth birthday, I wished to make out at least as well. This was not to be.
Recently we made some changes at the Farm regarding assignments and roles and responsibilities. I was on the "PM Feeds" shift, and this shift now involved closing in the animals in the small barns. I think that this is a good change since it splits the workload between two people and makes it more likely that they can both get off somewhere in the vicinity of the desired hour, or at least on the same day. Since there are two people working on this, it seemed to me like it should be a team effort where the day ends for both upon closure of the last barn door. I had been somewhat vocal regarding my position on this at our last Staff meeting and it was in that spirit that I found myself asking whether Mike C needed any help after I finished up my tasks at five forty-five. He replied that I could start wrangling the ducks and geese if I wanted and so I set about this.
While this is not one of my formal responsibilities, I had been given the chance to help with this on a few previous occasions and knew that it could be tricky. While all the other animals can eventually be rounded up on land, the ducks and geese have two nasty habits. First, the geese like to bite and I am not talking about nipping. I am talking about skin abrasions encased in a softball sized, multi-colored full-on bruise. Second, they are quick to take to the pond if they are not ready for bed. Imagine a three year old human with the ability to encase himself in a ring of fire whenever he doesn't want to brush his teeth, take a nap, or whatever else three year olds do; At thirty-nine that memory has apparently been deemed "irrelevant".
I know what you are thinking: "What's so bad about a little water?" That is a good question and it can be answered very simply. The pond in question is shared by the pigs. If you have ever heard the saying, "Do bears $@&# in the woods?" you can be assured that the same is true for pigs and their pond. While the pigs are delightful animals, they are not dainty and neither is their ordure. Although this does not bother the pigs, the ducks, or the geese, they all seem to know that this water quality is not popular with the humans.
After tucking in all but two of the ducks and geese, I walked down to the pond to look for the stragglers. As I approached Della and Shelly who were on the bank of the pond and facing in the opposite direction of where I needed them to go, I wasted my birthday wish in hoping that they would see me coming and relent. Instead they went for a swim, right to the middle, and stayed there. With the sun setting over Black Butte Lake, the look on the ducks faces said, "Happy Birthday...Not!"
Vainly pacing around the perimeter of the pond, I wished that I had paid more attention t that whole "walking on water" thing in Sunday School. I concluded that I would probably have "insufficient funds" in my "Faith Bank" for such a feat. Besides, that pond was probably only ten percent water, at best. I begged and pleaded with them at first. As Mike C arrived after closing the other barns, we resorted to splashing and concocting sounds that we hoped may be inspirational to the ducks. And still, they swam in small circles in the middle of the pond.
When the sun completely disappeared, we tried to laugh at our impotence standing on opposing banks being defied by these little critters. I take great pride in the fact that I have never been angry at an animal, but that is not to say that there aren't situations that can be profoundly frustrating.
By the time that Kerrie arrived to help out, our flashlights were barely able to even keep track of the ducks anymore. The writing was on the wall; At least one of us was going to have to get wet. I took my first steps off the bank and into the water. In a fair world, this feat would have been enough to convince the ducks that we meant business, but anyone who has paid any attention to the news knows that this is not a fair world. The ducks remained defiant so I proceeded, as did Mike C and Kerrie.
As the water began to ooze over the tops of my boots, I realized that I was "all-in". I was already contaminated so I might as well push aside any pretense of staying dry. I asked Mike C how deep the pond was and he said that another caregiver had told him that it was about knee deep. I really wish that this nine foot four inch caregiver had been on shift this night instead of me because the water was about up to mid thigh by now and was approaching parts of my body that I really didn't want contaminated.
I was mentally retching with each disgusting schlurp of the mud (Please God, let it be mud) on my boots as I moved forward. Watching us closing in on them, Della and Shelly seemed to ponder what other acts of madness we may be capable of and though better of their protest. They made their way onto the bank and then waddled up the path to the hutches. I had been in this situation before and knew quite well that Della was capable of turning around and flying right back to the pond, but I think that the looks in our collective eyes advised her that this may not be prudent.
With the sound of the latch closing, my attention turned to the soaking pants that were pressing against my skin with a foul odor that did not bode well. I couldn't bear to wear them a second more so I stripped them off in the office. It wasn't just the fact that they would stain my car seats with more souvenirs, but the thought of what they were dripping with was making my mind run wild. For the first time in my life, I was at work in my underwear (Actually, I have often dreamed of inexplicably being at work in my underwear or naked, so maybe it was prophetic!). In order to avoid offending anyone, I wrapped a shirt partially around my waist, bid farewell to Mike C and Kerrie, and hit the road.
My mind quickly returned to lunch time. I had gone into town at lunch and had noticed that I needed gas. I had made the decision to wait and get gas on my way home. Now the fill light was no longer blinking but was on solid. I didn't know if I would make it to the gas station or if I would end up having to walk. The only thing I knew for sure was that those pants were not going back on. Good fortune paid a visit for the first time that night and I made it to the gas station. Although the station was busy and had an ample supply of folks hanging out in the parking lot, my attire or lack thereof, didn't draw any attention. Based on that and the lack of police sirens, I went for a complete fill up.
And so was formed my most memorable experience of my thirty-ninth birthday. I can't wait for the big four-oh!
I have, on more than one occasion, wondered whether the difference between mortality and immortality is our apparent need to keep track of time. Maybe God just stopped counting!
It was in this somber mood that I turned thirty-nine this week. My current employer actually gives you your birthday off as a paid vacation day. I think that this is a really cool thing. Apparently, however, this is not an automatic vacation day, so I found myself on the schedule and working. I am in no way bitter about this. Anyone who has read more than three of my posts will know that there is nowhere that I would rather be and few intelligent creatures that I would rather spend it with (By this I mean the animals and not the humans at the Farm - Just kidding!).
Since Lori seems to like keeping track of the withering count of years ahead of me, I had hoped to be able to get off work on-time - in this case 6PM - so that I could get home to whatever special birthday treats awaited me. Having recently celebrated our dog Heidi's fourteenth birthday, I wished to make out at least as well. This was not to be.
Recently we made some changes at the Farm regarding assignments and roles and responsibilities. I was on the "PM Feeds" shift, and this shift now involved closing in the animals in the small barns. I think that this is a good change since it splits the workload between two people and makes it more likely that they can both get off somewhere in the vicinity of the desired hour, or at least on the same day. Since there are two people working on this, it seemed to me like it should be a team effort where the day ends for both upon closure of the last barn door. I had been somewhat vocal regarding my position on this at our last Staff meeting and it was in that spirit that I found myself asking whether Mike C needed any help after I finished up my tasks at five forty-five. He replied that I could start wrangling the ducks and geese if I wanted and so I set about this.
While this is not one of my formal responsibilities, I had been given the chance to help with this on a few previous occasions and knew that it could be tricky. While all the other animals can eventually be rounded up on land, the ducks and geese have two nasty habits. First, the geese like to bite and I am not talking about nipping. I am talking about skin abrasions encased in a softball sized, multi-colored full-on bruise. Second, they are quick to take to the pond if they are not ready for bed. Imagine a three year old human with the ability to encase himself in a ring of fire whenever he doesn't want to brush his teeth, take a nap, or whatever else three year olds do; At thirty-nine that memory has apparently been deemed "irrelevant".
I know what you are thinking: "What's so bad about a little water?" That is a good question and it can be answered very simply. The pond in question is shared by the pigs. If you have ever heard the saying, "Do bears $@&# in the woods?" you can be assured that the same is true for pigs and their pond. While the pigs are delightful animals, they are not dainty and neither is their ordure. Although this does not bother the pigs, the ducks, or the geese, they all seem to know that this water quality is not popular with the humans.
After tucking in all but two of the ducks and geese, I walked down to the pond to look for the stragglers. As I approached Della and Shelly who were on the bank of the pond and facing in the opposite direction of where I needed them to go, I wasted my birthday wish in hoping that they would see me coming and relent. Instead they went for a swim, right to the middle, and stayed there. With the sun setting over Black Butte Lake, the look on the ducks faces said, "Happy Birthday...Not!"
Vainly pacing around the perimeter of the pond, I wished that I had paid more attention t that whole "walking on water" thing in Sunday School. I concluded that I would probably have "insufficient funds" in my "Faith Bank" for such a feat. Besides, that pond was probably only ten percent water, at best. I begged and pleaded with them at first. As Mike C arrived after closing the other barns, we resorted to splashing and concocting sounds that we hoped may be inspirational to the ducks. And still, they swam in small circles in the middle of the pond.
When the sun completely disappeared, we tried to laugh at our impotence standing on opposing banks being defied by these little critters. I take great pride in the fact that I have never been angry at an animal, but that is not to say that there aren't situations that can be profoundly frustrating.
By the time that Kerrie arrived to help out, our flashlights were barely able to even keep track of the ducks anymore. The writing was on the wall; At least one of us was going to have to get wet. I took my first steps off the bank and into the water. In a fair world, this feat would have been enough to convince the ducks that we meant business, but anyone who has paid any attention to the news knows that this is not a fair world. The ducks remained defiant so I proceeded, as did Mike C and Kerrie.
As the water began to ooze over the tops of my boots, I realized that I was "all-in". I was already contaminated so I might as well push aside any pretense of staying dry. I asked Mike C how deep the pond was and he said that another caregiver had told him that it was about knee deep. I really wish that this nine foot four inch caregiver had been on shift this night instead of me because the water was about up to mid thigh by now and was approaching parts of my body that I really didn't want contaminated.
I was mentally retching with each disgusting schlurp of the mud (Please God, let it be mud) on my boots as I moved forward. Watching us closing in on them, Della and Shelly seemed to ponder what other acts of madness we may be capable of and though better of their protest. They made their way onto the bank and then waddled up the path to the hutches. I had been in this situation before and knew quite well that Della was capable of turning around and flying right back to the pond, but I think that the looks in our collective eyes advised her that this may not be prudent.
With the sound of the latch closing, my attention turned to the soaking pants that were pressing against my skin with a foul odor that did not bode well. I couldn't bear to wear them a second more so I stripped them off in the office. It wasn't just the fact that they would stain my car seats with more souvenirs, but the thought of what they were dripping with was making my mind run wild. For the first time in my life, I was at work in my underwear (Actually, I have often dreamed of inexplicably being at work in my underwear or naked, so maybe it was prophetic!). In order to avoid offending anyone, I wrapped a shirt partially around my waist, bid farewell to Mike C and Kerrie, and hit the road.
My mind quickly returned to lunch time. I had gone into town at lunch and had noticed that I needed gas. I had made the decision to wait and get gas on my way home. Now the fill light was no longer blinking but was on solid. I didn't know if I would make it to the gas station or if I would end up having to walk. The only thing I knew for sure was that those pants were not going back on. Good fortune paid a visit for the first time that night and I made it to the gas station. Although the station was busy and had an ample supply of folks hanging out in the parking lot, my attire or lack thereof, didn't draw any attention. Based on that and the lack of police sirens, I went for a complete fill up.
And so was formed my most memorable experience of my thirty-ninth birthday. I can't wait for the big four-oh!
Friday, January 20, 2012
The Horned Avenger: Chapter 4
As Melvin listened to Bazzle, he couldn't help but get excited, but at the same time he was a little anxious. As the "Goatfather" he had been the guy who knew how to get things for his fellow goats and it had made him quite wealthy. Apparently word had gotten out to the other farm animals and now there was an opportunity for farm wide distribution...if he could make it happen!
The product in question was "Special Mix". Imagine a pie stuffed with cakes and candy, sprinkled with cookies, and topped with ice cream and you begin to understand how the animals feel about the stuff. Many an animal had fasted themselves for weeks just to get a small taste or to satisfy their need for a fix. The problem was two fold. First, the special mix was kept in metal cans which required thumbs to open. The second problem was more daunting; Even if he could get his hands on it, how would he be able to get it to the other barns while he was stuck here. His initial enthusiasm began to collapse under the weight of these obstacles. When Bazzle turned around to say, "Oh, and they need to have their first delivery in a week", all hope seemed to evaporate.
His train of thought was interrupted by the sound of the tractor pulling up to the barn. It was one of the humans and Melvin immediately signalled to Bazzle to duck back into the wall of the barn. He never could be sure just what these people understood. Besides, while he valued Bazzle's work, he knew that he would not be any use in this situation.
Melvin rested his head against the gate and his gaze was fixed as his mind drifted into space, lulled by the on-going rhythm of the raking. So much straw! He felt sorry for these caregivers doing the same thing day in and day out.
Now, most people don't know this, but goats are the luckiest of all animals, and this was about to be proven once again. A second human entered the barn and a conversation began. The first human, who we will call "Brian", for the purpose of our story was discussing cleaning with the second human, who we will call "Mike".
"Hey Mike", Brian said, "We are running really low on straw in all of the barns except this one. Are we expecting another shipment soon?" Mike replied, "Yeah, I noticed that earlier when I was doing feeds. We are supposed to get more in a month or so and we should be okay as long as the usage stays the same." "I hope you're right", said Brian, as Mike began to walk out. Before he left, Mike added, "Well, if worse comes to worse, we will just have to move straw from this barn to the others".
It was an outside shot, but Melvin thought he may be able to use this information toward a solution for his problem. And maybe, just maybe, Bazzle would be able to help after all. He suddenly felt a little giddy, but tried to keep it from showing. He had appearances to maintain, after all.
It turns out that squirrels have long had an underground presence on the farm. Their tunnels connected all of the barns and even reached into the offices. It would seem that an easy answer to Melvin's problem would have been to utilize this as an underground distribution network, but everyone knows that you can't trust a squirrel with food once it has gone underground. Above ground, they can stay focused, if properly motivated, but once they are in the dark they go primal. No, what Melvin needed was help increasing the rate of straw consumption. As the wheels in his brain whirred and clicked, he began to envision an army of squirrels ferreting away straw from the barns and pooping all over the place in order to make the humans do more cleaning. If he could only make this work, he may be able to figure out the other challenge...with a little luck!
To be continued...
The product in question was "Special Mix". Imagine a pie stuffed with cakes and candy, sprinkled with cookies, and topped with ice cream and you begin to understand how the animals feel about the stuff. Many an animal had fasted themselves for weeks just to get a small taste or to satisfy their need for a fix. The problem was two fold. First, the special mix was kept in metal cans which required thumbs to open. The second problem was more daunting; Even if he could get his hands on it, how would he be able to get it to the other barns while he was stuck here. His initial enthusiasm began to collapse under the weight of these obstacles. When Bazzle turned around to say, "Oh, and they need to have their first delivery in a week", all hope seemed to evaporate.
His train of thought was interrupted by the sound of the tractor pulling up to the barn. It was one of the humans and Melvin immediately signalled to Bazzle to duck back into the wall of the barn. He never could be sure just what these people understood. Besides, while he valued Bazzle's work, he knew that he would not be any use in this situation.
Melvin rested his head against the gate and his gaze was fixed as his mind drifted into space, lulled by the on-going rhythm of the raking. So much straw! He felt sorry for these caregivers doing the same thing day in and day out.
Now, most people don't know this, but goats are the luckiest of all animals, and this was about to be proven once again. A second human entered the barn and a conversation began. The first human, who we will call "Brian", for the purpose of our story was discussing cleaning with the second human, who we will call "Mike".
"Hey Mike", Brian said, "We are running really low on straw in all of the barns except this one. Are we expecting another shipment soon?" Mike replied, "Yeah, I noticed that earlier when I was doing feeds. We are supposed to get more in a month or so and we should be okay as long as the usage stays the same." "I hope you're right", said Brian, as Mike began to walk out. Before he left, Mike added, "Well, if worse comes to worse, we will just have to move straw from this barn to the others".
It was an outside shot, but Melvin thought he may be able to use this information toward a solution for his problem. And maybe, just maybe, Bazzle would be able to help after all. He suddenly felt a little giddy, but tried to keep it from showing. He had appearances to maintain, after all.
It turns out that squirrels have long had an underground presence on the farm. Their tunnels connected all of the barns and even reached into the offices. It would seem that an easy answer to Melvin's problem would have been to utilize this as an underground distribution network, but everyone knows that you can't trust a squirrel with food once it has gone underground. Above ground, they can stay focused, if properly motivated, but once they are in the dark they go primal. No, what Melvin needed was help increasing the rate of straw consumption. As the wheels in his brain whirred and clicked, he began to envision an army of squirrels ferreting away straw from the barns and pooping all over the place in order to make the humans do more cleaning. If he could only make this work, he may be able to figure out the other challenge...with a little luck!
To be continued...
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Illegal (Or at the Very Least Unethical) Use of Lifeboats
It seems like there are so many disasters nowadays that it is easy to overlook some of them. When a cruise ship recently ran aground resulting in a number of deaths and people who are still unaccounted for, I have to admit it seemed like a blip on my radar. The only aspect that really drew my attention was the fact that the captain had been arrested, reportedly for abandoning the ship with passengers still aboard. As a former Navy sailor, I am very aware of the notion that the captain is supposed to go down with the ship, but it had never occurred to me that there could be legal ramifications if they lacked the fortitude and accountability to do so. This got me thinking that, indeed there are particular jobs that do warrant this level of repercussion when those who take on these responsibilities fail to have the courage to fulfill their callings or there oaths.
How sad it is that our government officials are not likewise held to account for their failings to act appropriately while our country is arguably sinking under the weight of decades of mismanagement. To add insult to injury, many are actively stoking the fires of class envy as a distraction or slaving to satiate their corporate overlords. Meanwhile, they are insulated within their financial lifeboats and government indemnity as we face a very uncertain future. Oh, how different the political world may be if our leaders were held to the standards of a cruise boat captain. If they faced the prospect of being locked up for failing in their sacred assignments and always passing the buck to someone else, we may find that the disdain that people feel toward their government may evaporate and we may find some unexpected buoyancy as a nation under true leadership...I know, wishful thinking!
How sad it is that our government officials are not likewise held to account for their failings to act appropriately while our country is arguably sinking under the weight of decades of mismanagement. To add insult to injury, many are actively stoking the fires of class envy as a distraction or slaving to satiate their corporate overlords. Meanwhile, they are insulated within their financial lifeboats and government indemnity as we face a very uncertain future. Oh, how different the political world may be if our leaders were held to the standards of a cruise boat captain. If they faced the prospect of being locked up for failing in their sacred assignments and always passing the buck to someone else, we may find that the disdain that people feel toward their government may evaporate and we may find some unexpected buoyancy as a nation under true leadership...I know, wishful thinking!
Images from the Farm
I am quite overdue in sharing pictures, so I figured I would post of batch of recent favorites.
First off is Ricky. As you can tell, he is quite a noble gentleman with the carefully groomed beard of a prince.
There is only one Molly! Here are a couple of pictures that show off her beautiful face.
If Ricky is a prince in training, Buddy here is content to be a semi-retired duke lording over his pastoral paradise.
Cecil is Ricky's wingman and has the cutest "la mancha" ears (These are naturally like this).
Melvin (a.k.a. The Horned Avenger, a.k.a. the Goatfather) letting his bouffant do the talking.
Oh my Baby Madeline, how quickly she has grown up. Here are a bunch of pictures of her along with her new goat family. She is just too darn cute for words! Many of her pictures are mid-bleat (When I say "Baby", she will call back).
Here we have my first picture of Norman steer. He and his mini-herd have recently started making more public appearances in the Cattle Hill pasture and I was lucky to catch him in a candid moment.
The Horned Avenger: Chapter 3
His first memory after the kidnapping was that of gliding amongst the clouds. It was exhilarating - at least up to the point where he realized that he had never flown before and couldn't make sense of how he was doing it now. In addition, the sky was a lot dustier than he had imagined and the clouds, while fluffy, weren't as soft as he had expected. Like a chalk mural on the sidewalk being washed away by the rain, the dreamy qualities began to evaporate and he was left with just the stark reality.
He determined that he was alive, but he was definitely not soaring anywhere. His hooves were firmly planted on terra firma and his legs felt like he hadn't been of them in days, if not weeks. When exposed to the light of scrutiny, the "clouds" weren't as white as they had first seemed and they seemed to have faces. In some cases he had to look longer than others in order to determine which end was the front and which was the back since these unfortunate creatures seemed to lack the tail that would have made it elementary to determine which end was coming and which was going. Their faces looked surprisingly similar to his, but these were like no goats he had ever met. Out of desperation, he tried to communicate with them, but they ignored him and he couldn't make sense of any of the sounds that they were making. He hated them for stealing him and snorted with a mixture of anger and fear.
Beyond the clouds, there were windowless walls with small cracks through which sunlight entered. These rays of light served to highlight the dust in the air; as if he needed a reminder - he was sneezing constantly. The dry dust - he hoped it was just dust, stuck to the back of his throat. He looked for a way out, but could see no door in the available light.
After days of this uneasy torment, things seemed to be taking a turn for the better. There was a flood of light and he saw several of the two legged creatures that he had noticed when he lived with his mom. He couldn't tell if these were the same ones or not, but he hoped that they were here to bring him back home. Perhaps this had all just been a big mistake. He was a kind goat and would be happy to forgive and forget.
Feeling their rough hands grabbing his horns, his dreams of reunion seemed to be slipping away. A noose was slipped over his head as was cinched tight. It must be the walking clouds' faults! They must have said something mean about him and it made him hate them ever so much more. Days passed, that much he knew, but the events have been masked by his brain's coping mechanisms. The memories would sometimes come unbeckoned in nightmares, but he could never summon them on demand. It was probably for the best.
Suddenly a loud chattering from behind him returned him to the moment. At first he was startled and tried to look tough in case it was a surprise attack, but just as he was starting to puff out his chest he recognized the face of Bazzle. Bazzle was his personal assistant and he had been working to provide continuity for the Goatfather's various enterprises while he as in lockdown. At the moment he seemed very frazzled and Melvin had to remind him that he needed to talk slower since squirrelese was not his native language. As Bazzle started over from the beginning, Melvin felt a rush come over him. He had never received an order this large before and if he could deliver, it would mean taking his business and profile to a whole other level.
To be continued...
He determined that he was alive, but he was definitely not soaring anywhere. His hooves were firmly planted on terra firma and his legs felt like he hadn't been of them in days, if not weeks. When exposed to the light of scrutiny, the "clouds" weren't as white as they had first seemed and they seemed to have faces. In some cases he had to look longer than others in order to determine which end was the front and which was the back since these unfortunate creatures seemed to lack the tail that would have made it elementary to determine which end was coming and which was going. Their faces looked surprisingly similar to his, but these were like no goats he had ever met. Out of desperation, he tried to communicate with them, but they ignored him and he couldn't make sense of any of the sounds that they were making. He hated them for stealing him and snorted with a mixture of anger and fear.
Beyond the clouds, there were windowless walls with small cracks through which sunlight entered. These rays of light served to highlight the dust in the air; as if he needed a reminder - he was sneezing constantly. The dry dust - he hoped it was just dust, stuck to the back of his throat. He looked for a way out, but could see no door in the available light.
After days of this uneasy torment, things seemed to be taking a turn for the better. There was a flood of light and he saw several of the two legged creatures that he had noticed when he lived with his mom. He couldn't tell if these were the same ones or not, but he hoped that they were here to bring him back home. Perhaps this had all just been a big mistake. He was a kind goat and would be happy to forgive and forget.
Feeling their rough hands grabbing his horns, his dreams of reunion seemed to be slipping away. A noose was slipped over his head as was cinched tight. It must be the walking clouds' faults! They must have said something mean about him and it made him hate them ever so much more. Days passed, that much he knew, but the events have been masked by his brain's coping mechanisms. The memories would sometimes come unbeckoned in nightmares, but he could never summon them on demand. It was probably for the best.
Suddenly a loud chattering from behind him returned him to the moment. At first he was startled and tried to look tough in case it was a surprise attack, but just as he was starting to puff out his chest he recognized the face of Bazzle. Bazzle was his personal assistant and he had been working to provide continuity for the Goatfather's various enterprises while he as in lockdown. At the moment he seemed very frazzled and Melvin had to remind him that he needed to talk slower since squirrelese was not his native language. As Bazzle started over from the beginning, Melvin felt a rush come over him. He had never received an order this large before and if he could deliver, it would mean taking his business and profile to a whole other level.
To be continued...
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