No more 4:30 a.m. wake up calls!

Ok, I have to get this off my chest.

I'm worried about our kitten, Chubs. He didn't come in last night. He didn't come in this morning. He didn't answer us when we called and called. So, I'm afraid something has happened to the little twerp.

Chubby was born in May--and was orphaned before he was 3 weeks old. He and his sibling were so small when I started bottle feeding them, that I had to wipe their bottoms and rub their tummies to make them poop. The sibling died, but Chubs thrived. When he was 2 months old, he tried to play horsehoes with the menfolk. He caught a shoe as it was flying through the air, but broke his leg. So, we spent over $100 casting his leg and kept him in the house full time (as much as we could.) You see, Chubs discovered a small hole in the window screen, so he made it larger. We kept finding him outside, and kept telling the kids to quit letting him outside. Then, I caught him in the act, 1/2 in, 1/2 out of the window screen.

Since he's healed, Chubs has taken to sleeping with Kev and I. He curls up behind my knees, and just sings. He also watches me bathe, sitting right there, singing.

Yesterday, he was outside with us while we were cutting up deer. Haven't seen him since. I hope he's holed up out in the shop somewhere stuffed to the gills with deer meat. I hope so. But, I'm afraid he's gone. Stupid twerp.

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Part 2--deer.

Saturday, we got up at the ungodly hour of 4:25 a.m. to go hunting. I decided to sit in the new treestand that I insisted we put up. No one's sat in it, and I felt that I'd better since I was the one who insisted that it was a good spot. It was an easy walk into it, along the old railroad tracks, the moon was up and it was bright. I was in the stand well before light.

Since it was a new stand, it didn't have a bow holder which was a pain. And, it is a platform stand, so it was not what I'm used to using, so it seemed like it took me forever to get settled. I never did get my safety belt wrapped around that dang cottonwood tree, so tied off to the ladder. If the platform fell, I would still be hanging there 15 feet off the ground, but, I'd be safe. I finally settled down in the comfy chair, to wait for daylight.

Just before shooting light, I saw a doe walking down the railroad tracks. She came toward me, from the east. She was kind to stop and give me a nice broadside view of her, but it was too dark still to shoot. So, I watched her, heard her, and listened to her leave. She headed south.

Shortly after daylight, I had a buck come by. He was out of my shooting range, but he just trotted from south to north. A little while later, I saw a doe come from the south, she was 50 yards out. She also just moseyed on by, also going north. Gene, one of our hunting buddies was sitting to the north east of me, and I hoped some of these guys would go by him.

Then I saw a doe coming hard--running. About 15 yards behind her was a nice 4 x 4 buck. Running after her, hard. She was not remotely interested in him. They went right on by. Gene rattled, but he was to intent on his girl to stop for competition. It was so cool to see this rut behavior! Way cool. (Last weekend, Gene rattled a deer in, he walked by me, I shot, but missed. But it was cool watching that deer look around to see just who was over there making that noise!)

I'd been standing, but decided to sit awhile. I was relaxed, watching the general direction all these deer had come from, when I heard some leaves rustle. Directly south of me, not 15 yards away was a nice 4 x 4. He was nice. On the railroad tracks. Looking straight at me. Dang. I'm really in the open, because if the deer is on the tracks, he's almost eye level with me. Probably foot level, but he defiantly will see me if I move. He turns to look away, I stood up, but he spooked and took off.

Gene rattled for him too, but he didn't stop.

I decided to stay standing up for a while. I looked back south and saw another buck in the trees. He was just wandering around, and I kept watching him. He finally cut way to the west and then walked straight north to me. He was smaller than the last one, but I was determined to get a shot off. He jumped the fence, walked up on the tracks. I pulled back. I was watching him, but not through my peep sight. Had to tell myself to watch through that peep sight. He turned to the east, I finally watched through the peep sight. Told myself which sight pin to use, (the first one), then I remember telling myself "now." I heard the arrow hit, thought to myself to watch where he went. But he didn't run off. Instead, he fell down the embankment and laid there.

"Ok, that's cool, we won't spend 3 hours tracking this guy." I said to myself. Saw the arrow, it was to high, and in his neck. But, he wasn't getting up. I'd severed his spine. His back legs were paralyzed. He tried to get up, but couldn't. I thought I heard him rattle in his lungs, but I didn't think my arrow looked like it was deep enough to hit a lung. So, I let him lay there --10 yards from my tree--for over an hour. I watched him, thinking he'd die. He didn't. Gene came over at 9. I got down and put another arrow through him, but we decided to slit his throat.

Kev, Lynn, and Andy showed up, we loaded him up and then had to go get Kev's deer. We'd both gotten one. Both bucks. Both 4 x 4's. But Kev's was a little bigger than mine. And, Kev had a better shot--a perfect shot. I'm disappointed by my shot, I'm disappointed in myself for not making a better kill. The guys all assure me that they've had bad shots too, but told me that any deer brought down with a bow is good. Maybe they are trying to make me feel better, maybe I'm too hard on myself. I'm proud that I got one, that I hit him, but sure wish I'd made a cleaner kill. He didn't suffer and hurt, because he was paralyzed, but I sure wish he'd died sooner. But, he's in the freezer now. We'll have fresh venison. That means more jerky, chili, fajitas, etc. And it means we can share our bounty with friend and family.

We all decided that since I saw 6-7 deer that morning, that this was a good spot for the treestand, but I told the guys we needed to move back a tree and up a tree. They agreed. I think we'll keep a stand over here, but move it to give the shooter more cover. And since the deer cut in front of me about 30 yards out, by moving up a "row," we'd have better and more shots, and would be farther away from the railroad tracks, making it harder to be seen. But, me, I'm done for the year. I might go back out with a camera, especially next weekend, because it's rut. And next weekend, we should be able to see LOTS of rutting behavior.

And hey, it also means, no more 4:30 a.m. wake-up calls! Unless I go camera hunting. Dang. Sleep or deer. Sleep, or deer. Sleep. No, deer. No, sleep. No...

The art of making plans

I'm a planner. I like to know what I'm doing and when I'm doing it. I don't limit myself to a certain time, but I like knowing what's going on when. For example, I have supper planned; we're going to have leftover stew tonight. Tomorrow, we'll have something else, I'll plan that tonight. Today, after work, I plan on swimming. I plan on swimming 3 days a week. That's been my plan since school started. I average 2 times a week. Why? Because the cosmic forces are against planning.

Case in point:

We planned two weeks ago for me to take this Friday off, deliver Kev's car to the dealer in Colo Springs for repair, and come home Saturday. The kids were out of school, and I have some days at work that I could take off. Perfect--but every one else at work planned on being gone. And, their plans were probably more important than mine. I guess an angioplasty and a tonsilectomy are more important than me taking a car to get worked on. I think so, but I had it all planned, and now I had to adjust my plans.

So we went to plan B. We planned to make a flying trip out Thursday night. I'd drive the car to work. Kev would be working in Burlington, when I got off work, I'd drive out with Miss Kat, we'd meet up with him, we'd then drive on to Limon to meet the family who would then take the car to the dealer for us, pick it up, and then we'd either meet them again over the weekend in Limon, or we'd just drive on and pick it up ourselves. Nice plan B. Not as simple, but do-able. That plan lasted until Wednesday morning.

The weather forecast for Colo Springs called for a blizzard on Thursday. Oops. So, Plan C came into effect. I had the car, I would leave at 4, meet Kev at Goodland, we'd go on from there. O, but wait--what about Kat? She was so looking forward to seeing her cousins. Do we want to live with her temper and disappointment? Quick decision, we'll just pull her out of school for one day. So, I call the school, get her packed, picked up, and we're off into the sunset. We get the car and the girl delivered in good time. We can see the storm clouds building. All made it home safely.

Our plan C part 2 is that on Saturday, we'll go hunting in the morning, then drive to Colo Springs that afternoon. We'll stop at Lowe's and Home Depot, do a little shopping there, price big screen TV's (maybe buy one), then head home on Sunday.

Except...

This morning Andy informed me that the beef sale he wants to go to to buy a 4-H steer is Saturday. And, his youth bowling team bowls Saturday. So, we have to decide if we are amending plan C part 2 and make it plan C parts 2 and 3. Do we leave Andy at home alone? Do we make him cancel his bowling plans? If he goes to the sale, he'll have to cancel bowling anyway. Do I trust him not to spend too much money on a steer? Heck, do I trust him to get it home ok--alone? Do I let him miss an opportunity to see his family? Do I trust a teenager at home--alone--on a weekend? Could I enjoy myself in Colo Springs, knowing my teenager is home--alone--on a weekend, with his checkbook--alone?

Maybe I should send Kev out alone. That could be plan D--Kev go alone. I'll stay with the teenager. That will work. Or maybe Plan E--the teenager will just have to go with us.

Or plan F... I give up...no more planning... really.

Andy's day to shine

For the past few years, I've had one prayer for my son, "Lord, please let him find something where he can shine."

The final results aren't posted yet, but Saturday was Andy's day to shine.

He competed with 4 other 4-H friends at the State Trap Shoot competition in Newton. Andy broke 93 out of 100 rock. He missed 7 rock. That's phenomonal!

We got there around 10, got our team signed in, got our shells from the officials and waited until 12, when it was our kid's turn to shoot. 50 rock from the 16 yard line, 50 from the 20 yard line. That's a lot of rock without any kind of break.

B, our token girl only broke a total of 12 rock for the day, wwwwaaaaayyyy worse than she's ever done. Our hearts broke for her. She was so upset with herself, felt she let the team down, but she didn't. We were all proud of her for trying, for sticking it out, and just flat out being there. She had a few tears when all was over, which is to be expected. She did her best shooting on station 1, when she and Andy had both rotated over. They'd visit and she'd relax, but when the next person rotated around, she'd tense up. The person following B was another girl, from another county who was an excellent shot, but she wasn't shooting well either and was rather angry. She bothered B, and she bothered J, our 17 year old shooter, who didn't like having a super-competitive-girl who shot better than he did next to him. But, it was a great learning experience. And, after the match was over, Andy took time out of being proud of himself to make time for B and comfort her. They are such good friends, and it made me proud to see Andy take time to make his friend feel better.

AFter the kids finished shooting, we had to hang out 3 more hours, until all teams were done, to see if Andy was in the shoot-off. He missed it by one rock. There were some super shooters at this match. And there were also some kids with really expensive guns. But we didn't care. It was Andy's day to shine, and shine he did.

My heart just wanted to bust.

Equal time for the cats and chickens...

Last night, I did the chores. I got home at a decent time, Andy was at a volleyball game, Kat at a birthday party. My dream was for some quiet time, but that didn't happen.

The cat's had dumped 10 lbs of cat food all over the kitchen, so after cleaning that, I decided I might as well do chores.

I like feeding, but sometimes it feels like running that gauntlet. I stepped outside the back door, with catfood bucket in hand for the outside cats. All 17 of them were weaving between my feet while I navigated the course to the shed. Seeing that the cats were getting fed, 20 or so chickens joined the parade. Cats were trying to trip me, chickens were headed in from all directions for the kill. If I went down, all would be lost. I'd be eaten alive by hungry cats and chickens. My family would find my bones laying there in the grass...

I fed the cats successfully, and decided to gather the eggs, check the chicken feeders and waterers. Before entering the chicken pen, I picked up the baseball bat. The alumnium baseball bat. It's for protection from the rooster. He has been known to attack--without warning. He's left me alone since early summer when I booted his little hiney across the pen, but I don't trust the little bugger. Spurs hurt. And, to be honest, I don't think he's as threatened by my now that his harem has increased, and he has the young whippersnapper roosters to be more concerned about.

Chickens weaving around your feet is just about as bad as having cats weave around your feet. They know that I'm going to toss out some scratch grains, so they stick close to me. Walking in the pen is an adventure; watching where I step to avoid poop, to avoid stepping on a hen, while keeping one eye on the rooster.

They flood into the henhouse behind me, eager for their treat. Then, they rush back outside as I fling cups of scratch grain around the pen. Four cupfuls, and I'm guarenteed enough time to gather eggs, fill feeders, check the water and make sure all is well inside.

I've got two hens who never go outside. They are my lonely two Americana hens, my hope for blue and green eggs. Being "different," they remain inside to avoid the attentions of the randy roosters and the pecking of the hens. These two girls get special attention, a little grain set up on the nesting boxes where they can eat in peace. They coo at me, and let me fill the feeders and then gather the eggs.

Since the days are getting shorter, I've been getting fewer eggs. Where early in the fall, I would get 22-25 daily, now I'm getting 15-20 daily. Yesterday, I counted 12. Twelve is unacceptable. So, as I leave the henhouse, I stop and lecture my 30 hens. "Now girls, there are 12 eggs here. 12. That's unacceptable. There are 30 of you, this means less than half of you are doing your job. I know the days are shorter, but I want more eggs. I expect to see more tomorrow. If you can't fulfill your quota, there's always the stewpot." They don't listen. They all cluck contentedly as they munch on their evening grain.

I carried my eggs into the house to put them away. Got out a carton and told Andy about there only being 12 eggs. He came to watch, as I filled up the carton...and found 5 extra eggs in my basket. We both laughed, because instead of 12, there were 18. I obviously can't count. I spent 5 minutes lecturing my hens, and I can't count. We'll see if my lecture did any good.

When it got dark, I ran out to shut the chickens up for the night. All now roost inside, as it's warmer there. I take a quick peek inside, hearing the coos and clucks as they jockey for spots on the roosts. I tell them good night, and that I'm sorry I lied about there only being 12 eggs. With that, I shut the door. "Goodnight girls. I still want 20 eggs tomorrow."

Goats...

Just to let everyone know, I love my goats. I love having animals. I especially love having a son to do the daily chores so I don't have to. And, not doing the daily chores means I can love the goats more, concentrate on the positive more. O yeah, that's not my job, my job is to do the messy stuff that Andy doesn't feel confident enough to do. O well. I still love my goats.

I love having them greet me when I pull in at night. And, their greeting is hard to miss! Nubian's are some of the noisiest goats around. And, at this time of year, my does are in heat. They need a man. And they remind me of this constantly. By this time, I thought we'd have a man, but we don't yet. But, we've got to get one before the moaning and groaning wears me out!

I like goats when I walk out to the pen. I love the not so subtle demands for food. Heads shoving around me, trying to make me drop the feed bucket. Heads that magically get into the feed bucket that I'm trying to dump. Bodies swirling around me, frantic to be the first to get the feed.

I bought some black oil sunflower seeds the other day. For the goats and the chickens. I've got to be careful feeding them to the goats, because they'll eat so many so quickly that they can get stuck in their throats and choke. But I love feeding them a handful at a time. Winter gets the first handful, becasue she is our Queen. She's pretty patient too, she'll eat and nuzzle, and let me nuzzle her. Seeing what a good momma she's become makes it hard for me to remember how much trouble she used to cause when she was a kid. She was the one who figured out how to get on top of the chicken house. Yep, looked out the window one day and she was up on the roof, just happy as can be. I didn't know if I should laugh or make her get down! It became her favorite place to lay. I was so afraid that she'd be stupid and jump down from the peak--10 feet or more up. She never did, but we removed the goats from that pen. And, like all onery little girls, Winter grew to be a good momma.

I looked at my lilac bushes and my roses last night. My poor lilacs may never get big, and my roses have looked pitiful all summer. Why? because certain goats learned the electric fence was out, so they walked right through the fence and made a beeline to their favorite foods, lilacs and roses. I'm not sure my roses will ever recover. I think the lilacs will. My cherry tree is bare 1/2 way up, cherry leaves are tasty, as are raspberry bushes, blueberry bushes and grape vines. Goats are the hardest animals to keep fenced in, and it's extremely annoying when they get out, but, you've got to laugh--cause they just look so innocent while pulling that last bit of rosebush into their mouths. I swear, they'll lick their lips while doing it too.

I even like the doctoring parts, becasue it's all new to me. I never had to take care of any livestock growing up, and cattle really don't have the personality that goats do. I like knowing how to keep my herd healthy and well. So, even though it's always a challenge, and things do go wrong, I still like doing it. Of course, sometimes, hair being eaten by a goat is painful, sometimes horns can hurt, sometimes hooves on toes hurt, shots are never fun, but we're learning. The girls are patient with me and I with them.

Yep, I love my goats and can't wait to get my girls a man, one to take care of their needs. Then, in 5 months, we'll have babies again. Little babies running around, jumping, climbing the walls, hiding in the wire spools, playing king of the mountain, eating my hair...

Yep, gotta get more goats.