Wilma Meets The Water Faucet

Its been too long since I, best blogger at Our Little Ranch, have written a blog. I've been pretty busy lately and just haven't had the time to sit down to write. Not that I am griping, but having Wilma (or any puppy for that matter) is hard work and it seems one of us always has to be watching her, feeding her, or cleaning up after her.

Adding to my busy-ness recently was the fact that Luke was a bit under the weather yesterday, so with him and Wilma, I was running around like a chicken with my head cut off!

While we were in South Texas this past weekend, Wilma came along for the trip. While the 3.5 hour car trip with Wilma sounded a little scary to us, we want to get her "broken in" for car trips so that we can take her with us when we go visit our family in Indiana.

The little puppy rode in Luke's lap the whole way there and the whole way back. This is a change for us because usually Luke drives everywhere and I'm the passenger. Wilma's arrival has turned me into the primary driver, mainly because I'm not as good at playing with Wilma as Luke is. I tend to panic when she starts biting me, or gets bored, or starts barking. I will be glad when she's out of the puppy phase. So will Luke, because lets just say... I'm not the best driver. While I drive painfully below the speed limit (I'm terrified of getting a speeding ticket), my issues with driving lie in simply not paying attention. There were several almost-accidents on this trip.

While we were in South Texas, Luke and I wanted to run into Kingsville for a few hours to check out the antique shops there. My wonderful mom (former Bulldog breeder) volunteered to keep Wilma for the time we were gone. As Luke and I got into the car to drive away, I gleefully squealed, "We're free!" and we peeled out. Its not that we don't adore Wilma — we do. It was just nice to have a break.

About 2 hours later we returned and found Wilma outside playing - soaking wet. You see, Grandma Luann (my mom) introduced Wilma to a water faucet. We have now discovered that it is the cheapest toy you'll ever find. The best part is that Wilma plays so hard that she tuckers herself out and then sleeps for hours afterwards.

Here's some photos of Wilma playing while we were in South Texas.



Not only does she like to drink from the faucet, but she loves to let the water run on her back. She goes crazy!


Rock climbing is one of Wilma's newer hobbies. Look at her face. If that ain't a happy puppy, I don't know what is.

I think she thought we were about to take that stick out of her mouth. Not so happy, here.

-

We asked Wilma, "Hey Wilma, do you like cats?" This is the face she made. Excellent sense of humor.

More playing.

Wilma - senior portrait style.

She loved this grass. It is a special drought resistant grass that is thick and deep. Only bad news is that she laid there and got bit on her belly by either ants or chiggers. She had big red welps on her stomach but they cleared up.

Sometimes she runs so fast her ears start catching some wind and flop up! Wilma the bat bulldog!

Cat talking to Cats.

So as promised here is the blog that maybe reveals a little too much of the weird world that is Our Little Ranch.

***Our legal counsel said that we should write a disclaimer to this blog so those men in white lab coats don't try to come get my wife. So this blog is written in good fun and no actual accounts of real life cats talking actually took place.***

But use your imagination anyway, it makes life mucho better. And this is how the cat talking ordeal went down.

Two nights ago Catherine and I were just about to go to bed and Catherine blurted out "Do you know what Dixie just told me?!"

I responded with "No, I do not know what the cat just told you." I said it in a very "here we go again" tone.

Catherine proceeded with this:

"Well she told me that she has been hearing us make a fuss about how much we like the porch kitties and she needed to get some things straight. First off, this is her house and she is not sure why we keep calling it ours. She told me that she is the master here and we need to do what she tells us to, not the other way around. She also said to me that all decision making processes like bringing a new pet into our lives would have to be brought up to her at a weekly household meeting. And finally that when we are gone she has parties at the house, because it is her house and she can do what she wants."

Seriously, I cannot make this stuff up. I about wet my britches and could do nothing but smile. Catherine told the story with such a serious face I was beginning to wonder if the cat could actually talk and I just was not paying close enough attention.

We don't say much about Dixie because she really is from "the bad place." You know, like H-E-Double Hockey Stick! She is evil! She will just randomly latch onto our arm and hold on for way more than 8 seconds while you flail your arm around in the air as you run around the house trying to get away from Satan kitty. But the weird thing is after she makes an attempt at your life, she then crawls back on you and starts to purr. It's like she is thinking "Okay, we are friends again.'' The vet told Catherine that she should put her on anti-depressants to help her. Does that sound like rubbish to anyone else?

Even though Dixie/Diddles/Rucifee (the list goes on and on!) is mean at times she can also be very sweet. Here are some pictures of "The Lady of the House" when she was a little younger. I have tried to get some pictures of her recently, but each time I do the camera explodes.



This is Dixie and her brother Tad when they were just babies. I wish her eyes were still blue like this, but now they are yellow/tan/green.


Here they are again. This was one of the last pictures of Tad. Unfortunately, the guy who comes and fills up the semen tanks with nitrogen ran over Tad. And that was the end of that.


But Dixie has moved past that, and here she is playing Christmas Kitty. She still gets in the tree, but with her current body condition score, the tree tends to lean and/or fall over when she gets near the top.

Here she is working. Dixie likes play pretend secretary.

So that is the most recent Cat talking experience I have had. I am sure that I will be met with something like "Luke, Dixie just told me how much she likes her pictures on the internet," when I get out of here.

Until next time friends!

My Recent Nemesis

First off, it has been a few days since the last post and I really do not know why you guys put up with our tardiness. Feel free to leave rude comments like “Post a new blog punk, or else!”

Back to today’s subject. As the temperature start to get warmer and warmer the weeds around the house start to grow faster and faster. I hate weeds and I really hate weed eating. But I also hate round up. Well I used to. Now it is my new best friend and we have pep talks before I go out and start spraying. I tell it things like “Give it the ole 1-2 punch!”

The reason that I was opposed to herbicides was because when I thought that when people would see the brown strip of grass along the garage or fire pit they would think to themselves that I was just too lazy to run the weed eater. Then one day I was minding my own business just walking about smacking the mess out of any weed in sight, and somehow I got a horrible case of poison ivy all over my arm. I had not even seen any poison ivy around and I have never got the stuff before. I imagine that since I was cutting up all the vegetation that somehow poison ivy flew up on my arm and decided to attack. After that horrible week-long ordeal, I now use herbicides like they are going out of style.

Not only am I now a huge advocate of weed killers but I also take it very seriously. When I mix up my secret potion I make it strong enough that it even kills the rocks. However, today the thistle and wild blackberry vines and other random broadleaves must have known I was coming. For some reason I could not get the sprayer top to open. I tried with all of my might and could not get the lid to unscrew. So I jumped in my car and headed over to steal another sprayer from Catherine’s parents. Guess what? Another dud. I could not open that stupid thing either. With my first two attempts resulting in a huge FAIL, I sped off to the local feed store and gathered a huge arsenal of weed killing ingredients. I got a new sprayer (two gallons no less!), the most expensive herbicide concentrate I could find, and a few ounces of napalm. The weeds were doomed and they didn’t even know it.

Once I got back to the house I was on a mission to destroy every weed in my path. Here what tools I had in my chemical arsenal: 1 gallon of pre-mixed Round-Up TOUGH BRUSH and POISON IVY formula, half a bottle of the herbicide I bought at the feed store, and a whole bottle of some random thing with a skull and crossbones on it that I found in the shed. I put about 2 drops of water in the sprayer and set off on my conquest. (Just kidding... I mixed to the label instructions since I am married to a real rule-follower.)

I am a little afraid that with the wind today my yard will be nothing but pebbles in the morning. Oh well, I didn’t like mowing anyway.

This was my main target today, Ground Zero for the attack on vegetation.



Our yard dead ends at a creek. And the embankment that goes to that creek is too steep to drive down with the lawnmower. It requires a push mower or weed eater. Both of which I do not like. Mainly the push mower because it is self-propelled and tried to drag me over the side of the bridge and drown me.



Here is another view, you can see that it would not be fun to mow/weed eat this area. So what I do, use such a strong mixture of stuff that it melts the leaves when it hits it.



This is another attack zone today. Well not this whole area, but that tiny little patch of tall grass at the end. As you can see it is a long walk down there, especially toting a weed eater. So it all must die.

These previous pictures were the before I sprayed the insta-kill on them. I was going to take some of the grass laying flat this afternoon, but for some reason the weeds are putting up a strong fight. They are not dying at the rate that I wish they would. What is a guy to do? I know, launch round two first thing in the morning. I might get the flame-thrower out if this doesn't work quick enough.

The following pictures represent the twilight of the lives of the weeds. Is that a little morbid? Maybe. Maybe not. If you don't like that mindset, how about just some pictures of the beautiful sunset we had tonight.

Oh, and Buttons wanted to be on the blog to. He told Catherine that he was feeling left out. And that will be the topic of tomorrow's blog, Talking Cats. That's right, Catherine claims that the cats have been talking to her. Last night before we went to bed she said "Do you know what Dixie just told me?!" Stay tuned, you will hear more tomorrow. For now, here's Buttons/Boo-tones/Adam Lambert.

Another attempt on my life.

Seriously with all the people trying to off me these days, you would think that I am Pablo Escobar. (A little side note, Catherine has told me that his ranch or his relative purchased cattle from the ranch in the 80’s but she gets rather skittish when I ask her about the details.) What’s that you say? You didn’t hear how Catherine tried to kill me? Oh, well here, check this out. And try not to get so behind on your blog readings, will you?

Now to the most recent assassination attempt. As many of you know, Spring is peeking its head around the corner. It is still a little cool in the morning but in the afternoon it is just peachy. With the warmer temps, the grass has started to grow. Well actually weeds but since I almost failed (because I never went to class, not because I have a brain the size of a peanut) Rangeland Management I don’t think that I will be going into specifics. Let’s just say the yard looked like a jungle.

So after taking the Snapper to the doctor and getting him all ready to go, I set out down the ditch beside the house mowing down the waist high weeds/grass/green stuff. The wild onions about killed me and made my eyes water so bad that I was driving like I already sucked down a whole keg of Keystone Light. I mean people are driving by and probably thinking to themselves that the poor guy on the lawnmower is having a seizure. Or this time they might of thought “Holy Crap, that lawnmower is on fire!!!”

Huh! What? My lawnmower is on fire??!!

I started to smell something like burning like rubber or plastic. I looked behind me and just look at what I pulled out from underneath the muffler.



Some blubbering, incompetent ignoramus left an oil soaked towel underneath the muffler on MY SNAPPER! Which with the heat of the muffler caught fire and had it not been detected would have made a mushroom cloud erupt over the town of Iago with me right in the middle of it. Seriously I think I need to hire some security to follow me around. Who knows what will happen next.

Oh I know what will happen next, it is time to mow the cliff that is right in front of our house. So I tell Catherine, who I have started to call Widget, to come out and take my picture risking my life so her yard looks like a golf course. Widget happily obliges and comes out with the camera.



I try to make the most of mowing, because I really don’t like but three aspects of mowing.

1) I get to smash the mess outta fire ant hills and watch them fling out of the mower blades in a cloud of dust. Then I make a mad scientist laugh and head to the next ant village and announce my arrival with “Fee Fi Fo Fum.” I hate those stupid little maggots.

2) I get to make a Vroom Vroom noise when I come back up the hill and also make this stupid face.



3) I get to run over stuff and chop it into smithereens. By the way, whoever threw out the dirty baby diaper in our ditch, I hate your stinkin' guts!!

I think the reason that Widget came outside was because she wanted to play grounds keeper too and drive the Snapper. So I got to take her picture too.



You may notice the angle of this picture. I was laying on the ground taking this picture because that is the “Do-anything-to-get-the-shot” photographer that I am.



But the problem was when I got down in the fresh cut grass it decided to stick to my arm and turn me into Gumby.

We also went down to the in-laws to see what they were up to. Catherine’s mom was mowing too. When we got there she decided that she needed to refuel the mower, she also has a Snapper. It is really fun to call things by their brand name. Like “Hey Widget, go put my jeans in the Maytag,” or “Hey Widget, go fire up the Dell so I can entertain the masses with a new blog!” Anyhoo, we got a picture of Luann trying to get the lid off the gas tank of her Snapper.



As you can see it was a good thing her knight in shining armor showed up to unscrew the lid. Maybe not a good thing that he showed up with a camera, but I won’t tell her if you don’t.



And then she was off, out through the pasture to the entrance to their house and mow around the crepe myrtles.

Finally, this weekend is the WHR Shorthorn Sale where we have about 10 heifers consigned. Hopefully we can sell ‘em high and buy ‘em cheap.

And I leave you with this.



Buttons decided that we were not the only ones who should be allowed to have our fun on the Snapper. He hopped on as soon as I got off and layed in the sun for a few minutes before he went and started weedeating.

Our Little Assassin!

As Catherine mentioned in the previous blog, spring is right around the corner. The trees will start to bud out, flowers will start to bloom and snakes will start to appear. That's right SNAKES!

First off, I am 100% scared to death of snakes. Whether it is 2 inches long or stretches across the whole road I want nothing to do with them. Even seeing a snake on the TV gives me the creeps. But what I witnessed today will let me rest a little easier as these slithering terrors start to emerge.

I was out checking on our cow in the trap beside the house and when I came around the corner the porch cats, Beans and Buttons, were in the process of killing a 6-inch garter snake. The snake was trying its best to escape but with the mongoose like skills of Beans, there was no place for the snake to go. Beans would grab it in his mouth and fling it up in the air. Then he would leap in the air and body slam the snake. It was impressive. I never knew that Beans had his black belt in snake killing but he was a true ninja today.

Beans was also very proud of his find. Buttons would try to extend a paw and slap the snake around a little bit, but Beans would not have any part of it. He would growl at Buttons and take the snake in his mouth and walk away. Then when he was by himself he would go back to attacking the snake.

So with the mad skills of my two cats, I am not nearly as scared to walk around the house and stumble upon a man-eating snake. But upon Wikipedia-ing "Garter Snakes" I quickly noticed that mother snakes give birth to 12-15 live young. This means that Beans has about 11-14 more to go. Below is a picture of Beans standing over his kill and doing a little smack talking to the snake. I think he was saying something like "Don't you be comin' on my property" or "I show'd you!"

Buttons and Beans

This summer we became the new owners of two of the best porch cats ever. We found both of these cats when they were just a few months old. Actually they found us. Both of them ventured onto the porch and it was a hard fought battle to get them to not run off when a human appeared. Now these two cats are the most appreciative animals in the world.

The first cat is a long-haired grey and white kitten we named Buttons. Both Catherine and I think that we should take him to a cat show because his conformation is impeccable. We think that if he were a show steer he would win Louisville or Denver hands down.

The other cat came along about 3 weeks after Buttons and the vets told us he is about 2 months younger. We have dubbed him Beans. Beans is another long-haired kitten, but he is yellow. If I would have paid a little more attention in Genetics I would be able to tell you if he was Agouti or Tabby, but I skipped those labs. Anyway, unlike Buttons who is the clubby show steer cat, Beans is like a Longhorn. His hocks rub together and he is not very muscular at all. However, he is quite the assassin. He constantly is killing mice or lizards and bringing them to the porch.

On of our favorite things to do with the porch kittens is to come up with different names for them based off of Beans and Buttons. Here are some of our favorite ones.

Beans

1. Beaners
2. Frijoles
3. Refried
4. Borracho
5. Bean Bag
6. Beanie

Buttons

1. Boo-tones
2. Pasta Butanesca
3. Encyclopedia Buttanica
4. Boutenierre
5. Hopper (Ok, this isn't based off his name, but he jumps up to be pet. Hence Hopper)

As you can tell, we are just crazy over these two cats. Below are a couple of pictures of these two fine felines. Hope you enjoy them!

Beans sitting on the porch.

Buttons poses for his close-up.

Beans laying on the flower bed.

Buttons strikes a pose.

Beans attacking a rose bush.