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Showing posts from February, 2013

In which our family gets floofier and Haiku Farm gets louder

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This time, the message came via Facebook:

"There's a sheltie here, and she needs a new home.  Can you help?"




Her former owners love her a lot, but needed to move her to a new home.  So Santa Jim and I loaded up in the truck and headed over the pass to meet our new dog.


The weather was cold but cooperative.  A minor miracle.  We picked her up at a central meeting-spot, and then took her and Luna for a walk in a nearby cemetary before heading back to the Wet Side of the mountains.

Although Will moved out a few weeks ago, he couldn't wait for the weekend to come visit the new family member.

As with all new dogs (and children) at Haiku Farm, she will be attending Puppy Boot Camp for the next few weeks, logging plenty of miles on local trails



and at local parks and beaches.

Of course, there are also games we can play at home




Roo is a retrieving dog.  The other Floofs, not so much. 

It's still pretty fun, though.

Especially for the ones who like to bark!

In which we get up before the chickens to score some killer tack deals

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It's pretty rare to see me moving around this early (except on a ride day, obviously)
 but I've never been able to attend the annual 4-H Fundraising Tack Sale before.  Duana slept over at Haiku Farm so we would BOTH be motivated to get up at 4 (!) :30 (!!!!) in the morning (!!!!!) in order to feed the animals and hit the road in time to meet the Usual Suspects for breakfast.


We were in line at the Fairgrounds by 7am.  Why so early?  Well...

...this sale is a very popular event!   While we were waiting in line, we took turns spelling each other for breaks of a business nature.
The back of Monica's Mini is a very appropriate mobile office for Triangle Ranch Communications, which is a very micro-publisher.
 Some folks were a bit frivolous in their attempts to stay warm


as we waited for the line to move towards the Ultimate Goal:


an arena Full. Of. Cheap. Tack.


If you're thinking "Filene's Basement Sale," you're close.


"High Tide Feeding Frenzy"…

In which I ponder rituals and routines...and the differences

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This is how my days begin.

It's really difficult to get still photos of the World Sheltie Wrassling Federation matches that take place in the bedroom every morning.  The light isn't good, and the participants are fast-moving targets.  Here's a video:


The match always has the same ending:  Luna concedes defeat and comes to sit on my foot, despite Mimsy's vocal taunts.  These dogs have been with us for almost 7 years, and over the years they've developed this morning ritual.  It gives them great joy.
I've been thinking about "rituals" and "routines" this week, and trying to figure out the difference.  Clearly, they ARE different.  
After finishing their wrassling match, the Shelties follow me to the kitchen for breakfast.  Sitting politely and waiting until the "okay" is given to dive into dog food...ritual or routine?


I'm thinking it's a "routine," because neither dog would sit and wait politely unless it was requ…

In which there are lots of changes--and I think they are all good changes

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In the news from the "Long Time Coming Department":

Jim sold a horse, and Duana bought one.

Du has been care-leasing Hana since late summer, with the intent to buy her "for really" in the Spring.  But she couldn't wait that long.

We celebrated.

Jim will be hunting for another horse in a few months.  We intend to go up to Greener Pastures to see if we can find something Sensible.  Stay tuned on that.

More changes at home:

This used to be Will's bedroom, but he's grown up and moved out!  He's living in town now, close to his job and his friends.  We miss him, but he's sure having fun being a "city guy" again.


We don't think if it as losing a son as much as gaining a room. Now Jim and I have an office!

Theoretically, now that I have an office, I would want to spend a lot of time in it, sitting at my desk (or walking on the treadmill) and writing stuff.

However:




Out to the trails we go!   Here's the MMR report.  13 miles in about…

In which somebody says something nice and I think that's quite important

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I'm mostly unapologetic about putting steel shoes on my horse.

After all, I've tried other options.

*  Barefoot = sore feet.  Under saddle, Fee would move out only in the arena.  On trails, no way.  Even our driveway (crushed gravel + mud) was too ouchy.  And she was obviously uncomfortable in the pasture when the ground froze solid (which it does, periodically, from November to May.)

*  Booted = cussing at boots -  Easyboots Would.Not.Stay.On.  They were properly fitted (Garrett Ford himself helped me get the right size.) But either the mare would short-stride to keep the boots on, or she would stretch out into her natural gait and the stupid boots would go zinging off into the bushes.  Argh.   Rengades stay on, but do not provide enough protection for Fee's tender soles, especially when she does her Big Thing trot.

And of course, "booted" still means "barefoot" in the pasture, which is sub-optimal.

Fiddle's feet are made of tough tissue -- the …

In which Fiddle smiles for the camera...and for her new little friend

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It's that time of year again.

"Hi Fiddle!  Step right into the office, and Dr. Metcalf will be with you in just a moment."

Fiddle has been here before.  Dental visits used to be a big deal...now, they are an annual routine.

When the sedation has taken hold,



Sarah examines the patient's bite and grind patterns.


 Then she fires up the power tools to grind off the sharp "hooks" and make everything flat and comfortable again.

She checks her work visually, and follows up with a manual exam.

For an Arab, this requires about 12 inches of hand-and-wrist.  To manually examine Fee's back molars, Sarah goes elbow-deep.



"Rinse, and spit."


One last check to make sure the alignment is okay.  Then, the patient is released to go walk off the sedation.  Although Fee burns quickly through sedative (as evidenced on Spay Day, when she was extremely difficult to sedate for surgery!) we don't give her any extra, because she doesn't wiggle around in the s…