Micah Turned 1!

Poor Micah.  The redheaded stepchild living in the glare of the Golden Child, Dax.  

He turned 1 on January 27th.  There was no celebration, no birthday burger, no ice cream, nothing.  I was in week 2 of a full time semester of business classes at Columbus State University and I was struggling mightily.  I negotiated a postponement on the party.

And this was the Big Party over a month later.

Hours slaving in the evenings in the workshop to scavenge from a go cart to add to my creation.

Dax loves it, without brakes we'd be in Albuquerque by now.  Micah would like to return his gift. Nonplussed.

(For licensing and usage contact: licensing@viralhog.com)

Somehow I will find a way to convince Micah that this is FUN.  Besides, I'm not supposed to be biking until mid summer on my foot with screws and plate, so I need Puppy Power. We shall prevail. Stay tuned.

Taking Matters Into My Own Hands

Seeing as I won't be going back to my colorist anytime soon, I opted NOT to let my gray hair grow out naturally. My university ID will be the last vestige of my bottled youthful hair.

 This woman is brave...

I can't do the silver back gorilla look for a year.  Not that kind of brave.
First, predawn attack on the brown dye job:

My mother mistakenly takes this color as the final product.  "You look like Trump", she tells me.  Ahhh, a mother's love.
Dyed my entire head grey.

There.  Going to be saving a lot of money here on out.  

Bonus, I'm the same color as Micah!!!

Preparedness

It all started a couple of weeks ago:  the hoarding.

Watching Italy shutter its country ramped up my desire to stock up 2 months supply of all critter food.  

With supply lines worldwide damaged, I'm guessing production of Garrett's prescription dog food may be limited in the near future.  Rather safe than sorry.

Stocked up on all veterinary prescriptions too.
I was all done before the madness hit last Friday.  Maybe I should've thought of toilet paper.  But, I was busy thinking of my furkids.

Stay safe y'all.

Ode to an Unsung Hero

I never talk about her. 
She toils tirelessly.  
She's 17 years old and has 277,000 miles.
She's my company vehicle.
In the past, someone shot her.

In the past, someone used the tailgate as a guide to hook to a trailer.

In recent three years, I'd taken a democratic approach and left her to be used by anyone working on the farm who needed her.

Until a former employee tried to rip her rear end out.  I quickly retook possession of communal keys.  Funny how she hasn't needed to go to the mechanic's shop as often...hmmm.
Meet Boo.

Never had a vehicle lent to me for work before, some have tried to tell me she's ugly, but I love her.
Mondays are now my days off to study, but it was too pretty outside and Boo was still under a coat of mud from the monsoons.

Shampooed seats, scrubbed her behind the ears, went through half a bottle of Armor-All on all her trim and waxed over all the dents and scratches.
Boo-tiful!

Camping with Fifteen

All of us in Alabama are hoping the monsoons are behind us.

Droughts of last Summer that killed so many trees were chased by rainfall measured in feet.  One day, we're cutting dead pines from the drought, another day, cutting uprooted oaks from the saturated grounds.  A bipolar Mother Nature isn't a pretty picture.

The horses have gone through 80 bales more of shavings this month than the last because they've been kept up for their own good.  That's a lot of mucking.  And dispensing hay.  And refilling water buckets.  

And glamping in the barn office when the horses are in their stalls overnight. 

Apples and sugar peas are favored snacks around here.  We share.

To live without a dog is unthinkable.  I'd shrivel up and die.

Wacky Winter

I lost count of many inches of rain we've received this Winter.  Too much, is my answer.

Overload of rain, day after day.

The land can only hold so much.  Then dams begin to bust.

Where are the damned beavers when you need then.  Mayday, mayday!  
This breach in the dam went all the way through underground.

Three tractor and trailer loads of rock later.  All rocks hand placed.

Concrete hand mixed.

Had to work fast that weekend, only a day and a half of clear weather before the rain was to start again.

Brought the dogs down to show them what Mum had done.  Dax is in awe, the others are totally unimpressed. 

Even through the rain, I've tried to keep up with  their daily runs.  The trails are a soupy mess in some sections.

The look of "where did you get your driver's license!". 

Dax is like a five year old, mud is his milieu of choice. Every day...

It's a reward after a day at work.

When the weather is too foul...

...and we can't run.

All Hell breaks loose. High strung hunting dogs cooped up all day is a recipe for destruction.

Mostly this one.  Micah is still in puppy stage. He tries to be good, but it's so hard.
Sitting by the fire, like Garrett, isn't his bag.

And have I ever been using the fireplace because not only has it been rainy, but it has been bitterly cold.

Horse jackets all around.

Must keep those big babies warm and dry.

The pools of water in the pastures were turning their hooves into Jell-o, so I started keeping them up in their stalls day and night until their feet hardened up again.

Life with 1000 lb puppies.

Keeping these pooping machines in stalls equals a lot of work though.

Worth it.

Buckets of warm water dragged around every morning for offerings.

Equally worth it.  No one colicked, no one went hypothermic, no messed up hooves. 
I'm not satisfied with the concept of surviving.  That's what Neanderthals did.  Thriving is where it's at.  That's my goal.

Besides, if you think I'm nuts, then you ought to meet some of the company I keep.  My neighbor brought her horse in the house.  
End of story.