Twenty-Four

24  hours.  Watch what can happen in the span from Sunday afternoon to the next day:
Prepare for another day and night of rough weather.

Batten down the hatches and bring 'em all in.

Let them out to stretch in between rumbles of thunder, shovel a lot of manure, then herd them all back in again.

photo courtesy Dr. Carattini

Dry them all off.

Feed, repeat, muck stalls, over and over again through the evening and night.

Try to submit homework before the midnight deadline and have lightning knock the internet out.

Don't worry, I have a gadget that boost my cell phone signal whereby I can tether to my laptop.  Didn't know I had evolved out of the Jurassic Age?  I'm still behind millenials, but I'm nipping at their heels now.

Coax Peter out from under the sofa bed and attempt to sleep around 2 AM.  He's shaking so hard it's like being in a cheap motel in the 70's with the coin operated vibrating bed. 
Give up, play with the horses until 6 AM.  Feed and release.

Leave the barn and go home for breakfast.  Discover Peter left something important at the barn:  his entire nail.

Play doctor.  Running on no sleep at this point, try to nap.  Peter says:  "my foot hurts, hold me".  

Leave to go check property for damages.  We did get 7" rain in less than 24 hrs.

Take Dumb and Dumber with me.  

Get a report of loose cows.  Investigate.

Discover at least 20 bovine vagrants messing with my beehive.  Contact owners.

Finish property rounds and, thankfully, have 2 tired puppies.  

Check on my patient.  Still wearing his bandage.  A+.

Return to feed horses and clean the stalls.  
Get ready to leave work by 6:30, walk out arms loaded, can't find my ride... because I walked to work!!!  So tired and now righteously pissed off that I walk the 1/3 mile home carrying my bags of trash.  When will this day END? Feeling crispy by now.

At my gate, Adjanie is waiting to greet me with dessert.  Still warm.  I forget what I was so pissed about and take my trophy back to my lair.

At least I'm not as messy as Micah.  Good Lord, he redecorates at every meal.

You'd think after not sleeping since Saturday, I'd be counting sheep by now, but it's hard to doze off when you phone keeps alerting you that "something" is too close to your beehive.
That's it.  I'm about to go 'Night of the Living Dead' on some cattle.  Anyone have room in their freezers... 

Even if I have to camp out in my truck tonight, they are not messing with 30,000 black and yellow girls...haven't told you about that adventure either?  Have I?  

Pandemonium

Mother Nature  : "Quarantine can be boring,  let's send them tornadoes to spice things up".
Seriously,  not required. Boring does not reside at the farm. 

I would like to meet boring and spend a couple days basking in its company.  Apparently not in my Tarot cards for this century.

Easter Sunday,  I'm clearing culverts on the property and Dax chases a buck into the swamp. Both of them are squalloring, up to their necks in muck, quite stuck.
I wade out into the swamp and pull the buck out of the goo,  then pluck Dax out.  Meanwhile,  the other three dogs watch from shore.  The disoriented deer staggers right up to them.  Garrett, the meek one,  lunges for him.  The buck splashes back into the water and starts to swim across the pond -- Garrett literally in tow, he's  latched on and won't  let go. 
Nice day for a swim,  I say. My hand grabs Garrett's nubby tail and I reel them both back in. The struggle continues and I'm now 'negotiating' with Garrett to let go of the buck's head. I win,  the buck will look like a unicorn this Fall, but he'll live. 

Smug bugger.

Sunday night, this is on our doorstep:

Air temperature at midnight is 80'F... oh so appropriate for middle of the night tornadoes.

We hunker down in the barn and wait.

I keep one eye on the radar.

And another on the nervous horses.  The lightning is ground shaking.

By 3 AM, the worst has passed and I get a couple hours of sleep..

If You Thought a 23 Year Old Horse Was Old....

....meet Henry.

photo credit: Dr. C. Carattini

Old eldest resident turned 33 on April 5.

photo credit; Dr. C. Carattini

He's had end-stage kidney failure for over 2 years now.  Living beyond what was expected.

That's how we roll around here.

Beating the odds.

Here's to another good year, Mr. Henry.

photo credit: Dr. C. Carattini

Live life to the max.

Roscoe Turns 23 !

Roscoe... Henry's paramour, turned 23 years old today.

Thanks for bringing some joy into Henry's Golden years.

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!!!