Special

Every parents worst nightmare,

irrefutable proof that you child

is a few sandwiches short of a full picnic.

No Mensa membership in the mail for this crowbar chewer.

Elmer Fudd

If I were a true hunter-gatherer, we'd all starve. 

The beavers, whose daily engineering of ways to block a main overflow pipe, have been elusive. We've repeatedly run a 30' ramrod through the pipe to unclog it. Next, we thought we could outsmart them by covering the pipe intake with mesh.  That stroke of genius has set us back weeks... we can't even get to the intake anymore, it's so deeply buried in mud, sticks and rising waters.
My new plan: erect a floating work platform.

So, that only worked marginally. 45 minutes of stabbing a shovel around to break up the dam around the pipe and water began to flow through at a trickle.

Infuriated, I told Chester we were setting out in the marshlands to find the beaver lodge and personally issue an eviction notice. With a shovel acting as paddle and pole and potential sheriff.

Chester isn't the water dog we thought he was.  No nerves of steel here.

The wetland area has never had this much water in it, navigation like this hasn't been possible in a flat bottom boat since my tenure.  We'd made an attempt to find the lodge in kayaks earlier in the year, but had turned back.

First mate and I persevered. No snakes jumping out of trees made it easier!

For three years, I've wanted to see the interior of this area. I take pride in knowing every nook and cranny of this plantation, but this one had remained a mystery.  Now it was unfolding in front of me.  

Exploring with my first mate.  Unexpected adventures are the spice of life.
90 minutes of scouting every well used water channel and I find bumpkis.  Stealthy little rodents are out there--- somewhere. 

Don't worry, Chester, I won't let you starve!

Festivus

An attempt was made to put up a Christmas tree at my house.

Dax didn't agree with the placement and proceeded to drag it across the living room.

"It wasn't feng shui."
The imp has been extra destructive the past few months.

As long as he can see me working, he's fine.  Lo and behold, do not attempt to go out on the town without him.

The price is steep.

irreparable silk blouse

He never messes with my running shoes, work boots, work clothes or pyjamas. Anything worthy of being seen in public... demolished on a daily basis.  I've been claiming to want to become more minimalist in my lifestyle and he's helping.
Purging me of unneeded possessions must be so tiring on the little guy.

"Mummy, rub my belly, I'm having a hard time digesting the soap I ate".

I haven't even had a chance to box up wrapped Christmas presents when he'd plucked them from my desk and shredded them.

Why can't the other three rub off on him a bit?

Can it be that hard to be good? 

Answer is a resounding YES.  Here monsieur is trying to fetch the burning stick in the fireplace.  For the love of God---- stop the insanity.
The Christmas tree was returned to the office and I've come up with Plan B.  I've put up a Festivus pole for the holidays.

This is it.  My holiday decoration.  The Festivus pole is the symbol of the secular holiday celebrated on December 23, as an alternative to the commercialism of Christmas.  Tradition is to gather around the pole and hold "Airing of Grievances" (I wish I'd saved the bags of evidence of Dax's destruction) and then to explain events that can only be labelled as "Festivus Miracles" (such as the muffins that remained on the counter when Dax was home alone--- that's a true miracle).

Happy Festivus from my family to yours.

Rodenator

Voles:  furry varmints that decimate crop and grasses from below.  

The sandy soil here is perfect for their unimpeded travel in tunnels everywhere in the pastures and my garden. Nibbled plants topple over, pruned grass roots leave pastures looking overgrazed and unhealthy.

Enter the Rodenator.   Desperate times call for desperate measures.  I rented this unit in the hopes that we could kill the voles by sending concussive force down the tunnels.

How dangerous can it be to mix compressed oxygen and propane?  One BBQ tank and a borrowed oxygen tank, strapped together Jamie style.

Let the fun begin.

We hone our blasting skills well away from the horses...

Just in case.

Learning curve is steep.

Nope, horses would definitely not appreciate this.

Success within our grasp.

And we walk away smarter, deafened and still with 10 toes apiece.

High Maintenance Woman

Being a high maintenance woman, I spend beaucoup on myself every day.  Not talking about clothes, outings, makeup or jewelry, I'm talking about drugs.

$27 dollar day

This junkie had to get a larger pill organizer this year, now my prescriptions outnumber my natural supplements.  
Between my prescription eye drops and pills, I had been donating $27 a day out of pocket to big pharma.  Now that they have me on 2 more heart drugs, I'm up to $32 a day. And this is after insurance pays a portion.
When you live over 1000 miles from family, the recurring questions are: "are you remembering to eat well, are you sleeping enough?"  With my Dad, it's been the same song for years: "how's your retirement portfolio?"  And there's no arguing with him when I tell him, that yet again, my medical bills have outstripped my ability to add to my IRAs.  
The American Dream I bought into when I immigrated here from Canada almost 30 years ago is unattainable to most of us.  It's like some glossy Hollywood production trying to get you to sell your soul.  Sure, I could've gone to work for Auburn University or a manufacturing plant 20 years ago and guaranteed myself a retirement pension and paid premium healthcare.  Our local sheriff even courted me to join the police force just for the health care 8 years ago.  But, working a lifetime in a job you don't like is not my bag.  I wanted freedom and the ability to be able to shout from the mountaintops "I love my job".  
It's a very expensive trade-off in America.  And I'm in a much better position than most self paying insurees. I have a great job, I have good doctors, I don't have to go scrape the bottom of the well with Medicaid-approved doctors, if I want a second opinion, I can drive my happy butt to Emory and pay out of pocket when my insurance pitches a fit that I went out of state for care.  But I can't do both: stay healthy and plan for retirement.  Sorry, Dad.
$6300 a year for insurance.
Average past two years deductible paid $8500.
Current drug habit $11680.
In 2019, I'll have supplemental insurance that should soften $4000 a year of the pain, But...
Calculate that for a minute, health care in America is broken.
As the country song goes: "high maintenance woman don't want no maintenance man" ----I'd settle for a pharmacist, thank you very much.

The Big Cheez Runs Away

Last week, the Cheez (aka Chester) decided to abscond from the farm.  

It happened late at night as he pretended to go out for one last pee.
Maybe he'd had enough of Dax,

maybe it was because I'm overprotective and he needed some alone time.

He's jumped the fence a handful of times before.  Our routine consists of my driving around the countryside for  half an hour, to find him at my door upon my return.
This time, I used up half a tank of gas in my truck wandering further afield looking for him.  I quit at midnight, spent 4 hours sniveling and resumed driving before dawn. 
I sent a mayday out to the neighbors and went to the post office to leave word with our letter carrier to call me if she sees him.  That's where I learned that two days prior, the poo on your shoe people who live like fleas on the next road had shot someone's dog for kicks.  The dog had managed to crawl home to die.  My stomach churned when I realized I had heard the shot and the cries. 

By the next night, I'd fretted my day away thinking he was shot and injured in the woods, about to die of exposure on the coldest night of the year, or he was enroute to a dog fighting camp.  I'd left the gates open for him, bed and food.  Thinking it was hopeless, I drove the roads again and went to bed. 
5 AM, there's a bark at the door!

The Cheez came home.... stinking of Febreeze and dirty old Redneck couch.  Someone had taken him in, never bothering to call the number on his collar, nor capable (thankfully) of containing him.

The solid fence has been reinforced with an underground dog fence, he's going to learn not to toy with my emotions...

A vagabond or part of this family, can't have it both ways,  I think he's made the right choice.

Giving Tuesday

You'll never catch me in a store on Black Friday.  I ignore Cyber Monday.  Granted I spend most of my blissfully ignorant time living under a rock, that's probably why I'd never heard of Giving Tuesday.  What a concept!
Now that's an idea I can get behind.

Gave this morning to a mentor's cause.  Moneys are needed to fund her documentary, Bernice Ende is a very inspirational woman who has been beacon for me over the years.

Since I was off today, I wondered what other mischief I could find.

Donate blood.

Pick up fruit for the gopher tortoise I sponsor.  She's probably semi hibernating now, but I can't risk the big girl being hungry.  8 months out of the year, I drop off herpetologist approved foods every three days into her burrow.  She is very capable of foraging for herself, but her burrow now sits in a denuded area right on the paved road.  What other humans have caused, I'd like to fix, at least in her world.

Trucked myself and the posse to the barn this evening to help Flynn blanket all the horses.  Frigid cold with wicked winds, everybody deserves a coat!

What a fine day it has been.  Shouldn't every day be Giving Tuesday?  

Ten thankful faces, what a way to end a good day.