The Moth on My Kitchen Window Screen

It was my first day back home after a full four days away at a Powell Butte, Brasada Ranch horse show. The competition was successful on many levels -- more on that later.

Coming home from a horse show is always a lot of work. I spent much of the day unpacking and getting caught up on loads of human and horse laundry.

Mid-afternoon, Dr. Meagan Jurasek arrived to take a look at one of our Black Angus heifers, Libbey. Poor Libbey has sprouted some nasty looking bovine warts, a virus which is usually carried by insects. Dr. Jurasek vaccinated Libbey's pasture mate, Tove, and used forceps to squeeze Libbey's warts -- to help stimulate Libbey's immune response. More on bovine warts later, too.

As I was speeding around late this afternoon, trying to get my day wrapped up so I could head to my Screenwriting class, I noticed this moth on my kitchen window screen. It's similar to the Cynthia Moth in my insect guide book, but not exact. An enchanting creature to be certain!

Pumpkin Reunited

Very late into the evening of April 6, a big, beautiful orange tabby cat was clipped by a car on the road that runs adjacent to our property. Despite a broken pelvis, the kitty somehow managed to drag himself to the front of our barn, where we found him during our nightly check on the horses.

I rushed him to an emergency veterinary clinic and, despite early indications, the doctors and technicians managed to save the cat, "Pumpkin."

An exhaustive door to door search, fliers, listings at the local animal shelter, Craig's List, and other places didn't turn up Pumpkin's owner. So, after a week of intensive care, Pumpkin came home to Sweetgrass to be rehabilitated. At the time, the prognosis was full recovery after six to eight weeks of cage rest.

Yesterday, I took Pumpkin in to have a couple of staples removed from his leg and the doctor and technicians were amazed at how swiftly he's healed. They told me he was lucky to have a new owner like me. It seems Pumpkin is a charmer everywhere he goes and I've grown quite fond of him.

The day after I took Pumpkin to the ER, I had stopped at a house across the road. A man and two children came to the door and the man told me they did indeed have two orange tabby kitties. After I gave a description of the injured cat, the man dismissed me. He did, however, take my phone number.

So today, two-and-a-half weeks after I rescued Pumpkin, my phone rang. The woman at the above house identified herself and told me she thought I might have her cat. I invited her over and sure enough, my patient, "Mason," belongs to my neighbor.

Apparently, Mason has been off and on MIA since his family brought home a dog six months ago. He disappears for days on end and then, after some time, usually comes home. His owner told me she's been turning Mason and her other kitty out at night, since "cats are nocturnal." Hmmm...

On our corner of the planet, putting a cat out at night is a dangerous practice with so many coyotes foraging for food. I gently told the woman that I always make sure my cat is always in at night for two reasons: the road and coyotes.

I have to admit that I was more than a little put off by this woman to start with, but I was wrong. Her father is dying of cancer and that alone is enough to distract a person beyond words. She has a kind heart and has already settled up with the vet clinic and promised to reimburse my expenses, too.

For now, Mason Pumpkin is still my patient as his family is going on vacation until May 5. I've come to love this fellow and I'm truly glad he'll be reunited with his purrson soon.

Who knows? My big orange flirt may swing by for a visit now and then.

Bear, Feline "Masterpiece"

Each of the animals here at Sweetgrass Ranch has a purpose. Bear, our ten year-old barn kitty, is no exception. She's a hard working gal -- many a mouse, mole, vole, and rat has been vanquished by Bear. Even at age ten, she is an avid and potent huntress. At the same time, she's a love, a true peach of a cat who enjoys cuddling.

Bear's finer qualities make it easy to dismiss her gifts, the small, beautiful birds she slays and brings to me; the snakes and salamanders she captures and leaves in the barn breezeway. Her generosity is boundless and she always punctuates each gifting session with her trademark motorboat purr, her utterly adoring gaze.

Leonardo da Vinci is quoted as saying that "even the tiniest feline is a masterpiece." So true, Leo. So true.

Bubbles for Drifty's Catalog of Acceptable Obstacles

When faced with something new, something not in her or his catalog of acceptable obstacles, a horse will almost always flee.

Here at Sweetgrass Ranch, we train our horses for Trail classes that often contain unusual and potentially scary items. So, we spend a good deal of time introducing them to all sorts of things like bridges, back throughs, livestock, umbrellas, balls, fishing poles, and yes, even bubbles.

By the end of the above session, Drifty was chasing bubbles and popping them with her muzzle. Bubbles had become part of Drifty's catalog as well as one more reason to trust Lorenzo.

Forging a working relationship with our horses, these truly magnificent creatures, is a miraculous process.

The Return of Killdeer Nests and the Injury Feigning Adult Birds

It happens every year. At least one pair of Killdeers builds a nest in the riding arena. Most years, we spot the camouflaged eggs and set a cone nearby, a marker to help keep the eggs safe.

This year, we spotted the nest after we'd been riding for a few minutes. At the time, there were only two eggs and one had clearly been shoved into the sand/ground-up Nike tennis shoe footing, perhaps by a horse hoof. It's the one with the light scratch mark:

Gently, I pushed the footing away and brought the speckled oval Killdeer masterpiece to the surface. Lorenzo and I marked the nest with a cone and kept riding.

Today, we were delighted to find four eggs in the carefully reconstructed nest. One of the parent birds was close by, feigning an injury in an attempt to draw us away from the eggs.

Pumpkin On the Mend

As I was re-filling Pumpkin's water dish earlier today, he snaked out of his cell -- the big dog carrier in which he's doing six to eight weeks to help mend a broken pelvis -- and wobble-wove around my legs, his big motor of a purr rumbling cat-felt appreciation.

Having expressed his feelings so earnestly, Pumpkin settled nearby on one of the rugs and blissfully stretched out his full length, which is impressive.



It's been a week-and-a-half since Pumpkin was clipped by a car on a nearby road. Somehow, despite his broken pelvis, this intelligent creature managed to drag himself to the front of our barn, where we found him when we did the PM check on the horses.

He wasn't our cat, but we stood in for his people, taking him to an emergency veterinary clinic. We spent a good deal of time trying to identify his owner, to no avail. Last Friday, after a week of hospitalization and no owner on the scene, Pumpkin was released to my care.

Yesterday, I spoke with a woman who thought Pumpkin might be a cat she'd lost two years ago. It was improbable, as the woman lives out on the Wilson River Highway, a good distance from the ranch. She'd taken her kitty to a vet clinic in Hillboro to have one of his ears repaired and somehow, he'd escaped. As we compared notes, it became clear that Pumpkin was not the woman's cat. She'll resume her search and I wish her well. I hope she finds her kitty.

A Vibrant Life

The process of life is a constant study here at the ranch. Yesterday, I snapped this photo of the Daffodils and Tulips blooming in my pet cemetery. It's not the huge color splash I had envisioned; the scene is more subdued than I had hoped it would be. Still, the flowers are a symbol, a reminder that we merely trade forms, that we are a series of various incarnations. Perhaps this is the connection we feel to all life forms. For me, the Charolais steer and dogs playing in the background are a sweet reminder, a promise in the form of comforting whisper: "Life, this wonderful, vibrant life goes on."

Just Breathe

It was a BIG week.

First, an injured cat, one that had been struck by a car, literally drug himself from a nearby road to the front of our barn where he laid, waiting for us to find him.

Good Sams to the core, we sped the kitty to an urgent care veterinary clinic and spent the rest of the week trying to identify an owner: lots of door to door visits and fliers, as well as postings at Bonnie Hays Small Animal Shelter and Craig's List's lost and found. As of this writing, our search hasn't identified an owner.

So last Friday, "Pumpkin" came back to Sweetgrass, where he's recovering from a broken pelvis and some major league bruising. He's not yet able to walk, but he is sitting up -- a BIG improvement.

If ever there was a critter that embodied the face of grateful, it's Pumpkin. Everytime I pass the large dog crate where this guy is resting, he fires up his big motor of a purr.

For now, Pumpkin is ours and in all likelihood, that's how it will stay. His prognosis for a complete recovery is good as long as he stays on cage rest for six to eight weeks.

The week got a little wilder when we added chickens, three Barnevelder hens. City gals, the Barnevelders just about had a group coronary when their welcome wagon neighbors, Charolais cattle and gregarious Indian Runner ducks dropped by for a "how do."

Thankfully, the hens have settled in nicely and our daily egg count -- beautiful terra cotta colored eggs -- ranges between one and three. YUM!

Best news of the week: My son, Nick, landed his dream job working as a forest ranger. HUBBA, HUBBA, number one son!

Sometimes, when weeks are this big, it's easy to let go of the important things, what I like to call the necessaries of good health. Things like breathing.

A couple of years ago, the band Pearl Jam released a beautiful song titled "Just Breathe." The melody and lyrics speak to me and I hope you have a chance to click on the following link and watch Pearl Jam perform "Just Breathe" for Austin City Limits:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y0mhrqfeFjQ

Nothing More Beautiful Than a Calf

My mother has always said there's nothing more beautiful than a calf. Watching our Black Angus/Charolais cross bull calf, Tip, I have to agree.

The New Cat

Pumpkin, the orange tabby who was struck by a car and somehow managed to drag himself to the front of our horse barn a week ago today, returned to Sweetgrass tonight.

In the week that he's been recovering at a veterinary urgent care clinic, I've gone door to door trying to find Pumpkin's people. While I was out canvassing the area, I met a lot of nice neighbors. Almost every day this week, I stuffed mailboxes all up and down my ridge with FOUND fliers and made sure those fliers were displayed at the North Plains post office, library, gas station, coffee cabana, and local veterinary clinic.  Posting an online photo and description of Pumpkin on Craig's List's lost and found and at the Bonnie Hays Small Animal Shelter's web site was a snap.

Yesterday, I received a call and for a moment, I was hopeful. The woman who had phoned was, like me, trying to find another cat's people. It seems a charming orange cat had taken up residence under her deck.

Craig's List netted two e-mail messages, both lovely. They were from people who had lost kitties and hoped someone like me was on the other end of their cat's  story. I hope so, too.

Most people imagine I helped Pumpkin because I love animals. I DO love animals, but the plain truth of it is that I love people, too. Somewhere, someone is missing a beautiful orange tabby fellow, a hunk a hunk of purring love.

For now, Pumpkin is mine. In all likelihood, that's how it will stay. The folks at the clinic gave me the GOOD SAM discount, for which I am eternally grateful. There's no way I could have covered the cost of all the good work they did for Pumpkin. Bless them ten fold and then some!

My contribution to Pumpkin's story is far from over. Pumpkin has six to eight weeks of cage rest ahead of him. One of his back legs is swollen and requires hot compresses and massaging. He's eating well if you hold the food dish up and shake the kibble. There's pain medication to administer every six to eight hours and medicine to keep Pumpkin's digestive system moving.

For now, I've got a new cat and plenty of time to get acquainted.

The Gift of a Barnevelder -- First Egg

Our new Barnevelder hens each produced an egg today. The following snapshot shows the first one I found in the nest box. It was still a slice-of-heaven warm.

The Barnevelders Have Landed!

Our three new Barnevelder hens were a bit traumatized by the change of venue yesterday. They left their cozy southeast Portland coop and landed in an electric fence run that borders Indian Runner ducks on one side and massive Charolais cattle on another.

The hens took one look at the cattle and just about keeled over dead on the spot. Needless to say, I don't thing these girls have ever seen a bovine, let alone three.

True to their reputation, the Barnevelders sang their distress at top volume, a jarring and discordant scream and screech combo. It was enough to make the cattle snort. The dogs barked and the ducks commiserated with a loud series of honks.

Our Charolais cow, Daisy, took offense at the racket, hustling her bull-calf child, Tip, to the other end of the pasture. The big Charolais steer, Tad, appeared to be downright fascinated with the new ladies. His attention drove the hens to a whole new level of symphonic discord.

Thankfully, Tad eventually lost interest and the hens, after spinning around the run, found their way into the coop, where they remained very quiet all night long.

Two of the Barnevelder Hens, Looking Much More Relaxed Today

Grass Day 2012

Grass day, the first day of the year that we move horses out to pasture, finally arrived this week. It was a little different than in years past, when we put the mares in one of the big long upper fields and the geldings in the adjacent pasture.

For the first time since we lived here, we got ahead of the rapid pasture growth by rotating our cattle to the fields we'd rested all winter long. These heavy hitting lawn tractors did an awesome job of containing the bolting grass and we couldn't be happier with the results -- a perfect stand of three to seven inch horse heaven in the small, divided pasture. It's the ultimate location for transitioning our horses back to grass: each run is large enough to allow for exercise and small enough to facilitate catching the horses.

Since the protein level in grass is high this time of year, and since horse can have severe heath issues if they overdose on too much of a good thing, we rotate horse pairs through the runs for an initial time of thirty minutes. Needless to say, our good steeds are always elated at the gourmet fare and a little more than reluctant when it's time to go back to their dry lot (grassless) paddocks.

The following is a snapshot of Whisper peacefully -- and voraciously -- grazing. She's wearing a fly mask to keep insects out of her eyes and she has standing wraps on her back legs to help prevent the tendon sheath swelling that often occurs when Whisper woo hoos. Gin, the Palomino Pinto/Paint gelding, is happily grazing in the background.

Making Room for the Things You Need

It's been at least twenty years since I first admired flowers planted near the base of a rural post box. The image is still sharp. It was a vibrant cluster of California Poppies and wildflowers near Karen Zumbach's place, just outside Livermore, California.

In all the time that has passed since then, I've wanted to plant flowers like that, too. Somehow, there's always been a reason I didn't get it done: I was too busy, too tired, to occupied with things that "needed" my attention.

This past fall, as I was planting bulbs over the graves of kitties we had lost, I knew it was time for me to make room for something I needed, something I had been meaning to do for a long time.

The big bags of bargain bulbs -- Daffodils and Tulips -- were on sale at Fred Meyer as well as bulb fertilizer and bone meal. I stocked up. Lorenzo helped me with the planting, as did his son, Eric. Together, we talked and laughed as we committed bulbs and fertilizer and bone meal to patches of earth around the ranch house, along the driveway, and by the mailbox.

There is something deeply spiritual in the promise of a bulb: the planting, the waiting, the soil being pushed aside by the first leaves, the appearance of buds.

For the last two weeks, all sorts of golden Daffodils have delighted me. As of today, Lorenzo's favorites, the Tulips, are coming on strong.

Why did I wait so long to make something I valued, something I truly wanted and needed, happen? I'm not sure, but I do know that it feels good to have made room for this burst of color near my post box. Every time I pass by, these gorgeous blossoms make me smile. I'll bet I'm not alone.

Thanks go to Karen Zumbach, an extraordinary woman and rancher whose beautiful post box flowers inspired me all those years ago.

The Quest to Find "Pumpkin's" People Continues

Last Friday, a large orange tabby was clipped by a car up on Pumpkin Ridge Road. Somehow, the severely injured cat managed to drag himself to the front of our barn, where we found him.

We dropped everything and rushed the kitty to an emergency vet clinic, where he has been recovering from a broken pelvis and some major league bruising.

There was no collar, no microchip, so I've been calling the big handsome tabby "Pumpkin." As of this writing, I've yet to find "Pumpkin's" people. A door to door search, fliers at the local vet clinic and post office, and a posting with Bonnie Hays Small Animal Shelter and Petfinder.com have all been fruitless. Late this afternoon, I began stuffing mailboxes with fliers. Something tells me that Pumpkin has people who will miss him.

Please keep this guy in your prayers. He's going to require six to eight weeks of cage rest when he's released from the clinic, which could be as early as tomorrow or Wednesday.

Finding a Cat's People, The Search for "Pumpkin's" Purrson...

So far, talking to neighbors hasn't helped identify an owner for the big orange tabby that was struck by a car before finding its way to our barn late Friday night. So this evening, I'm testing the power of Craig's List. I've posted two ads with the following photos.

Tomorrow, I'll print fliers and hang them in our local post office and at the North Plains Veterinary Clinic. With any luck, "Pumpkin's" purrson will see a flier or look through the FOUND or PETS sections of Craig's List.

For his part, "Pumpkin" is totally disgusted with his incarceration at the emergency clinic. He's still in an immense amount of pain from his injuries, the biggest of which is a broken pelvis. For now, "Pumpkin" cannot get into a litter box, so those tendng to his wounds are also wiping away urine. It's a tough deal for an independent, fiesty cat like "Pumpkin," one who is used to calling his own shots.

Besides looking put out, "Pumpkin" is also doped up on painkillers. When I visited today, he didn't feel like thanking me and I certainly can't blame him. He may or may not survive his encounter with the car, but it sure would be grand to see him reunited with his purrson. Please keep praying for "Pumpkin," a cat who very much needs a miracle.

A Calf's Bath

Daisy's calf's coat always looks startlingly clean. The secret, it seems, is the frequent calf baths "Tip" receives, courtesy of Daisy and her sandpaper rough tongue.

The adult cattle, Tad, Daisy, Libbey, and Tove, like to go into the woods of the lower pasture, where they can brush and comb their coats clean by rubbing against the trees. Unfortunately, there aren't any woods in the upper pastures, so Daisy and Tad are looking a bit rumpled as of late.

Experiencing the bovine tongue is one of life's rare and wonderful interspecies encounters. It's definitely something you should do. A cow's tongue is rough enough to tickle, which always makes me giggle.

A Calf's Bath, Daisy Cleans "Tip"

Prayers for an Accident Victim, Pumpkin the Orange Tabby

Will you pray for an orange tabby cat, name unkown, found lying outside our barn late last night? The poor dear was in an immense amount of pain, the likely victim of an unintentional hit and run.

Her fur was cool to the touch and she was having trouble moving her back legs. My husband and I wrapped her in a towel and brought her into the warm barn where I laid her on the dog bed.

In less than five minutes, I had my mare, Whisper's, legs wrapped. Knowing what we needed to do, Don and I gathered up the kitty and headed for the car.

The rumble of the garage door caused the orange tabby to panic, so my hubby grabbed a cat carrier and we gently guided "Pumpkin" inside. All the while, she talked to us, occasionally crying out in what can only be described as spine-tingling cat screams. We placed a towel beneath the carrier on the front passenger seat and turned on the bum warmer, thinking the heat might help.

En route, I phoned Lisa at the Tanasbourne Emergency Animal Clinic and gave her an estimated time of arrival, fifteen to twenty minutes. Then I drove like a curious mix of heaven and hell. I didn't want to hit an animal, but I also knew that time was of the essence. All the while, I talked to "Pumpkin" and she to me. If her carrier grew quiet, I gently tapped the side until I had a response.

Lisa was waiting and she rushed the injured kitty into the back of the clinic, where the attending vet administered pain medication, performed an initial exam, and took X-Rays. The diagnosis, a broken pelvis in non-weight bearing areas, was alarming.

The doctor explained that "Pumpkin's" back end didn't seem responsive, although it may have been a function of being in shock and also being very cold -- a mere 94 degrees. Only time will tell. For now, I've left my name and number and a donation to cover part of "Pumpkin's" medical bills.

Here's what I DO know about the orange tabby. She's been hanging around the ranch for the past month or so, spending part of her time beneath our deck. I've seen her chase Sprite, our very tiny dog, and she's been chased by Lei Lei, my daughter's medium-sized dog. On at least one occasion, "Pumpkin" regally marched in front of the dogs and I and seemed very much at home, strutting an "I own this place" sort of attitude.

Several times, I've attempted to get close enough to pet "Pumpkin," but she's always kept a polite distance. Thinking back, the orange tabby has always been sleek and well fed, an indication that she belongs to someone. Furthermore, two bright surgical clips, the result of spay surgery, glow white on "Pumpkin's" X-Ray, an indication that she's more than a feral cat.

If "Pumpkin's" back legs are responsive in the next day or two, she should be able to mend completely with six to eight weeks of cage rest. If not, the clinic will humanely euthanize her. For now, "Pumpkin's" prognosis is guarded.

Before I left the clinic, I went back and checked on "Pumpkin." She was sedated and lying on a plush pillow, a blanket over her, a hair dryer type apparatus pumping warm air all around her. I gently stroked her head and promised I would do my best to find her people.

Tomorrow, I'll canvas the neighbors and see if I can locate "Pumpkin's" owner. For now, will you pray for the beautiful, brave orange tabby, the one that miraculously dragged herself from the road to the front of the barn?

It would be good to pray for the poor person who accidentally clipped this kitty, too. I'm sure they are worried and wondering about the little flash of orange that collided with their tires.

Until morning, rest and mend well sweet Pumpkin cat.

"There is something magical about saving the life of a lving thing, if you can do it. It is an affirmation of life itself, a bow to humanity, connection in a time of fragmentation, an affirmation. We can't do much, but maybe we can do this, and that makes it a sweet little miracle." ~Jon Katz

The Return of the Star Magnolia

Despite the hail storm this past weekend, the lone Star Magnolia's blossoms unfurled magnificently. I snapped this photo yesterday in the late afternoon. I love the way the plant is backlit, the light seductively wrapping around each blossom.

Duck-Aeration: Three Hard-Working Gals

The ducks of Sweetgrass Ranch are hard-working gals, running from place to place, heads tilted toward the earth as they listen for slugs, bugs, grubs, and worms. The trio -- Blue, Esmerelda, and Coco -- make a voracious eating machine... with benefits.

When there's a hatch of pesky lawn destroying Craneflies, these billed crusaders leap into the air, snatching their unsuspecting prey in mid-flight. While on patrol, they fertilize the grass and work their magic with a little duck-aeration.

Best of all, the ducks of Sweetgrass produce pastel pink and green eggs that are sought after by bakers and Asian chefs.

At Long Last, A Dry Day

It was officially the wettest March on record for the Portland, Oregon area. From our vantage point here at the ranch, the valley floor looked like one big lake.

The first weekend in April was a "ditto" with a hellacious wind and hail storm late Saturday and a fair amount of rain on Sunday, making today -- a beautiful, sunny, dry day -- a slice of heaven.

We were able to get "no spray" signs set, reflective X, O markers that let the county know we'll be taking care of the weeds on the portion of our property that fronts the main road. We were also able to work a couple of horses beneath the brilliant blue sky. Did I mention that it felt like HEAVEN?

Here's a snapshot of little Tip, who will be two weeks old tomorrow, grazing in the upper pasture.

Earlier today, Tip took a couple of big shocks when he touched his nose to the pasture fencing's electric wire. Tip's mama, Daisy, presumed that the big steer, Tad, was to blame for her calf's speedy retreat and bawling fit. She mercilessly charged poor Tad repeatedly, sending him running for cover. Hell hath no fury like a cow's wrath.

The Daily Egg Returns to Sweetgrass Ranch

In the fall, when daylight becomes scarce, our three Indian Runner ducks stop laying eggs. We could extend the season by providing artificial light, but I've found it best to make winter a time of rest and rebuilding for the girls.

Come spring, as days lengthen, the ducks again begin to lay. I found the first egg of 2012, a pastel pink one made by a duck named Esmerelda, this morning. The other two Sweetgrass ducks, Coco and Blue, lay pastel green eggs.

Duck eggs are slightly larger than chicken eggs and have a higher protein content. They are sought after by bakers -- mostly for the moist, delicious cakes they help produce -- and Asian chefs.

In the past, I've sold duck eggs to a Vietnamese restaurant and to individuals who have children who are allergic to chicken eggs.

Plucking a newly laid duck egg from the nest box, feeling the warmth, always feels a little like touching God to me. It's a marvelous experience, one I'm grateful to experience often.

Sometime in the near future, I hope to add chickens, three Buttercup hens, to our small home flock. Until then, here's a snapshot of Sweetgrass Ranch's first daily egg for 2012:

The Daily Egg, Courtesy of a Duck Named Esmerelda, Returns to Sweetgrass Ranch