Monday, August 15, 2005, 17:43
Manual Labor
It's been a few years since I've had to dig any post holes by hand with a post hole digger. And after digging a deep hole yesterday for an eight-inch gate post and a not-so-deep hole for a four-inch post to tie the gate to, I'm glad I don't have to dig an entire pasture's-worth of post holes.
It's not that the work is so difficult -- it's that it's so dry it's hard to dig. Even after going down a couple of feet for the gate post, I didn't find any moisture. The ground was as hard and dry several feet down as it is on top. I had to pour water into the hole as I was digging to soften the dirt and to make it stick together enough to pull it out of the hole with the post hole digger.
And now that I know how little moisture there is in the soil, I am astounded that plants of any kind are managing to stay green.
On a more positive note, Randy and I finished fencing off the lane yesterday to keep the two pastures separate so we can put my old gelding, Kajun, in one pasture, and the new filly in the other pasture -- at least until they get used to each other and until we know how they are going to get along. I wouldn't want either one of them to end up injured.
We still have to figure out some kind of shelter for shade for the filly. I'm hoping we won't have anymore 90-degree days (although we might; sometimes it's 90 degrees or more in September) but still, she's going to need something for shade. There are no trees right in the pasture. She will have shade from the big pines across the road until about 11 a.m., but after that, the sun will make it pretty hot in the pasture without any shade.
Kajun has been without a horse companion for nearly seven years. Horses have an extremely strong herd instinct, and I know he's been lonely all by himself. I've been telling him that soon he will have another horse to keep him company but that she's only a "little girl" and that he has to be nice to her. Then again, you never know. I may have to spend quite a bit of time telling the filly that *she* has to be nice to Kajun.
SOPHIE UPDATE: Sophie has not been feeling well the last few days. I had some amoxicillan in the refrigerator from last winter, so I started giving her that Friday evening. I could tell she was sick because her eyes were getting gummed up again, she didn't want to eat and didn't want to play much and mostly wanted to curl up in the closet and sleep by herself. I am going to the vet clinic today to get some fresh amoxicillan for her. If I can keep the infection cleared up and can get her healthy, when she's nine or 10 weeks old, I'll be able to have her vaccinated for distemper. The vaccine won't do any good if she's got an active infection, though. Poor little kitten.
LeAnn R. Ralph
Sunday, August 14, 2005, 17:02
Adrenalin Rush -- Update
As it turned out, I did not go to Fleet Farm for fencing materials Saturday afternoon. After I thought about it for a while, I decided that I did not want to go without Randy for fear that I would end up getting the wrong things, and then we would have to go back and get the right things.
Randy returned from the tractor pull at 6 p.m. I had finished mowing the lawn and was gritty and sweaty, so while he fed the animals, I took a shower. Then we headed off to Fleet Farm. The store closes at 8 p.m., so time was of the essence.
While we were driving, I told Randy about MaryAnne's experience in the morning of something in the big pines getting "after her."
"Maybe it was a squirrel," he said. "They can be fierce fighters."
"A squirrel?" I said.
"Sure," he said. "If she got hold of a squirrel, maybe it twisted around and got a hold of *her* somehow."
A squirrel.
"Or," I said, "maybe it was a chipmunk."
I reminded Randy that a year or two ago, MaryAnne had come in the driveway one summer evening carrying a chipmunk by the tail. The poor little thing was trying to twist around to fight her off but couldn't reach her. I ran out of the house, yelling. MaryAnne dropped the chipmunk, and the chipmunk ran up a tree -- with MaryAnne right after it. Fortunately, the chipmunk was smart enough to get out on a small branch where MaryAnne couldn't follow him.
"Did she have any bite marks on her neck or ears?" Randy asked.
"I couldn't see anything," I said.
"Oh," he said, "I suppose not. She's got so much hair."
"Well," I said, "while all of that was going on, I didn't hear another cat yowling, it was just her, so she wasn't fighting with another cat. And I didn't hear anything else growling. And if it was a hawk or an owl, she would have puncture wounds on her back."
"If it was a hawk or an owl, she would be all torn up," Randy agreed. "But I don't think a hawk or an owl could get hold of her in the pines. It's too thick up there."
In among the big pine trees there are thousands of smaller trees, with trunks ranging in size from a half inch to about eight inches. The brush *is* pretty thick.
After we returned home, I took a closer look at MaryAnne and found a small wound on one ear.
"Maybe it *was* a squirrel," Randy said.
"Or a chipmunk," I said.
"It could have been that she was so surprised it would fight back that she didn't know *what* to do," Randy said.
"Could be," I said.
"It might be a while before she hunts any more squirrels," Randy said.
"Or chipmunks," I said.
At any rate, MaryAnne is all right, and presumably, the squirrel (or chipmunk) is all right. So, as they say, all's well that ends well.
(You mean to tell me we went through all of that over a SQUIRREL? Or a chipmunk. . .)
LeAnn R. Ralph