Moving back to the farm has taken up almost all my time, leaving very little for creative endeavour. So, here I am, trying to squeeze past the 'hungry ghost' and start working on my blog once again.
Summer started early here in British Columbia and now our forest are tinder dry. At present there are more than 184 wildfires burning across the province and the last announcement from those in charge of fighting the fires say that we can expect up to 30 more fires every day! The provincial government has requested help from Australia and New Zealand. More fires in Alberta and 13,000 people out of their homes in Saskatchewan. The land is burning. Climate change is real.
We are a rural folk nestled in the dry forest and the smell of smoke has prompted me to began gathering those things that are most important should we be faced with an evacuation here. Prescriptions, spare eyeglasses, cash, debit & credit cards, insurance papers, photos, laptops, and whatever other valuables that come to mind that can be moved quickly. The province provides a good list that can be downloaded from the BC government site and I strongly recommend every home have a copy. The list would be basically the same regardless of the emergency be it fires, storms, or floods .
At the top of my list are our three cats and one small dog. Plans for their safety are foremost in my preparations for a possible evacuation. In any evacuation anxiety is high and it is vitally important to remain calm. The stress, fear and confusion can transfer to your pets, making it more difficult to secure them and move them to safety. Better to be prepared and hope that you may never need to put your plans into action.
I have a closed in porch and in the corner I have stacked three pet carriers with the doors open. I have place a can of cat food and dog food in each carrier and I have tossed kitty treats and fresh catnip everyday in the carriers. Our son's old cat has claimed the middle one as her own and the other two boys have taken turns trying out the top and the bottom ones. If and when we have a fire locally my hope is that they have already become so accustomed to the boxes there should be little trouble getting them into the carriers. Mr. Rutgar, our dog who is so used to going on 'car rides' would sit beside us in the vehicle.
Please be safe out there. Climate change is real and we've been warned that these events will continue to get worse.
Wednesday, July 8, 2015
Thursday, January 9, 2014
Saying goodbye to beloved pets
Looking back at 2013 and saying goodbye to two or our fur family.
Discipline, that’s what it takes, and I’ve never been able to discipline myself very well when I’ve only my self to answer to. Then there’s the New Year’s resolution that I’ve never managed to keep. This year it was to be to write on my blog on January 1st and to continue to post regularly and often to keep my brain agile. Well… January 9th isn’t too bad. So here I am, trying to keep the ‘hungry ghost’ at bay with all the many important distractions that gobble up my time and keep me from my paints, drawing pens, pencils, and this blog.
All that aside, as I was taking a quiet moment to reflect on the year past, I realized that we lost two of our fur family. Our son’s old Pitt Bull or as he says, American Bull Dog, crossed the Rainbow bridge late last Spring.
Jupiter was a fine fellow and I’ll never forget the first time I met him. Our son was recovering from a dirt bike accident. When he was discharged from the hospital, he had Jupiter returned to him to keep him company. We gathered up food and whatever else we thought our son would need and went to pay him a visit. We were met by Jupiter, “Don’t look him in the eye,” we were warned and of course, I did. I saw only a white blur flying toward me. I was launched backwards into an old easy chair with 85 pounds of dog standing over me… licking my face. “I warned you,” said our guy. “He just gets a little over enthusiastic when he meets people. He really like you!”
The next year when I was caring for Jupiter while our son was away working, I was home with the flu and feeling too sick to move out of bed except for the necessity of making occasional visits to the bathroom. When I had to make the trip I was so unsteady, I was afraid I might feint. As I started out, I was suddenly aware that Jupiter was standing against my leg as if to steady me. I lowered my hand to his strong shoulders as he accompanied and supported me both in going and returning to my bed. Jupiter wasn’t trained to do this, it was just who he was. His behaviour prompted me to research the breed and learn a bit more about them. Most of what I had been told about these dogs was stereotypical nonsense… about how vicious they are and how much stronger their jaws are than that of other breeds. I learned that despite being bred to fight in the ‘pits’ and the name ‘bull’ attached to the breed referring to their use to manage dangerous bulls by biting and clinging to the massive animal’s nose, they were also known early in the last century as the “nanny dog.” Loyal and protective, upper-class families kept them to watch after their children. The silly dog with the circle around his eye in the original “Little Rascals” was a Pitty. There are many photographs and paintings of children with these dogs lovingly portrayed as furred family members.
When Jupiter first met our little dog we had been worried that a fight would ensue but at the same time, hopeful because our little Rutgar was still a pup and would most likely not be seen as a threat. Jupiter handled it in his own memorable doggie way. He had done a large poop on our lawn and before anyone could get to a shovel to clean it up, he rolled Rutgar right through the pile, covering almost every inch of the little dog in smelly feces. Gales of laughter and somehow I had been elected to pick up the stinky pup and carry him to the bathroom to spray him off and bathe him. After that, the two dogs became fast friends, reminding me of the old cartoon bulldog character, Spike, and his little buddy, “Go get ’em Spike. You can do it, you can do it,” said the little dog, bobbing up and down . I can look back now and laugh, but at the time it really wasn’t funny.
Jupiter made me feel safe when I was staying alone at the old homestead. I didn’t worry about strangers coming unannounced to the house and although we had regular visits from neighbourhood bears, Jupiter would stand on the deck and bark them away.
It’s been months since his passing but I still see him from time to time, curled up on the sofa, or standing next to the bathtub waiting for someone to turn on the water so he could drink from the tap… until I flick on the light switch… gone. We still miss him. He will always be remembered.
Then there was our son’s cat, Opal. She was a tough little black and white Hemmingway cat, polydactyl with 6 toes on each front foot. She and her sister, Emerald, ruled this house with an iron claw. Little dogs, big dogs, and other cats were summarily put in their places or chased away altogether by Opal and Emerald. Then, one day Opal didn’t come back. We have had no word of her. It was thought at the time that she might have hitched a ride in a friends truck as she really liked riding on top of vehicles but after phoning friends, no one recollected having seen her. We fear that she must have met with coyotes, wolves, eagles or any other predator that frequents these mountain forest. She surely wouldn’t be the first to be carried off.
She made Rutgar’s life a misery, always waiting to ambush him at the most inopportune moments. He was really afraid of her and with good reason. She could keep him trapped in a room and away from friends and food for lengthy periods of time. She used her claws and didn’t hold back. She was the obvious leader of the two cats and once she was gone, Rutgar was once again able to move about without checking every nook and cranny. Emerald will threaten him from time to time, but generally keeps her distance, except to sleep in his personal bed during the day when he’s not using it.
Emerald looked awful after loosing her sister and constant companion. She had pulled out most of her hair, all that she could reach. Then we brought home two orange tabby male kittens and tufts of her hair were floating everywhere in the house. I assumed she was doubly stressed. Her sister gone and two strangers had moved in. Unbearable.
Right after the first snow of winter, Rondo climbed straight up the cedar tree closest to the house. Up up and up he went and then he realized that he didn’t know how to get down. Our son had to prop up the ice covered extension ladder and climb up to rescue the young cat.
It was only a short time after that when I noticed that Emerald’s hair started to grow back in. I saw her jump on the kittens and give them swats whenever they came near and got too pushy with her then I saw her outside half way up a tree with both Rondo and Turk. I realized then that she had taken them on as hers and was teaching them everything she knows. All three cats hang out together now and she’s the Queen of the castle. After a bit of cat-nip all three engage in a swat fest, no harm inflicted, and Emerald now has a thick velvety coat.
I will attempt to post pictures but don’t hold your breath. After many attempts to get ‘high-speed’ we are still on slow dial-up. Cheers to all!
Discipline, that’s what it takes, and I’ve never been able to discipline myself very well when I’ve only my self to answer to. Then there’s the New Year’s resolution that I’ve never managed to keep. This year it was to be to write on my blog on January 1st and to continue to post regularly and often to keep my brain agile. Well… January 9th isn’t too bad. So here I am, trying to keep the ‘hungry ghost’ at bay with all the many important distractions that gobble up my time and keep me from my paints, drawing pens, pencils, and this blog.
All that aside, as I was taking a quiet moment to reflect on the year past, I realized that we lost two of our fur family. Our son’s old Pitt Bull or as he says, American Bull Dog, crossed the Rainbow bridge late last Spring.
Jupiter was a fine fellow and I’ll never forget the first time I met him. Our son was recovering from a dirt bike accident. When he was discharged from the hospital, he had Jupiter returned to him to keep him company. We gathered up food and whatever else we thought our son would need and went to pay him a visit. We were met by Jupiter, “Don’t look him in the eye,” we were warned and of course, I did. I saw only a white blur flying toward me. I was launched backwards into an old easy chair with 85 pounds of dog standing over me… licking my face. “I warned you,” said our guy. “He just gets a little over enthusiastic when he meets people. He really like you!”
The next year when I was caring for Jupiter while our son was away working, I was home with the flu and feeling too sick to move out of bed except for the necessity of making occasional visits to the bathroom. When I had to make the trip I was so unsteady, I was afraid I might feint. As I started out, I was suddenly aware that Jupiter was standing against my leg as if to steady me. I lowered my hand to his strong shoulders as he accompanied and supported me both in going and returning to my bed. Jupiter wasn’t trained to do this, it was just who he was. His behaviour prompted me to research the breed and learn a bit more about them. Most of what I had been told about these dogs was stereotypical nonsense… about how vicious they are and how much stronger their jaws are than that of other breeds. I learned that despite being bred to fight in the ‘pits’ and the name ‘bull’ attached to the breed referring to their use to manage dangerous bulls by biting and clinging to the massive animal’s nose, they were also known early in the last century as the “nanny dog.” Loyal and protective, upper-class families kept them to watch after their children. The silly dog with the circle around his eye in the original “Little Rascals” was a Pitty. There are many photographs and paintings of children with these dogs lovingly portrayed as furred family members.
When Jupiter first met our little dog we had been worried that a fight would ensue but at the same time, hopeful because our little Rutgar was still a pup and would most likely not be seen as a threat. Jupiter handled it in his own memorable doggie way. He had done a large poop on our lawn and before anyone could get to a shovel to clean it up, he rolled Rutgar right through the pile, covering almost every inch of the little dog in smelly feces. Gales of laughter and somehow I had been elected to pick up the stinky pup and carry him to the bathroom to spray him off and bathe him. After that, the two dogs became fast friends, reminding me of the old cartoon bulldog character, Spike, and his little buddy, “Go get ’em Spike. You can do it, you can do it,” said the little dog, bobbing up and down . I can look back now and laugh, but at the time it really wasn’t funny.
Jupiter made me feel safe when I was staying alone at the old homestead. I didn’t worry about strangers coming unannounced to the house and although we had regular visits from neighbourhood bears, Jupiter would stand on the deck and bark them away.
It’s been months since his passing but I still see him from time to time, curled up on the sofa, or standing next to the bathtub waiting for someone to turn on the water so he could drink from the tap… until I flick on the light switch… gone. We still miss him. He will always be remembered.
Then there was our son’s cat, Opal. She was a tough little black and white Hemmingway cat, polydactyl with 6 toes on each front foot. She and her sister, Emerald, ruled this house with an iron claw. Little dogs, big dogs, and other cats were summarily put in their places or chased away altogether by Opal and Emerald. Then, one day Opal didn’t come back. We have had no word of her. It was thought at the time that she might have hitched a ride in a friends truck as she really liked riding on top of vehicles but after phoning friends, no one recollected having seen her. We fear that she must have met with coyotes, wolves, eagles or any other predator that frequents these mountain forest. She surely wouldn’t be the first to be carried off.
She made Rutgar’s life a misery, always waiting to ambush him at the most inopportune moments. He was really afraid of her and with good reason. She could keep him trapped in a room and away from friends and food for lengthy periods of time. She used her claws and didn’t hold back. She was the obvious leader of the two cats and once she was gone, Rutgar was once again able to move about without checking every nook and cranny. Emerald will threaten him from time to time, but generally keeps her distance, except to sleep in his personal bed during the day when he’s not using it.
Emerald looked awful after loosing her sister and constant companion. She had pulled out most of her hair, all that she could reach. Then we brought home two orange tabby male kittens and tufts of her hair were floating everywhere in the house. I assumed she was doubly stressed. Her sister gone and two strangers had moved in. Unbearable.
Right after the first snow of winter, Rondo climbed straight up the cedar tree closest to the house. Up up and up he went and then he realized that he didn’t know how to get down. Our son had to prop up the ice covered extension ladder and climb up to rescue the young cat.
It was only a short time after that when I noticed that Emerald’s hair started to grow back in. I saw her jump on the kittens and give them swats whenever they came near and got too pushy with her then I saw her outside half way up a tree with both Rondo and Turk. I realized then that she had taken them on as hers and was teaching them everything she knows. All three cats hang out together now and she’s the Queen of the castle. After a bit of cat-nip all three engage in a swat fest, no harm inflicted, and Emerald now has a thick velvety coat.
I will attempt to post pictures but don’t hold your breath. After many attempts to get ‘high-speed’ we are still on slow dial-up. Cheers to all!
Thursday, December 19, 2013
I’m back!! Yes, it’s been a very long time and so much has happened. We are now retired and we have moved back to our 28 acres in the Slocan Valley. It’s been a huge change from the big five bedroom house and the open space overlooking Kootenay Lake to being full time here, nestled against the mountain with tall trees dwarfing our little forest home.
It was a challenge to move the contents of the big house into our small three bedroom cabin. Boxes have remained unpacked for well over a year. No place to put anything and it’s been a lesson in having too much stuff. We definitely need to downsize! I sometimes look around and wonder at how we managed to raise two children here but we did.
I just had my 69th birthday and I still hope that I will be able to have a horse (or two) before I’m too old and out of shape to enjoy having them. I bought a saddle and still have a full tack box so I haven’t given up yet. My sister is raising Gypsy Vaner horses in California. They are truly remarkable and beautiful animals. She wants me to come for a visit and ride her beauties on the beach at Monterey. Sounds wonderful and hopefully I will be able to realize that dream.
Our son’s sweet old Pitty, Jupiter, crossed the rainbow bridge last year and our little Mr. Rutgar still perks up his ears whenever anyone mentions his old pal. For weeks Rutgar would run to meet our son when he returned from work, obviously looking for Jupiter to return. We drove through town recently and when Rutgar saw a pit bull that closely resembled Jupie, he cried and tried to claw his way through the window.
Our daughter was given a long hair tea-up Chihuahua. A sweet tiny guy. We were a bit worried that our 19 pound Mr. Rutgar might do him harm as he’s a bit of a bully around other dogs but to our relief, he simply doesn’t acknowledge little Angelo. We all held our collective breath at their first meeting but the only recognition from Rutgar was a quick sniff and a butt bump… done.
We have two new cats. They were 1½ years old on December 8th. Rondo and Turk are a pair of rascals. They are brother ginger cats and my experience of with orange kitties is that they are the silliest, craziest, get into everything kind of fur babies. As a result, they have their own room at night just so we can sleep without the crashing, banging and scratching. We wanted them to be strictly indoor cats but with all the confusion and activity of moving, they managed to escape into the big wide world. That hasn’t come without a price. They both developed salmonella last spring after eating wild birds and we nearly lost them. With the wet spring we had, there was an outbreak of salmonella apparently due to dirty and mouldy bird feeders and subsequently, sick, slow, and easily caught, birds. We now have the two boys somewhat trained to a routine of coming in as soon as it begins to get dark, now about 3:pm. During the day they come in to use their litter boxes. I’ve had to explain to the household that the cats are most vulnerable outside when the are focused on doing their ‘business’. We have so many predators here, coyotes, coy wolves, wolves, cougars, bob cats, lynx, neighbour’s dogs… and oh yes, eagles. One of our neighbours lost her cats to eagles and I’ve noticed that our kitties dart under our deck whenever a large bird flies overhead.
I must not forget our son’s cat, Emerald, who lives here too. She is a black and white ‘Hemmingway’ cat, with 6 toes on each of her front feet. She wasn’t pleased when these two arrived. Lots of caterwauling, hissing and clawed smacks. She had lost her sister the year before, most likely to a coyote and was the house queen but I believe, lonely. She had been pulling her fur and was nearly naked but it seems that condition has resolved itself since the boys have been here. She realized they were here to stay and it now seems she has become their mama, teaching them everything she knows. The first lesson was how to climb down a tree and that’s a good thing as the very first thing Rondo did after his escape from the house was to climb 70ft up into a cedar tree, necessitating our son climb to rescue him. Once they learned how to navigate up and down, the tree-tops became their playground, leaping from tree to tree, following the blue jays that they harassed and thus the jays teasing and harassing them. I mentioned it to our vet when we took them for their neutering. He scowled at me and said, “That is not a survival instinct.”
The whole plan with the cats, all three, was that they would help to eliminate the mice that move into these warmer digs every winter. Unfortunately, with so much stuff and yet to be unpacked boxes, the cats are unable to get to the mousy hiding places. Mr. Rutgar is a natural ratter and has been focused on the pack rat that has moved in under the bathroom. We are trying to figure out how we can open things up enough so that the cats and dog can ease their frustration and catch a few varmints.
Hopefully I will get back to my painting and drawing soon. Most of my art supplies are still packed and I’ve not been able to make space enough yet in the ‘studio’ to immerse myself in my art. Fresh canvases wait for me and new untouched drawing books are now unpacked and shelved, waiting for me to get going… and I guess there’s no time like NOW.
I will include some photos of the crazy cats as soon as possible.
WISHING YOU ALL A VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS, WARM AND JOYOUS YULE AND A NEW YEAR FILLED WITH LOVE, HEALTH, HAPPINESS AND AN ABUNDANCE OF ALL THINGS WONDERFUL. Cheers!
It was a challenge to move the contents of the big house into our small three bedroom cabin. Boxes have remained unpacked for well over a year. No place to put anything and it’s been a lesson in having too much stuff. We definitely need to downsize! I sometimes look around and wonder at how we managed to raise two children here but we did.
I just had my 69th birthday and I still hope that I will be able to have a horse (or two) before I’m too old and out of shape to enjoy having them. I bought a saddle and still have a full tack box so I haven’t given up yet. My sister is raising Gypsy Vaner horses in California. They are truly remarkable and beautiful animals. She wants me to come for a visit and ride her beauties on the beach at Monterey. Sounds wonderful and hopefully I will be able to realize that dream.
Our son’s sweet old Pitty, Jupiter, crossed the rainbow bridge last year and our little Mr. Rutgar still perks up his ears whenever anyone mentions his old pal. For weeks Rutgar would run to meet our son when he returned from work, obviously looking for Jupiter to return. We drove through town recently and when Rutgar saw a pit bull that closely resembled Jupie, he cried and tried to claw his way through the window.
Our daughter was given a long hair tea-up Chihuahua. A sweet tiny guy. We were a bit worried that our 19 pound Mr. Rutgar might do him harm as he’s a bit of a bully around other dogs but to our relief, he simply doesn’t acknowledge little Angelo. We all held our collective breath at their first meeting but the only recognition from Rutgar was a quick sniff and a butt bump… done.
We have two new cats. They were 1½ years old on December 8th. Rondo and Turk are a pair of rascals. They are brother ginger cats and my experience of with orange kitties is that they are the silliest, craziest, get into everything kind of fur babies. As a result, they have their own room at night just so we can sleep without the crashing, banging and scratching. We wanted them to be strictly indoor cats but with all the confusion and activity of moving, they managed to escape into the big wide world. That hasn’t come without a price. They both developed salmonella last spring after eating wild birds and we nearly lost them. With the wet spring we had, there was an outbreak of salmonella apparently due to dirty and mouldy bird feeders and subsequently, sick, slow, and easily caught, birds. We now have the two boys somewhat trained to a routine of coming in as soon as it begins to get dark, now about 3:pm. During the day they come in to use their litter boxes. I’ve had to explain to the household that the cats are most vulnerable outside when the are focused on doing their ‘business’. We have so many predators here, coyotes, coy wolves, wolves, cougars, bob cats, lynx, neighbour’s dogs… and oh yes, eagles. One of our neighbours lost her cats to eagles and I’ve noticed that our kitties dart under our deck whenever a large bird flies overhead.
I must not forget our son’s cat, Emerald, who lives here too. She is a black and white ‘Hemmingway’ cat, with 6 toes on each of her front feet. She wasn’t pleased when these two arrived. Lots of caterwauling, hissing and clawed smacks. She had lost her sister the year before, most likely to a coyote and was the house queen but I believe, lonely. She had been pulling her fur and was nearly naked but it seems that condition has resolved itself since the boys have been here. She realized they were here to stay and it now seems she has become their mama, teaching them everything she knows. The first lesson was how to climb down a tree and that’s a good thing as the very first thing Rondo did after his escape from the house was to climb 70ft up into a cedar tree, necessitating our son climb to rescue him. Once they learned how to navigate up and down, the tree-tops became their playground, leaping from tree to tree, following the blue jays that they harassed and thus the jays teasing and harassing them. I mentioned it to our vet when we took them for their neutering. He scowled at me and said, “That is not a survival instinct.”
The whole plan with the cats, all three, was that they would help to eliminate the mice that move into these warmer digs every winter. Unfortunately, with so much stuff and yet to be unpacked boxes, the cats are unable to get to the mousy hiding places. Mr. Rutgar is a natural ratter and has been focused on the pack rat that has moved in under the bathroom. We are trying to figure out how we can open things up enough so that the cats and dog can ease their frustration and catch a few varmints.
Hopefully I will get back to my painting and drawing soon. Most of my art supplies are still packed and I’ve not been able to make space enough yet in the ‘studio’ to immerse myself in my art. Fresh canvases wait for me and new untouched drawing books are now unpacked and shelved, waiting for me to get going… and I guess there’s no time like NOW.
I will include some photos of the crazy cats as soon as possible.
WISHING YOU ALL A VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS, WARM AND JOYOUS YULE AND A NEW YEAR FILLED WITH LOVE, HEALTH, HAPPINESS AND AN ABUNDANCE OF ALL THINGS WONDERFUL. Cheers!
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Goodbye Kaspar
The time had arrived to usher dear Kaspar to the Rainbow Bridge. Kaspar had been part of all lives since our daughter Minka and son-in-law Jamie brought him home from the vet’s just over 14 years ago. We phoned Dr. Pat first thing yesterday morning and with heavy hearts, awaited his arrival yesterday afternoon.
Kaspar’s health had been deteriorating rapidly over the past few months. He was becoming weaker and weaker and no longer steady on his legs. He had become little more than a shadow of his former self. But he was still so ‘present’ that it seemed too soon, too soon to say goodbye. Eventually, the choice had to be made. His sad eyes told us that it was time and he needed to return to the oneness from whence he came.
It had been from Dr. Pat’s rescue kennel that Kaspar had come those many years ago and it seemed only fitting that he would be here to ease Kaspar away from suffering at the end. “What a day,” Dr. Pat said. “This morning I had to put my 40 year old horse down. Had him for 20 years and now, Kaspar.”
I’ll never forget the first time I saw Kaspar. Minka and Jamie took me to see him when they were considering adopting him. Pat led us into the back where there was a single row of kennels filled mostly with hospital patients. “I think he may have a bit of coyote in him, but just take a look and let me know what you want to do.”There he stood. Cleaned up, white, skinny, long legs and the biggest feet you can imagine. “Goodness, this is not going to be a small dog. When he grows into those feet, he’s going to be a pretty big fella.” I told my young couple. “When I was a vet tech, I saw lots of pups, and this one’s got a heck of a lot of growing to do.” So, home he came on Christmas day and given the name “Kaspar” after the Slavic word meaning Court Jester…How appropriate!
He wasn’t an easy pup to take in and care for. I’ll never forget my daughter’s raging call two days later. “Mom… I don’t know what we’re going to do. We left him in the bathroom as you suggested and he’s torn the bathroom apart! He’s torn up the floor and eaten the walls. I don’t think we should try to keep him in there anymore.” I had recommended keeping him in the bathroom at night as part of his house training. The space was small and seemingly there was little damage he could do. In such a small space, we thought he would be okay and would go out dutifully in the morning. After all, he hadn’t gone potty and was holding… holding pieces of the linoleum, and drywall in his mouth that is.
The next day started with another tearful and panicked call, “Oh my God! Mom, he’s eaten the kitchen wall and torn up the floor. The living room is a disaster. He’s ripped back the carpet and there isn’t a piece of underlay left larger than one inch in diameter. I don’t think we can keep him. What am I to do?” Unfortunately my usual recommendation of having him sleep near you with a light line tied between you and him wouldn’t work as they slept in a loft only accessible by a ladder.They called Pat and described the situation they found themselves in. “Oh, he’s chewing a lot is he? Well, that’s to be expected of pups, especially pups that might be a little bit coyote.”
‘Hmm,’ I thought when I heard Pat’s response. ‘I think he knows more than he’s telling us.’
Things were not looking great with Kaspar, who was beginning to look more ‘wolf like’ with each passing day. “ Oh Mom… He’s ripped out the sofa cushions and shredded them. There’s just no stopping him. He’s ruining everything. We wont have anything left.”The next call brought, “Now he’s really done it,” Minka said. “He’s chewed up the television remote. Jamie tried to tape it back together but after he chewed it up a second time… Oh well.”
Things weren’t any better outside the house where he dug a great den under the porch stairs. He also chewed the TV cable off the place…twice, as well as the garden hose. And, he had developed a ‘wander-lust.’ The fences grew higher but unable to contain him. He could slip a chain and as we are all opposed to chaining a dog, it wasn’t an option anyway.All this time, he was growing into a magnificent animal. He was something to see looking very much the wolf. He moved with such fluid grace. We eventually learned of his origins from a Salmo breeder, and indeed he was a half wolf half husky.
Kaspar eventually stopped eating the house and endeared himself to his Minka and Jamie. Of course, he developed other doggie proclivities that both entertained and annoyed us. He was sneaky. He could disappear right before your eyes and especially so in winter. With his white coat he would slink down in the snow, move from shadow to shadow and evaporate and only return when he was good and ready. The dogcatcher made it her personal mission to catch the scoundrel but he outwitted her for years and she never got him and now she never will. He loved to ride in the back of Jamie’s pickup truck and was known around town as the ‘Drive by Barker,’ infuriating every neighborhood canine into a frenzy.
Over the past year he still attempted to chase the deer from our apple trees, but they no longer considered him a threat and bounded only a short distance away to look back to see if he was still in pursuit. While the deer went back to their browsing Kaspar would lay down in the grass to watch them.
A couple of days ago we had let Kaspar out for his morning constitutional and after a couple of hours he hadn’t returned. Worried, I went looking for him and found him lying down, asleep in the driveway with the same two deer standing quietly over him. I clapped my hands and the deer moved a few feet away and Kaspar picked up his head and looked at me with sad eyes, painfully pulled himself to his feet and followed me back to the house. Seeing him there with the deer, I felt my heart tighten. I knew then that the time had come to say goodbye... for now.
Kaspar’s health had been deteriorating rapidly over the past few months. He was becoming weaker and weaker and no longer steady on his legs. He had become little more than a shadow of his former self. But he was still so ‘present’ that it seemed too soon, too soon to say goodbye. Eventually, the choice had to be made. His sad eyes told us that it was time and he needed to return to the oneness from whence he came.
It had been from Dr. Pat’s rescue kennel that Kaspar had come those many years ago and it seemed only fitting that he would be here to ease Kaspar away from suffering at the end. “What a day,” Dr. Pat said. “This morning I had to put my 40 year old horse down. Had him for 20 years and now, Kaspar.”
I’ll never forget the first time I saw Kaspar. Minka and Jamie took me to see him when they were considering adopting him. Pat led us into the back where there was a single row of kennels filled mostly with hospital patients. “I think he may have a bit of coyote in him, but just take a look and let me know what you want to do.”There he stood. Cleaned up, white, skinny, long legs and the biggest feet you can imagine. “Goodness, this is not going to be a small dog. When he grows into those feet, he’s going to be a pretty big fella.” I told my young couple. “When I was a vet tech, I saw lots of pups, and this one’s got a heck of a lot of growing to do.” So, home he came on Christmas day and given the name “Kaspar” after the Slavic word meaning Court Jester…How appropriate!
He wasn’t an easy pup to take in and care for. I’ll never forget my daughter’s raging call two days later. “Mom… I don’t know what we’re going to do. We left him in the bathroom as you suggested and he’s torn the bathroom apart! He’s torn up the floor and eaten the walls. I don’t think we should try to keep him in there anymore.” I had recommended keeping him in the bathroom at night as part of his house training. The space was small and seemingly there was little damage he could do. In such a small space, we thought he would be okay and would go out dutifully in the morning. After all, he hadn’t gone potty and was holding… holding pieces of the linoleum, and drywall in his mouth that is.
The next day started with another tearful and panicked call, “Oh my God! Mom, he’s eaten the kitchen wall and torn up the floor. The living room is a disaster. He’s ripped back the carpet and there isn’t a piece of underlay left larger than one inch in diameter. I don’t think we can keep him. What am I to do?” Unfortunately my usual recommendation of having him sleep near you with a light line tied between you and him wouldn’t work as they slept in a loft only accessible by a ladder.They called Pat and described the situation they found themselves in. “Oh, he’s chewing a lot is he? Well, that’s to be expected of pups, especially pups that might be a little bit coyote.”
‘Hmm,’ I thought when I heard Pat’s response. ‘I think he knows more than he’s telling us.’
Things were not looking great with Kaspar, who was beginning to look more ‘wolf like’ with each passing day. “ Oh Mom… He’s ripped out the sofa cushions and shredded them. There’s just no stopping him. He’s ruining everything. We wont have anything left.”The next call brought, “Now he’s really done it,” Minka said. “He’s chewed up the television remote. Jamie tried to tape it back together but after he chewed it up a second time… Oh well.”
Things weren’t any better outside the house where he dug a great den under the porch stairs. He also chewed the TV cable off the place…twice, as well as the garden hose. And, he had developed a ‘wander-lust.’ The fences grew higher but unable to contain him. He could slip a chain and as we are all opposed to chaining a dog, it wasn’t an option anyway.All this time, he was growing into a magnificent animal. He was something to see looking very much the wolf. He moved with such fluid grace. We eventually learned of his origins from a Salmo breeder, and indeed he was a half wolf half husky.
Kaspar eventually stopped eating the house and endeared himself to his Minka and Jamie. Of course, he developed other doggie proclivities that both entertained and annoyed us. He was sneaky. He could disappear right before your eyes and especially so in winter. With his white coat he would slink down in the snow, move from shadow to shadow and evaporate and only return when he was good and ready. The dogcatcher made it her personal mission to catch the scoundrel but he outwitted her for years and she never got him and now she never will. He loved to ride in the back of Jamie’s pickup truck and was known around town as the ‘Drive by Barker,’ infuriating every neighborhood canine into a frenzy.
Over the past year he still attempted to chase the deer from our apple trees, but they no longer considered him a threat and bounded only a short distance away to look back to see if he was still in pursuit. While the deer went back to their browsing Kaspar would lay down in the grass to watch them.
A couple of days ago we had let Kaspar out for his morning constitutional and after a couple of hours he hadn’t returned. Worried, I went looking for him and found him lying down, asleep in the driveway with the same two deer standing quietly over him. I clapped my hands and the deer moved a few feet away and Kaspar picked up his head and looked at me with sad eyes, painfully pulled himself to his feet and followed me back to the house. Seeing him there with the deer, I felt my heart tighten. I knew then that the time had come to say goodbye... for now.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Mr. Big
“Flashy,” that was how he was described to us, the owners of the newly opened Circle R Spur Guest Ranch. “He’ll add a lot a color to your dude string,” promised Pete, our part-time ranch-hand who was always on the lookout for good, ‘gentle’ horses. “Okay, bring ‘em over,” I said, “and let’s have a look see.”
Later that afternoon Pete arrived in his big white pick-up with the home built enclosed horse slip on the back. Pete stepped out of the truck and walked to the rear. “Just you wait, you’re gonna like this one. He’s a beauty. I picked him up over at the Santa Rosa auction.” Pete went on dropping the tailgate and unlatching the door to the slip. The truck rocked as the horse inside adjusted to the change in the light when the door opened. Pete picked up the rope that lay on the floor of the slip and pulled. Shaking and trembling emerged a great black and white paint gelding.
“I got him for only a few hundred dollars,” which actually meant he spent little more than a hundred. “But I’ll let you have him for what I paid. I just know you’re gonna like ‘em.” Pete pushed his cowboy hat back a bit from his ‘honest’ face to look directly at me, “Well, you gonna try ‘em?”
I was still a toddler when I first sat on a horse and before getting married and opening the Circle R Spur I had worked the previous summers as a wrangler at a mountain pack station. So, having the most horse savvy, it became my responsibility to decide which horses to buy and which to pass on.
“Okay, throw a saddle on him and let’s see what he’s got.” I said, looking him over. He was indeed flashy. One of the most impressive paint horses I’ve ever seen and big, over 16 hands at the withers. His heavy neck and muscling warned that he could be a handful as he was probably a stallion for much of his ten years.
The instant I placed my foot in the stirrup, I became aware of the great power, strength and fear in the big animal. I swung into the saddle and picked up the reins. I touched him lightly with my heels and we were off -- like a rocket. I gave a quick pull on the reins and there was no response. I don’t think there is anything much scarier than being stuck on a runaway horse.
Straight for the ranch entrance and out on to Highway 20. I gave a few more pulls on the reins but to no avail. He didn’t cross the highway as hoped. If he had, I could have ridden him straight into Clear Lake on the other side of the highway and surely the water would have stopped him. Instead, he made a quick turn to the left and ran straight up the double line. I started to ‘saw’ the bit in his mouth, hoping to release the bit from his teeth and get his attention. No chance of that either. I looked up to see a Mac truck come around the corner headed right for us. No time for the driver to slow down, I knew we would collide head on. I was screaming although no sound escaped my lips just a pitiful “help me, oh lord, help me.” I pushed my foot hard into the left stirrup and pulled with all I had on the left rein. As in answer to my pleading prayer, he turned just in time on to what little was left of the shoulder on that side of the highway. From that point on it was shear cliff above the road and a twenty-foot drop off into the lake on the other. The truck raced past me with only inches to spare, my hair blowing wildly around my face as it passed. In that brief moment the big horse had paused in his mad run, fearing he would take off again, I took the opportunity to jump down from the saddle, I stood shaking in my boots, holding the reins and trying to calm myself before leading the big horse the few hundred yards back to the ranch. I turned to see my husband, our ranch hands and Pete running toward me.
“Good God girl, how did you get him stopped?” asked Jean, our cabin cleaner. “I would have been screaming my head off.” “I was,” came my whispered response.
“I thought I was going to loose you for sure on the front of that truck,” said my husband, shaking almost as much as I was.
Pete stood mute, nothing to say until we were safely back at ranch. “I guess you ain’t gonna be wanting this one.”
I don’t know what I was thinking, but I bought him anyway with a huge discount making no one really happy. I tried him again, but I didn’t use a bit choosing instead to use a hackamore with long side shanks working like a fulcrum, putting pressure on a different part of his nose and jaw. For the most part, it worked but I was always extra cautious whenever I had to ride him.
He was our Mr. Big and a bit of a bully as horses go until me met the little black mustang stallion we bought later on that same summer but that’s another story. None-the-less, he became the favorite mount of one young man who came up from the city all summer long just to ride him. There were others too who enjoyed the excitement of riding such a powerful horse. I only rode him when I had to and I never toke pleasure in riding him after that first time. Well, that’s not exactly true, he was a strong swimmer and I did have fun riding him far out in the lake. No way he could run away out there.
Later that afternoon Pete arrived in his big white pick-up with the home built enclosed horse slip on the back. Pete stepped out of the truck and walked to the rear. “Just you wait, you’re gonna like this one. He’s a beauty. I picked him up over at the Santa Rosa auction.” Pete went on dropping the tailgate and unlatching the door to the slip. The truck rocked as the horse inside adjusted to the change in the light when the door opened. Pete picked up the rope that lay on the floor of the slip and pulled. Shaking and trembling emerged a great black and white paint gelding.
“I got him for only a few hundred dollars,” which actually meant he spent little more than a hundred. “But I’ll let you have him for what I paid. I just know you’re gonna like ‘em.” Pete pushed his cowboy hat back a bit from his ‘honest’ face to look directly at me, “Well, you gonna try ‘em?”
I was still a toddler when I first sat on a horse and before getting married and opening the Circle R Spur I had worked the previous summers as a wrangler at a mountain pack station. So, having the most horse savvy, it became my responsibility to decide which horses to buy and which to pass on.
“Okay, throw a saddle on him and let’s see what he’s got.” I said, looking him over. He was indeed flashy. One of the most impressive paint horses I’ve ever seen and big, over 16 hands at the withers. His heavy neck and muscling warned that he could be a handful as he was probably a stallion for much of his ten years.
The instant I placed my foot in the stirrup, I became aware of the great power, strength and fear in the big animal. I swung into the saddle and picked up the reins. I touched him lightly with my heels and we were off -- like a rocket. I gave a quick pull on the reins and there was no response. I don’t think there is anything much scarier than being stuck on a runaway horse.
Straight for the ranch entrance and out on to Highway 20. I gave a few more pulls on the reins but to no avail. He didn’t cross the highway as hoped. If he had, I could have ridden him straight into Clear Lake on the other side of the highway and surely the water would have stopped him. Instead, he made a quick turn to the left and ran straight up the double line. I started to ‘saw’ the bit in his mouth, hoping to release the bit from his teeth and get his attention. No chance of that either. I looked up to see a Mac truck come around the corner headed right for us. No time for the driver to slow down, I knew we would collide head on. I was screaming although no sound escaped my lips just a pitiful “help me, oh lord, help me.” I pushed my foot hard into the left stirrup and pulled with all I had on the left rein. As in answer to my pleading prayer, he turned just in time on to what little was left of the shoulder on that side of the highway. From that point on it was shear cliff above the road and a twenty-foot drop off into the lake on the other. The truck raced past me with only inches to spare, my hair blowing wildly around my face as it passed. In that brief moment the big horse had paused in his mad run, fearing he would take off again, I took the opportunity to jump down from the saddle, I stood shaking in my boots, holding the reins and trying to calm myself before leading the big horse the few hundred yards back to the ranch. I turned to see my husband, our ranch hands and Pete running toward me.
“Good God girl, how did you get him stopped?” asked Jean, our cabin cleaner. “I would have been screaming my head off.” “I was,” came my whispered response.
“I thought I was going to loose you for sure on the front of that truck,” said my husband, shaking almost as much as I was.
Pete stood mute, nothing to say until we were safely back at ranch. “I guess you ain’t gonna be wanting this one.”
I don’t know what I was thinking, but I bought him anyway with a huge discount making no one really happy. I tried him again, but I didn’t use a bit choosing instead to use a hackamore with long side shanks working like a fulcrum, putting pressure on a different part of his nose and jaw. For the most part, it worked but I was always extra cautious whenever I had to ride him.
He was our Mr. Big and a bit of a bully as horses go until me met the little black mustang stallion we bought later on that same summer but that’s another story. None-the-less, he became the favorite mount of one young man who came up from the city all summer long just to ride him. There were others too who enjoyed the excitement of riding such a powerful horse. I only rode him when I had to and I never toke pleasure in riding him after that first time. Well, that’s not exactly true, he was a strong swimmer and I did have fun riding him far out in the lake. No way he could run away out there.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Wildlife Pays the Price
As of yesterday, August 19, 2011, 163 Black Bears and 4 Grizzly Bears have been ‘euthanized’ (killed) across British Columbia. In every case, their demise could have been avoided if the humans who share their environment had cared enough to keep their garbage secured.
Bears are omnivore opportunist. In other words, they’ll eat just about anything. I have seen bear scat with everything from cherry seeds and walnut shells to plastic bags and bottle caps. They’re not very discerning and when I see such ‘un-natural’ items in their deposits, it’s a sure thing they’ve discovered someone’s left out garbage.
For bears feasting on such delights, humans have become the source of easy pickings and how could you blame them? But blame them we do, and they get to pay the price with their lives.
I fully support heavy fines for leaving garbage out where wildlife has easy access. Keep it locked in the garage, porch, or storage shed until pick up day or take it to the dump yourself.
It’s become too easy to blame wild animals for our own shortsightedness. Just in the last few weeks there have been the following examples.
*A man, walking on a rural path got between a mother black bear and her 3 cubs. She attacked him… But, he had no major injuries. In fact, he had little more than bruises and scratches. It was a frightening experience to be sure but if she had intended to kill him, she could have very easily done so. She was hunted and killed in front of her three wailing and traumatized cubs. The now orphaned cubs are being raised in a wildlife rescue centre. Was it really necessary to kill this mother bear?
*A gentleman riding his bicycle on a hiking trail came upon a cougar trotting along the same path. He did the smart thing by picking up his bike, holding it above his head to make himself look larger and screamed at the cat. Curiosity held the big cat for a few moments longer before it ran off into the forest. The cougar was later tracked down and killed. Was it really necessary to kill the cougar?
*While browsing through a yard sale, I overheard a neighbor complain about the bear who had tracked garbage all over his front yard. Yes, it really was a mess but was the bear to blame? No matter, he had been assured that the ‘Conservation’ officer would be out soon to dispatch this problem bear.
*We live in Lake country and our adjoining property is time-shared between several families from the city. The first family of the season arrived with their 3 children and went about setting up their above ground pool when they saw, way off in the distance, a bear leisurely eating plums from a abandoned tree. They hurried their kids inside and looked fearfully back at the bear. Because we were nearby, we suggested we get the kids out to get a closer look at a still safe distance and use the opportunity to teach the children about the wildlife that abounds in this area and the rules for living with them safely. There was no convincing their parents, so once again, the Conservation officer was called to rid the area of the potentially dangerous bear.
There are so many of these examples and for every example there is a dead bear or cougar. At one time, they were trapped in barrel cages and relocated. Now we are told that it isn’t practical or economical to relocate problem bears. They only eventually come back. Although that may be true in some cases, it isn’t in every case. Killing them because they may be a potential threat gives them no chance at all. It not only isn’t fair it’s a kind of genocide.When will the killing stop? When there’s nothing left to kill?
Bears are omnivore opportunist. In other words, they’ll eat just about anything. I have seen bear scat with everything from cherry seeds and walnut shells to plastic bags and bottle caps. They’re not very discerning and when I see such ‘un-natural’ items in their deposits, it’s a sure thing they’ve discovered someone’s left out garbage.
For bears feasting on such delights, humans have become the source of easy pickings and how could you blame them? But blame them we do, and they get to pay the price with their lives.
I fully support heavy fines for leaving garbage out where wildlife has easy access. Keep it locked in the garage, porch, or storage shed until pick up day or take it to the dump yourself.
It’s become too easy to blame wild animals for our own shortsightedness. Just in the last few weeks there have been the following examples.
*A man, walking on a rural path got between a mother black bear and her 3 cubs. She attacked him… But, he had no major injuries. In fact, he had little more than bruises and scratches. It was a frightening experience to be sure but if she had intended to kill him, she could have very easily done so. She was hunted and killed in front of her three wailing and traumatized cubs. The now orphaned cubs are being raised in a wildlife rescue centre. Was it really necessary to kill this mother bear?
*A gentleman riding his bicycle on a hiking trail came upon a cougar trotting along the same path. He did the smart thing by picking up his bike, holding it above his head to make himself look larger and screamed at the cat. Curiosity held the big cat for a few moments longer before it ran off into the forest. The cougar was later tracked down and killed. Was it really necessary to kill the cougar?
*While browsing through a yard sale, I overheard a neighbor complain about the bear who had tracked garbage all over his front yard. Yes, it really was a mess but was the bear to blame? No matter, he had been assured that the ‘Conservation’ officer would be out soon to dispatch this problem bear.
*We live in Lake country and our adjoining property is time-shared between several families from the city. The first family of the season arrived with their 3 children and went about setting up their above ground pool when they saw, way off in the distance, a bear leisurely eating plums from a abandoned tree. They hurried their kids inside and looked fearfully back at the bear. Because we were nearby, we suggested we get the kids out to get a closer look at a still safe distance and use the opportunity to teach the children about the wildlife that abounds in this area and the rules for living with them safely. There was no convincing their parents, so once again, the Conservation officer was called to rid the area of the potentially dangerous bear.
There are so many of these examples and for every example there is a dead bear or cougar. At one time, they were trapped in barrel cages and relocated. Now we are told that it isn’t practical or economical to relocate problem bears. They only eventually come back. Although that may be true in some cases, it isn’t in every case. Killing them because they may be a potential threat gives them no chance at all. It not only isn’t fair it’s a kind of genocide.When will the killing stop? When there’s nothing left to kill?
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