In this corner, we have Al. Weighing in at . . . too damned much . . .

Al is a registered White Dorper ram. He is 5 - 6 years old and in his prime.

In this corner, we have Briar.  Weighing in at about 80 lbs . . .  

Briar is a Big White Dog, and all hair. She is beginning her third season and entering her prime.

Briar is taller than Al. Al outweighs Briar considerably.  Briar, however, is smarter than Al. 

"Don't get excited. That's not sayin' much."

Yesterday the sheep were near the front gate as we were driving the truck out. Other Half was opening the gate, and in his own little world, oblivious to the drama playing out in my rear-view mirror.

Al saw the open gate leading to the open highway and decided, as sheep are wont to do, that it would be a good idea to explore the "other" side of the gate, so he began walking quickly toward the highway. Briar, who has gotten in trouble for exiting this gate in the past, blocked the ram and politely told him,

"Off limits for sheep."

Al puffed up at the dog. Suddenly Briar didn't seem as big in my mirror. 

"Who says?" the ram demanded.

Briar puffed up.  Hmmm. . . Objects in mirror are closer than they appear. Briar blocked him again and growled,

"I says!"

The ram then tried to bull (ram) his way around the dog. I noted that Other Half was reading mail and thus not privy to this conversation. The Border Collies were in the house. It was up to Briar to avert this disaster.

She didn't attempt to get into a ramming contest with him, but merely stood taller, growled and refused to give ground.  The big ram hesitated.  Briar took her chance and stepped forward. Al took a step back. Then Briar backed that ram away from the gate, step by step. He finally gave up, turned around, and walked off.  Briar turned around, wagged her tail, and ambled toward Other Half, who was blissfully unaware this exchange had taken place.

If Briar lost this battle, the ram would be on the open highway and things would have gotten hairy.

"Hairy" is my middle name!"

 "Oh, gag me . . ."

Ladies and Gentlemen! Let me introduce you to our extreme sport of the weekend -

Vacuuming the cat!

This is Secret.

 Actually this is Secret's backside.

She is a moth-eaten, elderly feline with a flea allergy who lives in my office. More specifically, she lives on my desk. Unlike all the other cats in my life, who also started life in the house, Secret never chose to move outside.  Everyone else eventually decided that The Great Outdoors was THE place to be, but not Seek. No sirree!

Secret knew a good thing.  Air conditioning, central heating, what's not to love?

Over time she became too old to even consider tossing her outside where she would have to outrun dogs. It was commonly accepted that Secret lived in the house like a little princess. Actually, she is more like an elderly cranky dowager, with a long list of demands.

For instance:

Secret does not climb anything. She hides under things. Under the kitchen cabinets. Under the hutch. Under any crawl space too small for a rodent, Secret will hide.  Now mind you, she is not hunting.  Secret never has, nor will she ever be, a hunter.  (eewwww!)

When blogging, Secret WILL be sleeping/playing/scratching near or on the computer. She WILL jiggle the aircard thus interrupting internet connection. It is a given. Deal with it.

She insists upon a special kind of canned cat food - no chunks please.  Seek wants her food mushed and ground beyond all recognition. If is resembles a chunk of anything alive, do not attempt to serve it to her. She can have no red dye #2 or any other dye in her dry food. If you serve her such rubbish, she will promptly throw it up - on important papers, or the laptop.

While other creatures in the household are easily photographed, Secret is as elusive as Bigfoot.  I just scanned over seven years of photographs and she was not in one - not one!  Part of this is because she refuses to go outside with dogs and I really dislike taking flash photos inside the house.  (I have an adorable photo of Secret sleeping in a pasta bowl, but it's a 35 mm photo.  That is really one of the few good pictures of her.)  Most of the time I abandon attempts to shoot her because I end up with a fuzzy, out-of-focus face with two moon-shaped orbs for eyes.  Most unattractive.

This is about as good as it gets. Secret is not a fan of the flash.

Since we moved to the Cow Camp House, Secret has been living in my office. And since most of my things are crammed into that one room, there are lots of crawl spaces for her to enjoy.  That said, her favorite hang-out is still my desk - my precious desk.

My desk is a large antique partner desk with a green leather top. It's beautiful - when it's not covered in cat hair and dander.  I find that to be disgusting.  As she has aged, Secret has a tendency to get scabby skin around her throat  (flea allergy - one flea and she erupts into a fit of scabs and scratching) I try to keep her flea-combed and brushed regularly, but I cannot eliminate ALL of them, thus, each morning my desk is filled with cat dander.  Groossss!

So every morning I comb the cat, and vacuum my desk with a shop vac.  You see where this is going, don't you?

Yeah.  Well this morning I had the bright idea to take it one step further.  How about we just vacuum that crap off the cat BEFORE it ends up on my desk?  It sounded good in theory.

Now in the past, I've tried this before with a Bloodhound who also had flea allergies and skin problems. 

 Unfortunately I failed to take into account that when the vacuum cleaner sucks up dead skin flakes, it also sucks up folds of live Bloodhound skin, thus clogging the tube and horrifying the hound.  (sometimes I fail to think ahead)

But today, sick of vacuuming my desk for 6 months, I turned that tube on the cat. Even on a good day, Secret is a shy kitty. She will slither into hiding at the hint of a stranger.  What exactly was I expecting when I turned a shop-vac on her?

Certainly not what I got.

Secret is a big fan of petting.  She is familiar with the shop vac because it vacuums her desk each day. I began by vacuuming the desk, and petting the cat at the same time. It didn't take long before I was able to replace my hand with the vacuum cleaner tube. In no time, I was vacuuming the freakazoid cat!  Woo hoooo!  Success! 

Secret really enjoyed the vacuuming, but don't do her belly!  Head, shoulders, throat, sides, but do NOT DO HER BELLY!  Okay then. With the Dowager Rules established, we had a jolly good time.

I think I'll take up snowboarding next weekend.

Exploring new places is fun, but it's even more fun when you can experience them through the eyes of a child.  Suddenly, even the mundane becomes new and exciting.

For instance, who would have thought throwing out deer corn was so much fun?

 Lilah & Grandpa

Climbing sand dunes on the beach . . .

becomes the most entertaining activity of the hour.

Hunting for fossils with dad is much more interesting than matching shapes on a piece of paper.

And let's not forget our favorite sport!

Looking under rocks!

Lilah shares a love of this activity with her Comrade-in-arms. 

Needless to say, since this is rattlesnake country, this sport will be taken off the line-up of activities for 2012.

Sidenote:  This was Dillon's first time for free play with children. While the Border Collies are leery of small humans, Dillon has decided that he very much enjoys their company. Tiny humans are slot machines for dispensing cookies and he's all over that idea.

This morning I got a note from Dear Friend Sue in Wyoming about her Great Pyrenees being attacked by 9 coyotes.  Holy Crap, Batman!  That's a lot of varmits!  Sue was able to save her dog, who was severely outnumbered, by shooting at the critters. This left the dog "alive but emotionally shattered."  (Well I guess so!) 

I read the note to Briar and it gave her the heebee-jeebees.  She decided that being attacked by 9 coyotes was NOT her idea of fun and suggested that Sue's dog revise his employment contract.

I really wish Texas were closer to Wyoming. If so, I would send Sue my Special Varmit Control Agent - my Sniper.  This is Son.

 He could shoot the eyes off a lizard from across the pasture.  This boy was born with a rifle in his hand. I wish I could loan him to Sue.

But alas, Briar and I are helpless to assist Sue in her coyote problem. This is of particular interest to Briar at the moment since she got to meet her new lambs yesterday.

This year is her third lambing season and she seems to be getting the hang of it. I still keep her away from little babies as I have friends who have lost lambs each year to Livestock Guardian Dogs.  Therefor, I wait until the babies are much bigger before I let them with Briar. She has been watching her sheep through a fence.

This year it was evident that she has mastered the art of The Ooze. She is interested in her new charges, but feigns disinterest so as not to startle them.  They were agog at this new Ugly Sheep in their fold.

I liked this lamb's approach - attempt to buffalo the large creature into believing you're a bad-ass.

It did not work. It did, however, take the wind out of her sails when Briar ignored her attempts to bluff the big dog into leaving.

"THAT is the ugliest sheep I have ever seen!"

Get this song in your head:  http://youtu.be/CNQXQKflJNA

Since I don't spend too much time inside the walls of a church, I don't think I'd ever heard it until I watched the movie Secretariat.  They play this song as that horse is freightraining down the backstretch, carrying all the hopes and dreams of so many people with him. It is probably the most uplifting music I've ever heard.  You just can't sit still while you're listening - the music carries you away.

Now, that said, (LISTEN to it, trust me!) this was the song playing in my head Sunday morning at 7:22 am as I was walking my dogs on my new ranch. 

  The sun wasn't up yet. Everyone else was still asleep. It was 28 degrees. I donned a heavy coat, put on my beloved doghair headband and fingerless gloves, and stepped out into Heaven.  

 The bog was frozen.  While playing 'grab-ass', Dillon and Trace crashed through the ice and startled birds bedded down in the rushes. As they winged off, Dillon stopped, mesmorized.  Trace completely missed it. (Genes again)

We came to the first creek crossing. The boys raced through the icy water. I had on rubber boots, so I plowed through.  Lily, however, wasn't so sure she wanted to get wet when it was 28 degrees outside. She stood on the bank and examined the situation.

I called her and to her credit, she gave me the sweetest look - no worries, no anxiety, just total trust.

 And then she plowed right in.

  Because I hadn't filed a flight plan and no one knew where we were, I left my frappuccino on the other side so The Family would know that yes, she WAS crazy enough to cross the creek before breakfast.  Hey, things happen! Be prepared. Carry a gun and a cell phone, and leave a trail of bread crumbs. Or frappuccino bottles. Whichever is more convenient. (but be sure to pick them up on your way back!)

And so, with everyone safely on the other side, we continued our frosty walk, and THAT'S when the first notes of the song, "Oh, Happy Day" started  in my head.

"Oh, happy day!"