Farm Fresh Blog

Today we rustled up the former show girls (and Bully) and moved them to another pasture. Even show cows go wild pretty quickly and so using a dog to move them is just easier for us.  It's easy to get complacent when moving cattle, but a recent tragedy woke us all up.  Some good friends of ours were moving cattle when she tripped and fell under the cows. One of them ran over her and used her back as a springboard.

Fortunately her husband is in the medical field and immediately recognized the signs of serious injury.  She was lifeflighted to the nearest hospital where she stayed for a very long time. We almost lost her - because of something they'd done for years without incident.

It was a wake-up call for all us around here who work cows. They are still wild animals and accidents do happen.  So I couldn't help but think of Cheryl as Other Half and Cowboy went to pen the cows.

The Job: Pen the cows. Run them through the chute. Load them in the trailer. Move them to thick, green pasture down the road.

   Dispatch Cowboy.

Holler directions as he gathers cattle. He ignores most directions but appears to understand the job anyway.

  Gather the cows.

Bring them down the alleyway.

Hold them while they settle down.

 Push them into pen.

 Close the gate.

No muss. No fuss. One man. One dog. Three minutes.

Push cattle onto trailer. Drive them down the road. Open door and dump them out.

Happy cows. Happy humans. Happy puppy.

 Thank you, Cowdog!

Yet another service provided by Barbed Wire Border Collies, Inc. Thank you, thank you very much . . .

Do you remember some time ago when a certain Someone was blamed for turning on water spigots and pulling the float valve out of the stock tank?

 "ME! That's who! ME!"

Yes, poor little tall Montoya was blamed for causing the chaos. Other Half threw a fit and said unkind things about my Fairytale Horse. Because he is smart and playful, he was blamed for the trouble. UNTIL . . .

Montoya went to summer camp (the trainer) for a month. He had been gone exactly 48 hours when I came home from work to find the well running like an exhausted triathlete. ???

I headed out to the pasture to find not one, but two water hoses turned on!

 "I'm so busted!"

 Now it might not be Musket. Chances are greater that it's Musket because he's the New Guy.  We've had Scout for 5 years and never had this problem before.

   "YEAH! What she said!"

In hindsight, Musket moved in the shortly before we moved Montoya over from my old farm. So when the Phantom Water Bandit struck, we just ASSumed that it was Montoya!  (I have to admit, I did too . . . ) 

What's that?  What'd you say, Montoya?

  "Ppppttttttttttttttthhhhhhh!"

Just returned from the ranch and had to give you a report on the new Sun Oven! 

Friends & Neighbors, that sucker works!

Picture this:

*104 degrees in the shade

(should I really say any more?)

The ranch is quite primitive. (Think "pioneer") We haven't gotten the power poles for electricity yet, and so we are running on a generator. In North Texas, our little camper can quickly become an oven in July. The air conditioner works its little heart out. Don't even CONSIDER using the microwave and the air conditioner at the same time. (blows the breaker)

It is most certainly too damned hot and dry for anything resembling a camp fire.  (Although after the shredder machine cleared the mesquite trees off the homestead lot, we have mesquite mulch 6" to 1' deep in there. If you want to collect firewood, just bend over.)

We bought one of those wooden portable cabin/barn buildings and had it built on the property. (because it was too wide to fit through the cattle guard so it couldn't roll in on a truck) The cabin/barn can be used as a bunkhouse after we get it outfitted. It can be a smashing good feed room/office later.  Since those BadBoys come in basic vanilla, we'll have to finish it out and put a porch on it ourselves. So this weekend's goal was to start putting insulation in the Cabin . . . in 104 degree heat.

Not only did we not have time to cook a meal, but God forbid, we heat up the inside of that camper.

This was the perfect time to use a solar oven . . .

Just plop it in the sun. Spread open the solar screens. Plop in a roast and some veggies. Dump the seasoning on top.

Close the lid. That's it. Nada. Nothing else.

 Go back to work.   

Turn oven one time to follow sun.

Peek at it through the glass and drool.

 A few hours later. Pull out a meal fit for hungry pioneers!

Note: that darkening on the top is not burned, but carmelization of the seasoning packet that I didn't mix into the liquid. By leaving a bit on the top, it gave a nice color. You cannot burn anything in the solar oven. The hot air is all around the food, and the liquid cannot escape. The meat is quite tender and juicy.

The whole meal cost less than $10. It used absolutely no electricity, and didn't heat up the camper at all. This meal required no energy from me except plopping the ingredients in a dish and closing the lid.

The solar oven doesn't require it to be 104 degrees outside. They cook with this on Mount Everest. It doesn't use heat, it uses the sun's rays.  It's like a crock pot that can be used outside. (you can also bake in it!) If you're worried about dogs or livestock getting in it, leave it on top of the truck.

The neatest thing is that it's basically idiot-proof. (I need that!) It's easy to carry. Easy to set up. And best of all when it's 104 outside, doesn't heat up the house!

 Yummy!

And when the meal is over, the dogs can clean out the dish!

"That's what I'M talkin' 'bout!"

With the recent rains, much to the delight of children everywhere, there was no fireworks ban this year on Independence Day. In our household, that was met with mixed reviews because although we don't participate in the fireworks festivities, we are close to many who do.

And with 8 dogs, it's a given there will be a difference of opinion regarding fireworks.

Ice - "Make the shelling stop! We're all gonna die!"

Cowboy - "We're under attack! Save the women and children and Border Collies first! In reverse order!"

Trace - "I'll be under the house until the shelling stops."

Ranger - "I'll save you! I'll save you all!"

Dillon - "GUNFIRE! Oh boy! Where's my dummy?!!"

Oli - "You people don't know what gunfire is. Back when I was in Czechoslovakia . . . "

Briar - "OOOOhhhh. . . . look at tha colors!"

The reactions are varied, but none is more amusing than Lily, the Fireworks Fiend.

Lily is noise-stimulated, meaning, when she hears a strange sound, she starts barking like a maniac. Since Other Half's hearing is leaving quickly, Lily makes an excellent hearing-ear dog for high-pitched sounds like fire alarms, alarm clocks, and the ding on the microwave.

Now Lily has HEARD fireworks all her life, but this year was the first time she actually SAW fireworks. Her reaction was hysterical. I truly wish I could have filmed it for you.

The night went like this . . .

Ran out of frappuccinos. Yes, I'm drinking again. Does this surprise you? Care to take a guess on how many frapps I drank during that whole Ferngully drama? I'm just askin'.

Decided that I MUST go to grocery store since another sun cannot rise without a frappuccino. Loaded up Lily and Trace in the truck. Lily is always my co-pilot; whoever else gets to go is up to my mood and their behavior, but Her Majesty always gets to go. Tonight, Trace was the Chosen One.

So we headed to Kroger's because they have frapps and a particular salsa I had fallen in love with, (Hazelwood's Smokey Sweet!) The local community college was having a fireworks display. What I didn't count on was that the display was right across the street from Kroger's. Everyone and his cousin was sitting in a lawnchair at Kroger's.  (groan)

I left the dogs in the air conditioning of the truck with a friend while I shopped.  They'd be safe, and we'd be outta here before the show began. What I didn't count on was that everyone sitting in the parking lot had sent a representative inside Kroger's for snacks. (Good night for Kroger's)

By the time I got back to the truck the show was well under way.  I heard the barking before I found my truck. Lily, her eyes bright with wonder, was barking like a madwoman with each explosion. Trace was hiding in the back seat.

The cutest thing was that Lily would watch the fireworks soar up into the air, and track the path in anticipation. Then as it burst, she would wag her tail and bark.  As I slow-rolled out of the parking lot, Trace climbed into my lap. Lily settled her happy ass in the front passenger's seat and stared out the window like a child seeing fireworks for the first time. Her little mouth would even make a little "o" as she watched them shoot into the air.  Lily had found another passion. She was a Pyrotechnic Puppy!

(Also titled:  How Nadine Never Left)

Despite the fact that my common sense tells me Rat snakes are good things to have in the barn for rodent control, I'm sorry, Nadine just gives me the creeps.  I'm okay with her/him at a distance, when I expect her, but surprises are bad for my heart. Therefore, every since the day Other Half assisted Nadine in her/his exit from the feed bin and she/he slitered under the hay pallets, I have just always ASSUMED that Nadine is still in the barn.

Other Half did not live under such assumptions. Out of sight. Out of mind. Not a wise way to live in my book, but he does spend less time springing away from bungee cords on the ground.

Farm chores are never-ending. Scout chose to double-barrel kick through the boards in his stall, trapping his back legs at the hock.

While kicking his way free, he did significant damage to the barn. Miraculously except for the loss of hide, his back legs are somewhat intact. The same could not be said for that wall of the barn.  And since fixing rotting boards in jungle-like heat and humidity has always been on my Bucket List, I was practicaly gushing with excitement to begin.

Monday:

Wake up looking forward to a wonderful, fun-filled day of fixing goat escape routes and broken barns. Joy, joy, thrill, thrill.

Watch Other Half begin tearing down rotting and/or broken boards. Nothing interesting here. Wander off to fix goat escape routes on my own. He hollers. Much like a child screaming, "MOM!" when you're out of sight, Other Half has a tendency to want his slaves close by so he can order his minion to do simple/unpleasant tasks. After a lifetime of this, Son has adapted to it, I don't do so well and tend to wander off when not given a task.

"I NEED you here with me!"  (Translated: "Hand me tools. I need a gopher.")

"I need to fix Oscar's hole!" (Translated: "What you are doing is boring and my time could better be spent hauling cattle panels and wire in the never-ending task of foiling goat escapes.")

"Well I need you here."

"OKAY!"  (Screamed in the tone of Alvin the Chipmunk)

Since handing someone tools is B-O-R-I-N-G, I begin to fiddle inside the barn, addressing clean-up tasks that have been bugging me, but still staying close enough to be a slave/minion.

Begin by picking up feed sacks that Other Half carelessly discards on floor. Pet Peeve - I put them in garbage or use them as trash bags in the house. What? Doesn't everyone replace their Hefty Bags with Oat Bags? Take the opportunity to smugly lecture Other Half on his messy habits. He refrains from throwing a hammer at me. It does cross his mind though.

Cautiously pick up 6 sacks. Fold and stuff them inside each other. Hay is gone now. All that remains is wooden pallets on the floor. Two Used-To-Be-Good-Before-He-Left-Them-On-The-Barn-Floor-With-Bugs-Rodents-And-Snakes horse blankets are sitting on top of a pallet. Use a hay rake to cautiously, carefully remove blankets.  Squirm and EEEk as palmetto bugs (Fancy word for Giant Freakin' Cockroaches!) scramble over and through blankets.  Other Half observes this and smirks,

"What are you afraid of? They're just bugs!  Call Lily in here and let her take care of them."

Border Collie Lily has been employed in the house as a contract killer for bugs, but I because I didn't want her involved in this particular (read: nasty, probably dangerous) activity, I had left her in the house. Other Half continues to taunt me as I cringe while watching bugs crawl in and out of blanket. I am annoyed. The minion is not happy. She is hot, sweaty, and immensely dislikes cockroaches. Move second blanket. Recoil violently across barn.

Other Half laughs.  "Nadine?"

"YES! And she's GROWN!"

  "Boo!"

This is only funny to Other Half because he is on the other side of the barn. Had he pulled up a blanket to find a 5+ foot snake underneath, he would have been richocheting off the walls too.  Although my initial reaction was less than admirable, I recovered, curious to check out the New & Now Scarier Nadine.

 Old Nadine

 New Nadine

Apparently a steady diet of mice is good for a snake.  I don't doubt this is the same snake. She is in the exact same spot Other Half released her. And after all, why leave? Nadine had a good thing going.

And here's the part where the crew mutiny began:

"Finish taking your pictures, and move her out of here."

"I'M not moving that snake!"

"Well, she's right where I need to be to repair that wall."

"That's YOUR problem!"

He stands there, from the safety of the snake-free side of the barn, and stares at me. This is a mutiny. The line was drawn in the sand. (Read: hay dirt)  Nadine is now pissed/frightened and is rattling her tail. This is smacking against the blue tarp giving a fairly nice rattlesnake impersonation. It does nothing for my confidence. I am NOT moving that snake. Other Half comes over to inspect Nadine.  Yes, she is MUCH larger. No KIDDING!

He picks up shovel she is hiding behind. Nadine is not happy. She is trying to find an exit. He tentatively pokes her with shovel. Nadine decides to slowly exit Stage Left. She slithers through the pallet toward the feed bin. As she moves we get a better idea of exactly how long Nadine is now. Yes, that is a standard size wooden pallet.

 Impressive. At this rate, the next time I stumble upon Nadine, she will be so large that I will surely faint dead in my tracks.

I can see it now: Other Half will walk into the barn to find me passed out beside the feed bin, a bucket of oats spilled all over the floor. He will ask, "Nadine?"

And Border Collie will nod.

We left Nadine safely (for Nadine) under the feed bin. I made mental note to remember to ALWAYS wear boots when shoveling out oats. Although Nadine has proven multiple times she is a peace-loving snake, bare ankles around a large (insert: ANY size) snake gives me the willies.

Can I have an "Amen" here?

Sunday, while Other Half and I were waiting for Peter to fix the air conditioner in my car, we watched his neighbor wash his giant Hummer. It gleamed black and shiny in the sunlight. Frankly the truck looked clean to me before he washed it, but then, that's just me.

As I watched the man waste an extraordinary amount of water while washing a clean truck, I wondered how many livestock troughs could be filled with that water. Other Half was thinking along other lines when he sighed and said,

"Is this what people in subdivisions do with their time?"

We often reflect upon such things when our chaotic lives are pulling us from both ends. Which brings us to Oscar's Big Adventure yesterday:

I have said before, and I'll say again, the most innocent of goats is a demonic force of its own. Goats make you appreciate sheep.  (Read: Goats v Sheep )

Oscar has figured a way out of the sheep/goat pen. I didn't worry too much about this at first simply because I seriously doubted he would leave the rest of the flock. After all, why leave the security of other goats and sheep to strike out on uncharted territory like Lewis & Clark?

Apparently only a goat can answer such a question.

Normally I turn the goats, sheep, and horses into the yard to mow for several hours before I go to work. They expect this. Things tend to turn ugly when it doesn't happen. Now here is the paradox: I KNOW this rule!  Why then, do I feel that when I'm rushed and don't HAVE TIME to turn the stock into the yard, I will have the time to deal with whatever drama they smite me with because I DIDN'T turn them into the yard?  I'm just sayin'. . .  I need to put more thought into that.

Suffice it to say that we got busy yesterday morning and informed the stock they would have to WAIT until later to get out of their goat pen. Enter Oscar. To be more accurate: Exit Oscar.

After 3 hours of running around town doing errands, we return home. I have 40 minutes to get in the shower and get ready to leave for work. We divide chores. I tend dogs while Other Half heads to the barn.  A few minutes later, he informs me that Oscar is gone.

"Something got him" he said gravely.

I refused to believe this. There was no body. No body. No crime. (This little rule has failed me regarding the disappearence of chickens and geese though.) I stubbornly began searching the pasture. I saw buzzards, but they were high and I doubted they were after Oscar. I went to the ranch next door and asked Kindly Rancher's Wife if she had seen my baby goat.

"No, but if you see a loose cow in MY yard, it's a bottle-baby calf."

Got it. She agreed to poke around her place in search of Oscar while I hiked to the Well-manicured-Better Homes & Garden house next door. Logic would say that a missing goat would be found there.

I fully expected to find Oscar in their yard eating expensive roses. He was not. So I trespassed and entered their pasture which is adjacent to ours. An aging Arabian nickered at me, but no goat. While tromping through their pasture, with the hot sun beating down on me, I thought about how many times I was late to work because of some livestock drama. I brushed a bead of sweat out of my eyes and focused on a mirage in the distance. Were those goats?

Veering toward the mirage, slowly the fuzzy image of several goats materialized on the farm NEXT door to the Better Homes & Garden House. The closer I got the more one of those goats looked like Oscar!  I didn't ponder too long on how a 6 month old goat got 1/4 mile away from home.  Once I arrived at my destination, Oscar waved at me.

Somehow he had managed to find himself with a bachelor group of billy goats. Alrightie then!  I phoned Other Half to inform him that I had located the missing member of the Lewis & Clark expedition and then proceeded to attempt to locate a farmer. No luck. No one home but goats. It appeared that this nice farmer had seen a bumbling baby goat and plopped him over the fence with his goats before something ate him. How nice.

Other Half soon joined me and we roped Oscar who had somehow managed to lose his coonskin cap somewhere along the 1/4 mile journey from our house to the frat house. Then I sat him in my lap as we tooled down the highway on the mule. The people across the street from the goat frat house watched us steal Oscar but didn't comment on it.  I made mental note that these must be misplaced city folk.  Steal livestock on OUR end of the road, and Kindly Rancher WILL stop you and not be kind.  

Since we didn't have time to find and fix the escape route, we tossed Oscar in a dog run. He immediately began to smash himself against the bars in an earnest attempt to break his own neck.  This is something else goats and sheep do to give your hairdresser more experience in coloring gray hair.

It was apparent that Oscar needed a babysitter . . . .

The babysitter was less than enthusiastic about her arrangements, but it settled the goat down enough that I got to escape myself and race to work, grateful for the peace and quiet of just one drama at a time. I can only run one death at a time at work. If another one drops, it's someone else's problem, quite unlike the farm, where ALL dramas are my problem.

On my way to work, I put a note on the farmer's door and thanked him for taking care of my baby goat. I left my name and number. (This is very important to the story!)

Other Half made a prison for Oscar in the goat pen and I found him sleeping when I returned from work. All seemed well. Until 8 AM this morning:

 My phone rings. Strange number. Pick it up to find Irate Woman accusing me of stealing her goat.  Do what?  As I listen to her I am thankful that I had publicly posted pics of Oscar on blog and Facebook prior to my alleged goat theft.  Am also thankful that Other Half is good friends with most of the deputies in this area. They know he is a lot of things, but not a Goat Thief.  He might participate in the HANGING of a goat thief, but he is not a goat thief.  With this in mind, I am able to cheerfully explain to her that yes, indeed, I DID take a baby goat from her boyfriend's pasture, but it was my baby goat.

She is angry, but listens politely to my story of Oscar's big adventure. I describe him in detail, his breed, where we got him, and why we got him. Her terse, clipped tone, calms down. As a goat owner herself, she can most certainly see the logic in this story. 

Every story has two sides; she then shares her side of the story:

She has about 40 goats on a farm about 20 miles away. Something was killing goats and her Big White Dogs had not yet been able to address the problem, so she moved some of her stock to her boyfriend's farm for safe keeping. He was not really on intimate terms with his new charges and so didn't know exactly WHAT he had in his back yard. He comes home to find my note on his door. Since he has not put a baby goat in the back yard, and he can't remember how MANY young goats were there to begin with, he contacts Girlfriend and tells her that someone (who left a name and number) must have taken a goat from his yard. You see where this is going?

The good thing is that I was awake enough to realize her mistake in believing I was a goat thief and she had goats long enough to realize that the fabled "Oscar" probably did exist. It also didn't hurt to let her know that Oscar lived at the house with the POLICE truck parked in the front yard.  That's when she had an "ah ha!" and remembered that she had once captured and returned our loose paint horse.

Thankfully this adventure didn't escalate to a Hatfields & McCoys situation. We exchanged phone numbers in the event of future escapes and all was well.

When I turned the little beast out in the yard today, I thought again about what people in subdivisions do with their time. Something tells me they probably don't wake up to phone calls from people accusing them of stealing goats. It's just a thought . . .

And one more question: if THEY didn't put Oscar in their goat pen, who did?

Other Half and I both share the same character flaw: procrastination. Part of it is that we are spinning so many plates at once that we have to prioritize certain things. People who live like this have a higher tolerance for dog hair on the floor and tall grass in the yard. They also have the ability to sleep with dogs. This is due to the aforementioned tolerance for dog hair.

Now this said, our tendencies toward prioritizing and procrastination almost always have a way of biting us in the butt. The problem being - we prioritize the wrong things when we procrastinate. For example: the air conditioning in my Toyota 4Runner.

My little putt-putt car is a 2000 Toyota 4Runner that has over 263,000+ miles on it. The only thing I do to that truck is put gas in it. My idea of maintenance is - putting gas in it. When forced by the state, I will put new tires on it, and I give it an oil change then. I do not possess automotive care skills. Other Half possesses these skills, but there is that whole procrastination thing. I have a tendency to treat my cars like I treat my riding lawnmowers -

"if it's moving forward and grass is coming out the side, it's fine. Keep goin'."

Last year there was a major hitch in the giddy-up with my little 4Runner - loud screeching under the hood. Hmmm.... sounded like a belt. (Like I would even know!) Neighbor across street heard the screech and became concerned enough (code: tired of listening to it.) to advice me to try rubbing soap on the belt.  I did. Nothing. Nada.

One of the guys at my office sprayed some fancy spray on it. Nothing. Nada.

Now although my automotive skills are non-existent, I am fairly observant and I noted that while the engine was screaming, the air conditioner would quit working. As soon as the screaming stopped, the AC would resume. I noted this. I did nothing about this. But I DID note it.

One day the check engine light came on, as those suckers tend to do and I stopped by one of those auto parts stores.

I assure you that I did this only because I cannot get the car inspected with a check engine light on. Because, as was pointed out early, "if it's moving forward, and grass is still coming out the side, it's fine. Keep goin."

The woman who was diagnosing the check engine light told me that light was caused by my oxygen sensor. While she was there, she listened to the screeching and proclaimed that my air conditioning compressor was going out. That sounded expensive.

Part Two of procrastination is COST. I'm poor. All my money goes to the feed store, so anything that looks like it will cost money (except for the health of my animals!) is definitely a lower priority. And besides, after screeching for a few minutes, it would quit and the air conditioner would come back on. Remember our mantra: "If it's moving forward . . . "

This was all well and good until last August. With a final objective scream, the air conditioner died - in August - in Texas. I had *@!* - - myself. (cannot be completed in a family-friendly program.)

So, I drove without air conditioning. Too many other things were going on. I was selling a farm. I was moving. I was buying a farm. And I was poor. So every day, I drove that sucker to work, arriving at the office, sweaty and smelling like a homeless person. This went on until cold weather arrived. (Cold is such a relative term in Texas. For those of you in Canada, substitute the word "balmy.")

I was definitely going to fix the air conditioner during the winter. But the money I had saved up went other places. (As money tends to do. It's slippery stuff!) So Summer arrived and the air conditioner still hadn't been fixed. The tires had been replaced. The oil and air filter had been changed! But I was facing another Summer of sweating because air compressors cost money. I hadn't even bothered to check how much. After all, the very word "compre$$or has dollar signs in it, so why bother?

That was until something happened.

Last week Other Half drove the jeep to get it inspected. We have a jeep too. It doesn't have air conditioning either. The AC isn't broke though. It's just that it's an off-road jeep and those don't have AC. Needless to say, OH called me at work to complain that he was hot and sweaty and wanted sympathy.  At this point I said,

"See what you're feeling now? That hot, sweaty, nasty feeling?"

He allowed as how it was a nasty feeling.

"Well that's how I ARRIVE at work every day, so I don't want to HEAR ABOUT IT!!!"

Put that way, he had a better understanding of how I felt without air conditioning. So he called a friend of his who is a whiz bang auto mechanic. His friend recommended a friend of his who used to work for Toyota for years. The man was now living his dream as a cop and doing auto repair on the side. (He probably could make better money staying in auto repair work.)  Anyway, I called Peter.

I met Peter outside a restaurant while on my hot, sweaty ride to work last Friday.  He came outside, wearing a policeman's uniform and slurping on a cold drink. He popped my hood, peeked inside, and said,

"Your air conditioner doesn't work because your belt is gone."

"Huh?"

He took a slurp.  "Your belt. See? There's supposed to be a belt there."

"Really?"

Alrighty then. This should have been a clue to Peter what he was dealing with.

So he picked up a belt on Saturday and I met him at his house Sunday morning.  Peter looked at my little 4Runner the way I would look at an abused puppy. After a while, he stopped asking, "When was the last time you had XYZ done?"

I think he got tired of seeing me cock my head like the RCA puppy staring at the phonograph.

At one point, he reached into my engine with some long tool and popped out something.

"Look at this!" he exclaimed as he shook it in excitement.

"What is it?" I was only mildly curious.

"It's a SPARK PLUG!!!" He was aghast. "I've never, in all my years as a mechanic, EVER seen a sparkplug so worn, in a car that STILL RUNS!"

He was so horrified at my spark plug that he informed me he was keeping it to show other mechanics and as an advertisement for Toyota. Alrightie then.

So three hours later, Peter had fixed my AC, tuned up my engine, fixed my accelerator, and fixed my back brakes. Then he charged me $120. He had the same look in his eye as an animal rescue person. I think he was afraid to send me back home with the car. As I tooled out the driveway, he decided that our next project would be to replace the shocks, because, 

"When was the last time you had the shocks replaced?"

"What? Those springy things?"

He bit his tongue.

I agreed to bring the car back to him when I had saved up enough money for shocks. And as I tooled down the road, chilling out with my frigid air conditioner, I was thankful for people like Peter - honest mechanics who believe there is more to an engine than "If it's moving forward, and grass is still coming out the side, it's fine."

I wonder what Peter would think of my lawnmower.

Meet Oscar!

 Oscar is a baby Boer/Spanish goat. I like him because he's also a natural muley - no horns. I hope he's fertile and throws that gene.

I'm not a big fan of buck goats, but I am a fan of milk goats. No buck = no baby. No baby = no milk. No milk= no goat milk soap.  You see where I'm going here.

My girls are Nubians, and although I prefer to breed to a Nubian buck, this is Boer goat country. Because I cannot keep the babies, they must be sold and around here, if it looks anything like a Boer goat, it sells for more money.

I like the Boer/Spanish cross because the Boer gives me a meat goat and the Spanish gives me hardiness. I started with this cross and found it to be quite trouble-free.

Last March I borrowed a buck from a friend of mine. Unfortunately, Bronco Billy had a bad habit of not staying home. Since I didn't want him teaching my other goats and my sheep how to escape, I sent him back home after only two weeks.  I don't know if my girls were bred and settled or not.

 Bronco Billy

I could just do a simple blood test, but we have already established the fact that I am lazy, thus, I chose to just wait and see.  If they're pregnant, they'll have babies in a few months, if not . . .

Enter Oscar:

By the time they come into heat again, Oscar should be settled and old enough to take care of business.

Other Half acquired Oscar yesterday when he and Lily went to help a friend gather goats and send them to market.

His friend gave him pick of baby bucks and OH came home with Oscar.  The poor little guy was not well received by our girls. They can be quite snotty. Oscar wants to be with the goats, but the sheep treat him better. I don't feel too sorry for him because the rest of the baby goats ended up at the butcher. Oscar got a name and a home. And Other Half's lemon tree . . .

Oscar should be less worried about the dairy goats and more worried about Other Half finding him with this tree!

"Whoever does not see God in every place,

does not see God in any place."

                                 Rabbi Menachem Mendel Of Kotzk

I am a lazy cook. I live by the motto -

"If it takes longer to make it than it does to eat it, it isn't worth it."

That said, I've just discovered a new way to cook!    Solar!

I know!  In a typical Texas summer, it gets hot enough to turn your seatbelt buckle into a branding iron. I started tossing around the idea of solar cooking for the ranch in North Texas. Because we haven't built a house yet, we're still living out of a travel trailer. Let me say it again,

It gets HOT in Texas!

If you're living in a travel trailer, you don't want to do ANYTHING to heat that sucker up. You can cook outside over a campfire. That's easy to do. There's lots of mesquite wood just layin' around! BUT . . . hot summers often come with a drought up there.  Drought means no camp fires because we don't want to start forest fires.

So I started looking at the Global Sun Oven and was impressed enough to try one. All the research is good. They even use it on Mount Everest. Great for camping and home use. This is a real winner in Third World countries where finding cooking fuel is a problem.

Check it out:    http://youtu.be/VvATI3yuVak

Dear Friend and her husband have one and swear by it. So I took a chance and ordered one. Got that puppy set up this morning and tried something simple. Rice.

I set it up on top of the pickup truck because a certain large gray member of the family "might" just play with the solar oven if he can reach it.

 Yes, he would!

The oven is light - only 21 pounds. It's easy to set up. Just unfold the panels, open the plexi-glass lid, put your food inside, close and lock the lid, and wait for the sun to cook your vittles!

This was sinfully easy! Just put your stuff in there and leave it alone. Not only does it not heat up the kitchen, but you don't have to worry about anything burning!  This is MY kind of cooking.  It's like a crock pot but you never have to worry about burning the house down. Uses no electricity. It reaches temps of 350-450 degrees. Not bad. You can also bake with it.

Woo hoo!  Well on my way to Green Cooking!

Note: The hardest part about cooking in the solar oven is climbing in the back of the pickup truck! People who don't have horses, sheep, and goats in the yard won't have that problem.