Where would we be without dogs? Whether it was sharing the warmth of a fire and a scrap or two with our wild ancestors, to the pampered life of a pedigreed pooch dining on the richest menu, we love and depend on our dogs.

Many a happy memory can be found in our hearts of the ‘good old days’ when we could be gone all day running around the neighborhood, perhaps with a dog in tow. In my instance it was in Etna, a small community in Siskiyou county, with our black Labrador, ‘Raven’. We would build forts in the bushes, wade through the creeks and ditches, and search for bird’s nests in dusty old barns. Her patience was wonderful, for at times we would tease her, and all she ever did was curl up a lip and turn away.

When I grew up and moved out, I have had my share of dogs. My first dog, ‘Reckless’ was a mixed cur who mauled my first sheep I ever had. After that, I became involved with stock dogs. ‘Tillie’ was the first, and by today’s standards, of poor conformation for an Australian Shepherd. With cat-feet and short coat she would not have won any awards, but that sweet dog would be my close companion for 12 years. She went hiking, camping, swimming and exploring, sometimes with her cat companions, until kidney failure took her. When she died, her longtime cat compantion ‘Fangus’ mourned her death. She had the uncanny ability to know when Fangus was out of food and she would pester me until I would feed him.

‘Shilo’ came in to my life when Tillie was still alive. She was a Queensland heeler, a blue merle with striking blue eyes. She was with me for 13 years, most of which was spent without sight, the victim of Progressive Retinal Atrophy. That little dog could still find her way all over the property, altough she lived in fear of falling into the swimming pool. She always gave it wide berth. I miss my little Shilo.

Later on, ‘Jake’ came along. Jake was an Australian Cattle Dog, a stray with no takers. He was a wild man who loved to fight and roam. I cured him of his roaming by taking him on lots of outings and also utilized a big ‘donut’ of wood attached to a long chain where he could wander about, but not get far, by dragging the donut about. After a few months of that, he could be trusted to stick by my side. He and Shilo had a lot of adventures together.

The funniest outing he ever had was up at a small pond behind my house in Shasta Lake City, which was home to a beaver. Jake spend nearly an hour swimming about trying to catch that beaver, but the beaver made a game of it and would swim leisurely about the pond until Jake would get close, then he would slap his tail and dive. As Jake would swim in circles and whine, looking for his foe, the beaver would pop up on the other side of the pond and start the fun all over again, swimming right by me and I swear it seemed like he smiled at me when he went by. It frustrated that dog to no end, but I’ve never had a better belly laugh! Oh, for a video camera!

But, time took its toll on him, as well, and this year was his last. By this time he was staying with my ex spouse, who took his death very hard. Jake was also 13 years old.

Dogs have a way of finding me, and I have rescued ten or more over the years. Thankfully I have found the owners of most, but some dogs showed up and never left. “Harley’, another Queensland heeler was found by the roadside, terribly abused and emotionally crippled. I worked with him for a year, but he continued to bite family members so with great regret I had him euthanized. People need to do their research on these difficult breeds before bringing one home. What a waste of an intelligent, clever, fast as the wind, faithful friend. Robin from Lodi, you should be ashamed of yourself. (The dog’s original name was ‘Blue’, and the owner’s name on the tag, but left no forwarding address) Shame, shame, shame.

‘Ginger’ is another one of those dogs that found me. She came to us at Thanksgiving some six years ago, a pup of three or four months, a rolly-polly thing with RottweilerX heritage, and a crescent moon on the back of her neck. I tried to shoo her away, but she looked up at me and that ‘connection’ that will sometimes occur with me and cats and dogs was made. After posting notices and running a found ad with no success, Ginger was here to stay.

During the upheaval with my crumbling marriage, in fear for my safety, I began to look for a full blood Rottweiler in need of a home. ‘Jewel’ came along in a needful time. Her person could not take care of a big dog anymore due to health reasons, and we had the room and the know how to care for the breed. We traveled up to Burney one fine summer day to get her. She became our ‘Big-Dog’ who indeed was a sufficient presence to deter any harm aimed at me.

Two large dogs are quite sufficient for my liking and for my small house, but my ex called a few months ago, despondent because he could not keep his dog due to his full time care of his father. He had brought ‘Sam’ home from a shelter, apparently abused by his former owners (what is WRONG with people, anyway?), mainly because he looked like Jake. He took Sam everywhere, even to job sites, but he was moving to the 30th floor of a condo in Emeryville, and that is no place for a cow dog. How could I turn him down?

He had already done a lot of work helping Sam adjust and trust, but it has taken some work to get him adjusted to our situation. We have had a few dog fights, he can get in and out of any gate (and in with the sheep to give them a good run around!) he rolls in ANYTHING stinky and pees on my garden! But, he is an intelligent, attentive, goofy, loving critter. He yells at me if I have been gone too long, eats my strawberries and barks at buzzards, and does the craziest ‘zoomies’ I have ever witnessed.

I’ve been through broken legs, blind eyes, illness, fights, heartache and joy. I’ve been awakened by skunky dog at 3am on my sleeping bag while camping, watched with joy as my dogs run along the banks of the lake while the boat leads them on, taught them to swim, been trained to do their bidding, been comforted by a cold nose and warm heart through my tears, and thanked for a bowl of food by a nose settled gently on my lap.  I’ve endured muddy paws, stinky fur, bloodied ears, bee-stung eyes, and nights filled with anguish during their illnesses, but I can proudly say my life has  ‘gone to the dogs’, and I love it!

Saturday, June 21, 2008. The year of the firestorm, the year that California burned mightily.

The day started out in a strange way, an early morning thunderstorm, dark, menacing clouds to the west, its skirts a roiling mass of odd updrafts, pokes and pulls of clouds like cotton batting pulled in puckers from above. The grumbling of thunder was echoing in the hills. We were all of uneasy anticipation, knowing that this could end up being a very bad thing.

With desiccated mountains, tinder dry hills and scorching temperatures, summer lightning is a bad omen, indeed. The promise of trouble was not left unfulfilled, trouble visited us and the whole state on that day.

I took a few pictures of the clouds, and then went to my Sabbath fellowship in town. While we sat in worship, the booming came closer, the flashes more intense. Rain and hail began to fall abundantly, the lights flickered. When it came time to leave the storm was overhead. As I made my way home, I drove around chunks of cedar, debarked and laying all over the road, a tree disintegrated by a direct hit!

Looking out over the bruised sky, I could see strike after strike, large, thick, bright bolts, sometimes striking three, four or five times around the same spot. Bolts of lightning came through the outskirts of the clouds, emanating from higher up in the main thunderheads and striking out of seemingly harmless thin clouds.

The storm pounded our area all day, the line of cumulonimbus never moving from their position. Now this was quite odd, because our thunderstorms usually are smaller and on the move, this garrison stood its ground and beat us with a fury.

I finally made it home, fearing the worst. All I could think of was the threat of hail. Hail does quick work of gardens and fruit trees, I’ve watched it in person, a thick dark wall approaches, the first white rocks of plant death bouncing like popcorn, growing in intensity until the roar of it fills the ears and strains the heart as it pummels hours of hard work to a pulp.

Hail! Sure enough it was on the move towards me, lightning striking closer and closer, the countdown going from nine, seven, three-second counts to instantaneous flash and crash. “Please, please let the hail and lightning pass me over!”I prayed, fervently. “Spare my hard work, my beautiful gardens!”
It was so! The hail stopped, the lightning withholding itself until it all passed over to the northeast. I was spared!

But, the fun had just begun. As the clouds passed on, and the evening approached, you could see fires dotted all over the hills and mountains. Rough, rugged, steep terrain, with the grey plumes of smoke rising in the reddening sunset, the evil just beginning. The next day, the fires had spread exponentially, and the news telling us that the state all over was burning.

The smoke has smothered us all week, thick, acrid smoke of a thousand bushes and trees. Ash began falling on the cars and lawn, delicate, intricate ghosts of perfect manzanita leaves that turned to powder at a touch. How could something so ephemeral float some twenty miles away in entirety? The north wind came up yesterday, just enough to reveal the ever encroaching line of fire, and allowing the air tankers the green light to begin casting red Firetrol on the front lines of defense.

At night we can see the fires burning, torches that seemingly float in the night sky, revealing the slope of the mountains, here and there a tree flares up, glowing orange and uplighting the smoke reaching away from the fireline. It is fascinating and frightening all at the same time, a sober reminder of what lies just over the hills.

So far, few homes have been lost, but all it will take is a turn in the wind, a careless cigarette, an inattentive driver to make it all worse. Resources are stretched thin, air attacks can’t be made in zero visibility, people wait in anticipation and anxiety for the evacuation calls.

Let us pray that weather and wind will be a blessing, that homes will be spared, that lives will not be lost and that the firestorm of 2008 becomes a quick if not enduring memory on the collective minds of our communities.

I know most folks don’t care for the buggy world of insects. Insects are someting to ward off with screened windows, something that keeps a can of Raid under the sink and a can of OFF! close by during the summer as evening approaches. Insects are what we hang the glowing house of death, the bug-zapper for on our back porches to take secret fascination at the gruesome manner of death of a particularly large bug that is having a more difficult time of its bitter demise.

Insects are a monthly visit from the pest control fellow pumping brews so toxic that he wears a spiffy white suit to isolate himself from the exposure. Insects are creepy, crawly pests that ruin picnics and spoil the pantry. And what is it with the six legs, multiple eyes and exoskeleton thing going on?

Well, if you are part of that crowd, it might find this gallery a bit discomfiting, but give it a try…insects are fascinating creatures close-up, their ornamentation and color, from warning hazard yellow/black combos in the venomous wasps to the  baubled and bright color patterned infant katydid to the bee-mimic hoverfly with wings a-whir, flying with the kind of precision that anything man-made can only envy.

Even the wasps are different from each other, some are rusty-red and yellow, but most come in the yellow and black motif, the difference being the size, I show three different ones in these images, and even a tiny black bee dwarfed by its giant cousins. One even has big green eyes.

The little green fella is what I am assuming to be an instar katydid, they go through incomplete metamorphosis so they are small versions of the adults, sometimes with a great difference in ornamentation and color.

The hover-fly is a bit difficult to see in the image, taken as she flies motionless over the creek-bed stones. They are one of my favorite little bugs, they seem the epitome of joyful flight.

The wasp with the green ball in her mouth is a great example of the insect eating capabilities these creatures offer. That is a yummy, chewed up caterpillar in her mandibles. I do my best to make sure nests go undisturbed in areas with low traffic after seeing just how much these little powerhouses hunt! Some hunt infant grasshoppers (before they get large enough to devour your garden), some hunt spiders, others just crickets. They make their brood nests out of paper, out of mud, meticulously gathered dried grass, little circles of leaf cuttings; building them in holes, under eaves, in the ground, some even build minute small necked pots as if a tiny potter had been hard at work.

They nectar on some flowers that butterflies seem uninterested in visiting, like my carrots left gone to seed, and take up the slack in the pollinating game that the bees leave undone, but the greatest reason for keeping them near is their insect control.

I am very seldom stung, always from disturbing a hidden and unknown nest. Otherwise, they fly past me on their ramblings, I stick my camera lens right up on them without distress and they are usually quite tolerant of my presence around their nests.

If this gallery gives you the willies, just wait until I complete a spider gallery. We get some really BIG ones out here in the country, some so large that you can hear them running up the walls!

I am an avid collector of cacti, I have hundreds! Some of my favorites are Echinopsis and hybrids of Echinopsis. They have some of the largest flowers around, bright and beautiful, and fleeting. Many of them only last one day! Thankfully, a photo lasts forever. After trying to grow them in pots, I decided to plop some into the dry, gritty soil of my rock garden. Wow, am I glad that I did! The collection that is in the ground (yes, they are quite cold hardy) out-did themselves this spring. I want to share some of these prickly wonders with you. Some of these plants are Schick hybrids from Huntington Botanical Gardens, the largest of the flowers are around 7″ long and can be up to 5″-6″  wide.

Check out the luscious blooms of the Schick hybrids:  http://www.huntington.org/BotanicalDiv/Schick/catalogindex.html

  Friday marked a day of dissolution, the last round of layoffs for our Creative Services department.
Those of us who cared, came together during the noon hour at the local pizza parlor, a final sendoff for the last two artists to be culled from the department.
  As I looked about at all of those people with whom I have had the pleasure to work beside for so many years, all of them looking a lot more haggard, a bit more weary, the incompetent dismantling process showing its abrasive nature, wearing away hope and comfort, I am suddenly reminded of our camaraderie and experiences together. All that went before will now pass into memory, hopefully fond memory, but knowing it will never to be repeated again. It feels like a fist has come down and smashed us asunder.
  Those who have been released have been blessed in many ways, and I hope that those that remain will find greener pastures, soon. You who are left do not deserve the treatment you receive, you deserve a trustworthy and caring employer, and a fair workload. Don’t look to corporations to be your helper or benefactor, they smile to your face but carry a dagger behind their back, perhaps for just a bit of bloodletting. I have a deep seated feeling that there are huge changes for us all, challenging times.

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  Dean, I’m sorry I never ventured out of my hermit’s hut to come see one of your theatrical productions. I do enjoy local theater, so I have no excuse. I hope you will be able to stay in the area and in touch.
  Eve, my little mouse! Your heartache wears on your shoulders like a heavy burden. The path to Righteousness and the removal of all heavy burdens has been shown to you. Take the courage to walk it.
  Sue, thanks for taking over the care and oversight of the plants I have left for my remembrance. I hope it is a green prick in the conscience to the unworthy powers that be.
  Gary, siblings together in the Son, I can only pray that the Father blesses you in a comparable way as He has blessed me. It renews and strengthens faith. Share some of your photos with me sometime.
  Bill, you’re free to do whatever your heart desires. May your time be filled with beautiful music.
  Syndi, what can be said? Nearly 27 years of friendship, through thick and thin, good and bad. How unfair that the hands of others can so casually destroy the life’s work of another. We’re only a hop, skip and jump up the road from each other. Let’s just bulldoze that hill top that blocks our direct view of each other, then we can send smoke signals during our burn-pile extravaganzas.

 My prayers are for all of us as we each take our own separate paths; that we may be encouraged, to be prospered, to be given insight and direction, and a huge dollop of Providence, so that our ‘bread’ is always sufficient for the day.

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I do not normally post individual images of folks in a public area without permission, but since this ham is used to the bright lights and stardom, I couldn’t resist showing this humorous image of our own Dean-O, doing what comes natural. You such a funny guy!

For all of you that were at the lunch, if you want a complete collection of the photos, I will burn a CD for you. There are too many to email. Let me know.

 
Look what a spoiled fruit that place has become, a browning, cankered shell of rotteness, full of worms of greed, oozing the lifeblood of faithful people, fit only for the compost pile.

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If you have missed my other entries about enduring the slow tortuous death of a good newspaper and the termination of my 26 year job,  here is a shameless plug for some of my previous rantings:

http://czygyny.wordpress.com/2008/03/28/fulcrum/

http://czygyny.wordpress.com/2008/03/17/first-up-to-the-chopping-block/

http://czygyny.wordpress.com/2008/03/11/stormy-weather/

http://czygyny.wordpress.com/2008/02/14/im-on-a-roll/

http://czygyny.wordpress.com/2008/02/12/grab-a-shovel-and-dig-your-own-grave/

http://czygyny.wordpress.com/2008/01/28/sawing-off-the-limb-you-sit-on/

http://czygyny.wordpress.com/2008/01/11/the-death-of-a-good-newspaper-the-start-of-a-new-life/

 

Wow, it has been a while since I last posted an entry in my blog! My time has been filled with fire-suppression spring cleaning, garden planting, weed pulling, and taking photos. This first photo is an Echinopsis hybrid ‘peanut cactus’ in my most favorite of ‘found’ pots, an old rusty hibachi barbecue! It’s cultivar name is ‘Fire Chief’ and it does seem on fire. I thought the container appropriate for the flaming flowers.

The weather has gone from record cold, to record heat, where I go from scrambling to cover everything tender at night, to providing afternoon shade and adequate water to newly planted vegetable plants.

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These California poppies look really ‘hot’, too. These wild flowers bloom on the gravelly banks of East Stillwater Creek.

The care of the property has been left largely up to me, this last couple of weeks. My helper’s life seems to be in a state of flux. While he is struggling to come to terms with adulthood and the pull of friends and fun, I am left to mow, spray, dig and clean alone.  It is a sad time for me, because we have been the best of friends, and we’ve gone through a lot together. At 16 his mom died, and in the next few years many more members of his family died, so he came into our lives at 20, with an unfinished place in his heart which I hope I have helped to furnish with good thoughts, memories, laughter, admonitions and direction, things that a mom and friend would be there to create. I knew that there would come a time for him to test out his wings and fly. I knew it from the start that it would be a very bittersweet time.

Our friendship will always be a treasure to me.

His wanderlust leaves me with a whole lot of chores to complete in a short amount of time, because one cannot let the clearing of the property go too far into summer-time, it has a fairly narrow time-frame to be completed. But, after a lot of long 10-12 hour days, line-trimmers, rakes, shovels, and lots of nasty stickers in my socks, I am nearly done! I am on the home-stretch!

My vegetable garden is in, its irrigation system is installed. Most of the seeds are sprouting. We’ve managed to clear and plant the whole 40′ x’70′ section, a first! Augh! Moles everywhere! Tiny grasshoppers, earwigs and aphids already at work. Good thing we have so many different types of birds about. I’ll even forgo a stolen strawberry if they will just eat the bugs.

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The last few days have been wonderful for sunsets! These three images were taken Wednesday.

The colors were so sublime and delightful, a grand show!

 Even Bear Mountain was dressed up in finery. 

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I’ve had some lovely visitors to my garden in the last couple of weeks. This tiger swallowtail butterfly loves my Firewitch dianthus. I sometimes get pale swallowtails, Lorquin’s admirals, pipevine swallowtails and monarchs for a visit, as well. I’ve had old-world swallowtails come by briefly, but they are always tattered and careworn.

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Here is my front yard as of Monday. The annual boxes are finished being planted, spent big bucks on the flowers this year. When am I going to start them all from seeds and save a bundle? The valerian is blooming white in the foreground, to the right is chrome yellow coreopsis and behind it are my Leptospermum bushes blooming pink and magenta. My trees are just now coming out of the big freeze a couple of weeks ago.

I have been invited to write a gardening column for our Shasta County’s answer to ‘Martha Stewart’, Doni Greenberg’s website! I have done two articles so far and have introduced my cartoon character ‘Stikrz’ with her very own gardening tips.

http://donigreenberg.com/2008/04/23/get-growingby-mitsy-krzywicki/

http://donigreenberg.com/2008/05/14/lets-plant/

http://donigreenberg.com/2008/05/14/stikrz-gardening-tips/

What fun!

Ah. The sweetest of springs continues…

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Today was a day that didn’t go right. People ran out of gas, tasks did not get completed, sick kids, bodies feeling age, grumpy moods prevailed.  Just as I was about to leave for a walk to the creek with the dogs, I was called away on a rescue mission. By the time I got back, some horse riders with their trailers were visiting the creek. I was going to try and beg off on the walk, but the dogs were having none of it, and milling about where ever I went, inside and out, incessant in their urgings, finally pestering me enough to venture out. Not wanting to try to control three dogs in an unfamiliar situation at the creek, I took them out into the 35 acre parcel that sits to the side and to the back of our property.

The grassy stretch belied its dry and fire prone heart. It is a droughty spring, and a feeble crop of grasses barely push up through the tangled mass of withered old straw. Gopher holes and runs crowd each other. Where are my owls, my hawks? Where are my bobcats and coyotes? This is a dangerous fire hazard awaiting the spark!

While the dogs are having a good time, I experimented with my zoom lens. I noticed ladybugs, fierce thistle thorns on prickly lettuce, and a diminutive lotus plant with hairy leaves. The blurred background paints lovely pastels, here and there is a leaf puts on gaudy colors of death.

The day got better and better as it went along, and ended on a positive note, and a few more good photos are stashed away.

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This prickly lettuce looks like Audrey II of ‘Little Shop of Horrors’ fame.

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This lotus’ flower head is about 3/8″ in size. I love the hairs.

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Here’s another cheery lady bug, hunting on young star thistle plants.

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A tripod would make these photos a bit crisper, but for now, its fun just to walk about and capture what my eye sees up close. I went many years with poor eyesight before I was given glasses, as a young girl. I think that is one reason I tend to experience life in the small things.

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This last image is of a Western Fence Lizard. I try to make friends of all lizards in my garden. I talk to them and have a ’secret’ wave of my fingers for them that seems to reassure them that I am not a predator. They let me get up rather close, as you can see. Look at those turquoise spots on her back!

It has been a dry spring here in Redding, California. I have had to start irrigating the pastures, already. I leave each of three stations on for eight hours or so, once a week. Last night came time for the east side of the pasture, the side that has the oak trees.

After another frigid 29° night, look what the sprinklers created for my enjoyment! 

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 Notice the brown leaves on the branch. An earlier frost (around 25° or so) killed many emerging leaves from my trees.

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The tip of a barbed wire barb makes a good drip point.

I sure hope these freezes are going to give way to warmer weather, very soon. But for now, we can revel in the beauty of the solid form of a lowly three atom molecule that impacts every aspect of our life. Water is the most fascinating creation next to light, as far as I am concerned.

Eighteen days ago, we brought home six little cuddly, fuzzy bantam chicks. They have recently started staying out in the chicken coop during the days, but still stay in the 55 gallon fish tank at night, since our nights are still getting below freezing. They love getting out into the larger area of the coop, they run and fly with their stubby wings when I lift them out of the carrier. They mill about, picking off the unfortunate spiders that are within reach, while the dogs look on hungrily from outside the wire enclosure. I can get in and right down next to them to take pictures, they aren’t bothered a bit. They are starting to react to the feeding call, which is important to call them in for the night.

Today I am going to give you a slide show of how they have changed, in the same order as the first post. It is amazing how they change as their first true feathers displace the downy baby feathers. 

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The first one is Blue. I am going to predict this one is going to be a boy. Look at the emerging waddles and comb. He is an all over blue-grey color.

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The real surprise is Frazz, shown below. Look at those feathers! Frazz is either a Frizzle or a Silkie, a mutant gene causes the feathers to lack the tiny comb structures that hold the sections of feathers together smoothly, and just an overall twisted growth. I am hoping Frazz is a pullet (young female), I have read that they make great mother hens. She also has extra toes, and feathers all down each leg, whereas most chicken breeds have unfeathered legs.

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Next one is Kiwi. This pullet hopeful is so named for its uncanny appearance to my shoe polish applicator. It is one of the smallest chicks, and most unremarkable in color or markings. 

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This brown one looks like he is crowing already. He is the biggest of the bunch, and Jason has named him Racer, because he had racing stripes, which are quickly changing into speckled and mottled browns.

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The second largest, and most likely a cockerel (young rooster), as well. Jason has named him Rally. He looks like he will have some beautiful markings when he is mature.

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 The last one is the smallest, endearing and most likely the prettiest one of the bunch. This one I have named Lucille, to replace my other favorite hen of the past. She will be a lovely black and white speckled cutie. She looks embarrassed, but it is just the red light from the heat lamp that must stay on, day and night.

So, there it is, another installment of Chicky-cam. When I need a lift, I go and sit in the coop and watch them scratch in the shavings, run and fly (sometimes in to each other!) and listen to their soft cheeps. I will miss listening to their tiny voices when they are big enough to stay outside all night, it is so soothing, but I won’t miss the cat-litter dust all over my house from their scratching and dust baths!

 I am blessed to live across the road from one of the few working ranches left in the area. Many a day and night I have enjoyed the lush green pastures, the emerald sea setting the stage for the mountain views to the north, listening to the staccato sounds of the impact sprinklers stretched out on long aluminum pipes, borne on big wheels. I watch as they swath hay, smelling the sweet fragrance of drying grasses that drift over my home, and the machines that deftly cruise by and load the finished bales aboard. I watch the newborn calves jump and run at the simple joy of being alive, I lie awake fearfully at night when the coyotes shriek in triumph and cows bellow, and wonder if a young life has been taken.

A few times every year, the folks that own Lassen Canyon Nursery, the Elwoods, run their cows from one pasture to another, and take it right down my dirt road. Coming on horseback with their red and white border collie helpers, they move the unwilling beasts down the road as they try and stop to take a mouthful of new grass here and there, or perhaps even try to make a break for it and run, but they never get far.

My biggest wether lamb was standing out ahead of everyone else to investigate these behemoths lumbering past his home. The rest were too afraid to step up and check it out.

I love the faces on some of the cattle, they have Angus/Hereford cross cows that end up with the most interesting patterns. They have some of the biggest and best looking cattle and bulls I have ever seen. Their bulls reside up the road from me. They sing their bovine love songs at night, an eerie, bugling sound that has an amazing range of timbre. I’ve heard some neighbors complain about the noise, but I think it is a wonderful sound to hear on a warm night.

   When one of the cows gets an idea to bug out, those amazing stock dogs are right there to take on a thousand pounds of hoof and attitude. It is obvious the cows don’t like the dogs, and just as obvious that the dogs love their work. I can see that they make the cowpoke’s job a lot easier.

S

So, at the end of my experience with this short cattle drive, they ride off into the sunset, (well, not quite late enough for a sunset-but it was into the west) but actually just a bit more down the road. I imagine they will be taking the half grown calves away to the auction and making ready for the new crop of youngsters to drop, and the cycle completes itself, once again.

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I grieve for the day when the last cattle are sold off, and the open expanse of fertile bottomland is covered over with strip malls, asphalt, houses stacked side by side, manicured lawns, street lights, the inevitable litter, noise and loss of another beautiful stretch of nature. The Northern harriers, the western meadowlarks, the savannah sparrows, the red-wing blackbirds and owls, even the coyotes will have lost another home, the skies so obscured by light that the stars, the comets and occasional aurora borealis are obliterated from our view, and the field crickets chatter will be drowned out by car noise.

I miss the patriarch, Kenny Sr., who died a few years ago. He would drive by in his big pickup, always with a smile and a wave. I am glad to see his children still hard at it. Lets hope the Elwood family find ranching to be a profitable venture for many years to come. I will hate to see this scene, shown below, to be marred and ruined forever.

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