!@#$ the Groundhog Says

 

Shot near the Mississippi RiverReplaces :Image:Groundhog Standing1.jpg, which, although of a higher resolution, is at a much poorer angle. , in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Copyright © 2004 by April King

 

I finally got out for a ride today. First one since sometime in the middle of January, I think. I put on all my layers and it was 50 degrees and sunny when I left the house just after noon. By the time we got home, it had dropped to something lower than that, the wind was blowing and it was spitting rain. It’s supposed to be 15 degrees tomorrow night! No, that is NOT Centigrade (all our Canadian friends are probably praying for 15 degrees right about now…) Ha!

 

February is hard because you can feel spring coming, but it never quite does. Though that little Philadelphia rodent predicted an early spring, which would put it in the next couple weeks; he may have lied… or been slightly hung over from all that hibernating. I know hibernation makes me leery of shadows, too.

 

It was a great ride, though. I expected to have WWIII on my hands with a fresh horse conveniently forgetting who rides whom coupled with the nice-ish weather and my own sore muscles from the fall I had working yesterday. But it was great. Sully was just glad to be out of the mud for awhile. We even passed a funeral, complete with weird covered chairs, flapping tent and coffin. How can a horse be afraid of a pig or a cow, but something that looks like a fancy coffee table standing in the middle of a yard and smelling of formaldehyde is business as usual?

 

We also rode by some resident groundhog holes, but no one seemed to be home. I guess they all know they only have two weeks before they have to wake up and do groundhog stuff.

 

After our ride, I took Mom home and Dad put mirrors on the truck for me. On my way back out we noticed the rear tire was soft. There was a piece of 12 gauge fence wire stuck in it. I managed to get it home, where now it is now resting on three tires and one rim.

 

 

 

 

 

Meteor trace (Photo credit: alexeya)

 

 

The asteroid did it. You know, the one that didn’t hit Earth today.

 

 

 

We have a nice evening planned. We had Chinese BBQ pork and rice for supper (homemade, of course) and we have a movie to watch while the snow flies. Yes. We’re going to be groundhogs this winter weekend!

 

My Kitchen Needs Some Alone Time

If I didn’t know better, I’d say it has it out for me. A kitchen can’t have it out for someone, right? And besides, what have I ever done to it besides fill it with good smells (except for that one horrible curry fish dish that we’ve sworn to never speak of again) and keep its floors clean?

We already know that I am surrounded by some sort of force field that causes food to fall on the floor, dishes to fall out of cupboards and water to spew uncontrollably from faucets and leak out of appliances whenever I walk into the room. But tonight, this abnormal activity escalated.

We had pepperoni chicken with bow-tie pasta and broccoli. The recipe dictated that the raw chicken breasts be cut in half and then pounded thin. I got out my wooden mallet and started hammering away. It gave me the usual trouble of attempting to crawl out of the plastic wrap with every thump, but other than that, it was going well. Until all of a sudden I realized that the head of said mallet was whistling past my head en route to thudding off the ceiling.

From there, the sauce bubbled over and splattered everything within 3 feet, the sink stopped up with nasty water and wouldn’t drain, and finally, the piece de resistance; I reached to take a plate out of the drain board, and before I knew it, my biggest sharpest chef’s knife hops out of the sink and lands an inch from my sock foot.

Steve walks in to a what appears to be a murder scene without a victim, a swearing wife, and, by no small miracle, a very good dinner.

I’m kind of glad that leftovers are on the menu for a few days. I think my kitchen and I need a break from one another.

That Cranky Time of Year

Common Aerial Yellowjacket (Dolichovespula arenaria) (Photo credit: Franco Folini)

 

I kinda get where the yellow jackets are coming from. As the nights get crisper and colder, and the days shorten exponentially about every 48 hours, the yellow jackets become insanely moody and ready to assault anyone who dares cross their path. I get it. Winter’s coming. Easy life for the yellow jacket is over. If they don’t get enough food stored up right this minute, they won’t survive the winter in their underground burrows. And those burrows, who wouldn’t be cranky at the prospect of four months in the dark?

 

I also get cranky and uncommonly aggressive this time of year. It’s a combination of things. I don’t worry about my ability to survive the winter any more than any other next moment. But the prospect of four months of being cold, being stuck indoors, of wheezing and coughing every time I breathe the cold air, and keeping a horse warm/cold/fed/watered etc. in the face of howling winds and slippery roads… yeah. It makes me cranky.

 

I do enjoy autumn. It’s beautiful. But spring is my very favorite season, and the only thing that makes me tolerable to my fellow man through the autumn/winter is the sight of springtime on the horizon.

 

I detest elections and holidays and snow, and so many of the things attached to this coming time of year.

 

I suppose if I were a yellow jacket, I would be buzzing around, stinger at the ready, too.

 

That said, I did have a lovely ride this morning, and their are new pictures of it up over at Proof It. The color is beautiful. But 10 minutes of beauty isn’t enough to make me forget the four months of hell just around the corner…

 

 

The Truth About Hogs

 

Apparently, they are one of those animals that other animals have strong feelings about. Other animals either find them fascinating or horrifying. Hogs seem incapable of invoking indifference in their fellow vertebrates.

I have one of each camp in my own menagerie. We all know how Sully the Fearless feels about them. While we have managed to bring his horror down to manageable levels, he still feels it necessary to pass by them on high alert, ears up, nostrils flared, blowing snorts of warning out to any wild mustangs that may be hiding unaware of the hog threat in the ditches. Walking normally is also out of the question. We must walk up on our tiptoes so that our vulnerable belly is as far as possible from the reach of those scurrying, grunting, marauding piggies.

In the other camp is Blue. We had our first encounter with a loose hog today. I was on my bike. Since I couldn’t head the situation off at the pass, it was necessary to do damage control after the fact.

Blue has always shown an obsessive interest in the penned hogs when we pass, but it’s as though he realizes he can’t get to them anyway, so he passes on by, nose in the air. Today, though, the loose hog is right there, and Blue bolts up to him like this is The Most Interesting [Dog???] in the World. All while Blue is [attempting] a friendly dog-like greeting, the near-sighted hog is freaking out and trying to back up but can’t back up fast enough because Blue’s nose is practically glued to his snout. Then Blue decides, hey, this ain’t no ugly dog! Maybe it’s edible! and starts nipping at its shoulders. The pig is grunting alarmed exclamations and falling all over itself in its feeble escape attempts. This is even more amusing because the hog easily outweighs Blue by 100+ pounds.

I’m calling to Blue through this whole frenzied interspecial interchange while I park the bike, and he’s so totally into this ugly dog-thing he’s ignoring me. So I march right up to both of them grab his lead and give it a sharp yank, which gets his attention back on me, and the hog is doubly freaking out because now there’s a really tall one, too!

I bring Blue away and discipline him for not listening, and he’s good as gold from then on.

The hog may have had a stroke. I suppose I’ll know if there’s only two next time I go by.

 

Say What?

After a brief discussion two hours earlier about the length of the grocery list and items needed:

Steve: “I need shaving cream.”
Me: “No you don’t.” (teasing)
Steve: “Yeah, maybe I’ll just let it all grow out,” rubbing his jaw. “Like Grizzly Adams.”
Pause.
Steve: “Then I’d be Grizzly Baird.”

Dog Duty

Usually this isn’t a good thing. Unless you’re a blue heeler, or some mix thereof.

I started working with Sully over trot poles this morning, and I took Blue with me. I worked Sully in the paddock with Chuck, who was extremely curious of Sully, and his usual rambunctious self. He even attempted to mount Sully while I was cinching him up. Sully stood perfectly still, but looked around at Chuck, and then at me. His expression was something between “Whaaa-?” and “Get. It. Off.” I snapped the whip at Chuck and he cavorted away like a spastic fawn, only to return as soon as my back was turned.

I decided to just ignore him, and got down to business with Sully. About 15 minutes into our session, I realized neither Blue nor Chuck were underfoot. I looked around for them.

It took a minute to spot them. Blue had taken Chuck about half way back to the barn, and was sitting perfectly still while Chuck nuzzled and licked and sucked and slobbered all over him. Chuck would tire of that after a minute, and Blue would jump up and run to him, and they would fake left and right with one another, then Chuck would head towards me and Blue headed him off, took him back to that same spot, and they’d start all over again. It was the funniest thing.

I worked with Sully for over an hour, both on the ground and in the saddle, and that whole time, Blue “Chuck-sat.”

Because Chuck-sitting is, after all, a dog’s duty.

Couldn’t Resist

Biking vs. Baking

Biking makes you skinny and fit.

Baking makes you fat. Okay, baking doesn’t make you fat, but the need to constantly test what you have made does.

Biking takes you out of the kitchen.

Baking brings you into the kitchen.

Biking requires balance.

Baking requires literacy.

Biking dictates you honor the laws of physics.

Baking dictates you honor the laws of chemistry.

What do they have in common? Well, me, for one. But they may allow for the peaceful co-existence of one another. For instance, yesterday, I baked granola bars and a Kentucky butter cake, but I also biked almost 6 miles in total. So the granola bar and slice of butter cake surely were counteracted by all that biking.

I like my new bike. But I think I’ve decided to exchange it for a speeded one. I really thought a standard issue was all I would require, but I’m finding it extremely hard on my knees, which aren’t in such great shape anyway. Jenny was able to get our old 18 speed working for me this morning, being the mechanical whiz that she is, and I was able to ride it all the way up our steep driveway. She rode it up first, and fell off at the top. Then she leapt into the air, and all I could see was her popping over the crest of the hill, looking like Mary Lou Rettin sticking a tough landing.  It was pretty funny. But I digress.

My being able to ride that bike up the drive with no more huffing and puffing than when I WALK up the drive convinced me. So next weekend, it goes back. I might spring for a helmet, too. I’m just not as steady anymore as when I was a kid. Steve said he might even get into riding with me some, too.

Granola bars are expensive. (I’m so adept at mental gear changes, perhaps that will translate into my bike riding.) They are so expensive, that I found a recipe for breakfast cookies on line, and decided to try it out. So I made a pan of them, only instead of making cookies (a chore I avoid at all costs) I turned them into a 9X13 and then cut them into bars. They turned out really well, and have cranberries and almonds, oatmeal and a few chocolate chips in them, as well as being mostly whole wheat flour and having only 1/4 cup of brown sugar in the entire recipe. I’m going to see if they hold me between meals as well as the Fiber Plus bars I usually buy. If they do, they will be a much more cost effective option. And healthier.

As for the Kentucky butter cake, that turned out to be the prettiest cake I’ve baked in awhile. It didn’t look anything like poo. But I was too lazy to photo op it, so you’ll just have to take me at my word.

LOL

Oh my gosh; I know so many cats that are trying to kill me! Oh well, get in line.

Wordy Wednesday

I find this amusing. So glad it doesn't apply to me! (I had Sully vaccinated against the dreaded amobacter.)