Is She a 7 or an 8?

My recently divorced brother-in-law had some anonymous person subscribe him to Maxim magazine, and it got delivered to Grandma and Grandpa' house instead of his.  The other day I was over there and wanted to look at one of Grandma's cooking magazines so I pulled out a magazine.  Imagine my surprise when instead of cinnamon rolls I see a scantily clad buxom blond!  I quickly shoved that back in before any of the kids in the house could see and decided that I really didn't need to look at magazines that day.  I later shared with Brian what I'd pulled out of the magazine pile.
Yesterday, Grandma and Grandpa were over to help Brian fill out paper work on cows.  He decided to recount my embarrassing moment for them.  Grandpa asked who was on the cover, but since I hadn't spent enough time looking, I didn't know and moved on in conversation with Grandma figuring Brian could take that one.  Next thing I hear is, "she a 7 or an 8?" (while they were looking at a computer)  Whoa, buddy!
I stopped midsentence with Grandma and butted into the boys' conversation.   They quickly turned the computer to me and explained they were talking about udder scores on the cows they were registering.

Quick and Easy's the Name of the Game

Earlier this week my sister called me wanting a quick, easy recipe that her boyfriend (also a rancher) would eat.  He apparently groaned "again" when she suggested fixing meat loaf or spaghetti pie, her two go-to-meals for when he eats with her.  I'm not sure if I should feel flattered or alarmed that she knew she could count on my recipes being quick, easy, and something a rancher would eat.  I cook pretty much every night because after working hard in the field or with cattle all day my husband is hungry and wants "real" food, but I don't love standing over a stove for hours on end (I've also found that having a baby nearby considerably lessens the amount of time I have for cooking).
I thought I'd share a recipe each week with all of you in case you're looking for something that's a home cooked meal but not a whole afternoon.
Here's the meal I suggested to my sister (and her boyfriend loved it).

Pork Chops with Cream of Mushroom Soup
Put your pork chops in a greased pan.  Cover with a can of cream of mushroom soup.  Cover and bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes. (Yes, it's really that easy!)  If I'm feeling froggy, I like to put a little chopped onion and garlic, but it's just as good without it.  This can be eaten on it's own or over garlic buttered noodles or rice.

Beer Bread

3 c. self rising flour
3 tbls. brown sugar
1/2 t. onion or garlic powder (whichever you prefer or have)
1 (12 oz) beer
1/4 c. melted butter
Mix first 3 ingredients. Pour in beer and mix until moist. Put in bread pan. Pour butter over top.
Bake 375 degrees for 45-50 minutes.  ( You can leave out the onion/garlic powder if you want)  Green chilies, jalapenos, cheese, etc. can be added to this also.

Corn on the Cob
Boil 20 minutes in slightly salty water!

The Line Has Been Crossed

I'll do a lot of things for my husband, but there are a few things that I just won't have anything to do with.  Last night, he crossed one of those lines in the sand when he came home covered in afterbirth, poop, and who knows what all else.
It was nine o'clock, and I was making supper when he arrived home.  I knew from a previous text message that the day had not gone well, and that they'd had to pull a calf from a cow that was brought in from another ranch and was not the calm, easy-going type we keep around.  I did not realize what he would look like until he walked in.
The calf was backwards so they had to hook the calf pullers (chains and a bar that hook to the calf and then it's pulled out by force). This cow did not want to be cornered and helped.  She took off across the pasture, escaping every time they tried to herd her in.  When they did get her surrounded and tried hooking up the equipment, she decided to take Brian as he was in her way to freedom.  Her long horns and glistening hooves headed straight for him.  Realizing she was not stopping, he dove to the side but was slogged down by mud and manure.  Thankfully she just wanted by and did not hurt him other than stepping on the back of his leg pushing it further into the smelly muck.
Once they finally had the calf on the ground my lovely husband had to pick it up to get the fluid out of it's lungs because it was not breathing correctly.  In the process, he became covered in afterbirth.
I immediately sent him to the shower, and I hear the burn barrel calling those clothes. Disgusting!!!!!

Rent-a-Husband

Anyone have a husband for rent?  I'm looking for someone with lots of spare time, good with lawn mowers and weed eaters, good at building things, handy at taking things apart and putting them back together, and did I mention time.  My honey-do list continues to grow, but my poor husband is never home to do it.
My husband fits all of the criteria above except the time part.  Most women have husbands with nine to five jobs, and when their home on evenings and weekends, they can work on household and yard projects.  When you're married to a rancher, that's just not the case.  He leaves by eight in the morning for the ranch (earlier if he's baling) and doesn't get home until around eight in the evening (it can be much later depending on what is going on), and by the time he gets home, he's usually pooped out.  With harvest coming up, it's doubtful I'll see him awake more than an hour maybe two at the most.  There are also no weekends off.  Farm ground and cattle don't count one day more special than the others.  The running joke is "put it on my list".  The problem is the man's going to have to take a couple months off from the ranch to accomplish all of it at this point.
So if you know a deck buildin', basement finishin', weed whackin', chicken house paintin', baby gate hangin', dish washer fixin' kind of a guy laying around let me know.  I'll put him to work!

Like Waking the Dead

My husband can sleep through anything, ANYTHING.  I've seen good sleepers before, but this man should be studied for his ability to snooze right through conversations, babies crying, dogs barking, and trips to the ER.
He snores something awful when laying on his back and last night when I asked him to roll over, his response was "who me?"
No the other snoring man in my bed.  Seriously!  This morning he didn't remember any of this conversation, but that doesn't surprise me.  We have a serious coyote problem, and our outdoor dogs run by our bedroom windows barking their heads off; he doesn't even skip a breath.  Our daughter could have been up several times in the night, and he would tell you she'd slept all night long, but my favorite is the night I had to take my sister to the emergency room.
I had fixed cherry covered pork chops for supper, and Kelli had said it felt like she couldn't swallow.  She was puking up anything she ate or drank after that which was very concerning, but she said it had happened before and always went away so she didn't want to go to the hospital.  She thought she was doing better at bed time so we all went to bed, but about midnight, she was still having problems and knew she needed to have it looked at.  She knocked on our door which sent our inside dog into a frenzy which in turn set her dogs to barking.  I got up, turned on lights, talked to her, and then we called into the emergency room to let them know we were coming.  Brian didn't get out of bed, but I just thought he didn't think he could help. No, no....he was asleep.  I went in to let him know we were leaving; I leaned over, told him.  No acknowledgement.  Shook him and told him we were going to the ER.  Up he jumped! "What? Why?"  Who sleeps through all that racket and lights?

*Kelli was fine.  She had fibers growing around her esophagus which were not allowing food through, but once she had them removed, she was as good as new.

It's All in the Timing

You know that cow I was watching in an earlier post?....her saga continues.
Yesterday, my husband called to get information on when the egg donor cow and the embryo recipient cows needed to be up there, but because Nebraska Bull Service is on central time, he didn't get them called until after hours.  When they returned his call this morning, we were getting ready to go into the doctor's office for our daughter's sixth month check-up and shots.  He gave them the dates of her heat cycle, and after they did some figuring, they informed him that the recipient females needed hormone shots TODAY in McCook, Nebraska.
At that point, the twitterpation started.  Brian was no longer focused on our daughter being in the 97th percentile in weight (chunky monkey!) or how many times the poor little thing was being stuck.  He immediately got on the phone to his dad to organize trailers and the rounding up of the help.  The animals didn't have all the paperwork for crossing state lines filled out so he hurriedly called the vet.  The vet informed him that she had all the shots they would need for today if he wanted her to give them, but he needed to be there by 2:30 central.  Of course that seemed like a better idea than trying to get cows in, loaded, and to Nebraska before closing time, but it would need to be slightly more rushed.
As soon as Gracelyn's appointment was done, we rushed for home so Brian could help finish loading up and drive one of the trailers up.  Unfortunately, there were problems getting help and trailers hooked up so when we arrived, there were cows still in the pasture and no trailers in sight.  After pacing a hole through the carpet, they finally arrived two trailers, three trucks, a four-wheeler, and alfalfa bales in tow.
The first set of cows loaded fine and took off for the vet's and only a little late, but the next load wasn't so easy.  Grandpa bought a new trailer that they found is higher than the cattle like to step up into so it took pushing, prodding, and a lot of grumbling.  The poop and the pee were flying; clothes, boots, and even faces were covered.
I'm not sure what the vet will think when they arrive, but they're on there way!

Three years and Counting

Today's the three year anniversary of the day Brian and I took our vows so I think it's appropriate to share how it all started with three cow hearts, five anatomy and physiology students, and 30 fifth graders.
After studying the heart in science, the other fifth grade teacher decided to invite the high schoolers down to do a heart dissection for both of our classes.  Brian was their fearless leader!
He and his students walked in with trays, gloves, and of course the hearts (not every girl can say got 3 hearts on her first meeting).  His class proceeded to lead the fifth grade students through the valves, aortas, chambers, and veins.  There was lots of "yucking" and grossing out as they stuck their gloved fingers into the hearts.  All the while, I kept wondering what the chances were that the cute teacher was available.
After the kids were calmed down from the "coolest science lesson EVER", the gloves thrown out, and the desks disinfected, I emailed Brian to see if I could thank him by taking him to dinner.  He replied back that he would love to!  And that my friends is how our story began!

How did you meet your spouse/boyfriend/girlfriend?

I Picked a Good One

I grew up with a great dad.  He played with us, took us fishing, and worked hard to provide for us so when it came time for me to pick a husband and future father to our children, I had a great role model.
Dads are such important role models in kids' lives; every year in my classroom I see kids who will grow up to be strong, confident, and hard working because of the role their fathers play.
My daughter and future children are so blessed.  Brian is an amazing father! Every morning he gets up at 5:30 to give Gracelyn her bottle, changes her, and dress her for the day (this may not seem extra loving, but if you know how much he likes to sleep until 9:00, you understand).  He loves laying on the floor playing silly games, explaining cows and pigs, talking about field work, and telling Gracelyn all the things she going to get to help him with.  He can't wait to raise 4-H animals with her, play summer softball, and take her to bull sales.  I love that he loves spending time with Gracelyn and that he can't wait to teach her everything he can.
Happy Father's Day to all the dads!

What a Morning

I'm always leery about what's coming next when my husband calls and asks, "wanna hear about my day?" It's usually cringe worthy and gives me something new to worry about.  There's been three-wheeler accidents, lots of cow run-ins, several electrical problems, equipment malfunctions, and a variety of other very dangerous things. This time it happened to be "I put out three fires in the tractor cab and got chased by a sick skunk."  This all happened before lunch.

Our equipment is old and provides hair-raising moments on a regular basis, but it really gives you the warm fuzzies when your husband has to put out electrical fires in the tractor he's baling with.  Apparently the wire sparks and causes little fires.  It had only been doing it once in a great while so they left it in lieu of fixing bigger and more problematic issues.  It appears that the wire got tired of waiting until they had time to fix it.  Brian put out the first one no biggie.  The second time he thought he'd move it up the list, and by the third time he decided it was time.   They now think they have it fixed for good.  I guess we'll see the next time he goes to bale.

While they were working on the tractor, they spotted a sick skunk.  Unfortunately, they didn't have a rifle, but since it was of a good distance they decided not to worry about it.    After working for awhile, crawling inside the cab, under the tractor, and poking around to get the wire fixed, Brian noticed a noise; he looked up.  There was the skunk investigating what was going on.  Brian's brother was under the tractor so Brian very calmly (or at least that's what he told me) alerted him that it was time to get out from under the tractor.  His brother was irritated because he wasn't done with whatever job he was doing until he looked up and saw sickly skunk near the tire.  Both men took off!

What does your husband do at his job that you'd rather not hear about?

Beautiful Baby Girl

 This post is to introduce our daughter.  It is an emotional post for me, but after reading some new research on new testing for down syndrome, I want to share our story through my eyes.
On December 14th, our little miracle arrived into our world bringing with her the unexpected diagnosis of down syndrome.  Like most first time mommies, I spent my nine months of pregnancy reading EVERYTHING I could on babies, baby care, baby dangers....you get the point.  I decorated the nursery picturing my little girl flouncy through the room running from one adventure to the next; I spent hours at night rocking in glider in her room when I couldn't sleep due to her karate punches, dreaming of our life with her in it.
My pregnancy was relatively uncomplicated except by the normal pregnancy problems.  I did have scare at the 20 week sonogram where they thought they found lesions on her brain, but after going to a high risk pregnancy center in Denver twice to have ultrasounds with their super high-tech and up-to-date equipment, we were assured they were just a normal occurrance.  In fact, by the second time we went, the spots were gone, but due to that scare, our young ages, and the fact that we'd had two sets of friends with false positives on the protein test, we refused the protein test.
On December 14th, I went to school, but decided after several hard contractions that it was best to leave (didn't want to educate fifth graders in the birthing process).  My husband and I arrived at the hospital at 5:00; they broke my water shortly after, and by ten o'clock Gracelyn was here.  When they handed her to me, I thought what a beautiful baby.  I noticed her small features and later it made sense, but despite all the sonograms, I would have been less shocked if they had told me she was a boy instead of the doctor looking at my husband and I telling us he believed she had down syndrome, but that a chromosome test was needed to confirm.
I was devastated.  You never picture anything, but a perfect child in those dreams during pregnancy.  That's always somebody else's child.  I pictured every child I've ever taught or known who'd had down syndrome.  I was drowning in fears.
The experience of giving birth is supposed to be one of the happiest times of your life.  It wasn't for us, and that is my biggest regret.  I wish we'd known ahead of time so we'd have had time to adjust and been able to celebrate and rejoice at her birth and homecoming.
Our families, our church family, and friends have been amazing.  The support and love shown to us during this time has been tremendous.  For me, knowing that God has trusted us with this gift and knows we can make it through the trials, makes all the difference.  I know it is not random that she is ours.  We have all the love in our hearts, a ranch for her to help on on, a garden to grow, cows, pigs, and chickens to take care of, and an amazing set of families to help raise her.
I've since realized that every parent has a special child.  I think back to all the kids in my classroom, and almost all of them are facing something they must overcome whether it's a physical or learning disability, choices their parents make, bullying, language barrier, or any variety of things big or small.  She is her own person, and we will celebrate each milestone, victory, breakthrough, and discovery at her pace.  I love my daughter so much I sometimes think my heart will burst.  I still have huge fears for the future and cry a lot (my husband will tell you I'm a great crier....over everything) and probably have years of crying and worrying ahead of me, but this is the here and now.... and right now I have a baby who loves me, needs me, and has her whole life ahead of her.  I plan to do my best to raise a well-rounded, happy, helpful, God-loving little girl.  Our ranch will offer her experiences and opportunities to do see, do, and learn amazing things.  My grandma gave a verse before she was born, and little did she know how much I would think back to it. Jeremiah 1:5: "Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart."
I plan to write occasionally about the our experiences with raising a child with down syndrome so keep following along.

Hoodwinked

My daughter LOVES her thumbs....LOVES them.  If she can have one thumb in her mouth, great; if she can have two thumbs in her mouth, even better.  She puts them in while taking a bath (very tricky to get the soap off before she sticks them in), while playing with her toys, and even while taking a bottle (very messy).
My husband is exploiting this thumb adulation.  He has promised her two extra thumbs....in exchange for no poopy diapers.  The worst part is she believes him despite my valiant attempts to make her see that her father has hoodwinked her.  He has avoided changing a poopy diaper for months.  I realize he only changes one diaper a day, but you'd think sooner or later he'd get a messy one.  Statistics say that he should have to take one for the team once in a while, but no.  I change them, the babysitters change them, the grandmas change them, but not Daddy.
Since he heads out for the field each day, he gets up and spends time with her each morning and changes the first diaper of the day.  It's never anything but wet except for the day I decided to let him sleep in.  On that particular morning, she had the stinkiest poo ever filling her diaper, running up her back, through the sleeper onto the blanket. WHY??????  That is the only morning it's been that way before or since.  Just see if he ever gets to sleep in again!

I Just Saved $195

No not on car insurance....on tires.
Every time we have to get a nail hole patched it's fifteen dollars, and I just picked up thirteen nails out of our driveway.  I'm pretty sure I'm on the Christmas card list of the secretary of the tire shop; she gets to spend quality time with me on a regular basis.  Usually, I'm in getting a tire (or two) fixed at least once a month.  I have more patches in my tire than a hobo has in his jeans.  The guys fixing the tires are always impressed with the number of nails my tires can hold.  After one patching session, the repairman came out shaking his head and informed me I'd had eight nails in my tire.  He wasn't sure how it had been holding air.
Three years ago we moved in a modular home, but first had to tear down a hundred year old house that consisted of three rooms hodge podged together so needless to say we have an abundance of loose nails. We have magnet that we take over the drive, but it seems our soil grows them.....after a hard rain like we had the other night, more sprout up.

Coons in the Combine-Raccoons that is

Everyday brings something new on the ranch, and today it was extracting raccoons from the combine.  My in-laws live along the creek and have a terrible coon problem.  The coons get in the garden, in the corn of for the cattle, and even break into the garage to get the cat food.  Over the past three weeks, ten adult coons have been caught in the live trap baited with cat food.  They are the fattest, sassiest looking coons you've ever seen after munching on the easily accessible treats around the farm.
Today, while getting the combines ready for the nearing harvest, my husband and brother-in-law found two baby coons tucked safely away in the feeder house.  The mommy coon had found a warm, dry place to make a home for her little ones not realizing that harvest is nearing.  As the men took apart the combine to replace a belt, they noticed an odd sound.  Opening up the feeder house, they found the two adorable little coons.  They realized they had to get them out, but neither wanted to sacrifice their hands to do it so they devised a plan that involved barbeque tongs and Grandma's trash picker uppers.
The resulting  course of action was amusing for all bystanders.  The carefully reaching in, the careful pulling out, the hissing coons, and most of all the grimacing faces waiting for the coons to wriggle free of the grip and run up the legs of their home wreckers.  It's really too bad no one thinks of a video camera in time to get the good stuff!

Nephewisms

My nephew, Trent, is a born and bred ranch boy.  He's always up to something and his slow down button is broken (or nonexistant).  If he can be up and doing something, he's up and doing it ninety miles an hour.  If there's a fresh cow patty (the juicer and greener the better), he's stomping and dancing in it.  Everything he does is done with gusto.  He loves life and is a joy to watch discover the freedom of ranch life.
He occasionally comes up with sayings or does bizarre things that we've dubbed nephewisms.  Here are a few:
After standing around the corner and seeing him stick a pop tart up his shirt into his armpit, "Why are you sticking a pop tart up your shirt?"
His reply to was to grin and bound off.  You never know what he's up to....

Me: "What's your hungary level?"
Him: "Marven!"
Apparently I've asked a few times too many if he's a starven' marven.

After cooking a stuffed shells for supper, I was incredibly irritated with him for not even trying a bite.  He ate everything else on the plate but wouldn't touch the shell.  He was finally told he had to try two bites.  He started crocodile tears and repeating over and over, "it's gonna taste like soap".   Soap?!?! Seriously, where does this kid come up with stuff.  To my knowledge he's never even tasted soap to know what it tastes like (and why would I serve something that tasted like soap).

"COWABUNGA!!!!!"  This is his favorite thing to yell midair above anyone he can beat out of bed in the morning.  My husband is a very good sport about Trent's enthusiasm for this morning attack.  In fact, he'll even return to bed to pretend to be asleep (although curled up to protect vital organs and sensitive areas) so Trent can get in his morning thrill.

If you ever need a good laugh, let me know, and I'll get you the latest nephewism!

A Cow's a Cow, Right?

Since marrying my husband and moving to the ranch, I've learned more than I ever knew there was to know about cows.  I used to drive by a field of cows and think, "boy what a cute black cow, oreo cow, white cow, or brown cow (I have since learned that Herefords are NOT brown; they are red!)."  I've since learned the breeds that correspond to these colors, names of good bulls, genetic information, genetic problems to avoid in certain animals, and I've learned that hours of conversation can revolve around cattle.  In fact, when calling his sister to share the news we were expecting, my husband first spent about thirty minutes discussing heifers with her.  I have learned to appreciate the warm-eyed creatures, but I have not developed the passion for them my husband wishes I would.
My husband recently gave me a very important job of watching for when a certain Hereford cow was in heat.  He is on a tractor all day, and this cow is in the pasture behind our house.  He has to know exact dates so he can get her eggs flushed.  I won't give all the particulars, but he told me what to watch for.  Unfortunately, we have another Hereford cow who appears very similar to the one I was suppose to be watching(at least to my untrained eye).  When I spotted the signs I was looking for occurring way out in the pasture, I excitedly called my husband to inform him, proud of myself for paying attention and being helpful with the cattle instead of sitting by idl .  I unfortunately was not sure exactly which of the two cows it was, and I figured it was good enough to just alert him that it might be her.  I did not realize we needed exact dates and that if you weren't there at the time, it is more difficult to figure out later.
When he got home, I could see the disappointment that I didn't know precisely which of the two it was.  I'm not naturally in tune to  markings or other unique features of individual cows.  That's just not me (yet....I'm getting more cow savvy).
When the cows came into the corral that evening, I spent some quality time making note of individual markings so that next time, I can tell for sure.  Well, hopefully.......

Our Favorite Chocolate Chip Cookies

These are our absolute favorite chocolate chip cookies!  I usually bake a dozen then ball the rest of them up and freeze them so I can take them out whenever I need (or want) cookies.

2 c. butter crisco

1 1/2 c. sugar

1 1/2 c. brown sugar

4 tsp vanilla

4 unbeaten eggs

4 tsp water

blend together

4 c quick oats

3 c flour

2 tsp baking soda

1 c chopped pecans

2 c chocolate chips

blend together then add to wet ingredients

Scoop into balls.  Bake at 350 degrees for 12 minutes (if you're baking from frozen balls at 2 min.)

Enjoy!!!

Diaries of a Naughty Dog

In order to fully appreciate this story, you need to know that when I adopted Dudley, he fit in my sister's nursing scrub pocket and laid the cutest little tootsie rolls you've ever seen in my yard.  His mother was a shitzu, and supposedly his father is a lhasa apso.  We now have a 38 pound "lhasa shit".
Dudley has quite a few endearing qualities, but a few not so much....he's a thief, a food thief.
Before my husband and I married three years ago, my sister was practicing making our cake.  She had a beautiful and very tasty creation setting on the table awaiting our taste test, but Dudley beat us to it.  She walked in as Dudley was gulping a mouthful down.  His beard and mustache gave away the fact that he was the culprit.  The frosting covered fiend took one more bite and then ran as she stood by in disbelief.
On his next food stealing shenanigan, he decided he better include a main course before the dessert.  We were dog sitting, and the dog took off right as I set dinner on the table.  We quickly took off in search of the missing dog leaving Dudley inside with our steak dinners and chocolate covered strawberries.  Upon our arrival home, my steak and chocolate were gone.  I was left with rice and slobber coved strawberries.  Not being quite so brave as to touch my husband's meal, he just took mine.
You'd think I'd have learned and not left food on the table any more, but no I just thought it was if I left in on the edge.  My mother-in-law make to-die-for apple pies from scratch and brought one over right after we had our daughter.  We'd eaten most of it, but the two pieces that were left I saved for breakfast (yes, I know the breakfast of champions).  Thinking it would be safe in the very middle of the table where there was no way Dudley could reach,  I left the pie.  The next morning salivating in anticipation of my pie, I grabbed a fork and went to dig in.  What I saw, made me shriek and bring Brian running.  There was no pie, not even a crumb.  I could have returned the dish right then and there; it was spotless.  He had jumped up onto the table and stolen my pie.
I am getting smarter.....slowly but surely.  Tonight after I finished  wrapping up the leftover poppyseed bread, I noticed Dudley eyeing how close it was to the edge of the counter, planning his late night strike. He face fell a mile as I shoved it much further back.  He'll have to hope my guard is down some other night.

Daisy's Very Bad, Awful week

As promised the story of our farm dog, Daisy's terrible week.
The week started with Daisy coming home from one of her adventures out to the pasture reeking of skunk. No one would pet the poor thing, and we told her how bad she smelled any time she was in the vicinity.  The real problems started two nights later......
"Honey, get the flashlight!" my husband yelled at 2:00 a.m.  Yes, that's right two in the stinkin' morning. "Daisy's got a porcupine!"
Thinking Brian was sleepwalking to check on why the dogs were pitching a fit in the middle of the night, I got him the flashlight as he was throwing on his boots (with his sleep shorts-very cute) and digging out the clip for the rifle.   "Now what did you say it was?"  I questioned.
"I'm pretty sure she's got a porcupine; she's got quills stuck in her nose.  Now bring the light out and shine it on the him while I shoot."
Oh, brother....what a circus we must have been.  Keep in mind we are in our pajamas, it's two in the morning, our dogs are going bananas, and I'm trying to keep the flashlight on the critter while keeping the dogs out of the line of fire.  Brian got one shot off which seemed to anger it so it turned it's back to us, and being the weenie I am, I hopped behind Brian shining the flashlight over his shoulder while he got in a second deadly shot.  Sure enough it was a porcupine.  What in tarnation it was doing here on top of a treeless, waterless hill in western Kansas I'll never know, but we were left picking quills out of Daisy's nose.
While you would think that Daisy's curiosity would be quelled, it wasn't.  At eight months pregnant, I was showering hoping to turn in early as soon as our niece, nephew, and my brother-in-law headed back to town.  Midway through my shower I heard all kinds of barking, shouting, and other ruckus so I quickly finished.  I got out to the living room to find my husband and brother-in-law holding a shovel and discussing whether any of the dogs had gotten bit.  We went on a search and found Daisy huddled under the wheat truck behaving very oddly.  Realizing she'd been bit, we raced inside, called the vet out of his son's football game, and loaded her up in the back of the vehicle with Brian holding her.  By the time we made it to town, her paw was swollen to three times it's normal size, and after looking at her, the vet wasn't very hopeful.  He didn't carry anti-venom so he gave her fluids, steroids, and some antibiotics, and told us not to expect much.  So much for getting to bed early....I spent the night worrying about the dog.  The next morning we called in and found that she had made it, but was still very weak and would need to spend more time there.  After three nights at the vet's, she was strong enough to come home.   After that experience, she has learned that there are just some places you just don't stick your nose!

Welcome home, honey!

After being gone for two days, my husband left the field early and came tearing into the driveway to see his family.  He was greeted by me standing on the porch holding a 38 special revolver pointed at the driveway.  Of course I wasn't aiming for him, but he later informed me it had crossed his mind that he'd left the toilet seat up one time too many.
My house dog moments before had alerted me that something was amiss, and when I checked on him, I found him barking at a rattlesnake not ten feet from our main entrance.  I HATE rattlesnakes....HATE them.  While I realize some people like them, I have nothing nice to say about them.  When your husband comes in and tells you he's killed six that day, when you have two within six months of each other outside your door, and when you've had two dogs bitten (tomorrow I'll write about Daisy's very bad, awful week), you just want every last one of them DEAD.
After Dudley's warning, I grabbed my pistol loaded with snake shot and had moments before my husband's arrival, finished offing the the little booger. I realize it would seem a little more practical to use a shovel. In fact, my father-in-law has used a wrench, and my husband once used a tire iron (I'm hoping more sanity trickles down to our children).  Unfortunately, my husband informed how far a rattlesnake could spring, and now I'm very happy standing a good distance away shooting.  Whatever the cost per shell, it is well worth the price.
Nothing says welcome home, honey better than a freshly fired 38 and a dead rattlesnake!

1 out of 8 equals 25%????

My husband's a brilliant man.  He teaches upper level science courses and can figure farm figures in his head quick as lightening, but diaper math throws him for a serious loop.  Shortly after our daughter was born, I heard from one of my co-workers that Brian had told her at an inservice that Gracelyn was doing great (she was), she was sleeping all night (she wasn't; he just didn't get up or even hear her), and he was doing 25% of the diaper changes.
I started cracking up!  At that time, we were doing 10-12 diaper changes a day; one with each bottle.  He was changing ONE of those.  I quickly explained that he was obviously very mistaken about the number of diapers our little darling was producing each day.
I tried setting him straight the next morning by asking him to go do his "25%".  Being facetious did not help him realize the error of his ways.  All he did was laugh, and now the phrase has caught on so now when he changes his diaper of the day he informs me he's off to change his 25%.  On the rare occasion he changes two, he's up to 50% despite there being eight diapers (give or take) each day now.  I haven't had to be gone yet to see what would happen to the percentages if he had to change all the diapers in a day.   Could be interesting to find out though!

Get the Riot Gear! Attack Cat!

About a year ago, my sister adopted a kitten who was too little for the animal shelter to take in and named him Foster as he started off just being a foster kitty.  She bottle fed him multiple times a day and took the utmost care of this cute yellow manx kitten.   Every other bottle fed animal I've ever run into has been the sweetest most loving animal, but not Foster.  He's EVIL!!! I've never seen a cat like him.   Most animals love me, and those who don't just avoid me.  Not Foster....he mauls me every chance he gets.
The first time I was introduced to Foster, he followed me into the bathroom....a bit nerve racking having a cat stare you down while you do your business, but that wasn't the problem.  What happened next was....I wet my hands, got them soapy and then that cat jumped up on the counter between me and the sink and every time I would try to stick my hands under the water to get them rinsed he would hiss and bite me...hard.  As soon as I jumped back, he'd start purring and arching his back in that way cats do when they want petted so I'd try again.  This process went on until my sister finally came to see what all the screaming was about and grabbed Foster so I could get the soap off my hands.  I later walked by him and he leapt up, attached himself to my leg, and proceeded to bite and claw at me until I pried his possessed little body off.  Needless to say he was locked in my sister's bedroom the remainder of my stay.
I've tried several more times to make friends with this tailless demon, but to no avail.  Yesterday was a prime example of our love/hate (mostly hate) relationship.  Kelli grabbed Foster when I walked in so he wouldn't get the baby.  As she walked by, he hissed and took a swipe.  Then, he came to the front door, looked in the glass and started hissing at me.  Keep in mind I've done nothing to deserve this; I would understand his attacks it I'd tried bathing him, brushing tangled knots out, practiced my punting skills, or some other mean thing.
 I later had to run out to the car for something; I opened the door, stepped out far enough I couldn't get back in quickly, and out of nowhere, Foster howls, launches himself in the air, and latches onto my sandal clad foot.  I shrieked, dashed gimpy off her porch, and shook him off, Kelli was laughing so hard she couldn't catch her breath, and I'm sure the neighbors were considering calling the cops.  I seriously need to come decked out in riot gear to face Foster.
I do want to add that I'm not the only person Foster hates.  He recently treed one of her friends on her bed when she went in to change clothes.  He makes her very persistent-to-be-friends landlord's hands look like hamburger.

Squealin' Tires and Bumpin' Heads

You know those roads in third world countries....? My father-in-law has one of his very own leading down the steep hill to his house.  This "driveway"has ruts and washouts that will swallow a small child, bumps that will send your head rocketing into the ceiling.  You need four wheel drive to get out of it in the mud and snow, and even then, you have to back alllllllllll the way down to the bottom and get a running start to even have a shot of getting up.  It usually take me three or four tries.
My father-in-law is a wonderful man, but like any rancher, he's stubborn.  His way of fixing the driveway is to throw out cement blocks to keep the dirt from eroding (thus the head banging bumps).  It does stop the the dirt in that spot, but water flows downhill around the cement creating washouts unlike any a driveway has ever seen before.
Before heading up or down it, I stop to double check that our daughter is strapped in her car seat correctly; the Jehovahs witnesses who go door-to-door stop at the top and walk down; the highway patrolman who came to check tags on two new vehicles had to squeal his tires to get out of one of the ruts.
Last night as I whacked Brian's head on the vehicle roof, I mentioned that his dad needed to work on the ol' driveway.  His response, "he just did."

Rattlesnake Coffee

"mmm...that's some rattlesnake jumpin' coffee this morning."  I thought as I sipped my morning brew.

Anytime we get our coffee stronger than normal, we now refer to it as rattlesnake coffee and warmly remember the story of how it got it's name.

Brian's friend stopped for the night on his way to Colorado and kindly made coffee for us in the morning.  Despite being a city-boy, he like his coffee strong enough to stand a spoon in.  I proceeded to drink my normal two cups, and by the time he hit the road, I was more jittery than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.  

Brian suggested we walk off some of my energy through our newly planted tree row to see how if all the little cedars and oaks were making it.  As we got to the end of the tree row, we were discussing all our future plans, going over our plans for the day, and I was NOT paying an ounce of attention to where I was stepping in my pink flip flops (I hate real shoes but have realized the perks of wearing them on strolls through grassy areas).  As I put my foot down, a giant rattlesnake slithered out, coiled up, and started rattling his warning. With the caffeine coursing through my veins and the shot of adrenaline, I moved faster than I had ever moved before and faster than I probably ever will again.  As I climbed my husbands back at the speed of light, he tried figuring out what was going on as he made every attempt not to fall.  When he saw the problem seconds later, he convinced me to release my death grip and get down off his back so we could back out of range of the the rattlesnake's strike.  By the time we got the gun, the snake was gone, but I learned several very important lessons that day.  Always wear real shoes when walking through tall grass, carry a pistol when walking through tall grass on warm days, and give my husband warning to brace before I scramble up his back so that we don't both end up in a pile on top of the snake.