Meeting the neighbors

The mountains in this picture form the backdrop for many photos on this blog.

I see them every time I look out a window or step outside, and I've selfishly considered them 

my mountains and part of my extended front yard for all the years I've lived here, 

though technically they belong to a 230,000-acre wildlife refuge.

The refuge held its annual open house on Saturday, and I went on a tour

to learn more about the flora and fauna of the neighborhood.

I was surprised to learn that all kinds of climate-change research is happening 

just on the other side of my mountains, along with more mundane stuff, 

like "the diet and energy allocation of the western box turtle" (a.k.a. Steve).

The refuge supports 251 species of birds, 80 species of mammals, 58 species of reptiles, 

15 species of amphibians, and more than 1,200 species of plants. 

And all that separates all of that from me is a couple of miles and a barbed-wire fence,

which I can only hope is well-respected by the refuge's black bears and mountain lions.

Anyway, the most interesting part of the tour occurred when our van came upon a dozen scientists

conducting a monthly rodent study. They had set up a web of 300 live traps the night before and

were in the process of weighing, blood testing, and tagging all the little critters.

I couldn't help but be impressed by how much the scientists seemed to be enjoying their work,

which for the most part consisted of hanging onto teeny tiny little mice
while calling out data to a colleague at a laptop.

 Exhibit A: A silk pocket mouse, with cheeks full of seeds

Exhibit B: A kangaroo rat, whose tail seems to be twice as long as its body.

(p.s. My chickens love to eat kangaroo rats ... put that in your data log, Mr. Scientist.)

Is that not the cutest earring you've ever seen?

Note to Kangaroo Rat #399:

If you know what's good for you, you'll stay on your side of the fence and away from my chickens.

Where there's a will, there's a way

Me: Alan, you have endless acres of grass at your disposal. 

Why are you eating a tumbleweed?

 Alan: Tastes good. Besides, I like a challenge.

 Me: That tumbleweed is about 12" across. 

The hole in your grazing muzzle is an inch wide.

Do the math. It won't work.

 Alan: Tell me about it. So damned frustrating.

 Alan's perseverance paid off.

 He slurped up the tumbleweed like a string of spaghetti...

 ...until every last bit disappeared through the hole.

Sunday leftovers

It's beginning to feel a bit like autumn here, in that the weather can't make up its mind what to do.

Some days, it's so hot that we all seek relief in the shade...

...wherever that might be.

Other days, a big, noisy thunderstorm will move through, scaring everybody so badly...

...that even enemies will seek the solace of each other's company.

These beauties popped up in the back yard. 

We didn't eat them, but they sure were interesting to look at.

Here's a picture for scale – they're about a half a foot tall.

Look closely and you will see what else also popped up in the back yard.

After a summer of no snakes at all, we were two for two on Thursday and Friday, 

and both were rattlers.

Here's rattler #1, just prior to his release.

I'll offer the following brief video as a public service 

to those of you who may have never heard what a rattlesnake sounds like:

I love it when I find leftovers on the memory card that I've completely forgotten about.

Saturday encore ~ Alan reflects upon his station in life

Alan: Mirror, mirror, on the ground, who's the fairest one around?

Lucy: That would be me.

Hank: I beg to differ. I outshine you both.

Alan: I have had it up to here with your ego, Mr. Big Butt.

Hank: I'm going to pretend you never said that.

Alan: I suppose it's time I've learned to accept my fate as low man on this totem pole.

Hank: Run along, short stuff. I will always be older, wiser, and taller than you.

Alan: My ears are longer. I win.

Hankwatch

I've spent extra time in the pasture lately, watching Hank's every move. Over the weekend, 

his achy arthritic knee was more achy than usual, and the simple act of walking was not so simple. 

My worry meter was pegged. He is now back to normal, to my great relief.
I don't know what caused the setback – maybe he tweaked it or something –
but he's been warned to be more careful because I can't handle that kind of stress.

Anyway, here is some of what went on during all that extra pasture time.

Perhaps because Hank was resting, the rest of the gang rested with him...

until Lucy broke ranks:

Hank seemed very sleepy.

I worried whether his knee was allowing him to lie down and get some much-needed deep sleep.

Sensing my concern, he promptly plopped down in the grass for a 20-minute nap.

Hank: See? I told you I could do it. Now stop worrying!

He high-fived the sky, then got back up to do what he does best –

eat and pose for pictures.

Nap time with Hank and George

Hank, you seem to have grown a third ear.

If either one had moved, they both would have fallen over.

The fog will lift soon

 This is the last group of foggy pictures to share. 

I've tried to whittle them down to a hope-I-don't-bore-you number.

Maybe it won't seem so bad if you consider I could have posted all 410?

I didn't take many pictures of Alan and George, 

and they seemed a little put off by the lack of attention. 

I hate looking at their grazing muzzles as much as they hate wearing them.

 I didn't expect Hank to stop eating...

 ...but he finally did...

...and then we all hung out...

 ...watching Lucy eat. 

I love the way the ranch looks and feels in the fog.

It's like an added layer of insulation from civilization.

Does that make me sound like a hermit? I guess I am.

A hermit with a blog.

Breakfast by foglight

I had just removed Lucy's grazing muzzle so she could eat breakfast.

Trying to capture a beautiful portrait of her in the ethereal fog light would be pointless.

My only hope was for a beautiful picture of her eating.

The girl can graze and walk at the same time. So can I, now that I think about it, 

but I would have the decency to stop chewing in the presence of a camera.

 Lucy: I'm not eating. I've simply stopped to smell the flowers.

Me: Yeah, right.

 I got my wish...a beautiful picture of Lucy eating.

Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor fog of morning...

...stays this donkey from the swift completion of her breakfast.