Resting worried face

When I resurrected this blog early on in the pandemic, I had every intention of posting regularly.

You can see how well that's gone.

I can't focus. My thoughts are too scattered, worrying about any number of things 

over which I have no control. You know, things like 90,000 dead Americans, and

the 37 million who have lost their jobs, and a grossly incompetent, reprehensible, 

morally bankrupt president, and how much more damage he will do in the next 247 days, 

and oh my god what happens if he's re-elected? I can't even.

 No wonder Alex's default expression is "resting worried face." 

She is my mirror.

Locally, we've been worrying a lot about these holes on the side of the road.

We pass about a dozen of them on our morning walk.

 What if something pops out and bites us?

You know me well enough to know what's coming, right?

So this happened. 

He was pretty far up the road when we spotted him;

nonetheless, we beat a hasty retreat, praised the lord that we had cell service

and googled our fate.

Hmm. "...would not attack under any circumstances usually.."

There is nothing usual about anything these days,

so we'll err on the side of caution and give all of those holes a wide berth.

At least this snake had the decency to make his presence known long before we got to him.

He was pretty hard to miss, stretched out across the road. 

He appeared to be digesting a rather large something or other

and couldn't be bothered by us. One less thing to worry about. 

Smooch and Alex go to town

Smooch had a checkup at the vet yesterday, so we all piled into the truck

for our first family road trip.

 Alex sat in the front, where I could more closely supervise
and she could more closely watch the cows go by.

 Smooch sat in the back seat.
She couldn't watch much of anything because the windows are so dirty.

 The rattlesnake who showed up on the back porch on Monday

sat in a trash can in the truck bed until we got to snake-release hill.

 Smooch's checkup could not have gone better. She's been on her new diet

of homemade dog food since June, and judging by the results of yesterday's blood work,

it's had a very positive effect. She has lost weight though, 

so I just need to give her more of it. I'm sure she won't mind.

Alex: I wouldn't mind if we went home now.

We've still got it

It was a dark and steamy night. I was in my bed, Smooch and Alex were in theirs.

At precisely 1:31 a.m. Smooch started barking bloody murder. 

She jumped off her chair and ran into the sunroom.

I jumped out of bed and followed her, turning on lights along the way.

I saw nothing. Then the rattling started. I turned on more lights.

Sure enough, there on the edge of the cool, concrete front porch

was a coiled rattlesnake, scared out of its wits by Smooch's barking,

which by now had been joined by Alex's.

I was so proud of Smooch for warning me. She has aged very noticably

in the past six months, and I wasn't sure she still had it in her to sniff out a snake. 

Anyway, there was no way I could let it stay there, so I ran to get 

the snake pole, the snake can and my boots.

This was our first snake of the season and I figured my snake-roping skills

might be a little rusty, particularly in the dead of night.
But it must be like riding a bike – I got him on the first try. 

I moved the can of snake with the tight-fitting lid to a safe place,

for relocation the next day.

Except by the next day, I mostly forgot about the whole episode 

(call it PTSSD, post traumatic snake stress disorder),

and when I finally remembered the rattlesnake in the can

four 100+ degree days later, he was dead, as in not rattling when 

I shook the can repeatedly. I had baked him to death in a metal trash can

and felt positively horrible. All the good snake karma I had built up

over the years by relocating so many of them – gone. 

***

The writing of this blog post Sunday afternoon was interrupted at this very point

when Smooch started barking on the back porch.

***

 

A little smoke and a little snake

There's a wildfire burning about 70 miles southwest of here, 

and the smoke from it has been settling over the 7MSN.

 Except for the occasional panic attack when I smell it and think my pasture is on fire,

it's not bothersome... 

 ...and the photo ops have been spectacular as the sun slowly sets in the smoky sky.

Today's post is being brought to you by the letter S, as if you couldn't tell.

Summer ain't over 'til the last snake is caught

Care to join me for some rattlesnake wrangling?

It was around 7 o'clock Tuesday morning. I had been in the barn tending to the herd

since 6:30. George walked over to the end stall to poop, 

then planted himself next to the back door to take a nap. 

I fetched the wheelbarrow and moved into the stall to clean up his mess.

That's when I saw the rattlesnake for the first time. He was all coiled up like a cinnamon roll,

basking in the morning sun, not two inches away from George's left front hoof.

George was oblivious, the snake was oblivious, and I was incredulous.

I asked George to walk toward me and he wouldn't.

I pulled on his grazing muzzle to lead him toward me, but that wasn't happening either.

Meanwhile, the snake stayed all coiled up without a care in the world.

Finally, I lured George away with a cookie.

The snake slithered between the stall wall and the wire kick-panel.

I closed doors and gates to keep everybody out of the stall, then ran like hell to the garage

to fetch the snake pole, with a brief stop to pick up the GoPro because:
a) what's the point of having a head-cam if you're not going to use it at a moment like this?
and b) I knew some of you would want to come along for the adventure.

Good things come in tall packages

Ranchsitter #4 went into town yesterday to pick up Ranchsitter #5 and do a few errands for me.

Good thing the list of errands wasn't any longer. The truck was overflowing by the time they got back to the ranch.

Meet Ranchsitter #5 – Joey, who came all the way from Alaska! Joey and her husband, Brownie, 

were my neighbors in Alexandria, Virginia, a lifetime ago. We haven't seen each other in 15 years, 

but this is a friendship that has stood the test of time.

Joey wasn't the only gift stuffed into the back of the truck.

There was also this box from the UPS man. What could be inside?

It took awhile to figure it out.

Isn't he handsome?

I had to make sure I could wrangle him, though, just in case he ever gets out of control.

Thank you, Anne! I couldn't love him more, and he will have a place of honor in the sunroom.

Danni earns her spurs...times 10

There comes a time in every 7MSN ranchsitter's life when she earns her spurs. 

In Danni's case, that happened this weekend...again and again and again and again.

The chain of events began around noon on Saturday. My friend Janice drove out to the ranch to visit,

but somebody developed a fever that wouldn't go down, and somebody's doctor told her to get herself to the ER 

for labs to be done. So while Janice drove me to Albuquerque, Danni stayed back at the ranch to wait for Shorty, 

the farrier. On one of Danni's previous visits, Shorty had come to trim everybody's hooves, so she knew the drill; 

she would halter Lucy and Hank and lead them to the back porch for their trims, 

and she would get Alan and George haltered and penned at the barn. No problem.

Until a great big snake crawled up the screen on the dining room window. Smooch was inside the house 

at the time and made sure Danni knew there was trouble. Danni assessed the situation, recognized that the snake 

had to be removed before Shorty arrived or if Smooch was to ever go outside again, 

then gathered her wits and other necessary equipment to wrangle the snake. 

Of course she had her phone with her to take pictures. 

She got the snake lassoed...

...and deposited in the can. Just about then, I called her from the ER to give her an update. She may have been panting when she answered the phone. Said Danni, "I swear to you, I saw AND heard rattling when I was trying to catch it. Must've been my teeth."
I assured her that bull snakes are infamous for mimicking the sounds of a rattler as a defense mechanism.

Anyway, with the snake out of the way, Shorty came and did his thing.

Danni reports that everyone was on their best behavior.

Now most people would have called it a day at this point and curled up in a fetal position on the couch

with a glass of wine. But not Danni. She decided it was a good time to sweep several weeks of accumulated mud 

off of the garage floor. It may have not been a good time to turn on the garage lights to do so.

She was bombarded by bugs. But ranchsitter extraordinaire that she is, she took pictures so that I could see 

what kind of bugs they were. Then she ran back into the house, only to have the door handle pull off in her hand. What else? 

Meanwhile, back in the ER, a CT scan verified that my incision site was infected and I needed to be admitted
so that copious amounts of antibiotics could be dripped into my veins. I also learned that the surgeon would visit on Sunday
to check the site and remove staples. Bummer. I was looking forward to that DIY project.

So Sunday morning rolls around and Danni decides it's as good a time as any 

to take the can of snake to snake-release point.

Smooch wished Danni good luck, then she was on her way.

A few more of these trips and I'm betting the white-knuckle death grip on the steering wheel won't be necessary.

Says Danni, "I drove to the location you described and opened the lid. He didn't want to come out at first.
I could only get a couple shots before he disappeared into the brush. I miss him already. Just kidding.
Then I went back to the ranch, feeling pretty darn happy."

 "I may have been a bit over-zealous in the cinching of the strap.
The image you gave me of the lid opening during transit was burned into my brain."

"Upon my return from the snake release, I drove the Ranger around the perimeter of your property
to check the fence line."

"Everything looked great except for this one section, where the bottom tape is stretched and hanging low."

"And then there's this interesting hole in the low hanging part of the tape."

I'll presume the pronghorn poked his prong right through it. I told Danni not to worry about it;
we'd go over fence re-stretching and repair upon my return, which should be today or tomorrow.

Danni sent me this picture of the herd so I could play
"Where's Waldo Hank, Lucy, George and Alan?" in my spare time.

By all accounts Sunday was a less eventful day at the ranch than Saturday.
Smooch helped Danni get her clean laundry dirty.

No rest for the weary

It was about 5:30 Wednesday evening. I had been sitting in my desk chair all day, catching up on work and eating jello, 

and was looking forward to a nap. I climbed into bed and turned on the nightly news. For about one minute. 

The sounds coming from outside were not good. I was hearing my sister shout things like, "SMOOCH NO!" 

then, "JOHNNY!" then "SMOOCH!" I figured Johnny and Smooch had gotten into some sort of altercation. 

Not so. Sister was just shouting out all the names she could remember watching Johnny do his arched-back 

Halloween cat impression as he came head to head with a rattlesnake in the front yard. 

<Spoiler alert: story ends well, don't panic, but don't look either if snakes give you the heebiejeebies.>

So much for that nap. I took one look at the guy and knew he would have to be removed from his present location. 

I fetched the snake pole and snake box, showed my sister which button to press on the camera, and went to work. 

Some chores are best not left to the ranchsitter.

Me: You're getting this, right? My readers will want proof.

Of course this was the largest, fattest rattlesnake I had ever seen. 

Johnny and all the chickens were accounted for, so he must have had rabbit for dinner.

Just as I slipped the noose around his neck and took my death grip on the rope at the other end of the pole, I recognized 

the error of my ways. This was no ordinary rattlesnake, and the ordinary snake box was significantly too small to contain him. 

My mouth is agape here, so I must have been shouting something on the order of "go get the trash can,"

with a few expletives added for emphasis.

Sister found the trash can. I did a test lift, determined that the snake was under the 30-pound limit of my activity restrictions, 

then proceeded to wrangle the snake into the can, confident that my doctor wouldn't object.

Just as the lid was snapped tightly on top of the can, we heard hoofbeats.

Alan: What in the hell is going on here?

Lucy: Are you all right, mom?

George: Did I miss dinner?

Hank: Let me through! I've got everything under control.

I'm not sure what made Hank and his herd finally snap and come to our aid. A very large and angry rattlesnake 

in a trash can does make a lot of noise, so perhaps the sound drew them out of their food-induced stupors. 

Anyway, we strapped the can of snake into the Ranger and drove him down to snake-release point.

We stretched out the snake pole, hoping to get a full-length picture of him next to it when sister kicked the can 

and he slithered out. No such luck. At some point, you have to put safety ahead of blog fodder.

Sister put some sort of snake ninja moves on him and he finally got out of the can.

I made him promise not to even think about returning until mid-October, when the last ranchsitter goes home.

Catch and release

It was Wednesday evening, just after 8:00. I'd been waiting for the temperature to cool down 

so that I could do an important errand. I buckled up Smooch in the Ranger and off we went on our mission.

Smooch: Where are we going?

Me: You'll see. 

I hated it when my parents said that to me when we went out for a drive, and here I am doing the same damn thing. Shame on me.

Smooch: Are we going for ice cream? Please tell me we're going for ice cream. I love ice cream.

Sadly for Smooch, our errand did not involve ice cream. We were on our way to release a very large bull snake

who had taken up residence in the back yard. After three failed attempts in the past week, 

I'd finally lassoed him. He'd been in the snake box since lunchtime and was anxious to get out.

Smooch: Are we there yet?

Me: Almost. Sit back and enjoy the scenery. 

We drove a few miles away from the ranch to release this guy. I didn't want him coming back.

I'm sure he was helping Johnny CashCat keep the rodent population down, but he was also becoming a nuisance. 

Besides, the ranchsitter will be here in a few weeks, and I didn't want a snake on the welcoming committee.

He looks so small all coiled up in the corner. You'll get a better idea of how big he is

once I kick over the snake box and he slithers out.

Me: Come on, snake. Start slithering. I don't have all night.

Follow Smooch's gaze and you'll see the snake as he finally moseys on down the road.

We waited for him to get safely across...not like there's any traffic to worry about, but still....

He climbed up the other side of the bank and went on his merry way.

Smooch never took her eyes off him until he was gone for good.

I took one more picture and called it a night. 

We never stopped for ice cream, but Smooch got to share a cup of yogurt with me when we got home.

This is what passes for summertime fun in the middle of nowhere ... and I wouldn't have it any other way.