A meet and greet with Alex and Steve

It was mid-morning Friday, and Alex and I were headed down the driveway for a walk.

Apparently, turtles must smell because Alex followed her nose into the grass

 and found him long before I saw him. We ran back to the house to get the GoPro.

While I've been gone

 My mind has been and remains a jumbled mess since Lucy's death, 

much like this picture, taken during the middle of one of those once-in-a-hundred year storms

which happened here Friday night. I'll get to that in a minute.

First let me say:

1. Thank you, for every comment you've written and every email you've sent.

I burst into tears just thinking about them

and how you all are always here for me.

2. Our vet concluded from Lucy's necropsy report that she died of kidney failure,

which likely had been coming on for months. Nothing we could have done

in her final weeks would have altered the outcome.

3. George is doing well. His foundered front feet were pain-free for a few weeks,

then it rained and he became sore again, but now he's better again,

and I expect this will be the pattern for awhile until he's fully recovered.

He remains in his pen and is surprisingly calm and content.

As for that hundred-year storm...

It came after three days and 1.75" of rain, which is all but unheard of around here.

 In 30 minutes Friday evening, another inch of rain fell,

plus an inch or so of marble-sized hail, which came down so hard

I was convinced all the windows on the north and west sides 

of the house would break. 

The noise in the barn was too much for Alan to handle.

He chose to stand butt to the storm in the corral for most of it.

I don't know how hard the wind blew because 

the cup things broke and parted ways with the gauge.

The rain and hail overwhelmed the drainage culverts, flooding the corral,

the back porch, the front porch, and just about everything in between.

The barn sits on higher ground, so George and eventually Alan

had a safe, dry place to be.

 The hail stripped the juniper trees of their berries and a lot of their foliage.

I would love to see drone footage of the ranch about now - it would look like

every tree was standing on a bright green carpet.

 

 

The really amazing thing about the hail, though (those pock marks above are the dents it made),

 is that it broke apart every bit of donkey poop in the pasture, then the rain dissolved what was left.

I've got to think the pasture will be better for it in the long run, 

with all that fertilizer so nicely distributed.

The fence is another story. 

See those two black straps holding the connector onto the t-post? 

 The storm broke almost every stinkin' one of them.

The straps had been in place – in the relentless New Mexico sun – for 12 years,

and I suspect they were all suffering from UV fatigue. 

The wind and hail accelerated their demise in one fell swoop.

I had spare parts to fix a hundred or so and temporarily fixed 

the other 1,872 (not a typo) with baling wire until more parts arrive.

So it was a busy weekend, and busy is good.

Keeps my mind out of dark, sad places.

 

 My morning coffee ritual gave me a sign that maybe it was time to try to smile again.

 And then who shows up Sunday morning but Steve

(that's him in the puddle).

He's survived here for 12 years that I know of. 

I'm certain he made his only appearance of 2017 to remind me that

all bad things, bad storms and obstacles in my path can be overcome.

 It just might take a little longer than expected.

Steve drops by to say hi

I first met Steve on the day I moved in, October 5, 2005.

He was walking up the driveway, and a friend who was helping me with the move

saw him and put him in the bed of my truck so nobody would run him over.

He stops by at least once a year to remind me he was here first

and I damned well better be taking good care of the place.

Steve is not shy about voicing his opinions.

Since we've been on a first-name basis for almost 11 years,

I didn't think he'd mind me picking him up.

Me: Next time you're in the vicinity, ring this bell
and I'll be sure to come out and say hello.

Saturday encore ~ Riding with turtles

By the time I unsaddled Lucy and made my way back to the pasture where we had last seen our two new friends, 

at least 15 minutes had elapsed. I was not optimistic. But then again, I was looking for turtles, not rabbits.

Me: Hello, my new friend! Welcome to the 7MSN!

Maybe I should name you Grumpy Turtle. 

Me: Don't be shy. I'll try to make you famous. 

Grumpy Turtle: Can I have my own Facebook page? 

Me: Sure. But you'd have to show up more than once a year to meet your adoring fans. 

Grumpy Turtle: Let me get back to you on that.

If you have no idea what this whole turtle fixation is about, 

click the word "turtles" under the "Looking for something?" column below to catch up.

The Hay Man, the Cowboy and the Turtle

In all my excitement and relief over last week's hay delivery, I've been remiss in sharing this little story from the day. 

It makes me laugh every time I think about it.

So the Hay Man backs up his rig right next to the hay barn. The Cowboy he brought along to help unload

climbs down from the cab. Introductions were made and a few pleasantries exchanged, 

then Cowboy asks me, "So, do you see turtles around here often?"

I laughed and knew right away what had happened. "You must have seen Turtle Steve," I said.

 Cowboy explained that he and Hay Man got out of the truck to look at him, 

then picked him up and moved him out of the middle of the road.

Turtle Steve's not that big, so I was very impressed that Hay Man and Cowboy recognized him for what he was 

(a less observant driver might have thought him a rock or a pile of cow poop), let alone moved him out of harm's way. 

Apparently Hay Man's wife has a couple of large tortoises so he was attuned to slow-moving round objects in the road. 

Anyway, it was a lucky day for Turtle Steve, and for me. Between this story and a full hay barn, I'm still smiling.

Add to that, a surprise in my mailbox. When I went to town this weekend, I stopped to pick up my mail

and found a small package. I couldn't remember ordering anything so I was anxious to open it 

and see what I had bought and forgotten about.

I laughed all the way to town. Thank you, mysterious benefactor – you know me too well.

Maternal instincts

I am not a mom in the traditional sense, but that does not mean I don't have maternal instincts. 

My children just happen to have four legs. I worry about them and care for them and celebrate them

as much as traditional moms.

So when Lucy and I went for a ride on Mother's Day and I saw Turtle Steve for the first time since August,

you can bet I was elated. Some moms got flowers or breakfast in bed, I got a visit from Turtle Steve.

We're all happy.

After the ride, it was time to give all the equines their spring vaccinations. Hank and Lucy couldn't care less 

about being poked and calmly stood for their shots in exchange for a cookie. But this was the first time 

I had to shoot up George and Alan unassisted; previously, I have imposed upon my farrier or a house guest 

to hold them while I stuck them. To my surprise and delight, both burros earned gold stars for their cooperation. 

Whew. Another Mother's Day gift.

But since George and Alan have been known to have adverse reactions to vaccines (they get 

droopy and quiet and are otherwise not themselves), my maternal instincts were in overdrive most of the day. 

I had to keep checking on them to make sure they were okay. No big deal...except for the 40 mph winds that kicked up.

The good thing about crazy strong winds is that they slow down the birds and give me time to focus.

The bad thing about crazy strong winds is that I lose my hat. Often.

For a moment, I thought my hat was going to land on Alan's head.

No such luck.

Alan: I can't believe I'm being chased by a pink hat.

When I went over to retrieve my hat,

George seized the opportunity for a butt scratch.

Of course I indulged him. Isn't that what moms do?

Riding with Turtles

By the time I unsaddled Lucy and made my way back to the pasture where we had last seen our two new friends, 

at least 15 minutes had elapsed. I was not optimistic. But then again, I was looking for turtles, not rabbits.

Me: Hello, my new friend! Welcome to the 7MSN!

Maybe I should name you Grumpy Turtle. 

Me: Don't be shy. I'll try to make you famous. 

Grumpy Turtle: Can I have my own Facebook page? 

Me: Sure. But you'd have to show up more than once a year to meet your adoring fans. 

Grumpy Turtle: Let me get back to you on that.

If you have no idea what this whole turtle fixation is about, 

click the word "turtles" under the "Looking for something?" column below to catch up.

Wildlife census report, June 2012

If Smooch looks a little weary, it's because she's been working overtime on ranch security. Between the snakes on the porch and the pronghorns on the perimeter, the poor dog never gets a break. It's been a very busy month for wildlife here at the 7MSN and time for an official census report.

Many of you assumed yesterday's "He's Back" post would be about the neon-orange-tailed bullsnake living under the air conditioner. I'm happy to report that he was caught last Friday, driven wayyyyy down the road, and released. Which is the only good thing about the recent onset of near-100 degree weather. I started using the air conditioner, disrupting the dirty rotten scoundrel's environment, and was able to catch him.

All was peaceful and harmonious for almost 24 hours, then Smooch alerted me to a rattlesnake in the back yard. Can we take a moment for a shout-out for Smooch? Nothing gets past this dog, and she has gotten the snake-alert thing down to a science. She does her snake bark until I come outside, I tell her what a good girl she is, then she runs in the house while I go catch the snake. What a team.

Anyway, I caught the rattlesnake, dumped him in the tupperware snake box, then put the box in the back of my truck. He would be going for a very long ride the next day...

...when I drove out to the highway to meet my visitors to lead them back in to the ranch. I thought they might want to have the the full ranch experience, so I let them have a look and listen before I released him. Hostess with the most-est, that's me.

The swallow population is eternally grateful. No more snakes crawling up the stucco walls to eat them. For now. And yes, those dark hairs you see are from Hank's tail. We're all about recycling here at the 7MSN.

As for Turtle Steve, he usually shows up for two reasons: 1) company's coming and 2) it rains. When Lucy and I spotted him a few days ago, we had gotten two-tenths of an inch of rain the night before and company was expected the next day. I can set my clock by this guy.

Unlike Mr. P, who remains elusive. I truly believe he got sick of me talking to him and asking him to pose for pictures. He wanted his privacy. Who could blame him?

I haven't seen him lately, but I know where he lives. The bottom of every cholla in the vicinity has been stripped like an ear of corn.

The pronghorns are everywhere this time of year. I love it when one poses outside the bedroom window long enough for me to find the camera and take a picture.

Then there are the ravens. As soon as it started getting really hot, this trio took up residence in the corral. They're no fools. They hang out all day drinking out of (and pooping in) the stock tank.

They're flighty devils, though. Last night I tried to sneak up on them to take pictures. Inch by inch, step by step, I walked toward them with my camera glued my face, oblivous to all else. Just as I framed the perfect close-up, a dozen big black ants started crawling up my bare legs. I was standing on an ant hill. How special. I screamed and jumped around and scared Lucy and the boys, and the ravens flew away, and I started to itch and scream some more. It wasn't pretty. I'll take a rattlesnake over black ants any day. Quoth the rancher woman, nevermore.

He's back

The mystery of Steve

Lucy: Since when do we have a turtle?

Me: Since six years ago.

You should be honored that he decided to come out and meet you. 

His name is Steve and his appearances are few and very far between.

Steve popped out to meet Lucy Sunday morning. We were heading out on a ride and I didn't have the right camera with me for turtle portraits, so I asked him to stick around until we got back. He did.

Long-time readers of this blog might remember that Steve usually times his appearances to coincide with guests in his home. He made his first appearance the day I moved in; he showed up again when my sister came to visit; and he came out to greet Carolynn when she was visiting last year around this time. Click on turtle in the "Looking for something?" list at the bottom of this page if you're interested in his storied history.

I'm pretty sure that Steve is a Western Ornate Box Turtle. He is about half a foot long.

I've questioned him repeatedly about his musical preferences but have yet to find the one song that will make him cut loose and dance. I will keep trying.

Turtles aren't the easiest pets to shower with affection. How does one pet a turtle?

Roll your mouse between the margin and the picture to witness my feeble attempt.

An appearance by Steve absolutely makes my day, my week, my month.

He was here long before I showed up and has stuck around despite the disruptions that I have inflicted upon his home. 

I am honored and privileged when he lets me see him.

Steve pops out for another visit

Smooch and I were on a walk over the weekend, and we had just left the front gate and made the turn down our road. I was be-bopping along to the music when a magnetic-like force made me turn my head to the left and look behind a tumbleweed. Sure enough, there was Turtle Steve.

I know this is going to sound all new-age and zen-like, but there's no other way to explain how it is that I can spot him amidst the grass and weeds. Something just reaches out and pulls my eyes in his direction. (Am I right, Carolynn? Kathleen? You've been there.)

I got all giddy, as I always do when Steve decides to come out and say hello. We chatted for awhile, then I decided to go back to the house to get my camera and some turtle treats. But by the time Smooch and I returned, he wasn't there. Crap.

But wait! I know what turtle tracks look like – I had seen them on vacation last year. If I looked very carefully, maybe I could see where Steve had gone.

Bingo. Look between the two white lines and you'll see Steve's footprints.

We followed the tracks into the weeds on the other side of the road, and there he was.
Hi, little buddy. Love you! Mean it!

I tried to get a group shot but this was the best I could do. (Steve is a little above and to the right of Smooch's nose.)


There was some discussion in the comments the last time I posted about Steve as to whether he was a tortoise or a turtle. I'm now 99.9% certain he is a Western Ornate Box Turtle.


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"Omnivorous, the diurnal Western Ornate Box Turtle feeds on a range of reptiles, crayfish, insects, worms, eggs, carrion, berries, and succulent plants (including prickly pear cactus pads and fruit)."

It should be noted that the Western Ornate Box Turtle does not feed on fresh spinach or black oil sunflower seeds. Oh well. I tried.

By the time Smooch and I walked our two miles and returned home,
Steve had walked about 20 feet and we saw him in our pasture.

See you next time, my friend.

When he's in the mood to be seen again, I'm confident he'll let me know.