Farm News 11-27-05

Sunday morning, after chores

Bump and Trusty: The Race Continues

Bump, the cute little bunny I turned loose, has continued to grow and is now a good sized rabbit. In fact, he's a big rabbit, especially when measured across the back end. There are several older women in town with formidable backsides, but, proportionally, Bump has them beat. Bump has a great big butt and that butt must be mostly muscle because Bump is a very fast rabbit.

As long as Bump stays on the floor of the rabbitry Trusty is perfectly happy with him, but when Bump goes exploring, Trusty chases him. In a short distance straight line run I don't think Trusty could catch Bump, but both of them are learning to use every bit of cover and concealment to annoy the other. Bump could stay in the pasture where there is hay, grain, salt, water, and no dogs but that wouldn't be any fun.

I've seen Trusty catch Bump quite a few times. Trusty either picks him up and drops him, or simply hits him with his nose and sends Bump tumbling. Bump likes to dodge under the pasture fence, where he then turns around and says, “Nyah! Nyah! Nyah! Can't catch me!” to Trusty. Impudent rabbit.

Trusty caught another possum the day before Thanksgiving. Calvin was here and rescued the possum undamaged. It was a female, which delighted Calvin, as he has decided to become a possum breeder. He put it in a box and took it home with him to join his big male possum who already has two females in his harem.

Calvin figures that he can raise forty possums a year and sell their pelts for $5 each. As bad as possums smell I would want a lot more than $200 to skin forty of them, plus I think it would take $10 worth of feed to raise a $5 possum pelt. The truth is that Calvin wants to watch a marsupial raise babies which is interesting. Possums can cram a lot of babies into their pouches, I've seen as many as eight good sized babies come out of a pouch. Calvin says they can have as many as twenty in a litter, but I doubt that number.

Trapping

Calvin has a fur trapper license this year and is running a trap line. So far he has caught two possums and two crows. He's hoping for coons because their pelts bring as much as $35 each and coons are good to eat. He's also trying for beaver, an undertaking I endorse because I want to feast on beaver tail, considered to be a great delicacy by the rough and uncouth.

That brings up several interesting questions and a dilemma. What is the title of the father of the spouse of your child? We have no word to describe such an important relationship. Because marriage is traditionally a formalization of a political or economic alliance, I propose the neologism, father-ally-in-law. Two other men and myself have the relationship of father-ally-in-law with each other: the fathers of my daughter's husband and my son's wife.

If I have something as rare and wonderful as a couple of beaver tails ready for the barbeque fire, how do I share this treat with my father-allies-in-law? One of them is a Jew, which solves the problem because Jews don't eat rodents. The other is a high-end urbanite: urbane, sophisticated, and a nice guy. Because he is easy to get along with I just assume that he can enjoy the great outdoors, including its rough and uncouth, with delight. Now comes the ethical question: would it be considered a sincere expression of respect or a masculine challenge to invite an urbanite father-ally-in-law to fly halfway across the country and then drive for more than an hour just to have the pleasure of sitting by a campfire eating the roasted tail of a rodent? One has to live out in the woods for a long time to come to the point where that becomes an ethical question, I suppose. Oh, well, maybe Calvin won't trap any beaver.

We built a pair of box traps last week, neither of which impressed me as being likely to catch anything, but we had a good time building them. I would like to catch a few of the coons that raid the persimmon trees and Calvin is hoping to trap some muskrats. Muskrats are even smellier than possums but their pelts are worth more, too.

What I would like to trap are the squirrels that are over-running the place. They ate most of my white mulberries and asian pears, and consumed every last hazelnut. The babies are delightful but the adults are annoying fuzzy tailed tree rats. When we first moved here there were no squirrels on the place other than a few flying squirrels. I planted a lot of oak and walnut trees and now we have more squirrels than we need. When the new highway was rammed through the woods it took out most of the flying squirrel habitat, leaving us with nothing but ravenous red squirrels.

In the towns the little gray squirrels can survive and even thrive. I wonder how many of them were here in pre-columbian days. Gray squirrels are not nearly as shy as the red squirrels, they are much smaller, and the little ones play in the trees in plain sight, winning friends for the species. If one has a very high tolerance for nuisance animals, gray squirrels and flying squirrels can be tolerated as house pets, but red squirrels are too big and too rowdy.

It is interesting that these predispositions correspond with the nutritional value of the species. Red squirrels are big enough to eat and are considered a treat in many households. Gray and flying squirrels are just too little to be worth the trouble of catching and killing. Mice must be nutritious, they are a dietary staple for everything from mountain lions to skunks, but few humans would consider them edible although many keep them as house pets. Also, I'll bet that people who shudder at the thought of Calvin trapping coons keep mouse traps in their homes.

My Daughter

Although she is too self-involved to either provide me with grandchildren or start repaying the money I spent for her education, my daughter does have a few redeeming behaviors. One of them seems to be writing a blog about knitting. If you are interested in knitting, then check out her blog at Interstellar Knits. Maybe, with this plug, she will start repaying her debt to me.

When she was a child I allowed her to eat up to five chocolate chip cookies per day and charged her only 75¢ per cookie. I put them on her bill and charged her no interest until she had graduated from college. While she was in high school I gave her a car and sent her on trips to Chicago, San Francisco, and DeSmet, South Dakota. She even toured Europe while in high school. Then she went to a fancy eastern womens' college, a venture which I financed to the best of their ability to extract it from me.

Although I am careful to mention her obligations at every appropriate opportunity, she has yet to repay one cent of that debt. As usual, the next generation finally represents the ultimate depravity of the human race. After 5,000 years of being worse every year, the human race has finally hit the bottom with the next generation. I wonder, “What will happen now?”

Farm News 11-20-05

Sunday morning, after chores, 44°





A Visit to the Doctor

Thursday, I went to the Doctor's Office, a Doctor of Medicine in this case, to confess and be absolved. Mevacor is a drug designed to reduce cholesterol. I don't know what it has done to my cholesterol but I do know that it makes my lower back ache. So, I quit taking it; hence the need for confession and absolution and a trip to the Milkweed covered halls of Medicine.

Dr. E., the physician I see, is young. The only reason I put up with him is that he has guaranteed to keep me alive to 114. His wife is also a physician and much better looking but not foolish enough to promise me I will live to 114. Also, there is the prostate problem. I don't have a prostate problem, but all proper physicians insist that men over 60 should have an annual prostate examination. A gentlemen does not enjoy bending over a table with his pants around his ankles while a young woman examines his prostate, even if it is part of a professional service.

Dr. E. and Dr. P., his wife, work in separate practices. The clinic in which Dr. P. works is bright and sunny with plants and a friendly staff. They do not make appointments for more than 24 hours in advance. They use digital medical records and should be able to identify every patient with cardiovascular problems who has been taking a COXX-2 inhibitor within two seconds.

The clinic which I endure to see Dr. E. makes an undertaker's parlor look cheerful. I once asked Dr. E. if he had ever walked into his clinic through the front door, the one the patients use. He never had. (I think that something they do in medical school affects their minds.) The staff are hidden behind closed windows and are not encouraged to interact with the patients. It is difficult to obtain an appointment within five days. They use paper records and could identify every patient with cardiovascular problems who has been taking a COXX-2 inhibitor if they had five years to search the records.

Dr. E.'s patients mostly seem to be like me, mainly geriatric, as are those of the rest of the practice, yet the clinic is poorly designed for accommodating geriatric patients. I can't send his nurse an email telling her that I quit taking Mevacor because she doesn't have email at the office. That is archaic. Computer mediated communications are important to most seniors today. Those young whippersnappers in that practice have the audacity to assume that I am unable to use email discreetly.

Have you ever seen any of the popular TV program called ER? The ER stands for Emergency Room, but I think it should be DBH for Doctors Behaving Badly. Why on earth would they want to gather up in bunches like that? It appears to me that if you have more than three physicians in a room then the chances are high that six nasty disagreements will immediately start.

The same thing applies to clinics. Why does Dr. E. want to gang up with a bunch of other docs like that? He could have a nice office up here in Jefferson County for a lot less money and hassle. As I said, something they do in medical school affects their minds. Running up a huge debt might be part of it.

Why do I have to go to town to see him? I am considerably his elder and he should be honored to be able to come out here and see to my health. If he lived in Oskaloosa or Ozawkie and had a good mule, he could ride out to see his patients, and then let the mule take him home while he reads. He could use more reading, he needs some better lines.

After confession and absolution I mentioned to him that I had an itchy rash, and showed him a patch. Dr. E. peered at it closely for a bit, then said, “Hmm,” twice, followed by, “It appears to be urticaria. Let's see if it goes away soon.” Urticaria is doc talk for an itchy rash. For that kind of advice I need an M.D.?

Meanwhile, Back at the Barn


Bump is fun to have around. He has lasted far longer than I expected, and the longer he survives, the greater will be his chances of surviving longer yet. Trusty caught him twice this week and then released him undamaged. That is interesting behavior. The dog is training the rabbit to become more elusive while the rabbit helps the dog improve his prey catching skills.

Ting, the only remaining member of the Somerset Twins, famed stars of stage, screen, and barn, is being a pain in the backside. She has decided to live with the turkeys. She roosts on the wisteria arbor with them and waits at their feed bowl with them twice a day, even if there is still some food in it from the last feeding. When I bring the feed she attacks, pecking my ankles as I approach and then pecking my wrists as I pour out the feed.

One night this week the temperature was predicted to drop to 16°, which it did, so I decided that light-weight little Ting should spend the night in the barn. I picked her off the roost, carried her in, and set her on a nice spot on a stall door where she has roosted previously. When I returned the next morning I found her on top of the cat feeder. She had also scratched all the cat food out of the feeder and then pooped in the tray.

It has snowed but the brown duck hen's ducklings didn't hatch. Maybe they are waiting for even worse weather. I hope they hatch soon. When birds set on eggs they don't poop, not until they get off the nest. The longer they stay on the nest the more they poop and the worse it smells when they get off. Friday morning that duck left a stream of duck poop about three feet long through the barn and it stunk so bad it about drove me out of the barn.

Saturday afternoon I put in the tank heater for the goldfish. It's a ridiculous waste of energy but fun. I think they could stay under ice for most of the winter. The heater comes on at about 40° and, in moderate weather, is able to keep the goldfish barrel fairly clear of ice. Occasionally I shut it off, either by intent or accident, and a cover of ice develops. If I keep it clear until there is a very cold night, and then turn off the heater, a layer of very clear ice develops with the fish clearly visible underneath.

News Flash! Baby Ducks!


Saturday morning the brown hen duck had an eggshell in front of her nest, the shell neatly clipped into two pieces. The ducklings are hatching. I closed her into the stall where her nest is located and gave her water and baby duck food in the stall. They'll do fine as long as they are penned up inside with their mother.


Walking on Water


Several people have reminded me that I was to explain walking on water this week and that they were looking forward to reading it. Well, they need to learn patience, one of the prerequisites for learning to walk on water. I didn't think that an essay on walking on water would fit in with the comments about physicians and their habitats.



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Farm News 11-13-05

Sunday morning, after chores


Bump Report

Bump is alive and doing well. He has discovered that the pasture is a dog free zone and knows all the quick ways under the fence. Everything he needs for survival is in the pasture, but Bump likes to explore the yard and hang out with the turkeys. It's interesting how different domestic animals will hang out together.

Microdot Moves Up

Microdot, the only bantam chick this year, has moved from the goat shed attached to the barn into the barn proper, above the door, where he can help the older generation poop on the heads of people.

Guy Struts

Guy is still a young turkey who hatched early last summer. Friday evening during chores I turned around to find Guy strutting behind me. 'Strutting' is the mating display of a male turkey. He lifts and spreads his tail into a vertical fan and spreads his wing flight feathers down. At the same time his head turns blue and the red bumps turn brilliant red. It's quite a performance and Guy is still too young to put on a good show, but he's trying.

Two Year Old Rides Ginger

Milo, my two year old grandson, visited Calvin and took a short ride on Ginger. She stepped along gently but he kept sliding off to one side. He'll get the hang of it soon.

Ginger it the four year old pony mare that Calvin is trying to sell for too much money. She is truly gentle with kids, generally ignoring them without stepping on one. She also appears to be in foal, as Calvin claims. I still think that what Calvin calls the Palomino stallion is an old horse named Pal, but Calvin swears she is bred to an excellent pony.

Calvin is young and has not yet gone through the years necessary to come to the point where one has had time to ponder the minutiae of journalistic ethics, so I was not offended when he offered me $50 if I could use Farm News to help him sell Ginger. Leave it to a teenager to create new kinds of ethical quandaries.

Walking on Water

In the pond, after the recent deluge, the screen which protects the outlet pipes from floating sticks and such was pushed underwater on one side, a situation which effectively rendered it useless. The outlet pipes are about five feet tall. At the bottom they make a 90° turn and go another twenty feet through the dam to discharge on the downhill side.

Problems occur at that 90° bend. A nine inch long stick can't make it through that tight corner, and so it sticks. As more sticks come in, even short ones will eventually be caught and held. Sycamore leaves, which are plentiful in the pond at this time of the year, stack up on top of the sticks until the pipe becomes completely plugged.

Poking around down through the vertical pipe with a long rod will loosen all that stuff and then it will flush out. It is a minor problem and easily fixed except for one detail. The tops of the outlet pipes appear about six feet out into the pond from the dam. This might be considered some sort of design error, but I prefer to think of it is a challenge. When the pipes become plugged, one simply walks out on the surface of the water and pokes a stick down the hole until the problem is fixed.

Walking through the water to the outlet pipes is relatively easy and extremely cold. The water temperature is around 57°F, a temperature way too low to enjoy when immersed. The depth at the outlet pipes is slightly more than five feet, which means the immersion is close to complete. Also, the bottom is muddy and one's boots become messy while walking out there. Walking on the water is definitely the best way to approach this problem.

Writing two newsletters each week takes a lot of time and doesn't leave much for practicing walking on water skills. Next week, if there is space, I will try to explain how one accomplishes this. The real trick is to stop walking, kneel down, and then reach down through the surface of the water. Do not try to do this at home without professional supervision.


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