It's A Dog's Life

A Hole In The Water

Living on the water makes owning a boat, if not a necessity, then certainly an expected accessory.  My first boat was a 1953 Alumacraft that my grandfather bought new.   In the early 70’s he got distracted and did not pull the boat up high enough on the beach.  The wind came up, as it has a tendency to do here, and heavy seas drug the boat out and smashed it on the beach and filled it with stones.  I spent two days digging it out of the rocks and another day beating the dents out of it with a sledgehammer. After that I spent quite a bit of time pounding loose rivets, installing screws to replace the ones that popped out and putting silicone on all the seams.  I still needed to bring a coffee can with me every time I went out so that I could bail. I had been able to row the boat (I could not use Gramp’s motor and provided one I found in the local dump later – that I wrote about elsewhere) all I wanted prior to the mishap.  Afterwards, with all the effort, the boat became mine.  Can you imagine an eight or nine year old with his own boat? 

Fishing and general screwing around were what I used the boat for.  The boat was light enough to just pull up and down the beach and required no special equipment.  And I was sure to pull it up all the way whenever I was done using it.

Later, in my teens, I bought a 14ft Caddy, made by the Cadillac boat company in Michigan in the 50’s.  Having by this time a fairly extensive collection of old outboard motors scavenged or bartered from here or there, I was big time when I had two 4 hp Martin “40” outboards on the back of it.  We fished every species in the lake, including salmon and our primary leisure time activity in the summer was fishing.

Once I was an adult (or at least thought I was), I bought a 1967 Cruisers 21 ft boat with a 350 Chevy and Mercruiser stern drive.  We had loads of fun in the boat, but it required more space, more maintenance and more equipment to maintain.  It was not easy to put in and out of the water and required a vehicle and a trip to one of the local launch ramps.  Extensive winterization and summerization was required and you could not store it by simply flipping it upside down and putting the outboard on a rack in the garage.  Because it was over 16 ft long, the Coast Guard had additional safety equipment requirements along with navigational lights etc.  Don’t get me wrong, we had lots of fun in the boat.  The kids tubed behind it, we caught lots of salmon and other fish, but it just wasn’t convenient and leaving it in the water over the summer would mean paying for dock space.  When the kids stopped showing interest in fishing with Dad, I parked it and didn’t register it any more.  I swore off bigger boats and returned to the convenience and ease of a small aluminum boat that could be easily slid up and down the beach.  My wife and I enjoy an occasional (if not often enough) troll for bass.  Life was good.  Boating was easy.  I was finally smart.....at least until...

Against my better judgement, last fall I purchased a 1975 Slickcraft ss240 sport sedan boat.  24 ft of luxury that was sitting on a trailer along the side of the road begging for me to dicker on it.  A solid boat, well-constructed, with a nice cabin and a 233hp Mercruiser stern drive, it was in need of a bit of TLC due to having sat for the last 6 years and some minor damage to the outdrive.

I dickered back and forth with the owner and after not reaching an agreement, walked away.  Two days later, he looked me up and accepted what was my final offer from the dickering session.  Like a damn fool, I figured I got a good deal.  What I should have realized is that I got a “good deal” of work.

I started last fall with the initial cleanup and assessment and continued this spring/early summer in my spare moments.  I pumped 80 gallons of stale, yellow turpentine smelling gasoline from the 100 gallon tank.  I fabricated and installed a “prosthetic” cavitation plate out of stainless steel to repair the one that had been broken when the previous owner had backed it into a post in the shed he stored it in.  I changed all the fluids, repaired the hydraulics on the power trim, replaced some wiring that the mice had enjoyed at some point and between my wife and myself, scrubbed 6 years of grime off the boat.  I installed a new bilge pump and spent a number of hours rebuilding the carburetor and getting the engine running.  I put $300 worth of premium fuel and additive in the tank.  I ran the engine on land with a garden hose for almost two hours.  I verified the operation of all the electronics.  I installed a 9.9hp “kicker” outboard and I broke down and made arrangements for dock space so I could leave the boat in the water and thereby have some reasonable hope of actually using it this year.

The time was here!  Time to put it back in the water!  Early Saturday morning and my wife and I went to the launch ramp.  In the water it went.  Not as easy as I would like, but who cares?  It’s going to stay in the water for the rest of the summer, right?  Engine starts right up and runs pretty good although because of some missed grime in the carb, it wants to die every time I shift into gear.  I turn the idle speed up and plan to take it out and run the hell out of it to hopefully dislodge whatever varnish is causing my idling issue.  Out on the lake I go, planning to make a couple of loops of the harbor and then bringing it into the dock where my wife will be waiting to help me tie up.  No sooner do I get out of the harbor and on the open lake, and I am going in circles as the steering has failed.  The engine is running nice, but I am stuck.  The wind is blowing out of the south and I am drifting further out into the lake.  I drop an anchor to assess the situation and determine the problem is in the gimble ring of the stern drive and I have no way of fixing it where I am (in spite of a toolbox full of tools).  The kicker motor steering is accomplished through a linkage to the stern drive, so in order to use it to get back would mean dangling over the stern and hoping I was steering in the right direction.  I have paddles on board, but with the wind, that would be a losing battle in a boat this size.  What the fuck was I thinking when I bought this monstrosity that has now left me sitting?  Did I mention too that Beulah was along for the ride, now drift?

I am anchored in about 70 ft of water about ½ mile off shore, still scratching my head and coming to the conclusion that the best solution is to simply swim in to shore, walk to the truck go home and get my aluminum boat and outboard and tow myself in.  This is not such a dire situation; thank God, that I need to use the radio to call for help.  I have called my wife’s cell a number of times, but she does not answer and I am guessing that she has probably left it on the kitchen table and is at this moment standing on the dock wondering just what the fuck I am doing.

I sit down on the cushioned engine hatch and begin to take off my shoes.  I will have to lock Beulah in the cabin so she does not attempt to swim in with me.  As I am removing my socks, and talking to Beulah, I hear an approaching boat that is slowing down.  I look up and see the familiar stance of my Dad in the boat.  He and an old buddy have gone out fishing and luckily and coincidentally his buddy needed the use of shore facilities and had gone into the harbor where I had launched and were coming back out to return to fishing.  They towed me in.

There is a saying that a boat is simply a hole in the water that an idiot throws money into.  This is a completely accurate and true statement.  I will be paying for the tow for a long time to come.

Incidentally, I repaired the gimble ring and put the boat back in the water the next day and my wife and I enjoyed a nice cruise and it is now sitting at the dock as originally intended.  All is well…..for now.

I keep eyeing my aluminum boat and thinking to myself how foolish I actually am.

Karlie's First Snake

 

 

Not particularly interesting to you and me, but Karlie found it fascinating.

 

 

 

and of course Beulah shows interest too, although she has seen plenty of snakes.

Spring Renewal Continues

With the snow mostly gone and the ice likely to go out any day with the right wind, it is starting to feel more and more like spring.

This little guy makes it a sure thing.  He arrived sometime Friday night and while still a bit wobbly, is doing great. Now that he is finally here, I might actually be able to get Hannah, his mother, to stand still long enough to trim her hooves and brush the winter matted mess that is her coat.

We have yet to name him, but are seriously considering Matthew.  You can vote in the comments.

Some of you have asked how Karlie is doing.  She has become a very normal puppy with the exception of a few unreasonable fears that she may never get over.  Only time will tell.  She is definitely a happy dog now as opposed to the frightened timid little girl she was a couple months ago.  When we first got her, kicking the ball would have sent her to hide under the truck.  This video from a couple weeks ago when we still had snow illustrates that she is over that fear......thanks largely to Beulah.

Spring Renewal

Easter Sunday.  It is bright and sunny, but cold.  Real spring, although already here based on the calendar, seems miles and miles away.  As I am feeding round bales to the animals, I am thinking of Easters past.  The time my sister came home with her family and my niece and nephew skipped Easter services to watch a calf being born.  Sort of the ultimate renewal if you think about it and honestly, as fitting as any service for the day.  That was years ago, but still brings a smile to my face as I remember my sister thinking that the cow would be considerate enough to hurry things along so that the kids would not miss church.  She did not cooperate.  My dad and I laughed at my sister's frustration.

This year, with our slow spring, I am behind schedule.  Actually, I can't remember a time that I was not behind schedule.  Frost still in the ground is good for getting in the woods, but my roads get greasy as the temperature gets above freezing.  I can't even begin to think about plowing, let alone picking stone (the best crop I raise is stone).  I have fence to repair and several sections to rebuild and the frost is making it impossible to auger in the holes for the corner posts that I need to install.  I have hooves to trim and that always seems to be a struggle in the spring due to mud.  My draft horses will not want to go into the stock (a device that contains and supports them during trimming - with hooves like 5 gallon buckets, I need all the help I can get).  I have a bull calf that I need to catch and turn into a steer and although I don't blame the sassy little bastard for not working with me, I have never been good at roping! I have a well going in at my shop within the month and the frost is keeping my trenching activities curtailed.  I have equipment to repair and service in preparation for hay season, which will be upon me before I know it and the cold weather lulls one into thinking it is still long away. 

We are taking a year off from hogs this year because of too many other projects.  That will reduce the work load, but it seems that it did not add the available hours I expected. I had hoped to go wild turkey hunting this year, but it doesn't look like I will have the time.

I am getting too damned old for all this, but I can't seem to stop.  Spring is a time of hope and plans.  Plans that will never quite work out the way I expected, but work out just the same. If you ever have been involved in butchering chickens, Spring in our world seems to be the definition of "running around like a chicken with their head cut off."

Chesterton was both right and wrong when he said, "True contentment is a thing as active as agriculture. It is the power of getting out of any situation all that there is in it. It is arduous and it is rare."

Love and Tolerance

 

 

Karlie Loves, Beulah Tolerates

Pussy

Cat.

David's better half uploaded a video featuring their bearded dragon and curious troublemaking cat.

I am not a cat person myself, that is, unless I am eating Chinese. We do have one though.  His name is Cheech.  There once was a Chong, but let's just say that bald eagles enjoy Chinese as well. 

Cheech is our "Barn Cat." A pet kennel filled with old blankets and covered in loose hay in the haymow is his bed and a heated water bowl and a half can of cat food along with dry daily insures he lives a pretty comfortable existence for an outdoor cat.  I can honestly say that he earns his keep.  There are no sign of mice in the feed bins and when I catch a raccoon in the box trap, I can be sure that he will meet me at the barn door in the morning and lead me right to the trap to show me its captive...and gloat at its pending demise a bit I am sure.

The thing about Cheech is, as much as he does his job, he is a pain in the ass.  A personable attention hound who does his best to trip you as you are walking through the barn with a 100lb bag of cracked corn on your shoulder.  An evil little bugger who sinks his claws into your leg, through your pants, as he attempts to crawl up your leg while you are filling the water trough.  I don't think he ever stops purring during any of this, which makes him all the more insidious.  It is his version of an evil laugh as he attempts to lure you into thinking that he should be an indoor cat.  I will have none of it, which seems to only make him try harder.

Yesterday, after work, the dogs and I took a drive out to the farm because the temperature was all the way up to 20F and I wanted to walk the pasture fence to make sure the snow had not covered the hot wire and the deer had not knocked any part of it down.  If I don't do this fairly regularly, I am sure to get a call about a black out from the neighbors not too long afterward.  Working for the utility, a black out means one of two things: either there is a power outage, or my black angus are looking in someone's living room window.

When I take the dogs to the farm, I usually leave the truck door open, especially when it is cold, so they can get back in (and they usually do before I am done).  This trip was no different except both dogs followed me around the fence as I walked it, stopping briefly here or there to sniff a fox or deer track in the snow.  Once done, I filled the water trough and the two dogs and our hinny (a mule who is the product of a stallion and a Jenny donkey) playfully chased each other back and forth through the pasture.  I really should video tape it sometime because it can be pretty hilarious.

Once done, we walked back to the truck and the dogs jumped in and we headed for home.  As I turned the truck off and prepared to go inside, Cheech jumped up on my shoulder from the back seat and sunk his claws in my neck and rubbed his head against mine....purring all the while.  He had surreptitiously jumped in while we were occupied.  The fact that he waited until we had gotten all the way home to make his presence known is proof of his evil intelligence.

I said, "Nice try buddy" and started the truck and returned him to the barn.  I am sure he will try to trip me later today when I do my chores.

Impossible to get a good picture as he eyes my legs...either to trip or climb.

Pick me up or I use your balls as a ladder.

New Year's Changes

Life is about change.  I had to put my old dog Rascal down last spring.  She was 19 years old and had spent 17 of those years with us.  I have told the story.  Not only was it necessary, but it was incredibly difficult for me to do and it took several weeks before I stopped calling her to go out early in the morning and several months before I got used to her not being around.

Down to two dogs.  One, Beulah, a border collie/lab mix and the smartest dog I ever owned is 7 years old this year.  The other, Scarlett, a dachshund that my wife insisted we buy from an Amish fellow who I was working horses with was 15 and on her way out as well.  I say "was 15" because she died on New Year's Day.  It was time.  She had lost a whole bunch of weight in the last few weeks.  She had been blind in one eye for the last couple years and her hearing was mostly gone....although she always heard food being poured in the bowl.  My wife and I discussed putting her down for the last week. She went all on her own which was nice because she saved me from having to do it for her.  She also waited until my wife was not at home and, although the frost is pretty deep, I was able to get her buried before she returned.  While we were both sad, we knew this was coming and it was easy to accept.  Much easier than Rascal.  It was time.

Two days before this, my wife and I went to town, to stock up on supplies and go out to supper.  We are lucky in that with my folks, we have willing babysitters for the dogs if we are gone over night. We had discussed trying to find another dog as a companion for Beulah and because we knew that Scarlett was not going to be around much longer.  We had both even spent a bit of time on-line looking.  We had settled on another Border Collie mix or another herding dog such as a Blue Heeler but really hadn't decided.  Since we were in town overnight, our chores were done and we had some time to kill before supper we decided to take a walk through the local Humane Society.

This is never easy for my wife and she is generally crying before we get to the second kennel.  We rarely donate money to the Humane Society because I don't agree with their politics surrounding hunting, but the work they do with dogs is top notch and it is a rare occasion that we don't go to town and buy a couple 50 pound bags of dog chow to drop off at their kennel.  We adopted a beagle for my parents from the Humane Society about 4 years ago.

In any case, we are walking up and down the rows.  Surprisingly, there are not many dogs... maybe 35, although the gal at the desk said they were expecting 200 from Alabama by the end of the month.  Most of the dogs were Pit Bulls.  All greeted you with tails wagging and sad eyes.  As we came to the last row of kennels, one was empty, but had a tag describing a Blue Heeler Mix...I kneeled down and peered into the door to the inner kennel and there shivering was a small black and blue brindle bugger that would not make eye contact.  When I whistled and called she turned her head away from us.  "Karlie, very shy and timid" the tag said.  My wife and I went to the front desk to ask about her.  Six months old, from a puppy mill in Alabama (they have a relationship with the Alabama Humane Society).  Adopted out once and returned after only 2 weeks.  Very shy and non social, terrified of small children.  Not aggressive.  "Can we see her?" we asked.  We went out to the kennel and waited for one of the handlers to come.  Karlie was in the outer kennel this time and immediately tried to go back in to the inner kennel when she saw us.  The handler was in the inner kennel and when she got to the door, Karlie saw her and immediately lay down and urinated on the floor, obviously terrified.  This is no reflection on the handler though who was very gentle and understanding and obviously good with the animals.  She managed to drag Karlie out of the kennel and once on the leash, she walked very reluctantly with her tail very much between her legs to one of the visitation rooms where she promptly lay down and would not move.  My wife and I got down on the floor with her and all the petting and soft talking could not get her to look at us or raise her head.  I left my wife with her to go ask some more questions.  She had whip worms and had been through two treatments and would need a third.  She came from Alabama with two sisters who had already been adopted. The family that returned her had a 5 year old child.  The paperwork said she was partially house trained and had had no accidents in the previous adopter's house.  The handlers had not been able to get her out of her shell.  She got along well with both the dogs and cats, but was very submissive.

OK...this dog is likely a handful and not in the normal way you would think of a handful.  I went back to the visiting room and Karlie is in my wife's lap...urine soaked fur and all.  "Did she climb up there herself?" I asked.  "No, I pulled her into my lap."  She is calm and not shaking in terror, but still completely submissive and virtually a limp noodle in my wife's lap.  She still will not make eye contact.  We try to get her to stand and she crouches down, tail between her legs.  We call for the handler and ask if we can take her outside on a leash.  As we are doing this, we meet a couple and their young child...roughly 4 or 5 in the hall of the kennel.  Karlie instantly crouches and urinates as the child comes forward.  Luckily the parents are smart enough to see what is happening and turn him around and walk in the other direction.  Outside, Karlie is a bit better, and is suddenly a bit more alive when we meet another one of the handlers with one of the dogs on an exercise walk.  Potential, but still I am apprehensive.  My wife is ready to take her home, but I know that this is not a situation to take lightly.  This dog will take lots of work.  More work than some of the rubber band dogs that she wanted to take home on other trips.  But, we have Beulah, a smart, outgoing, patient, fun dog that would be an excellent mentor.

Karlie is back in her kennel and we decide that we will put down a $30 hold on her, and talk about it over supper.  If we decide that we don't want her, the worst will be that we are out the $30.  Still, trying to make a decision based on logic and not emotion will be difficult.  Very difficult.

The next morning, we go back to the Humane Society and finish the paperwork, pay the rest of the adoption fee and load Karlie in the truck.  The seat is covered with a $10 comforter that we picked up from Goodwill because we know it is unlikely that they will have her bathed before we get her.  She has a 2 1/2 hour drive to sit between us and get used to us a bit.  We stop several times to get some air and each time, she does her business.  She has to be lifted into the truck because she will simply try to crawl underneath it if we try to let her get in on her own.

As we drive, we discuss another dilemma.  My sister has come home for New Year's while we are out of town and are staying at our house.  Both her kids are in high school, but still, 4 more people in the house might be a challenge for Karlie.  Well, nothing to be done about it.  At the recommendation of the Humane Society, we have purchased a dog crate and will cover it with the comforter and let her stay in it if the people are too much for her.

When we get home, my wife stays in the truck with the dog and I go in and get Beulah, who instantly jumps up into the truck when I open the door.  Karlie's tail is wagging.  Beulah turns and looks at me as if to say, "What the fuck is this?" and jumps back out of the truck.  Karlie is right behind her and I have to grab her dragging leash.  Whoah!  This is unexpected, but good.  We walk around and Karlie does her business.  Going into the house goes ok because she is following Beulah, but upon seeing all the people, she promptly goes under the couch.  As my wife sets up the crate, I take her to the tub for a very much needed bath.  She does surprisingly well and soon she is scrubbed from head to toe and clean as a whistle.  I dry her off and carry her out to the crate.  Everyone in the room is oohing and aahing about what a sweet girl she is.  I put her at the entrance to the crate and she goes right in and lies down and stares at me (eye contact!) with sad eyes.  A peanut butter dog biscuit is sniffed, but not taken until I put it on the floor of the crate.  I put another at the door and another just outside the door.  She lays down with no intention of getting the treats.  We leave her alone.  As we are having cocktails and a bit of chips and dip she pokes her head out and takes the biscuit that is outside the crate.  She sees Beulah lying comfortably not to far away and tentatively comes out of the crate and walks up to her.  Her tail is still firmly between her legs and she is nervously glancing at the people who have all suddenly become silent, but she makes it to Beulah and tentatively sniffs and bats a bit at her with her paw.  Beulah begins thumping the floor with her tail which scares Karlie back into her crate.  The rest of the evening is spent repeating this activity with a smattering of treats.  That night, we bring her to bed with us.  Again surprisingly, her tail begins to twitch a bit and she snuggles between the two of us.  Beulah is on the foot of the bed and not particularly happy, but when we wake up, Karlie is snuggled right up to her.  We take her outside and she does her business.  As we sit and have coffee, she jumps up on the couch and lies down next to my wife.  The day is spent going in and out of her crate, trying to build up the courage to play with Beulah and going outside.  She gets lots of quiet attention from everyone and seems to be getting a bit less skittish.  She is still timid and obviously scared, especially with fast movement, but it seems like she is making a bit of progress.  The only one who wants nothing to do with her is Scarlett and she nips at her when Karlie sniffs her on her dog bed, but I explained the situation with her earlier and this is understandable.

My folks come over for New Year's eve and my dad is smitten.  "I could take her home!" he says.  Very much out of character, but Karlie sniffs his fingers and her tail twitches a bit when he crouches by her crate.  She is back a bit to the scared girl we saw at the kennel, but it has been a busy day.

The next day, New Year's, my sister and her family head for home and my wife has some errands to run.  While she is gone, Scarlett dies.  Karlie is in her crate when I take Scarlett's little body out to the woods with a pick axe and shovel to bury her.  When I come back in, she is lying on the floor with Beulah, who senses something is wrong.  I sit down on the couch and Karlie comes over slowly and climbs up with me and lies down.  As I pet her, she stretches out and yawns...I realize that this is the first time she has been in the quiet house.  It is going to be a long road for her, but she is on it and moving forward.

Yesterday, something scared her and she somehow managed to get under the bed and get stuck.  It was no small task to get her out.  Today it snowed and she did not know what to think.  She did not go very far before she crouched down and would not move without serious coaxing.  Her tail was back between her legs.  When I finally got her to move she seemed to come around and I let her off the leash.  She ran directly to the door of the house and looked back at me as if to say, "hurry up dammit!"  I decided to start my old plow truck to let it warm up before I let her in.  Maybe she would even want to ride with me while I plowed snow.  No dice.  The old truck is a bit loud and when I started it, it scared her so bad she wedged herself in between the house and the stack of firewood I have outside the door.  I had to take down half the stack to get her out and when I did and opened the door, she bee lined for the couch.  Tonight she is lying on the couch stretched out next to my wife and dreaming.  I expect getting her to some semblance of normal is going to take months but she will get there.  Beulah told me so.

The picture below was from yesterday afternoon.  I think she knows she is home.  Not much stress shown here.

Some changes are for the good.  I think this was one of those.  I bought a couple lottery tickets when we were in town.  They weren't winners.  I think it is possible that Karlie is the one that won the lottery.