Cows, Skeeters and Gary

Over the weekend, I went to the new fencing project between the hay field and the lodgepole pasture to tack down some lower parts of the woven wire. 

While walking the fenceline to the north, I saw them coming straight at me. 

These were not Steve Martin's renegade cows, and, happily, they were not really renegade cows.  

They belong to Bert Wood who has been pasturing a portion of his herd in the Meserve Preserve ever since we moved to Selle 13 years ago and maybe even long before that.

I stood with confidence as the herd, many walking as if they were army troops, came my way. 

Twas the demilitarized zone, so to speak. 

One wire, a hot one separated me from the herd and ensured that I probably would not be trampled.

Once they reached a place which they deemed safe but close enough, they simply stood in rank, staring at me. 

In keeping with the spirit, I stared back and even took some pictures. 

A little later, CB came over to inspect the herd.  I think he knew about the electric wire too, so, again, it was simply walk within safe range and stare. 

With all involved knowing "their place," and repecting the "others' space," it was a pretty scene, for sure.

   

In other news, in the midst of evening-news snooze time,  I suddenly came awake and announced to Bill that I was gonna go saddle up Lefty and go for a ride. 

Twas an oh-so brief interlude of "music to Bill's ears." 

"Well, I'll go to Grouse Creek then," he said. 

He immediately detected from my expression that I rather wished he would not go to Grouse Creek but instead stay home. 

I'm in this new phase of life (having heard about numerous broken bones) where I really don't want to saddle up a horse and ride around the place unless someone is home and within yelling range should something (like a bear which keeps sticking around the neighborhood) spook my horse and, in turn, put me on the ground. 

Bill immediately said he'd stay.  I told him it would be just an hour or so. Then, if he still wanted to go to Grouse Creek, he could with these longer days. 

Lefty has reached the point where he needs the Keto diet or maybe some Weight Watchers guidance.  

So, yesterday his allotment of time in the pasture was cut by half. 

Horses are not really good at initiating their own weight-loss programs, so they need a little human guidance.

I often apologize to Lefty when I lead him from the pasture and leave the others behind to keep on eating. 

I think he understands. 

Anyway, he seemed okay with blending a little exercise with his new fasting routine. 

After a good grooming session and some bug spray, he was saddled up, and I soon climbed aboard without falling to the ground on the other side like I did one day last fall. 

Off we went, down the road until we hit the Kauble's own private Mosquito heaven, so we turned around. 

I was going to steer Lefty on past the driveway but saw Bill, probably out checking to see if he had to pick up a sack of broken bones.  

Fortunately, he did not. He was happy to take some photos as I rode around the yard.  We figured we'd better document the momentous occasion. 

Later, I said I'd ride down the lane and then call it a night cuz the Lovestead's own private Mosquito Heaven had gone into action, and Lefty was not pleased. 

While we plodded on back down the lane with CB running the fence line and whinnying for his Lefty, I saw Bill talking to someone in a 4-wheeler. 

By golly, it was my neighbor and classmate Gary Finney.  We live almost within spitting distance on South Center Valley Road, but it's been months since we visited with Gary. 

So, last night in the midst of an all-out mosquito offensive, we managed to get some talking done. 

Gary always likes to talk about education and how we ought to do our education system like the Amish---readin', writin', 'rithmetic and DISCIPLINE. 

So, we talked school and caught up on the neighborhood gossip.  Gary's pretty happy to hear that Peter Taylor is soon moving back home.

Eventually, we had batted away enough mosquitoes, so Gary fired up his 4-wheeler and left.  Bill and I walked back to the house, doing a little scratching from the skeeter attacks.  

I think we deserve some purple hearts for enduring that assault last night.  Itches and all, it was a great evening for an ol' gal and her horse and for catching up with a neighbor. 

In the midst of it all, flowers continue to put off a lot of "downright purty."  

BTW: the rose at the bottom is dedicated to my beloveds, Annie, Willie and Debbie who gave me the bush for Mother's Day. 

Happy Tuesday.