3 Down, 9 To Go, or 10, 11, 12

Tuesday and Wednesday were a bit of a whirlwind around here. Tuesday night, following Mini Me's softball practice I noticed a cow with an extra set of legs. Sure enough, one of our cows had dropped her calf, or simply meaning, she birthed her child.
A huge calf too! At least 100 pounds of black, furry, cuteness.

She's the cute one standing up behind her little buddy who was born on Wednesday. Just look at that face! She's gorgeous. Did I mention big? She will be a spitting image of her mom when she is full grown. She's out of one of our registered Angus cows, so she will be registered too. Her mama and daddy has passed on some super nice genetics this time around!

What started on Tuesday certainly spread like the flu to a couple other cows and sure enough, Wednesday morning there was another little calf wobbling around.

Later on in the afternoon when Yooper and I were ear tagging the other two baby calves, we spotted another newborn happily sucking down some milk.

Why do we ear tag them? We have to. When you have all black calves born to all black mamas it is our organizational system for keeping track of who belongs to whom. Each calf wears a set of matching ear tags with numbers. The "CC" stands for our farm name, Cornerstone Cattle. While we are no big cattle operating farm, we needed to call Yooper's little hobby something. It fits because our home is made of fieldstone and our property is located near a corner/intersection. And when Yooper started all of this cattle "business", it came at a "cornerstone" in his life. That's right, he had just married me, had bought his first real tractor, had learned how to harvest hay and was thinking in the back of his mind of opening his own practice. It was a major cornerstone for me too. I didn't know I would become not only a vet's wife but also a cattle farmer's wife.

I love taking pictures of these babies when they are so new to life. For about a month they are very cute and then after that they soon become little, mischevious devils. I soon find myself chasing them back into their pastures after they have runeth through our freshly planted garden or have pooed all over my freshly mowed lawn.

While I love to snap pictures of their cuteness, their moms begin hovering over me. Even though I am on the other side of an electrified barb wire fence, the smoke coming out of their nostrils tells me it is time to end my paparazzi time.

Our little bitty herd of cows has 9 more calves to be born. I'm suspecting twins mixed in there at least once. You just never know!

Read more...

Catgirl Rides Again

A girl and her cat. It's a wonderful thing. Little girls love kitties. My daughter is a perfect example.  She calls them her "babies." She's a cat fanatic just like her mom.

Yooper pointed out something happening in our driveway last night. 

"Did you see what your daughter is doing?" I love how he says "your daughter". As if I have caused my daughter to act just like me. 

"No I didn't. But I did notice "your son" playing in the gravity box that you left in the front yard."

"She is carrying that cat around with her on her bike."

On the bike that is too small for her growing 8 year old height. The bike she cannot let go of just yet. We bought her a bigger bike, but she loves hopping on this one and to zip around on, and carry cats.

This is one of her favorite cats, Cheddars. The most tolerant, patient, loving cat. How many cats do you know would do this? 

She's a pretty special cat too. We almost lost her a couple years ago after she became extremely ill and was headed for kidney failure. A big challenge for Yooper too, especially when his daughter looks up to him and asks "Is Cheddars going to die 

Dad?" Bet they didn't teach him this scenario in vet school. 

This little girl visited her almost  every day at our clinic. She drew pictures and hung them up on her cage door. 

Cheddars would purr and display her happy feet whenever Mini Me was in sight.

Mini Me carried her and drove her bike up and down the driveway as Cheddars hung patiently in her arms. 

Does this cat look like she needs to be anywhere else? Completely safe and loved in her little girl's arms. Happy feet and all. 

Read more...

Potato Peeling Perfection

My mom sent me a link to this YouTube video and I found it quite interesting. In fact, it almost makes me want to make a dish of mashed potatoes tonight. Well almost.

Remember Mary Ann from Giligan's Island? She was my favorite and that show was one of my all time favs. I was always faced with the challenging question of why they just couldn't make a boat and find their way home. So much to think about for a 10 year old!

Check this video out and let me know if you have ever tried this. I loathe peeling potatoes. I either peel them before boiling them or after, but then they are a messy, slimy pile of peels.

If anything, maybe you'll learn something new.

And to my U.P. readers. Does Mary Ann sound like she has a bit of a Yooperish accent? It is so slight, but I hear it! LOL!

Read more...

Ruby Tuesday ~ All that gossip! ~

There was quite a rustle on here last week. Rumors flying around. Guesses, hints and no real clear answers. I posted a YouTube video of Corgi puppies and responses with questions arose, almost shutting down my server. Yeah right.

All I know is that Ruby had quite a week's full of raging passion. Is that possible for a dog? Passion? I know she is passionate about moi. But for another dog? 

It's true. She does. She did. Now it's over and her little fling is over. She's moving on with her life with hopes for puppydom in the near future. At least 63 days from last Thursday. 

Ruby and puppies? Ruby as a mom? I still can't picture it. I still see such a puppy in her. My little girl grew up last week. 

Yes she did. She matured, blossomed, became a real dog.  I had to walk away from her whole behavior she displayed once her beloved friend, Jerry Lee, came around. 

It was too embarassing. She needed her privacy. I needed to walk away, crossing my fingers, hoping for a match up with these two short legged, stout, neurotic dogs.

I needed to plan for a puppy palooza in the distant future.  

Ruby having puppies. I just can't foresee it. What date would it be? End of June? What were we doing then? Hay season would be over. Baseball and softball would be wrapping up. No trips away from our funny farm had been written in stone. What a wonderful time of year to have puppies. PUPPIES! 

"PUPPIES!" I shrieked, imitating Cruella du Ville from 101 Dalmations. "PUPPIES!"

Wait a second. I need to gain control here. I need to stay in the moment and also remind myself she may not have puppies. 

Her hormonal actions may just not work for her. She may not be pregnant now. But she just might be. There is a good 50% chance she is. And there is a depressing 50% chance she isn't. 

I'm not going to keep thinking about this. That other 50% chance is well, depressing!

I'll stay cool, calm, collected and focused on just treating her as normally as possible.

I'll quit thinking I need to put her on Folic Acid vitiamins. I'll quit asking her if she has any morning sickness, yet. I have to shake that crazy thought out of my head about buying her an EPT test.

I won't tell her to not run so crazily around after the cats in fear she might hurt herself. 

I'll just keep her life as normal as it was before she ever came nose to nose with Mr. Jerry Lee, her Corgi lover. 

I took these pictures with my cell phone last Friday while taking Mr. Lee back to his home. He grew on me. I started to like him more and more. He has the looks and I kept telling him I hoped his closest friends would meet with Ruby's and truly connect for a lasting relationship. He just panted and told me to drive faster so he could get back home as he had another date lined up for the weekend. 

Such is the life of an intact male Corgi dog.

Deep down I'm counting on Ruby to come through for me and begin to swell and become round  with a belly full of little baby Corgies. I'm hoping. I'm keeping my fingers crossed. 

It's all up to her now.

Read more...

Gobble, Gobble

Turkey season opened up here last week. That means hunting and preying upon wild turkeys in hopes of finding one that has a long beard and long, sharp spurs. 

Gobble, gobble. Another sign Spring has sprung upon us.

This will be Yooper Jr.'s first year hunting with his dad. He's pretty excited about it. But it takes practice and Yooper set up a target for him the other night. Amazingly the kid has a good shot going for him. Not a good thing for the turkey though. 

Yooper has fine artistic skills whenever it involves an animal that needs to be used for target practice. I told him to add a beard to this drawing because it looks like a hen. 

"Honey, we don't want our son shooting a girl turkey!" Then Yooper gave me his imitation of calling in a hen, and I chirped and purred back at him. 

Well not really. It was more of a "I'm not falling for that turkey call this time".

Of course Yooper has to demonstrate how to be aimed and ready once a turkey is within shooting distance. Not to mention staying in this pose, completely still and quiet. And yes, that is a cow turd sitting next to him. Amazingly none of it found itself a home on either one of their pants.

I told Yooper Jr. to just hold his breath and close his eyes. 

I was then told to shush and take pictures.

Why is hunting such a serious sport?

And here is the beardless gobbler waiting to be taken down by our sharp shootin' son. He's quite the fat turkey hey? Or is he a big-breasted turkey?

Did I just say that?

Oh never mind.......

BOOM! Dead bird!

Please don't be alarmed by the building you see in the background. It is an abandoned elementary school. I just needed to clear this up before your eyebrows become permanently raised. You know the whole way the gun is pointed towards that building. Looks bad I know. 

The boys went out early, like 5 o'clock in the morning early Saturday, in hopes of bringing home food for our freezer. No such luck. Within an hour a ferious thunderstorm came rolling through, dampening their spirits. Ha, get that, dampening their spirits? Seriously  dampened them. 

One more week of turkey season. Another week of hearing Yooper practice his turkey calls. Which means another week of  hearing our alarm go off at 5 in the morning. That's dedication. Serious addiction for hunting. It so must be a boy thing.

Read more...