Notes From The American Outback

A recent hunt re-cap

2012-01-24T16:20:00.000-07:00

Two weeks ago I loaded up my little camper trailer and all four of us headed out for a 350-mile trip to a friend's farm where we got to do some bird hunting.

Birds were scarce, but it was good to see my friends again and have some quality time with them. The dogs, all three, enjoyed the trip, too. Em and Jack were out in the fields every day and Mags stayed back in the trailer, which she loves. She made comfy nests in the big bed and there were no complaints from her.

We had the chance to hunt a lovely private preserve that had some of the best habitat I have seen in a long time. Nevertheless, there were few birds. The day we hunted there we had six hunters and a like number of dogs. Jack and Emma performed well, but we didn't get into more than three rises on the whole day.

My hosts were apologetic but I assured them it had been a great day and I wasn't disappointed at all. The dogs had many great days, as did I. I know the dogs would have liked more rises and more birds in the bag, but I don't hunt to kill things. I hunt to be with the dogs, and revel in watching their joy as they work. It was also good to hunt with friends and enjoy some great days afield.

We were gone almost a week. Excellent trip, but we were all glad to be home. Mags dashed inside, jumped up on the couch, and did her patented head-stands in joy to be back in her house.

Good Day, No Birds

2012-01-24T15:51:00.001-07:00

Jack and I hunted a neighbor ranch today. We saw a lot of birds but they were all doing their road-runner imitations— tails high, legs flashing in a sprinter's blur. I think they have two mottoes: "You fly, you die!" and "Be bold, don't hold!" Or something like that. But despite a bitter cold wind Jack was enthusiastic and didn't want to quit. Once the snow started (almost horizontal!) I wimped out and suggested we call it a day and he grudgingly agreed.

The Birthday Girl

2012-01-23T12:13:00.002-07:00

Emma is ten today. Ten good years with a good dog!

It saddens me when my dogs grow old. Such good friends should live much longer than they actually do. Emma is just now beginning to show her age, but she is still up for a full day of hunting, or anything else that you might have in mind. She's a bit creaky the next morning, but ready to go again if you are.

I am well aware that dogs could not care less about birthdays, but I do. So she will get a "special dinner" today. That's the tradition around here. And that means that Mags and Jack will also get special dinners because they are great believers in their own version of the Fairness Doctrine which states that what One gets the Others get as well. Why not? Birthdays are to be celebrated by all!

When the cord snaps

2011-12-11T15:53:00.000-07:00

Last night I was once again impressed with how easily the thin cord of civilization can be severed. So much depends on those wispy little power lines snaking in from the outside world. Last night, about 1800, they failed.

This is not an unusual thing out here, but I have gotten in the habit of calling it in immediately, since the phone company's line batteries tend to go out very quickly. I keep a little old-fashioned line-powered 'phone handy for just such occasions, even though I can hardly hear the other party. My power coop is aces, and no matter the problem they hustle to get it solved.

About an hour after the juice stopped flowing I fired up the fireplace, since the temp was dropping rapidly from about 28°. I lit the oil lamps, unplugged computers, the VCR and the TV, and settled into a rocker with the iPad for some reading. This was the first time I had the iPad during a power failure and glad I was to have it. The backlight makes reading a delight— reading with oil lamps is not what it's cracked up to be in books about the Good Old Days— and the 10+ hour battery is a comfort. (If you just listen to music on it it will last a lot longer. Sixteen days by one test.) I read from Richard Harding Davis's war correspondent writings until about midnight when I pulled out the couch-bed in front of the f/p and the dogs and I sacked out.

The power popped back on at 0230 this morning and I restarted the furnace. The temp was 15° outside but the house temp had only dropped to 66°, even though I had let the fire go out after we went to bed, thanks to all that good insulation.

I never started the genny. Didn't see the need.

There's nothing like a power failure to bring home how much we depend on that wired-in juice. Just about everything comes to a screeching halt when it fails, especially if it's after dark. It's probably a Good Thing that it happens from time to time to keep us humble. And to remind us to know where the flashlights are and to keep plenty of lamp oil on hand. We live on a thin crust wherever we happen to be.

Prairie raisins

2011-11-29T17:10:00.002-07:00

Lots of these around the place. They are essentially everywhere, in various sizes and consistencies. The dogs are connoisseurs, unfortunately, but they are dogs, after all. Some they just sniff at; others they savor. Sheep leave similar gifts and in Ireland I know them as "Kerry raisins."

The deer are still around.

Boy-dogs and "tools"...

2011-11-28T19:48:00.002-07:00

All of my males have been fascinated by tools and their use. Murphy, my Rottie, was the tool-champ. If I (or anyone else) was using a tool of almost any type he would be right there, watching. Sometimes when I finished with the tool he would sneak off with it. He did that with hammers, pliers, crescent wrenches, etc. Once he even tried to make away with a small electric drill. Jack is much the same. NONE of my girl-dogs have had any interest whatsoever in tools or "tool process." I find this very interesting.

I found this surprise on my game cam when I checked it y'day...

Yes, Jack, it's another tool.

My daily chuckle

2011-11-28T10:06:00.002-07:00

Not a day goes by that my dogs don't give me a good laugh. Usually it's either Mags or Jack, and sometimes both together. This morning there was a mad chase around the place for a few minutes followed by a tug-of-war after Jack found one of their favorite toys in the grass. This struggle went on for a good five minutes with neither competitor giving an inch. Jack is strong enough that he can lift her off the ground and whirl her around. (She likes that apparently.) He's also strong enough to get it away from her with a couple of vicious, neck-wrenching snaps. But he doesn't. It's surprising how careful he is and how much he veils his strength advantage.

It's great fun to watch them enjoying each other.

Come and gone...

2011-11-21T15:58:00.001-07:00

The regular firearm deer season is over now, ending at sundown yesterday, and I didn't "harvest" a deer during it. I had many opportunities, as they were literally all over the place at all hours.

But if I change my mind we have a month-long muzzleloader season for me to remedy my malfeasance.

I think one of the problems is that I still have venison in the freezers from last year and I don't like even the appearance of being greedy or unappreciative. I also hunt very much by the feelings of the moment. Is it "right," or not. And so far it hasn't felt "right."

Been Gone

2011-11-19T15:18:00.004-07:00

I've been "off-duty" for a while. Hard to believe it has been that long.

Our little house on the prairie is sailing into the teeth of winter now, which comes on apace. It continues to be a strange fall— one day being a balmy 60° with lovely sun and little wind and the next morning it will be 10° at sun-up. It certainly keeps things interesting.

Jack is back. Same ol' lovable Jack but a sharper dude in the field, and stylish too. He's been used to daily exertion and bugs me no end when he doesn't get his ration of run-and-search. I was a bit concerned about him when I got him home as he was very thin. "Skin and bones" would not have been un-apt. But when I weighed him I found that he had lost just a single pound. I would have sworn at least ten. Everything had been turned to hard muscle and it all showed when he moved.

I'm a firm believer in lean dogs, but he was a bit too lean for my taste so I have been building him up a bit with special fatty beef stews over his kibble and that sort of thing. He's already looking better to my eyes. I never want him to be fat, but I do want him to have a bit of reserve.

The regular firearm deer season here ends tomorrow. I have had at least twenty opportunities to take one and have yet to do so. I'm just not as keen on it as I once was, and I guess I am waiting for a sign that "this is the one"— which hasn't come yet.

I can't believe the holiday season is once more upon us. And soon it will be over and we can say Another one down!

Jack goes back to skool

2011-10-07T13:21:00.001-06:00

Yesterday my boy Jack went away for his last semester at Burd Dawg Skool. I'm already missing him, a lot. So is Mags, as they are great buddies and playmates. Jack's constantly happy approach to life, his merry pranks, and his gentle good-heartedness have become an essential part of the household and I'm already thinking about how nice it will be to have him back. But he won't be coming home 'til November and we just have to deal with it.

Real estate transfers

2011-10-07T08:38:00.001-06:00

Quite a lot of that going on yesterday, with my county contributing to the land mass of the county northwest of us and the county southeast of us giving us a good bit of their ground in return. Sandstorm of major proportions, with winds in excess on 50MPH. Whole lot of dirt in the air, giving the sky an eerie, almost otherworldly look. A kind of amber haze that seemed like "High Plains smog." Would have been quite a sight from the air if you could have seen anything at all.

Rain, rain, glad to see ya, but...

2011-09-15T12:59:00.003-06:00

We wanna come in now!

Our second day of rain, and dreary overcast skies. It was 37° this morning at 630AM and only 39° at noon. The roads to the wee towns south of me will be impassable by now. They become a morass with extended rain, defying even 4WD vehicles and experienced back-country drivers.

The dogs don't even want to stay outside very long. Just to tend to bizness and come right back in for some more couch time. A day of this is OK with Jack; two days become marginal; on the third day he becomes extremely anxious to get outside for some serious exercise. So far he is being very good. And patient. Emma is always good about this sort of thing and Mags, of course, being a little homebody, doesn't much care one or the other.

It's supposed to taper off tonight and give us a drying wind for the next few days. If that happens, then by Sunday or Monday the roads should be navigable once again.

Jack and the Gophers

2011-09-14T10:22:00.001-06:00

This has been a bad year for the Northern Pocket Gopher (Thomomys talpoides). Perhaps I should rephrase that. It has been a good year for them, and a bad year for me where they are concerned. Last year they pretty much gave us a pass. This year they were everywhere, making their wandering semi-circles of pock-holes all over my front yard, in the garden, everywhere. I've managed to pot a few, from the deck, with a rested scoped rimfire off a bag, but it's inefficient work. They only pop their heads up for a second or two at a time while they are cleaning the loose dirt out of their burrow. And they only do that for a few minutes of the day.

Jack thinks they are fun. He's a digger and loves to throw a spume of sand and dirt behind him. And can he ever dig! It takes him no time at all to dig a tank trap in the yard that I could drop the mower into. I try to discourage that, since he never catches one and also never fills in his holes.

But if he finds a fresh hole he can be shoulder deep in it in about thirty seconds, so I have to watch him pretty carefully. If he ever actually catches one with his excavations I am afraid the fever will be upon him and I can kiss my yard goodbye.

Tired of weeding!

2011-08-30T17:12:00.003-06:00

If weeds were edible (and I guess some are) there would be no world food problem. I could probably feed all of Bangladesh out of my little garden plot, at least this year I might've as they seemed especially vigorous and fast-growing.

I know there are many schemes to avoid or defeat weeds, but next year I am going to try a containerized garden. I have quite a few of those heavy-duty "lick tubs" that ranchers use to feed specialized nutrients to their cattle. One of my neighbors has a huge stockpile of the really good ones (heavy resin or plastic construction— almost indestructible) and said I could have all I want.

So Jack and I took a ride today. Only about 25 miles round trip, but we ended up with some nice containers for next year, and the promise of more if we want them.

The Little Man

2011-08-30T14:57:00.001-06:00

Anyone who has visited this blog more than once or twice knows that dogs are, and have been, a very important part of my life. I have been enormously privileged to have lived with some really fine dogs. By fine I do not breeding, pedigrees, and the like. I mean character, intelligence, and spirit.

In the last couple of decades I have been unusually lucky to know six such very special friends. Casting no aspersions on my present house-mates, the finest of them all was Murphy, who died in 2007, prematurely from a particularly vicious form of cancer.

The other day I was going through some boxes of stuff and found this little portrait I did of him right after he came to live with me in 1999. He's eight or nine weeks here and I believe I can already see the keen intelligence and sensitivity that would characterize his life. He was by far the smartest, most savvy four-legged I have ever known and his instincts, particularly about people, were always spot-on. He also had the most wonderful, complex sense of humor. He very quickly earned the nickname "The Little Man." I used to joke that he was not really a dog, but a pure soul on his journey to his next level. Well, I say I was joking anyway.

It's been four years since he went on ahead, I hope to find a shady spot for us under some trees next to a mountain stream. I miss him terribly.

The gentle rain that falleth

2011-08-29T13:06:00.000-06:00

We haven't had any rain for quite a while. But this morning a gentle drizzle began to fall. The birds lined up on all the fences and flapped their wings happily. The dogs, usually not fond of getting their feet wet, went out and played for a while in the cool air. When Emma and Mags came in, Jack wanted to stay on the front deck. He's out there now sniffing the air and enjoying the cool breeze and the moisture in the air after our blistering hot, dry days.

I had a bowl of tomatoes and squash out on the shooting bench, partially under cover, and the rain bedewed it. After a long spell of dry and hot weather, a gentle rain is a blessing to all things.

It doesn't take much

2011-08-28T16:59:00.002-06:00

We humans are pretty jaded critters. It's hard for us to get too excited about "fun activities" unless they are expensive extravaganzas, often involving lots of alcohol and other added "entertainment" magnifiers. Dogs don't have that problem. They still know how to have 110% fun with the simplest things. A 49¢ tennis ball. A bone stuffed with peanut butter. A short walk with the boss. Or a ride in the Rhino on a hot afternoon. All get the smiles, the enthusiasm, the sheer unadulterated happiness of the moment.

The Rhino was in the shop all last week with a fuel feed problem. I brought it home just the other day in the van trailer. When I let the ramp down and the dogs saw it they went ape, as we used to say. Even thought the tailgate was up Jack and Emma were in it before I got it unloaded. They were so happy to see "their" Rhino again. Of course, I didn't have the heart to deny them a quick couple of turns around the pasture, for which I was rewarded by their sheer unfeigned delight.

In the picture above, taken today on our road, Mags is occupying her usual place in the right hand seat. Just couldn't get her in the frame as we were moving (only about 15 MPH) and I was holding the camera out the side. But you can bet she was there and in the moment!

A family group

2011-08-25T07:56:00.000-06:00

Bison are for the most part very companionable creatures. They are group-oriented in the extreme. While you will occasionally encounter a solitary old bull, they are the exception rather than the rule.

When bison roamed the American plains the male-female ratio was much closer to 1:1 than it is now in controlled herds. Nowadays the ratio tends to be 15 or 20:1. Even so, there seems to be quite a bit of family cohesion within a herd, and you will see the same cow/bull combination frequently together.

Calves are ear-tagged as they are born and one rancher noted that consecutively numbered ear tags will go through a sorting chute together for years. These are not siblings, just "group buddies."

Training collars

2011-08-25T07:42:00.002-06:00

Someone recently wrote me about the collar that appears often on pictures of Jack. I answered then and later thought that I should post that answer here. Here it is...

Thanks. My dogs are happy. A genuinely happy bunch. Jack's tail almost never stops wagging— except when he's after birds or something else he can point.

I'm going to answer your question about collars at some length because I have some very strong opinions about them. I do not "train my dogs with a collar." I use a collar to augment training but it is only a peripheral aid. I estimate that 80% of the people that buy them don't know what they are doing and thus misuse them, even to the extent of abusing the dog. The collar is not punishment; it is a tool to help the dog understand what you want from him. Overuse of collars is common, and dogs can be completely ruined by it. A collar is not a cure-all or a panacea. It's an aid and needs to be used with discretion. Here are some "rules" based on my experience and methods of use.

RULE 1. If you are not willing to try the collar on yourself, at all power levels, you are not entitled to buy or use one. You don't have to use it around your neck. Strap it on your leg and see what it feels like, at ALL levels. Don't use it on the dog until you know what he's going to be experiencing.

RULE 2. The collar should not be activated until the dog has worn it for several hours a day, every day, for at least two weeks. I prefer a month. Make a big deal of putting it on. It's fun! Give him a cookie-biscuit and take him outside and play with him. Don't even bother to turn it on. Strapping a collar on a dog and then immediately "training" him with it is cruel, counterproductive, and, well, stupid. (When Jack sees me pick up the collar he gets excited, comes over to me, sits, and extends his neck so I can put it on. We've dispensed with the cookie long ago. He doesn't need it anymore. He does not see the collar as a threat. I have seen dogs cower and whimper when they see the boss pick up the collar. A sure sign that it's the boss who ought to be wearing it!)

RULE 3. If the collar is to be used to correct objectionable behavior (after the familiarization period) like fence-climbing, digging, or chasing stock, do not let the dog associate the correction with you. Preferably be out of sight when you apply the correction and say nothing to him. He shouldn't even know you are there. YOU didn't do it, the fence (hole, sheep, whatever) did it. If he associates the correction with you, he will behave in your presence and when you go inside he'll go after that ewe with renewed vigor. Also, do not wave the controller around or call attention to it. You don't want him to start associating the controller with the correction he receives.

RULE 4. When you use the collar along with a verbal command or signal be sure the dog knows what he is being corrected for. He should know precisely what you expect of him first and only then can you correct him when he balks at the command. Timing is important. The correction should be brisk and immediate.

RULE 5. Think long and hard before you use the collar more than two or three times in a busy day of working with him. If you feel the need to use it frequently, something is wrong and should be corrected. Again, the collar is not a cure-all.

RULE 6. Never let anyone else use the collar with your dog.

These are some of my thoughts on the use of the training collar. The collar has been an aspect of training six or seven of my dogs. None of them were ever "ruined" or "abused." It's a good tool if used with care, restraint, and knowledge. Otherwise, it's a no-go in my opinion.

I hope these notes have been helpful.

In among 'em

2011-08-23T15:46:00.003-06:00

I swore to myself I'd never again stand behind a commercial mo'om pitcher camera. But I am weak, and at the request of the ranch foreman I have been doing some filming of his critters lately. He wanted some footage of moving them between "pastures." The word pasture does not really convey the meaning of what these grazing grounds are. This morning they were moving them out of a rough, canyon-smeared pasture that is five miles long, into one that is about fifteen miles long. Poor folks only have about 90,000 acres so they have to make do.

This was my third session and it was the most up-front-and-personal yet. They had split the herd into two 2,500-head components and today's shoot was the last of these two. That many buffalo, moving at speed, up close, cause an unbelievable amount of dust. I joked that I was going to have to put the camera in the dishwasher tonight. Maybe along with myself.

22/8/22

2011-08-22T15:51:00.003-06:00

Today is the 89th anniversary of the death of Michael Collins.

Who knows how the history of Ireland would have been shaped had Collins lived. Would he have been the savior of his country, or would he have slowly morphed into a military dictator? Both, I think, are overstated positions. What cannot be disputed is that he was a principal player in wrenching the initiative from the British and setting Ireland on the road of freedom and independence.

The circumstances of the death of the Big Fella have spawned a publishing industry in Ireland, much as the assassination of JFK did for us here. Did DeValera have him killed? Did a member of his own command murder him? Or, more likely, was his death the result of his own rash act coupled with a lucky shot from a young man who didn't even know who it was that he had killed— or even if he had killed rather than merely wounded him.

We'll never know. Nevertheless, the date of 22 August 1922 will continue to be observed by those who think about such things. And I will fly my tricolor on this date, as always.

The Threesome

2011-08-20T13:34:00.003-06:00

Pictures of my three all together are few and far between. They're most often tearing around doing their own thing and trying to get them together, quiet, and attentive is almost impossible. But last month, for a split second, it all came together. They were playing together in the cool of dusk, I called them, they looked, *SNAP*. And they immediately went back to their fun.

Los Olmos

2011-08-13T17:02:00.001-06:00

That's the tentative name anyway. The new place is quite a bit more "southwesty" than my present digs, even though it's at the same altitude although further south. As I mentioned earlier, the dogs and I spent last weekend on it, getting the feel of it, and with me digging out prickly pear of which there is much. Interestingly, the dogs avoided it very skillfully and I don't think anybody got stuck all weekend.

There's no electricity or water on the site right now and I'll be putting those in in the spring. There is too much land for my own needs, so I'll build on my five acres and lease the rest back to the ranch for grazing. Whether I use it myself or not it's a heckuva nice buffer, not that there's much danger of encroachment.

Note the small prairie dog village to the right of the ranch trail in the picture.

Jack gets porkied

2011-08-10T15:51:00.001-06:00

The other evening I noticed Jack out on the lawn nibbling away at a forepaw. I went out to find he had some quills in it, as well as a couple in his nose. I got the pliers and pulled them. He didn't care much for the process at all, but was a very good boy and let me pull 'em. I put the dogs inside, got a rifle, and walked the place looking for the culprit, thinking that from the quill size it must be a young one. Couldn't find it. Finding a porky in tall, fully leafed trees is almost impossible,

The next morning Jack found another quill in that same paw and we did the deed again. He was even less happy about this one as it seemed very sore and tender. But we got it out and he forgives me.

Later in the day I took a walk with the dogs and the 77/22, figuring it was pretty futile but worth a try. Lo and behold there it was high in a cottonwood, clinging to a limb. A big one. Not wanting a porky falling into or on my dogs I took them back to the house and came back to do the sanction. (My "official" porky gun is the fine little CZ 527 in .223. But this time I took the Ruger 77/22— the one I just put a Leupold 4x on.) I wanted a head shot so there wouldn't be any thrashing around and dropping quills. Porkies are easy to kill and with an eye shot this one was dead before hitting the ground.

I hate to kill 'em but it has to be done. The damage they can do to a dog is just too much to put up with. This was a very big female, maybe the biggest I've seen here. 25-30 pounds and fat and healthy with pretty well-worn teeth. I checked around for young ones but couldn't see any— which doesn't mean they weren't there.

Jack is fine. I just hope he learned something.

Mea culpa, mea culpa...

2011-08-08T18:01:00.002-06:00

I apologize for not paying much attention to this blog of late. I was really touched by the several kind souls that emailed to see if I was still among the living. Kind indeed, and somewhat guilt-inducing (but nothing I can't handle). Thanks, friends.

Truth is I have been pretty busy of late with not much time for anything else. I was in the process of acquiring a piece of an existing ranch in another state. That's done now. Sometime next year, starting in the spring, I will be building on and then moving onto the new location. The dawgz and I spent this last weekend on the place surveying the building site. Jack and Emma were pretty happy to find that there were plenty of pheasant and quail on the place, and Jack was over the moon to discover that there were many little lizards and toads to pursue and harass.

Mags, on the other hand, bored to tears with that kind of childishness, was just pleased to stake out her very own place in the shade.

Come outta there!

2011-07-11T11:34:00.002-06:00

Yesterday Emma and Jack found a turtle in the yard. Jack got bored real quick since he couldn't see any sign of feathers. But Emma thought it was very interesting and since it would peek out from time to time she knew somebody was living inside. I was afraid she'd flip it onto its back or start chewing its carapace so I took it away and put it somewhere safe. She forgave me. After a while.

Emma gets bitten

2011-07-08T17:38:00.000-06:00

Late in the afternoon yesterday as I was putting equipment back in the shop I noticed a large bull snake lying on the apron in front of one of the overhead doors. I tried to shoo him OUT but of course he decided to go IN. Rather than search for him I decided to leave him for the night and deal with him the next day. Besides, a night in the shop was sure to result in a reduction in the mouse demographic.

I didn't see him again until I was putting the Rhino away tonight, with dogs aboard. The next thing I knew Jack and Emma were deeply interested in something under one of the downspouts. Emma reached in and pulled out the snake. She shook it and tossed it into the grass in front of the shop and they both went for it. It was medium sized, about four feet, and plenty mad.

I was yelling at both dogs and Jack was mostly paying attention. (All that "Get back!" training had an effect.) Not Em of course, who hates snakes above all things. Jack would do a feint and the snake would strike, missing him, but he would jump back and be reluctant to move in again. Smart boy! Emma dived in and got it by the tail and flung it again, but this time when it hit the ground she was in range and it nailed her on the butt. She jumped and moved away and THEN started to listen to my "EMMA, NO!" I managed to get them away from it and inside. There appeared to be some minor laceration back toward the tail but nothing that looked really serious. I'm hoping he wasn't badly injured.

Emma might have learned something. I dunno. The combination of seeing Jack back off and then getting bitten may have given her something to think about. Not that Em thinks too much when she sees snakes.

Celebrating the Fourth

2011-07-05T10:52:00.002-06:00

Went down to the country seat yesterday to help out with a community project and stayed for a while to watch the annual parade. The gentleman on the right of the color guard is no spring chicken, but the fellow on the left is 90 years old. He and that Garand he's toting (or one just like it) did some good work on our behalf a long, long time ago.

As good as it gets

2011-07-05T10:44:00.002-06:00

About once a month the county runs the "maintainer" back and forth on my little road. For a day or two it looks pretty spiffy. This shot is on the widest section not too long after it ran through. In two days it will be back to buffalo-wallow condition. Between the turn-off into my place and the next autogate (1 mile) towards the two-track there are 12 "lakes" that form when it rains. Don't like the looks of that puddle? No problem. There's plenty of prairie to drive around it, plus a couple of places where you can get over that high bank. Who says we have a problem with infrastructure in this country?

The Great Spirit's light-show

2011-06-27T08:23:00.001-06:00

We've been having regular sky shows out here for the past couple of weeks. Thunderstorms move through, sometimes lighting up the late afternoon sky in spectacular fashion, and then pass on. But last night took the cake. The whole sky, across the entire horizon, was ablaze with other-worldly color, and all moving at impressive speed. Photographs (And these are not Photoshopped! Taken a few minutes apart, one to the north and one to the south.) cannot come close to doing justice to the massive expanse and reach of the spectacle. I've never seen anything quite like it.

That turkey hen...

2011-06-26T18:31:00.003-06:00

...is still hanging around, after more than a month. I mentioned before that I have seen her with a couple of wee poults, but I haven't seen them in quite awhile and I fear the worst has happened to them as she appears to be alone now.

The other day I cut grass in front of the shop building and the next morning she spent about an hour pecking through it looking for goodies. Later I went out and spread some cracked corn and mixed birdseed for her.

Then, the very next day, I was watching the dogs run around the front area and suddenly became aware that she was perched on a piece of lumber near the target butt, apparently watching the fun. The dogs seemed oblivious of her presence and I suspect that turkeys do not put down much scent or they would have been on to her. I've also noticed that when Jack watched her from inside he doesn't get very excited about her. I suspect she may be too big for him to associate her with "bird." Emma had a similar ho-hum reaction a couple of years ago when we flushed one out of some tall grass near the house.

I don't want her to get too comfortable here, as that could be dangerous for her. But she's welcome to stay as long as she likes.

(You might have to enlarge the photo to see her perched in the right background. Just click on it to do that.)

Prairie weather— and plenty of it

2011-06-20T17:13:00.001-06:00

Shortly after my last post I succumbed to some sort of fast-moving virus (I assume) donated to me by a kind soul who chose to come to the branding while ailing. Thus I have been absent for a while...

Lately, we've been getting our share of "prairie weather" and then some. Every day, in late afternoon or early evening the sky darkens, the winds ramp up, and the clouds begin to rush by. Sometimes it sounds like freight trains are running right by us, throttles wide open, wheels flashing sparks in the wild air. It can be very scary, but it is also exhilarating. It's also instructive to be reminded from time to time just exactly how small and insignificant you really are.

Big doins'

2011-06-10T20:14:00.003-06:00

I went to a 25-rider round-up and branding today on a friend's ranch. Ever since I busted myself up five or six years ago being foolish, I no longer do any real work at these things— except for pushing the shutter button. Nevertheless, the noise, the dust, the smoke, and the need to be always watching for careering high-strung horses and excited cattle just plain wears me out.

I missed few round-ups while I was in Ireland and now I'm sorta playing catch-up.

But its great fun to meet the neighbors, see some fine horsemanship and roping, and listen to a lot of lies and then all go back to HQ and have a big feed afterwards. Part work, part social.

New momma

2011-06-09T15:22:00.002-06:00

Turkeys come through here all the time, sometimes in flocks of a dozen or more. But for the past couple of weeks there has been a lone hen here that I've seen a couple of times a day. Lately she has gotten more and more skittish and wild and yesterday I discovered why. I saw her in the grass out by the mailbox and this time she was with two wee poults. Two was all I saw, but there could easily have been more. No pix of the babies yet but I'll keep watching for them.

GSP + barbed wire =

2011-06-09T13:47:00.002-06:00

At least I suspect it was wire. Em has been very good (or very lucky) about barbed wire in her life and this is the first real gash she's gotten. Fortunately, it doesn't seem to have gotten into ligament or beneath the first couple of layers and is clean wound. Also, doesn't seem to be bothering her at all, even when I cleaned it.

The Birthday Boy

2011-06-06T14:33:00.002-06:00

Later this week my lad Beau Jack (Jack for short, sometimes "Hey, you!") turns one year old.

It has been an interesting year with him. I was more than a little leery of adding a third dog to the family, but it was time to bring on an apprentice for Emma as she ages and Jack was "available." The winter with a new pup was not nearly as bad as I thought it would be. He learned quickly, was housebroken with relative ease, and seemed to genuinely want to please and do the right thing. These are characteristics not always associated with male GSP puppies.

In retrospect I am so glad that I was foolish enough to take the checkbook when I went "just to look" because all-in-all Jack has been a delight. He got along famously with the girls from day one and continues to be a joy-bringer: his tail going a mile a minute most of the day. I don't think he's had a grumpy day since he came to us. He likes other dogs without any need to be either aggressive or submissive. He's a great watchdog, but if I say they're OK he's accepting of a stranger on the place. He's a good traveler and thinks the Rhino and the truck belong to him and that he lets me use them from time to time.

In addition to all this, he is crazy for birds. Any birds! In the front area he will stalk robins, sparrows, whatever, for hours on end— striking the most stately poses and points and thoroughly enjoying himself. I sit on the deck and watch him, relishing the pleasure he takes in everything. This fall should go down a treat for both of us, as well as Em who lives for those cool mornings and the sight and sound of a Browning sliding out of its case.

Happy birthday, Jack. Many, many more to come, bud.

The old craft

2011-06-03T16:13:00.002-06:00

Today I spent a part of a beautiful morning out in the shop molding up some bullets and making some ingots from my raw lead stock. A long, long time ago I used to mold all my bullets because it was the only way I could afford to shoot as much as I wanted to. My dad bought me one of the first Ruger Blackhawk .357s and a couple of bullet molds and I was hooked.

Later, when I had a little money I gave up the molding and bought ready-to-load lead bullets from several suppliers, in bulk. In 2008, with the election of our current anti-gun president, and facing a shortage of store-buyable reloading components I decided to re-institute my bullet-making capability. I bought a bunch of molds to go with the ones I already had, a new furnace, all the other gear, and was in business again.

Lead hasn't been a problem. Like many reloaders who come out of a relatively poor childhood I am an addicted brass and lead scrounger. I never weighed it, but even before I stared molding again I probably had almost a thousand pounds of lead in the shop and keep getting more all the time. The primer shortage may have finally broken, but I already had a good supply on hand.

It's nice to be back in the molding game. I have molds for all my principal firearms and feel downright self-sufficient.

[The bullets in the photograph are .452/255s and .357/158s. They were all thrown from Lee aluminum molds, something I would have sniffed at in the old days. But they do an excellent job and I am now an enthusiastic fan of them.]

The acid test

2011-06-03T15:46:00.002-06:00

Dogs like to chase deer. The deer run; the dog chases. Until I broke her of it my first Shorthair was a passionate deer-chaser.

Today I was molding bullets and casting lead ingots in the shop when I looked up to see three whitetails about 60 yards away giving us the eyeball (see arrows above). Jack gave them eyeball back and when they turned to leave he started to give chase. I gave him a "Jack! No!" and he stopped in his tracks, turned and came back, and just watched them go over the fence and off onto the prairie.

Folks who don't live with hunting dogs might not realize what a Big Deal that was for me. (And him, too!) He is not quite a year old, all-boy, all-hunter. I chalk it up in the major accomplishment column for him to be so responsive under these circumstances.

In case anybody has so far missed the point— I really like this dog.

A well-spent first of June

2011-06-01T19:29:00.001-06:00

Livestock auctions, especially the long-standing ones, are good places to get the feel of a place, or a region in my case since the nearest one is about 70 miles from me. But I went over today for their fiftieth anniversary and recognition day. They've been in business a long time and made many friends over those years.

Lots of old timers, lots of big hats, big belt buckles, fancy boots, well-worn jeans, and good old-time manners. No eye contact without a nod, a smile, a wave, a howdy— and eye contact was sought not avoided. None of this furtive turning away real-quick-like when somebody looks at you, as is the urban standard. I guess that's a picky, little thing. But not for me.

A good place to "see who lives here." And to see a little bit of what they're like. I feel the results were well worth the trip.

The race is on!

2011-05-31T09:44:00.002-06:00

Our plentiful spring moisture has brought with it an explosion of weed and grass growth here on the High Plains. Weeds and grasses apparently disagree about the region being "desolate and inhospitable." As a photographer I like weeds— their variety, their colors, their beautiful shapes. As a gardener (even of a very minor sort) I consider them my enemies and spend more time than I would wish assassinating them with every means at my disposal.

But that's just part of the life here. As is the onslaught of the 'hoppers, which haven't yet made their appearance. Something else to look forward to in the struggle to get a few peppers and tomatoes out of the ground.

Immersed in time

2011-05-29T07:18:00.000-06:00

One of my greatest pleasures in Ireland, as I have already mentioned here, is to walk into the many ruins of very early monastic settlements. The area is just full of them, some of them reputed to be pre-Patrician. (It is a myth that Patrick brought Christianity to Ireland. There was already a sizable Christian community here when he arrived, around 432AD.)

Most of these sites simply sit isolated in farmers' fields. Left as if the inhabitants had gone off for a visit and never returned. Some are merely scattered stones. Others show the remnants of buildings: primitive churches called oratories, hut sites, and always, always, the graveyards.

Headstones, of course, were not used. But the sites are most usually marked by a collection of white quartz stones. Sometimes, as pictured above, they will be marked by an imposing cross-stone which is most probably adorning the resting place of an important abbot or perhaps the original founder of the site.

Of all the many aspects of these sites, the thing I value most about them is their solitary nature, their aloneness. In all the years I have been visiting them, and adding more to the list of favorites, I have never seen anyone else visit them. Never had to share them. Tourists never come, which is a good thing. They probably wouldn't enjoy them that much. Just a pile of old rocks. And hard to find. That's the best part: they are hard to find. But once found they give back, in special ways.

Renewing an old friendship

2011-05-27T11:04:00.002-06:00

For a project I am working on I needed to be able to digitize 20-year-old 4x5 negatives and transparencies made with a view camera. The available gear is catching up to the needs of photo-workers who don't care to sink $50,000 into a drum scanner, and I finally found a flatbed scanner that will give me what I need from my old large-format negatives. It's not the ne plus ultra, but I am sufficiently impressed to be happy to have it in my tool-kit.

The photo above is a much reduced web version of a scan from a 4x5 transparency. The original scan file, of about 8x10" size is over 30Mb. Definitely not for blogs!

Dogs that look up

2011-05-26T06:41:00.003-06:00

I just recently became aware that there was a controversy (minor to be sure) about whether or not dogs can look up. Silly. Of course they can look up. Who asked that question anyway? Obviously someone who doesn't know beans about dogs.

But there is a kernel of interest in the question. It may have originated in the observation that dogs seldom look up, and some may never do it at all. I have always felt that looking up was a sign of intelligence in a dog. It's also a matter of expectation: A squirrel dog relies on his nose but he also uses his eyes to scan limbs. The picture above is Jack watching some blackbirds fly over him. Murphy, my gone-but-not-forgotten Rottie, used to watch contrails.

Of course, he was the contemplative sort and would have snorted in derision if any of the clueless had asked him "Do you dogs ever look up?"

Real power!

2011-05-25T18:56:00.002-06:00

What's real power? Krugerrands buried under the henhouse? Microsoft stock? A friend in Congress?

Nope. It's wood left over from winter, all cut up and ready for next winter.

Be-withs and Maybe-laters

2011-05-25T09:03:00.001-06:00

Jack is a Be-with. If I leave the room he has to get up and come along. If I go to the door to the outside, front or back, he's right there with a "Where we going now?" look on his face. If I go to the truck to get something he wants me to open the door to the doggie section so he can get in. When I'm finished with what I am doing, maybe in only two minutes or less, he is happy to get out and go to our next destination with me.

Maggie, on the other hand, is a Maybe-later. If I leave the room (unless it is approaching eaty-time) she will stay wherever she is, thankyouverymuch. Usually that's on the couch in the front room. If I go to the front door and ask her if she wants to go out I will most often get a "Maybe later" and if I am lucky a yawn will go along with that.

Emma is an opportunistic blend of the two. She has an uncanny sense of when I am going to do "something interesting," like go out for a walk or go to the shop for some more or less mundane project or errand and give her some mouse-hunting time. She picks and chooses, according to her whim and interest of the moment. Coat, hat, gun will always get her immediate and enthusiastic attention, but she will flat refuse to go out if it's raining. Fortunately she has an excellent bladder.

The one thing they are all Be-withs for is the Rhino, our UTV. If it's parked out front and it looks like that's where I'm headed then all three will be standing expectantly at the front door. If I go to the shop without them to fire it up and pull it around front, I will hear the chorus of frantic "Eee-eee-eees!" and see the noses pressed up against the glass of the front storm door or the window over the couch. (I'm a major consumer of Windex.) If I open the door the Be-withs are in it in a half second and there is nothing I can do but take them for a spin, however brief. No Maybe-laters in this crowd!

And the beat goes on...

2011-05-23T17:05:00.003-06:00

"Neighbors" out here is a relative term. I have some I consider neighbors that live 60 miles away. We are already pretty darn sparse and in the last six months I have lost three families of them. The most distant one was about 12 miles away, the closest about 4 miles.

That's the theme out here: Folks sell out and leave and the Big Boys keep getting bigger and bigger. The end result though is yet another homestead empty and rotting and no more kids playing in the yard.

The house in the picture above has been vacant a long, long time. No barn? No outbuildings? No. Once a place is abandoned those are bought up and moved. So we have a lot of just plain isolated houses sitting forlornly on the prairie and waiting for... nothing at all. I guess it's called progress.

Plenty of rain

2011-05-23T07:40:00.002-06:00

I came home to a very wet prairie and the rain has kept up over the last few days. In a lull on Friday and Saturday I did manage to mow the hayfield that my front so-called yard had become in my absence. But we are still forecast for rain almost every day until the end of the week. The wetland to the east is as full as I have ever seen it.

Ranchers are happy about the moisture, and the good grass that is all around us now. If the season emulates the last couple of years, the rains will taper off into June and by mid-July we will back in a dry season.

Meanwhile, the High Plains may not have "forty shades of green," but at least a dozen or so.

The Reunion

2011-05-21T06:32:00.000-06:00

I was asked about the reunion with my doggies on my return from three weeks in Ireland.

Jack was the first one I picked up. He was at bird-dog school. When I arrived the trainer had him ready to go in the special dog trailer he uses to take dogs to hunting and training venues. When he let him out Jack gave me a very brief acknowledgment and immediately began to check out nearby brush and hedgerows. Not a very heart-warming response. But after a few minutes he came back to the truck and let me know he really, really wanted to get in. I opened the rear door (it's a crew-cab with the rear seats kept flat) and he flew in with a big smile. (Yes, dogs smile. They really do.) I leaned in to remove a couple of items in his way and he gave me a barrage of enthusiastically slurpy kisses. I felt better.

Two hundred miles north was the ranch where Emma (GSP #1) and Mags (Boston Terrier) were staying with friends. This was a different story entirely. They were inside when I arrived and when the wife opened the door they were all over me. Emma began her high-pitched "Eee-eee-eee!" song, which she also uses when she sees a pheasant or grouse in the yard. She also did her best to climb up on my shoulders while washing my face at the same time.

Meanwhile, Maggie was doing her jumpy-thing. She throws herself straight up into the air and can just about reach chest height on me. She wanted me to pick her up and when I did she gave me another face washing. This was more like it. I let Jack out of the truck and the three of them had their own little reunion which they apparently found completely satisfactory. That they like each other as much as they do is very pleasing to me.

Dogs are adaptable. They do what they have to do, but they have definite preferences. They got good care at both places, but they made their preferences very plain. Emma was almost frantic to get into the truck and Mags was right behind her.

Sixty miles later we pulled onto our buffalo path that we humorously call a "road" and all three woke up from their travel-naps and wanted me to roll down the rear windows so they could do some big-time sniffing and savoring s we got closer and closer to the home-place.

I pulled the truck up close to the front deck to unload all the various and sundries and let them out. The GSPs dashed off to check out the place, the brush-piles, the perimeter, and all the other spots that are special to them. What did Mags want? She wanted in the house, where she immediately went to the couch by the front window and did a long series of her silly little headstands, reveling in... home.

That first night home they slept from 8 PM to 9 AM the next morning. I had to wake them up and practically throw them out the door to do their morning bizness. I gave them a snack when they came back in and they promptly returned to bed for another three hour snooze.

They are home. They are happy. Me, too.

Coming home

2011-05-20T06:08:00.002-06:00

As I made my way along on my 460-mile "collection route" to gather up my pups after my three-week sojourn in Ireland I found myself in weather that out-Irished the Ould Sod! Low, clinging clouds, temps in the mid-40s (F), intermittent showers from "soft" to violent. Had I been asleep with someone else driving and they woke me to tell me we were in the wilds of deepest Connemara I would have believed them for a few seconds. The illusion was shattered however when passing thru a hamlet with a tall, be-Stetsoned figure complete with spurred tall-boys, chaps, and a friendly wave.

It's good to be home. Good to be back with the dawgz again. It's all good.

Another new chum...

2011-05-14T02:23:00.000-06:00

The other day I walked into a remote medieval monastic site and as I passed a farmhouse this fella jumped the fence and came along with me. Actually showed me the best path up to the place. I just happened to have some dog biscuits back at the car so he got his reward on the way back, then jumped the fence again and went home. I think I'll leave the trousers I was wearing unwashed to give my dogs back home a treat.

My new friend

2011-05-10T00:29:00.003-06:00

Meet "#32." I'm sure she has another name but she didn't tell me what it was. Very occasionally you will come upon a former "bottle baby" in a flock of sheep. While the others are fleeing like the almost wild animals they are, a bottle-fed orphan will seek you out and follow you around. This one kept me company for quite a while, traipsing along with me like a dog. Unfortunately, all I had to give her was a few pats on the head.

A dirty job...

2011-05-10T00:25:00.002-06:00

...but someone has to do it!

I've been spending most of my days here tracking down some old haunts from years past: thousand-year-old monastic ruins. Most of them lie in farmer's fields and These are the places that tourists never get to see because for the most part their "guides" don't even know they are there. They are silent and solitary reminders of a long-dead past.

But help is at hand!

2011-05-10T00:22:00.003-06:00

But seriously, in Ireland you are never very far from a friendly pub. And on a nippy, wet afternoon it's very likely to have a turf fire in the fireplace. A quiet pint and a pleasantly fragrant peat fire is the perfect solace for a "soft day" afield.

The weather is "variable"...

2011-05-10T00:18:00.003-06:00

I've been here two weeks now with another week to go. As they like to say here the weather has been "variable." This means it can be like the picture above or it can be lashing rain and pushing a gale above Force 6. But, of course, that's part of the charm of western Ireland. That's the story anyway.

The new generation

2011-04-29T12:54:00.002-06:00

The countryside is full of fresh, new lambs of all sizes. And like lambs everywhere they are busy critters. In some fields they are so wild they run to the back corners when they see you, and in others they come closer to see who you might be. You can always get their attention by giving a whistle. They raise their heads, look at you, and then start looking for the dog.

Home at last

2011-04-29T09:55:00.003-06:00

Well, I made it. After lots of delays in various airports due to weather complications. It's good to be back. I attach a pic of one of the roads into the village where I am staying. They've got to kidding! Or maybe it's part of the new Tourist Population Reduction Program. (I doubt that, considering the economy, but ti does make one think.) You might have to enlarge pic to get the point. Or— come and drive this road.

Moonrise

2011-04-20T07:32:00.003-06:00

Dark caught me on the way home from my Sunday visit and as dusk fell I couldn't resist stopping to make a picture of the rising moon over the prairie. It's always such an awesome sight. At the same time it can make you feel both incredibly small and richly blessed.

I'm in the middle of "trip prep" now, for the Irish journey. The last time I don't think I added a single entry to this blog while I was away. I'll try to do a little better this time, but no promises. Emma and Mags go to those neighbors' ranch and Jack goes to Burd Dawg Kolledge. I tell Em and Mags that I've been saving all year to send them to this very expensive, exclusive doggy camp. They never believe me.

Spring on the Plains

2011-04-20T07:24:00.002-06:00

Sunday I went over east to visit some neighbors who are going to keep my two older dogs while I am gone away to Ireland. They live sixty miles away and I got to see a lot of the country between Here and There. The snow from our latest storm was in melt-down but there were still deep pockets of drifts, some six or eight feet deep. But plenty of new grass for the cattle and their new babies to find. A few of those new calves will be found later at the bottom of some of the drifts. Not many I hope.

The way in

2011-04-20T07:20:00.002-06:00

My road, which is never much to speak of in the best of times, is more of a sunken trench or buffalo wallow than a highway. It runs due east/west and when it snows it fills up and stays that way for a long time. The county doesn't even bother with it. For most of the winter I just use the ground alongside of it. Works fine. Mostly.

April "showers"

2011-04-20T07:14:00.002-06:00

Late last week we got another smack-down from Father Winter. Just as I was sorting my collection of seeds for the garden a fast moving blizzard roared in and covered us up again. We only got about 6" on the flat but it was enough to create some pretty impressive drifts. The next day it was supposed to continue but as frequently happens it detoured mostly around us and left us alone. The following day it went up into the 50s and most of it melted. Today is shaping up as a nice, sunny day and I can go back to sorting seeds.

Schizophrenia!

2011-04-03T15:55:00.001-06:00

Prairie style. Yesterday it was 86°. Today it is 36° and snowing. Such is life on the High Plains. No time to get bored with the weather!

Buds on the trees

2011-04-02T19:48:00.002-06:00

Yesterday morning, 1 April. And though these "April Fools" will see a good bit of sub-freezing weather yet, they always seem to bring forth a goodly crop of green leaves when the time comes. Could this be a possible sub-gloss on Eliot's enigmatic line "April is the cruellest month..."?

Ten minutes later...

2011-04-02T19:45:00.000-06:00

As I said— the light changes quickly.

Early morning skies

2011-04-02T19:38:00.002-06:00

The skies right after dawn can be spectacularly beautiful on the plains. But of all skies they are the most fleeting. You have only seconds, literally, to catch a particular cast of light or the delicate colors of "first sun." A moment's delay and lost forever. But maybe tomorrow!

Moving Day

2011-04-02T19:34:00.002-06:00

Today was the day for moving cattle from the winter to the summer ranges. Slow, dusty work and since it reached 85° this afternoon there were several stops at water tanks along the way. Never mind the calendar: this is the sure sign of spring.

Id vs. Superego

2011-04-01T10:25:00.002-06:00

Shorthairs can be very obedient, well-trained dogs. Their genetics, plus their training, can make them stalwart pointers-of-game, maintaining a point & hold until their hunter comes on the scene to complete the drama. They can hold long down-stays. They can understand relatively complex commands and demonstrate mind-boggling reasoning skills.

But there is one area where GSPs do not shine: they have a very low level of superego where food is concerned.

This morning I decided to make a biftéc jalisco for breakfast/brunch. (Tender strips of grilled beef smothered in a hot salsa and eaten with toasted and buttered tortillas.) I sliced five strips of beef at the work table, turned to the stove for a moment, and when I turned back there were four strips of beef on the cutting board. And a guilty-looking Shorthair sitting next to the work table.

My Rotties always had very highly-developed superegos. They would never have taken anything from the table or the counter. They were very trustworthy in this regard. They liked food, very much, but they could control themselves.

I have learned by now not to push this issue with the Shorthairs. When something "disappears" from the table or the counter it is my fault, not theirs. I should know better, and I do. But this morning was the first time such a robbery had taken place so close, and so quickly. I scolded her, of course, and sent her out of the kitchen. She was very guilty. She knows she isn't supposed to do that. But she can't help herself when the chips are down. Or when the steak looks so good and is right there!

A cloudy day

2011-03-30T18:32:00.002-06:00

Yesterday I had to run an errand down-country. These fellers (and gals) were close in along the road and seemed pretty active. Mid-afternoon the clouds cleared and gave us brilliant sunshine. I was back on the place by then and took the dogs for a couple of rambles that they really enjoyed.

True spring cannot come too soon for us.

The Lifeline

2011-03-26T18:05:00.002-06:00

Maybe lifeline is bit melodramatic, but it seems pretty accurate to me. This is my electric line. One of those wires is for me, the other for a ranch further down on our dead-end "buffalo track."

My rural electric co-op is top flight. If my service goes down they are out there day or night, no matter the weather, to get it up and running again. And I am happy to say that (so far!) this season I haven't had an interruption of more than two hours.

Nevertheless, when those wires get hung with thick ice and start hanging low, and then the wind comes up, you can't help but get a mite nervous. My genny will run the whole place, and I keep plenty of fuel on hand. Still, I never take for granted the wonderful juice that comes in to me from far away on those thin little overhead lines. Or the great folks that keep it coming.

Doggie gastronomes

2011-03-26T09:51:00.002-06:00

Well, I'm not too sure about the gastronome part, but I have sure known some canines with strange culinary tastes.

A couple of times last week I heard strange noises coming from the living room and went in to find Jack happily munching on the filched remains of jalopeños I had chopped for cooking. I've never had a dog do that, and he was clearing enjoying the heck out of them.

This morning I found some peppers in the fridge that were getting a little long in the tooth so I chopped them up for a breakfast omelet and Jack came running in to watch, drooling all over the floor. Over the years I have learned how to cut peppers to get just the right amount of heat while maximizing the flavor. Most of the really hot stuff I leave on the hull and that's apparently what Jack wanted so badly. Weird!

My last Rottie was crazy for onions and I had a Basset once who loved the cobs from corn-on-the-cob. An earlier Rottie liked to pick ripe blueberries straight from the bush. All of the dogs have enjoyed snow peas right off the vine. But this is the first dog I have had who craved hot peppers!

That omelet: Slice some peppers and let them "shrivel" for a day or two in a bowl. Cut the peppers into fine chunks and do the same with some water chestnuts. Mix the two and drizzle some soy sauce over them, along with a dash or two of ancho powder. Slightly warm the mix in the microwave. When the omelet has mostly solidified on top, spoon the mixture onto it and spread it around. Well worth the trouble.

Grus canadensis

2011-03-22T13:04:00.003-06:00

On Saturday Jack and I went to a local outdoor show where he could meet the trainer he will be going to next month. Along the way we saw the cranes coming back from their winter in Mexico. They're heading to Canada now. These birds are the oldest known living avian species, dating back about ten million years. Jack thought they absolutely wonderful and their raucous cries were music to his ears. Unlike many dogs he looks up a lot. Sees birds on overhead wires, and watches them fly over when he is in his pen. He watched these from the truck with great interest.

And the race is on!

2011-03-17T17:06:00.002-06:00

All three dogs were in a "mood" today. The mood to run! And a fine day for it it was.

Mags and Jack will exchange a look and then they will be off. If a straight run is long enough Jack can usually pass Mags up, but in a sprint she is more than likely to win. She has a funny gait: two strides and then a long, high leap. I always figure it is her "joy pace."

When they play their chase games she has the advantage of maneuverability. She can turn inside him on a dime and she'll let him close in and then do her turn, with him shooting off ahead and trying to brake and turn. It's like a dogfight between a B17 and an ME109. Almost as fun to watch as it is for them to do it.

Thus did they celebrate St Pat's.

Beannachtaí na Féile Phádraig

2011-03-17T08:02:00.002-06:00

May the blessings of the day do us all some good.

I always fly my tricolor on certain days, 22 August, a few others, and 17 March, of course.

My friend Mícheál, RIP, use to say, with a wink and a nod, "Patrick never came to Kerry. Some say he didn't need to, and others say he didn't dare."

The Ides of March

2011-03-15T17:47:00.002-06:00

We surely have been having a crazy pre-spring hereabouts. We'll get a snowstorm, get all covered up, and then the very next day it will all melt and we'll have a glorious, warm, sunny day. Over and over again that's happened. This weekend we got pounded again. Nine inches this time, and cold. The next day it was in the 40s, and then the next day (today) it's 65°. Needless to say the only snow extant is on north-faces slopes and in shadowed places— and not much of that.

Prepping for Ireland

2011-03-09T07:50:00.002-07:00

I'm prepping for my April/May trip to Ireland. As a photographer I have always had to allot a significant portion of my luggage space to image-making tools. Several times I have taken a 4x5 view camera, big tripod, and all the extensive support gear such a camera requires. But on this trip I am facing the prospect of taking full advantage of the digital age and going well and truly light, in spades.

The working kit I am considering consists of a Panasonic Lumix LX5 with a Leica-designed 24-135mm stabilized f. 2.0 lens, plus a Sony TX5 that is water-, dust- and shock-proof (to mil-spec standards!). The Sony has a Zeiss-Tessar 25-100mm lens. Both cameras, and spare batteries for each, easily fit in my pockets. (I might consider taking the Lumix's little brother, a similarly Leica-adorned ZX1 as a just-in-case back-up.) The beauty of that tiny little Sony is that it can be always with you. It's smaller than a pack of cigarettes and weighs just five ounces, and it's almost impervious to most of the dangers that threaten cameras. The Lumix is larger (not by much) and weighs ten ounces with the detachable electronic viewfinder, and nine without it.

Pixel-counters will scoff, as both of these little guys are 10-and-a-bit megapixel cameras. But pixels tell only a small part of the digital image quality story. The Lumix, with its fast, super-sharp Leica lens and extremely well-designed sensor architecture is able to run rings around cameras with far higher numbers in the pixel department. I have no problem making excellent 13x19" prints with either camera, although the Lumix is superior.

I've never even come close to traveling this camera-light before and I may chicken out at the last minute and take one of the big Canon DSLRs and a couple of lenses. But I am doing my best to resist that idea. It would defeat the purpose of devising a compact solution for the traveling photographer and would substantially compromise my luggage situation.

Until I find an early passport I can't tell for sure, but I'm getting pretty close to my 50th trip to the Ould Sod and as you might imagine I have become something of a nit-picker when it comes to luggage and packing. Photo gear is always at the top of the list when the packing list gets made up.

I travel with three pieces. (1) A vertical, over the shoulderable, briefcase (made by Victorinox) that holds my laptop, charger, the Lumix, travel documents, any files I may be taking, snacks, and reading material. (2) A small, 20", rolling hard-shell carry-on. It carries the essentials I might need if the airline misplaces or outright loses my single checked bag. Actually, if I didn't always take over a bunch of stuff for friends, I could get along with just this bag for an indefinite period— especially if I don't have to load it down with photo gear. Unfortunately, on this trip it will be carrying a compact digital projector and auxiliary speaker, so things will be pretty crowded in there. (3) My checked bag, also a hard-shell roller, 24x17x10." Between these three pieces I feel I could go anywhere and stay for any length of time.

On this trip, for the first time, I will be wearing a new piece of "luggage": one of the Scottevest traveler's vests. I have always found the so-called photographer's vest useful but bulky, ugly, and pretentious. This new vest is quite trim and doesn't look anything like a piece of safari gear or something that Rambo might like to wear, despite its very cleverly designed twenty-two pockets. It will carry my travel papers, notebook(s), pens and pencils, extra specs, the Sony and spare battery, the iPod, some snacks, a magazine or two, and whatever else I need to have at hand. It even has a pocket for an iPad, which I do not yet own. Meanwhile, that pocket will nicely hold a couple of magazines or other reading material. All without the appearance of bulk or clunkiness. Just take it off, put it in the little bin, and send it through the x-ray at the security check. Neat.

Peace in our time!

2011-03-09T06:56:00.002-07:00

My living room couch is small. It's a two-dogger, and Jack was developing a bad habit: When Mags and Em were on the couch he would stand in front of it and bark at Mags. And she would reply. WOOF. Yap. WOOF-WOOF. Yap-yap. Etc. Sometimes to the fourth or fifth power. Usually she would give up and get off the couch and he would climb up and be off to dreamland. When I would catch him at this bullying I would scold him and tell him to leave her alone, but of course as soon as I would go off somewhere the argument would resume.

But the other day I came into the room to see the picture above. They figured it out, for the time being at least. Peace in our time!

I can only hope it lasts, knowing all the while that's not very likely.

Morning visitor

2011-03-08T16:39:00.002-07:00

Saw this fellow noodling around the bales early this morning. Just cracked the back door enough to slip a lens out and get these shots. I normally don't tolerate them "inside the wire" under any circumstances, but I guess I wanted to get these pics more than I wanted him dead.

He'll be back and then we'll need to have a little chat.

A bit of the white stuff

2011-03-07T06:47:00.002-07:00

Yesterday I was sighting in a rifle/'scope combination on this bench. Good thing I didn't put it off 'til today.

About six inches last night, and it's supposed to go on through Wednesday. But then by Thursday the weather boffins are calling for temps in the 40s, so this shouldn't last long. The result, of course, will be...

Mud.

Getting the itch

2011-03-05T08:37:00.003-07:00

I'll soon be back in the Ould Sod. Going back for the Bealtaine celebration and other business and will be spending goodly parts of April and May out on the west coast, where I love to be. I've been engaged by a small group to be their "guide, cultural interpreter, historical lecturer, and general fixer." It's a great excuse to get over to where I like to be and it looks like I will also be going back in September as well, like last year.

I'm very much looking forward to it. May is such a nice time to be there.

Making the most of it

2011-03-04T05:36:00.002-07:00

This time of year the weather out here can be totally schizoid. The last three days have been a good example: one day is in the high sixties; the next starts at 12° and never gets above freezing; the next (yesterday) gets into the low 70s with nice sun and very little wind. Every day is a meteorological lottery. But we make the most of it.

Yesterday we got to do some more prairie-rambling. Poor Em will probably be stiff this morning, but if the day turns out as nice as yesterday she will insist on going in. I know her well.

Jack is now bigger, stronger, faster than she. But he is still following her lead and watching everything she does. It's a great joy for me to watch them running and working together.

I have to laugh!

2011-03-01T09:55:00.002-07:00

My dogs have always had different ways of letting me know they needed something. That's been true when it comes to the water bowl, too. My last Rottie would stand in the hall outside the office and stare at me until I got the idea. Emma gives a couple of her shrill little yips. Mags just sits and looks at me 'til I get on her wavelength.

Jack has his own newly-developed method.

Tonight's sunset

2011-02-28T19:00:00.000-07:00

A nice farewell to February.

Jack at nine months

2011-02-28T17:18:00.001-07:00

In two weeks Jack will be nine months old.

I figure he's about 99% done growing, and if not he sure should be. He's 25" now and when I weighed him a couple of weeks ago he went 69 pounds. That's too heavy for a Shorthair pup and is actually above standard for a grown male. He is doing much better now that he's off the puppy chow and on a semi-diet. I have always been totally against overweight dogs and this just sort of slipped up on me. Not that he was fat, but his body type is not like Emma's at all. Anyway, that's all straightened out now and he looks better every day.

Overall I really like the way he is turning out. I also like his temperament, his field behavior, and his overall character. I have felt from the first day I met him that he was going to become a very special dog and I haven't changed my mind.

Late winter rambles

2011-02-28T15:42:00.000-07:00

We've had a couple of days that have been warm enough for us to take lengthy rambles in the UTV and let the bird-dogs work the kinks out of their legs instead of lying on the couch and staring wistfully out the window.

Mags insists on going along on these excursions and I, in turn, insist she wear a sweater. The "dogs" have to ride in the back and she gets to have the shotgun seat. Once out far enough the biggers dismount and have their run and she supervises from her seat.

I think we're all looking forward to the better weather to come and the many longer rambles we'll be able to take together.

Sugar-coated cottonwoods

2011-02-28T14:16:00.001-07:00

We got more snow the other day. Not much, but enough to make the ground white once more in the see-saw, back-and-forth of snow, melt, snow, melt that we have been going through for the past few weeks.

The flakes were small and since there was little wind they came down in gentle swirls. Overnight they coated the cottonwoods as if they had been rolled in sugar. All the next day they stood against the bright blue skies as if they were confections on display.

We get skies on the High Plains that are so deeply, darkly blue that you feel you could plunge your arms into them up to the elbows. Against these skies the powdered cottonwoods took on an almost fantasy identity.

I am ready for spring, but there are many aspects of prairie winters that I will miss. Their stark beauty, for one.

The "Dog Days"

2011-02-21T20:28:00.002-07:00

Traditionally the "dog days" are in the hottest time of the year, usually in August. But for my pups the real dog days are during the hyper-cold, inclement days of winter on the High Plains. We just don't get out for rambles as much as they would like. Yet I'm amazed at their patience and good nature: nobody's going stir-crazy, or coming down with cabin fever (except maybe me) and they... adjust.

Last week, though, we had a brief respite, with temps in the mid to high 60s, wonderful, healing sunshine, and not much wind. This weekend it's a return to near-zero, snow, and generally nasty days and nights.

Spring is coming. We just don't have its official ETA yet.

Manners!

2011-02-05T07:15:00.002-07:00

All the dogs, especially Jack, like to help me prepare food. Certain foods bring them running. When I am preparing any kind of meat for cooking, they know it, and wherever they are in the house they converge on the kitchen and form an ad hoc Committee of Assistance & Special Pleas. I always save them something, which they get on a fork. Yes, it's true. They have learned they will all get some so they are patient as I go down the line presenting the laden fork saying "Emma!" and give her hers; "Jack!" and he gets his; "Maggie!" They don't even try to poach their neighbor's portion. Such manners!

Missed opportunities

2011-01-26T07:50:00.002-07:00

A post about images without an image.

My bedroom window faces south. From my pillow I can look south-east and see the sunrise every morning. They are not always even interesting, but this morning there was the most amazing display of blueberry meringue and whipped cherry foam. Layers and twirled tubes and slabs of color that managed to be both intensely dense and delicately transparent at the same time. Yet still I lay abed and merely watched.

I'm used to missed opportunities when it comes to being behind the viewfinder. There have been so many! Alluring old buildings that cry out for the lens, are put off, and then torn down before a return engagement can be managed. People that need to be recorded that inconveniently die before the deed is done. The list goes on. Any photographer has such a list.

But I still didn't get up this morning, find a tripod, and venture out into the prairie cold to record blueberries and cherries. Lazy? Jaded? Unmotivated? None of those actually: just accustomed to passing opportunities and willing, this morning, to merely watch rather than participate more actively.

There never has been and never will be again another sunrise sky exactly like this morning's. Never. That is both the curse and blessing of landscape photography.

I can remember standing on a west-facing headland in Ireland, watching the sun move toward setting behind a cluster of islands. A little trawler, distant but perfectly backlit, moved from right to left in the sound between the mainland and the islands, returning to the harbor after a day's fishing. I was ready: 4x5 view camera leveled, framed, focused, locked down. Holder inserted, aperture adjusted, lens cocked, slide drawn. The perfect moment appeared. Click! But wait— this next one is better. Remove and reverse holder, cock shutter, draw slide. Click! I had four holders and went though all four as the trawler slowly chugged across the frame. Each better than the last, so I thought.

Of course, the ultimate flash of light, the perfect position of cloud, trawler, and wave came after the slide had been replaced on the exposed sheet in holder number four. That one, that missed one, could only be enjoyed, not recorded. My take from that encounter was excellent. But not perfect. Is there, in fact, ever a perfect one?

Sometimes we "miss" through inactivity, and sometimes through too much of it. Such is the life of a landscape photographer. The trick is having no regrets. Or at least very small ones.

Pokin' up through

2011-01-24T09:01:00.002-07:00

Melt. Freeze. Melt. Freeze. Seems to be the prairie winter two-step. Since Christmas we've had days in the 50's and days at -20. The vagaries of the High Plains are legendary and it doesn't matter what time of the year it is. When that sun peaks through on a south-facing slope it doesn't take long for ground to show. On the other hand, drifts on a north facing hillside can last well into June.

If you like variety in your weather menu then the High Plains is the place for you!

They always know!

2011-01-20T08:31:00.002-07:00

A package arrived the other day. I put it on the floor for the dogs to check out because I knew what it contained: a big supply of smoked cow hooves. Needless to say, they were very interested in that box.

They always, without fail, know when a package has something in it for them. And they get very enthusiastic when the UPS or FedEx truck rumbles over the auto-gate. Every package coming into the house has to go through Doggie Customs!

Dogs pretty much live in their noses. We have about six million smell-receptors, and dogs have 200 to 400-million. A smell-contest wouldn't be a fair fight.

I have no doubt that, if I hadn't retrieved the package and opened it up for them, they would have opened it themselves.

And who could have blamed them?

Oh, Jack!

2011-01-16T10:07:00.003-07:00

Just the other day Jack had an "accident."

I noticed a fine spray of droplets on the carpet in the hall that lead to some more in the office. There was a minor spot, with lots of the same sprinkled drops at the door. Jack!

My approach to doggie discipline consists of a stern lecture, delivered with great exaggeration and much hand-wringing about how disappointed and betrayed I feel. I don't believe in physical punishment except where intra-sibling violence is involved. Anyway, I let him out quickly so he could "finish" with his little problem.

It was my fault, as such accidents usually are. He has been sterling about letting me know when he needs to go out and I think I got involved in something and failed to take his hints. From the sprinkle-patterns he had obviously been trying to hold it. But it would have been counter-productive to give him a pass on such a thing, even if it was my fault.

For quite a while he refused to come into the office. He would tip-toe down the hall and peer in as if to see if I were still mad at him but he wouldn't come in. I let it simmer for a while and then forgave him. He was very relieved. Of all the male puppies I have had, Jack is probably more concerned with what I think of him than any of the others have been at the age of six months. Part of that, I think, is a result of how early he came to live with us.

Plateaus, as I call them, are common with young dogs in my experience. They will be going along just fine and then they will have a relapse. Usually just one. As if they are testing whether what they think they understand is really what they should be doing. Seems to be a natural process in doggie brain development as I have observed the phenomenon is every dog I have lived with.

[Note: Jack is wearing his Tri-Tronics radio collar. I use it for field training and want him to become accustomed to wearing it before it is put in use. For weeks now he has been wearing it most of the day. When I put it on him in the morning, he gets a cookie. He has come to relish putting it on, rushing up and sitting as soon as I pick it up. I don't want him to associate the collar with the training regimen once it gets started. I think he believes it's his own special jewelry!]

Sneachta!

2011-01-16T09:57:00.002-07:00

My friends in Ireland have been sending me pictures of their recent "snow event." It very rarely snows in SW Ireland and when it does it lasts a very short time, hours usually. But this time they had closed roads, cars abandoned as well as wrecked, and the whole infrastructure discombulated in the extreme. But they treated it as a great adventure and got through it in good form.

They find it hard to believe that the High Plains faces an annual temperature range of from -30° to 110° F. Their usual range is something like 40° to 72°. But there is no Gulf Stream on the prairie.

A Great Treat

2011-01-13T13:22:00.002-07:00

O, the variable prairie!

After -20° yesterday morning, it gave us 52° this afternoon. The pups were overjoyed. We took a nice long walk and Mags even went along. She does not like really cold weather and doesn't like walking through lots of snow and ice. But it was downright balmy today and there were plenty enough clear-ground spots to keep her happy. I was even able to gather some kindling from under the cottonwoods and pull some wood out of the main woodpile to dry up on the deck.

Emma and Jack "hunted" the brushy fenceline behind the house, smiling all the time. The really cold, restrictive weather is hard on them but they are being much better about it than I have any right to expect.

A very pleasant afternoon all in all.

1/11/11

2011-01-11T09:27:00.000-07:00

Windswept

This is what we look like out here on 11 January 2011.

It was cold this morning, -4°, but not nearly as cold as it has been. We've had -12° with W/Cs into the -40s. That's cold. My mailbox is 70 yards from the house and on such a day the roundtrip brings on the distinctive tingle of incipient frostbite on exposed parts, of which there should be none.

If we ever get enough snow to cover over all the little sprigs of weeds and leave no bare ground whatsoever showing, then we are in big trouble. With the way the wind scours the country such a snow would mean twenty foot drifts. And a very long wait for mail or a trip to town.

There has been no such calamity for years. Back at the turn of the 19th/20th centuries they were fairly common. People could get fatally lost in white-out snowstorms, to be found later just a few yards from their house.

The appeal of this country to human beings is strange, and possibly even perverse as well.

"Please, sir— may I have some more?"

2011-01-11T08:23:00.001-07:00

Jack likes to bring me Maggie's bowl after they are finished eating. I don't think he's really asking for more, since it's not his bowl. I think it's just a neat trick that he likes to show off. I take it and thank him, and that seems to satisfy him.

With all the other stuff he likes to bring me I'm thinking it could mean that I may have a retrieving pointer on my hands. I'm hoping.

Speed Goats

2011-01-10T10:16:00.001-07:00

I encountered these citizens on a recent trip to town. This is the time of year they start to bunch up. Individual groups will gather together and I have seen as many as two-hundred in a single mob. They also seem a little less skittish as winter really sets in. Unlike deer, antelope don't seem comfortable around human habitations. So while I can have twenty or thirty mulies in the front yard I have never had an antelope come across the fence into the compound. But I almost never go to town without seeing several. And sometimes a great many of them.

Are we there yet?

2011-01-10T10:02:00.001-07:00

No, children, we aren't to spring yet. Not for a while yet.

I knew when I got Jack at the very end of July, that he would be six months old at the end of December, and that I was most likely looking at the Winter from Hell. Being more or less confined over a long winter with a robust, healthy, energetic male Shorthair puppy is not a recipe for peace and sanity unless you're either Gandhi or totally comatose.

But the lad is surprising me. (A little!) I knock on wood as I write this, but he seems to be housebroken at this point. Actually comes to me and then runs to the door to go out. And he is learning about manners and protocols, becoming a wee bit less the Visigoth almost every day. At this point he is almost a semi-civilized Gaul.

Of course, he has his moments. LIke, enjoying picking up the water bowl and throwing the contents all over the floor. (SOLUTION: Never put more water in the bowl than needed at the time.) Or ripping the guts out of any dog bed he sees. (SOLUTION: Keep him away from Mags and Em's beds and give him a folded, hard, acrylic blanket in his crate.) Or raiding trash cans. (SOLUTION: Keep bathroom doors closed and put mousetraps on the lids of other cans.) Adapt and overcome!

It's actually not nearly as bad as I feared it might be. All in all, he's a pretty nice guy.

But he's bored.

Happy New Year!

2011-01-10T08:57:00.002-07:00

I can't believe it's been almost a month since I've posted anything here. No excuse.

Anyway, I'll try to catch up a bit today. It's not like there's been anything earth-shaking going on: just a pretty typical (if late) High Plains winter. The dogs are afflicted with a low-grade cabin fever, but I can't do anything about that but get them out for a run whenever the weather allows. Doggy feet get frostbite, too.

So I'll try to put a few things up today so I don't feel like a total goof-off.

Earth & Sky

2010-12-12T09:18:00.000-07:00

Saw these fellows on my way back from town a few weeks back. It's hard not to obsess just a little bit about how earth and sky come together out here, and there is so much of each!

Off the coast

2010-12-09T19:01:00.003-07:00

For the past few weeks I have been working my way through hundreds and hundreds of original negatives made in my 25+ years (intermittent) in Ireland. I came upon one that is one of my favorite all-time images. I had been invited by my good friend Danny to come out with him on his small fishing boat for a day of work with nets and pots. It was a fine day and I eagerly agreed, despite my great and deep-rooted respect (call it 'fear' if you like) for the sea.

We had a great time. Danny is a consummate seaman, and has even navigated from Ireland to the U.S. in an open boat. I have the utmost confidence in him. I asked him when we were back on the quay, "Danny, are you ever afraid of the sea?"

"I am, of course," he said. "Always. And the man who isn't is soon dead."

I love this photograph of my friend.

Hoarfrost

2010-12-09T15:03:00.002-07:00

We've been getting a lot of hoarfrost this season. Cold surfaces with warmer, moist air flowing over them creates perfect conditions for it. On some mornings it creates a fairy wonderland on the trees, the weeds, the prairie. A lovely gift for this time of year.