On Beagles and Butterflies

I was going to write this whole thing about how, when I was very little, I had a book whose cover featured a beagle with a butterfly on its nose, and from that moment on, my heart was on fire. I so desperately wanted a beagle! Of course, you know I eventually got one.*  Life dream realized! The apple of my eye!  Littlest Love, Littlest Only in Stature!

But when she died earlier this month, the morning after my father died – on opposite sides of the country, how cruel! – and when I got back the viewing window had fallen out the Ducati's front master cylinder (really!) – again, how cruel!  Well, the whole point of the thing was to be that soon thereafter, this butterfly (Yes! A butterfly! Just like the book!) came into my life, by way of a newly acquired milkweed plant – how strange! At least it will be a butterfly soon, I’m told, and it lives here with me now, and I’m waiting, waiting, waiting for it to happen.

Queen Butterfly larva (Danaus gilippus), currently in my safekeeping.

Yes, I was going to write a whole long thing about it all, but I can’t. I just can’t. What if it dies?

The Beagle Entries:

You met her here.

You saw her briefly here.

I worried and worried about her here.

Beagle in recovery here.

Here I worried and worried, again.
Caterpillar/Butterfly update.

A Reprieve and an Irish Cottage Pie

I was sure she was going to die. In truth, she may still. For 10 days, she has done little more than sleep, taking in no food, and only the most delicate sips of water.  I carry her to the sunny places in the morning, and to the shady places in the afternoon, where we sit together. I offer her tiny spoonfuls of her very favorite foods. I supplement her fluids. I carry her back to her soft, fleecy bed.  Nothing.  I had been treating her for a UTI, but aside from that, I have no real explanation.

And then, yesterday, she barked. One solitary bark. "Where are you??"

Have we turned a corner? It is still too risky to hope. Miss Molly is nearing her 15th birthday, and, having survived cancer not once but twice, as well as currently sporting a heart murmur that can be heard across the room, early chronic kidney disease, and not one, but two ruptured ACLs,* I'd call her "One Tough Cookie.**"  But still.

For each meal, I cook something I hope she'll eat. Inevitably it becomes my own dinner. Roasted chicken, fish fillets, omelets, pizza bones, and on and on. Yesterday I browned some $8/lb beef***. She took a morsel, but no more. Inspired by a recent trip to Ireland, I made a cottage pie for myself.  What luck that it was cold and rainy****!  I offered her a tiny taste, onion hazard be damned*****.  She wanted more! And this morning? More please!  So today, I'm making her her own cottage pie, free of all alliums.

And I hope.******

*Those are her little knee ligaments. Surgically fixable, unless you have both heart and kidney disease.  Still, tough little tractor that she is, she does what she wants, and is downright heroic during her underwater treadmill rehab sessions!
**Meanwhile, a surgeon half way around the world has said the same about my father. 
***No factory farmed meat for us, ho, ho!
****No, not in Tucson. I'm back at the farm in Utah.  The Ducati is soon to follow.
*****Heinz body hemolytic anemia, anyone?
******Turns out that UTI is being caused by a resistant strain of bacteria, so the antibiotics I had been giving her have done nothing. Though I just got a different prescription for her, the only one both effective (albeit slowly) and safe for her little kidneys, I do believe my tough little cookie has already begun winning this battle on her own. 


UPDATE:
My girl did indeed recover, although it was quite a bit later than when I posted this. It was a tough road, but she was tougher.
Here she is, recuperating:

The Daily Special: Dessert

You know your beagle’s got grit when she’s rattling the cage bars earlier than anticipated, after a major piece of surgery.  Bless that little goblin, but she sailed right through the cross-your-fingers-operation and the critical recovery period, and is home a full one to two days ahead of schedule.

Beagle Resting Comfortably

I think I’ll just let her sleep in that place right between the bedroom and kitchen while I put some bits and scraps from last week’s birthday cake to good use.

Whoopie!*  I’ve never been so happy to drain my bank account and not ride the Ducati to Colorado in my whole life!

*Whoopie Pies: Dig around your cookbooks and the internet for a chocolate cake/cupcake/whoopie pie recipe that uses your one remaining egg, and your extra, now untempered chocolate.  Bake off into little UFO shapes and fill with your leftover Strawberry Cloud Cream (or whatever you might have left in your pastry bag.)  Aren’t you glad you stabilized it? I’ll freeze them and call them fancy ice cream sandwiches.

The Daily Special (Chinese Steamed Buns)

When you’ve canceled today’s planned motorcycle departure to Colorado, because your beagle is in surgery for a “large grapefruit sized” tumor on her little liver*, and you are so tired, but can’t sleep, and all you can do is knead your worry into bread dough, but it’s too hot to fire the oven for an hour or more, plus you have little bits of pork with chile paste leftover from last weekend’s birthday party, then what you do is add some sautéed mushrooms and onions, those remaining shreds of cabbage in the crisper drawer, a bit of garlic, ginger, soy, sriracha, and sesame, and make char siu bao**.

Plus, you have a few crappy archival photos from last time you made them. (No beagle in the hospital that time.) 

We’re not out of the woods yet, but the surgery went really well.***

The face I see when she's at my feet in the kitchen.

Another thing you can do is paint your bedroom pink. I did that yesterday.


*She didn’t tell me about it at all. I found it during a belly rub. 
** Use any simple, soft, white, yeasted bread dough recipe.  I'll often fly in the face of convention and add just a small fraction of whole wheat flour.  Let it rise a bit, portion it out, roll flat, fill, wrap them, then steam them for 15 minutes or so. Silly, puffy, good!  They’re also really inexpensive, which is handy, since I just completely emptied my wallet for this little veterinary adventure.  Beagle repairs, as it turns out, are significantly more expensive than Ducati repairs.
***If she makes it through these next critical 48-72 hours, the prognosis is very, very good.  “Littlest love,” I reminded her right before she was admitted. “Littlest only in stature!”
UPDATE - see "Dessert" here.

Bits and Scraps (Christmas 2012)

It’s a rare joy for me to do something whimsical without even the tiniest bit of effort expended to make it come out “just so.”    Here’s the product of the scraps from the Gingerbread Bass Project. It was never intended for public viewing, but what the heck.  It amused me greatly as I avoided my "to do" list for a few hours last weekend. I hope it brings you a smile, too.



The last time I made a gingerbread house I was in high school. I remember it distinctly, because as I stood at the kitchen counter, measuring cup* poised in the air, my father walked in the back door and grimly announced that our dog was dead.  She was not just a prize winning bird dog in the prime of her athletic and perfectly healthy life,  but the absolute apple of my eye.  I have no recollection of the finished gingerbread house (or even if I actually completed it), but I do recall crying as I opened my Christmas gifts a few days later.  Anyway, I say this only to have the happy occasion to report that "Miss Molly," who you met here, is alive and well, and, now that I think of it, quite a bit svelte-er than she was two months ago.

As much as I love to cook, I am not spending today up to my elbows in gingerbread, whipped egg whites and lobster, or soapy dishwater, but instead, am out riding at this very moment (isn't scheduled blog posting clever?) and am looking forward to having a lovely trout dinner appear before me upon my return.  My only task is to assemble the already made components of the pumpkin pastry requested by my host tonight.

Oh Joyous Christmas!

* I think there was Crisco in the cup, which makes no sense, since I (thankfully!) grew up in an All Butter Family.  They say trauma can affect the formation of memories.  This is my only explanation.

No Excuses. Well, yeah, some excuses. (A Number of Occasional Other Matters)

If you’ve been following my Sort Of Sabbatical Phase One By The Day Posts, you probably decided long ago that I finally succumbed to the spectacularly distracting Pacific Coast Highway views and crashed the Ducati into sparkling azure sea.

I didn’t.

So that's good.

Today I thought, as a writing exercise, I’d relate the long list of excuses that brought my posting to a halt.   Do enjoy!

My computer has been acting suspiciously since my return from Sort of Sabbatical Phase One.  Specifically, it has been giving me error messages when I back up my data.  I have, mostly, been successfully ignoring this problem (Me - 1, Computer - 0!), except for the minor side effect that I am not particularly motivated to work on my photographs if there’s a decent possibility I might lose all my work.  Surely you understand.

Then I went on Sort of Sabbatical Phase Two.  Of course I took photos. You’ll see them later.

Then I came back.*  My computer did not fix itself in my absence.  Harrumph. (Computer - 1, Me - 0) After some time-consuming yet unsuccessful attempts to rectify the problem, I went back to my original plan, namely, ignoring the problem.  Not surprisingly, this tactic brought on those same pesky minor side effects.

Then I went on Sort of Sabbatical: Epilogue.  Of course I took photos.  You’ll see them later.

Then I was sequestered, pretty much without internet or phone, for a week in a tiny town in northern New Mexico.  I lived in a retrofitted Airstream trailer, complete with kitchen and farm animals.  I didn’t eat any of the farm animals, but I did  have some two-thumbs-up tapas at La Boca in Santa Fe.  Overall, the week was fantastically hilarious.

It's not often I open an Airstream trailer door.  Even less often do I find a horse begging for a snack on the other side of said door.

Do I have to say that by the time I finally made my way back to Tucson, my computer still wouldn’t back up correctly?**  Heal thyself! (Please?)

Then there was the matter of my last post.  I was, for a time, rather distracted by it all.   Recently, I saw a dead dove in the middle of the street.  Its body was crushed, with one delicate wing miraculously still reaching skyward.  I wish I had taken a photo of it.  Because that’s exactly what it feels like to be run over by a bus.  I know, because just as surely as Julia was betrayed by Winston,*** I was thrown under the bus in a manner so clever I almost admire it, by someone who was (supposedly) my greatest ally.  Pfft.  Not exactly the stuff of superheroes.

Then it was September.  It’s generally a lovely month. I ease myself gently back into work, while enjoying all the local day rides I haven’t seen since May. Except this September I was leisurely repairing the Ducati in time for a track day at the end of the month.  (You’ll find out why the Ducati needed repairs round about, oh, Sort of Sabbatical Phase One Day 25, give or take.)  Leisurely making repairs?  More along the lines of “leisurely inflicting further damage.”  No, I didn’t have it fixed in time for the track day.  I still don’t have it fixed.

Then I decided perhaps it would be more efficient to drive 26 hours to retrieve my Kawasaki, which had been residing in TX, than to fix the Ducati.

Then there was the short but all consuming project of my very first paid food photography gig.  I was actually paid (still waiting on the check, to be honest) to cook and photograph the process of making a certain risotto recipe****. I borrowed a decent camera, turned my little house into a photo studio, cleaned my stove, and took the requested five specific photographs.  If I’m lucky, it’ll boil down to minimum wage.  But it was amusing, and I got to eat a great deal of risotto over the next few days.

The ingredients. And a cookbook.  Although I didn't actually use a recipe from this book.  Do you suppose the Risotto page would lie nicely in the middle of the book like this?  Of course not.  Hurrah for color copiers and tape.

It's quite a trick to pour broth AND stir AND release the camera shutter with your toes or teeth. (I know about self-timers.  Couldn't use it. Long Story.)  The lighting on shiny pans can be rather problematic.  After spending hours getting it right, the sun had moved into the kitchen window. Argh.

Then October hit me like a 12" All-Clad Saute Pan.  I’m still standing here blinking stupidly from the how-did-I-not-see-this-coming avalanche of work.  Speaking of side effects, however, it is nice to finally have some paychecks rolling in.

And my last excuse?  I have a new friend in my life!  Remember this sad day?  Well, I’ve been dog-less and dog-longing ever since.  (No sense in getting a dog before the Sort of Sabbatical).

“Miss Molly” arrives and my heart sings!

My nine year old darling came from Southern Arizona Beagle Rescue.

There she is! All 42 pounds of her!  She's already discovered that I'm immune to the sad brown eyes trick. (Boo!)  But I like to walk. (Yay!)

Hard to say who is happier.  What a lovely, lovely conundrum.

There.   No more excuses. Except neither the computer nor the Ducati work yet. And now I have to borrow a proper camera to get a proper beagle portrait.

*By that I mean I continued on to UT.  To work.  A tiny bit.  And ride more.
** Yes, I should just buy a new one.  Or at least reinstall the OS to rule that out as the problem. (I really don't think it is.)  But the amount of work (and frustration) required by either of those things makes Ducati repair seem like fun.
*** "Do it to Julia!" he cries, when faced with his greatest fear, in George Orwell's 1984.  To be fair, Julia also betrayed Winston in Room 101, we just have fewer details. I still hold some respect for both Julia and Winston, though, based on their circumstances and the final scene where they actually own up to it.
****Shrimp, chile, pine nuts, carrots, and black olives?  Really?  I suppose I wasn't paid to approve of the recipe, just to make and photograph it.  What a silly use of some expensive ingredients.

Grief and Gratitude

It’s been a week since my polka-dotted hero, out-runner of greyhounds, subject of many  spontaneously and lovingly re-written opera arias,  and celebrated MMM mascot, took her final journey.  The collective embrace from all of you - here, on Facebook, in person, via text message, by phone, on internet forums, through the good old USPS - has been humbling.  And enormous.  You shared your stories, you understood the depth of my grief, you offered comfort. I heard from people who knew (and loved! - how that touched me!) her, people who knew me, and people I’ve never met at all.   Some of you cried your own tears for her, and so many of you recognized the true nature of the what a pet-owner bond can be, and the deep sorrow that accompanies the loss of life’s most faithful companion.  How it comforts me to know you understand!  All your words of kindness kept her alive for me those first few impossible days.

I know from you and from my own experiences that time will eventually heal, but this week it has been my enemy.  Each day that passes takes her one more day further away from me.  So, as the flowers on her little shrine wilt, I can’t say I’m feeling any better yet.  But I know I will, and that is enough for now.  So many times in life, we are asked to bear the unbearable, and so many have been asked to bear much more than I ever have.  Yet somehow we do.  We do!  It is possible, in no small part, because of the good people around us.  I thank you, dear friends and readers, deeply.  Your understanding and compassionate condolences have eased my way on this challenging journey of the heart.

The Final Journey (A Significant Other Matter)

 


I met her on the examining table of the pet hospital I used to work at a lifetime ago.  You met her briefly here, again here, and watched her in a little mischief here. I marveled at the sweetness of her disposition that day in 1998, and later, after I adopted her, at her remarkable emotional sensitivity.  I still do.

She saw me through some tough times – my divorce, bouts of tool throwing, and the agony that was my life during 2009-2010 (a little of which I told you about, most of which I did not.)

I saw her through her own tough times, too.  A cancer scare involving surgery in 2009, surgery, pins and a cast in 2002 (an injury specific to racing greyhounds - we were so proud!),  and, in a bizarre coincidence, the loss of that same leg to cancer in 2010.  She held up during her challenges much better than I ever have.

Freckles has a star power unlike that I’ve ever seen.  Crowds cheered her as she honored the loss of her leg in the 2010 Tucson Day of the Dead Celebration.  In 2004, she co-starred in a photo shoot for the Muscular Dystrophy Association's "Fill the Boot" fundraising campaign.  She got the job done in half the time it took the "professional" Dalmatian used in years prior.  It’s rare that I don’t hear whispers as she dances down the street,  “Look!  A Dalmatian!”  People are often so bedazzled by her spots and sweetness that they completely miss the fact she’s down one leg.  And when they do pick up on this, they are always inspired and touched by her agility and spunk.  Jaws drop when people learn that this active young pup is really 15 years old.  Walking her feels like community service -  she brings so much inspiration and joy to all the people whose paths she crosses.

One day this week, during our daily “morning games,” I felt a mass in her belly.  An ultrasound told me what I already knew.  She doesn’t know it yet, but this will be her end.  There really isn’t much to be done, and the medical details are purely academic at this point.  I don’t know how long it will take.  She doesn’t have any symptoms yet, and although it is unlikely related to the prior cancer that took her leg, that tumor moved so fast, it doubled the size of her leg in less than a week.   Although she usually spends her summers in the custody of her “Daddy,” this year she’s coming to Utah with me.  I don’t know where we’ll live, and I don’t know how I’ll afford not living in the free apartment usually provided to me, but we’ll find a way.

And so, I will be with her as she embarks on her final journey.  I suspect, in that strange twist of fate I've experienced before, it will be the dying who comforts the living.

I wrote this post on a quiet afternoon in mid May, with Freckles napping by my side.  She passed peacefully  on August 19, at the age of 15 and a half, as we lay quietly spooning, just two days after our arduous return to Tucson.  A spotted vase of flowers now marks her window look out perch.  In one of her final gifts to me, she, who could not walk in her last days, summoned her strength to hop across the house to greet me at the door.  My grief is unbearable, and my gratitude for having had her in my life overflows. 

Boeing 911?

This post isn’t really about motorcycles or food, although in light of my last post, it seems appropriate.  In any case, I guess it’s covered under my blog subtitle disclaimer,  “Occasional Other Matters.”

I’m off to another animal rescue in glorious motorcycle country! 

“Yay!” [grabs helmet]

I have only five days total, and I and need get to and from the flooding located near those roads in northern Arkansas I’ve heard so much about? 

“Oh.” [sets down helmet and cashes in frequent flier miles]

Sadly, my transport this time is a Boeing 757, not my Ducati M696.

I’m off to take care of the many animals displaced by what is the worst flooding of the lower Mississippi in decades.  Almost 500 animals so far and still counting…

I doubt there will be any fine dining experiences over the next few days, but I can tell you one thing.  I’m not taking in any airport food on my way out. I’m hastily packing a lunch, thank you very much.

Wish me “Dogspeed!”

Raspberry turnovers raided from freezer not shown.

Cheese melt with garlicky spicy greens:
Melt some cheddar on toast.  Use nice crusty  hard rolls or French bread, okay?  Wilt  some fresh greens (i.e. cook them briefly on medium heat in only the water clinging to them after washing, just until they are wilted – you can use spinach, Swiss chard, whatever you’ve got; if using frozen, just defrost but it won't be as good), squeeze them dry without burning yourself, chop them and toss them with olive oil,  and lots of crushed red pepper and mashed raw garlic.  Heap generously upon your sandwich.  Yum.

Carrot salad:
In its most basic form, grate carrots, and toss with a dressing of minced onions, olive oil, perhaps a squirt of mustard, an acid (I like lemon juice in this case but you can use any sort of vinegar*) salt, pepper, and garnish with fresh parsley if you’ve got some.   (You need a really sharp knife to chop parsley effectively, and it needs to be dry, so plan accordingly when you wash it.)  Extra virgin olive oil is nice, but good heavens, don’t let it stop you from cooking if you can’t afford it.  Despite all that says otherwise, the world will not get sucked into a black hole if you opt for “pure” olive oil instead.  The correct proportion of oil to vinegar/lemon juice varies according to who you ask, and ultimately should be determined by you!  Start with one part acid to three parts oil or so, and adjust from there.  I don’t really count, so I have no idea what I do.  Change your salad however you like – add grated parsnips (as I have done this time), or grated raw turnips, or grated fennel (I did that last time, but I’m saving my fennel for fennel sorbet this time, and this time I hope all my fingers will remain intact, unlike what I described here), or add cumin and saffron (dissolved in tablespoon or two of liquid) and raisins and call it Moroccan.  Let the contents of your fridge inspire you!

*Can I say something about balsamic vinegar right now?  When making  a salad dressing, please do not use it exclusively.  Think of it as a seasoning, and use a splash in additional to the primary vinegar you choose.  This has been a public service announcement designed to rid the world of sickly sweet and over-balsamicasized vinaigrettes.  Thank you for your compliance.  

Ducati 911

My Ducati M696 and I did a little nine-one-one* last month.  As a Certified Veterinary Technician (no longer practicing regularly, thanks to my, uhhh,  busy flute career) and a volunteer** with the Emergency Animal Rescue Service (EARS) of the United Animal Nations (UAN), I do occasionally get deployed for various emergency animal operations.  You know, ya got your hurricanes, your wild fires… stuff like that.   Fueled with gas station hot dogs, ice cream sandwiches and 91 octane, I put my plans to ride to Big Bend National Park on hold, and rode out to St. Johns, AZ, instead.  (I’ll be honest here, the ride to St. Johns beats the ride to Big Bend by a long shot, so it wasn’t much of a sacrifice.)

Although my four wheeled vehicles have had a nasty habit of breaking down in Salt River Canyon in the past, it was, surprisingly, my first go through this area on a motorcycle.  The Duc and I made it through with flying colors!

A hazy day in Salt River Canyon

The Duc, loaded up, now that I finally have luggage capability.  This time the usual camping gear was replaced with rescue volunteer supplies and equipment.

 

This latest case was different from the standard natural disaster.  In a covert operation, the Humane Society of the United States (HSUS) rescued approximately 250 animals from an animal hoarding situation.  Animal hoarding is tough to see and understand.  For all the hoarders’ good intentions, their animals suffer, often tragically so, and, in every such situation, some animals do indeed die from neglect.  HSUS found animals living in filthy conditions (think knee deep in poop), tied up, crammed in pens, trailers and abandoned vehicles without the basic necessities of food and water.***  Almost all of those rescued needed medical attention and very few were used to interaction with humans.  This lack of "socialization" severely complicated both the rescue efforts and the required veterinary exam and legal documentation of each individual animal.  The task of the UAN EARS was to set up and run a temporary shelter until the ownership of the animals could legally be transferred to the Apache County’s Sheriff’s Office, care for the animals, and begin to socialize them in preparation for future adoption.   Many thanks to one of  UAN’s official photographers for this operation, Marcia Goodman, for letting me share a few photos with you.

Although "Daisy" the pig was so underweight she could not withstand the anesthesia needed to care for her crippling overgrown hooves, she was at least the size of the love seat in my living room.

I am weirdly afraid of geese, primarily because I don't "speak goose."  If you can't correctly interpret animal body language, you are at a distinct disadvantage.  I opted for "immersion therapy" and made a point to be "Click" and "Clack's" caretaker each day.  You may laugh, but you lock yourself in a small pen with hissing geese and see how you  feel.

There were many pictures of adorable pups that I could have chosen, but the heart operates in mysterious ways, and "Baxter" was particularly special to me.  Be well, Baxter!

The animals’ transformation over the course of their stay at our shelter was true testament to the power of kindness.  Seeing a dog once snarling and snapping in its perceived self defense, or, quite literally, hiding with its head pressed into a corner for days gradually learn to trust and connect with us is a powerful, gratifying and humbling experience.  It's difficult for me, not knowing the end of each individual animal's story, after developing my own relationship with them over the course of my week there.  As I look at the media about this case (some of which is linked below), I recognize each animal - its personality, its quirks, the difficulties and successes I had, and remember fondly the time I spent with it.  Writing this post almost a full month after my "tour of duty" brings on a few unexpected tears. I guess the bittersweet leash that connects my heart across the miles to these animals is more durable than I thought.

As I write, these rescued animals are being distributed to shelters across the western US for adoption, to begin a new and better life.  Let me take this moment to beg you, if you want to acquire a pet, please adopt one from your local shelter. If you desire a certain breed, then inquire with one of the many breed specific rescue organizations.  Don't bolster demand and contribute to pet overpopulation.  Save one of the many lives that, right here, right now, need saving.  You really are, as they say, either part of the problem or part of the solution.  You choose.

Hard work makes for some very hungry volunteers.  We were well fed during out stay, with local restaurants kindly donating lunches daily.  Many thanks go to “Speedy B’s” and “Iggy’s Country Cookin’” for their generosity and hearty meals, and to the many members of the community who brought us snacks and needed supplies.  Local veterinarians and staff donated their time and medical supplies, and PetSmart Charities unloaded an entire 18 wheeler of fencing, food, bowls, leashes, and everything else one needs to set up an animal shelter. The sheriff's office provided important security, and the local animal control lent a hand as well.  The cast of characters in this operation ran deep.

After a few too many snacks, I crave plants!

You should know by now that any proper touring motorcyclist will opt for the long way home, especially if it involves the Coronado Scenic Byway (AZ 191), that glorious 100 mile stretch of twisty turny road I told you about at the end of this post.  Having just had two days of instruction at the track the week prior, I had high expectations for fun.   The gentle turns between  Alpine and Hannagan Meadow give the sportin’ rider a chance to warm up both tires and brain.  Just south of Hannagan Meadow, the game is on, with the turns becoming tighter, more challenging, and more fun.  I dug into that first good corner with gusto and…

…sand trap!   Right in that first bend, cleverly positioned such that, if not competently negotiated, the governing laws of physics would likely send motorcycle and rider over the edge of an impressive cliff.  My helmet bore witness to some colorful vocabulary, but I am grateful for good instruction, good luck, and good instincts.   My ride home that day quickly became a skills test of road hazard management.  Sand, gravel, fallen rocks, fresh oil (and the people applying it), flocks of turkeys, leaping deer, herds of cattle (and accompanying slippery poop), all directly in my path, were stern reminders that street riding is about keepin’ it real.

My route.  My sloppy photoshopping pretty much obliterated the twisties, so you'll have to take my word for it.

Further Reading about this case:
HSUS video of the initial seizure
Initial press release on the situation as published by UAN
General UAN blog link.   Scroll through for all updates and details about this case, and others as they occur.
Specific UAN Blog post featuring some of my work that week
UAN Facebook page - updates and lots of photos

* I was going to use a clever play on words here, using the Ducati model 911 I was so sure existed.  But, duh, the 911 is a Porsche, not a Ducati, and even Porsches have two too many wheels, so why bother?
** Anyone can volunteer!  You need not be licensed or even work in an animal health care field.
*** Conditions that, in some respects, reminded me of those in a CAFO ("Confined Animal Feeding Operation," aka factory farm, except in this case, minus the food and water.)  Why so many people find this acceptable treatment for food animals, yet rightfully horrifying for pets is really, really hard to grasp.  It's a matter of education and compartmentalization, I guess.  But all this is an entirely different discussion.  Remember though, our choices, without question, once again make us part of the problem or part of the solution.   Consider the choices we make in this regard over the course of a day, a week, a month.  What side of the equation does your sum total fall on?  Think about it, and choose knowingly.

Dear Motorcyclist on the Red Buell...

Thank you for stopping at the crosswalk as my three legged Dalmatian and I were passing by. "Hey," you said, just as I reached the other side. I wondered, "How does he know I ride a motorcycle, too?" I turned and you did something odd. You lifted your pant leg, just a little, to show me your ankle. You're missing a leg, too! We both laughed, and then you were gone.

Stop, Rider on the Red Buell... what's your story? My dog and I would like to meet you!
You made my day. I hope my dog made yours, too.



Due to popular request (that means by more than one person! By some people I haven't even met, believe it or not!), I've added ways to subscribe to this silly blog of mine. For email notification, look at the top right of the page. At the bottom right of the page you can "follow" or get notifications on your browser bookmark bar. Hope it works!

Turkeys, Crocodiles and Solonoid Valves

Back in the innocent days when I actually thought I'd be riding to the Black Mesa Ranch and Goat Cheese Dairy, I though it unfortunate that our CSA "field trip" to Josh's Foraging Fowl fell on the same weekend. But the ride to Josh's Foraging Fowl is far from exciting, whereas the ride to Black Mesa is all one could ask for and more, so the choice was clear. Plus, the trip to Josh's would be easier to schedule later. Well, you may remember that my little trip to northern Arizona did not work out as planned. If you missed that exciting story, see here and here.

It pained me greatly to set out in the car to Josh's, but I managed. It helped a teeny tiny bit that the route is not very exciting. I wasn't missing too much in the way thrilling riding. Still, it hurt.

While you might see the term "free range" quite often in the grocery store, it's not quite what you think it is. Often, it means that the birds have access to the outdoors for a portion of their bizarrely accelerated lives. But there is no mention of what this "outdoor" environment is, nor the fact that the birds, having lived their first few weeks locked up in a warehouse, are often unconditioned to the outdoors and do not exercise their so called free range privilege. Josh's birds live in real pastures, scratch and forage naturally, and, for this reason give eggs that are incomparable to any egg you might buy in a grocery despite an organic and/or free range label. The birds themselves are pretty dang tasty, too, and have become "special occasion" fare in my household. Three cheers for Josh, who brings us not just chicken, eggs, and turkey, but grass fed beef as well.

I resist the temptation to put up too many pictures of fowl, but I can't help but share this one movie clip of our future Thanksgiving dinners storming the alfalfa field. Funny, they sound like barking dogs. And, unlike chickens, they rush towards you when you approach them, rather than scatter away.

Even if I had immediately diagnosed the problem with my motorcycle (which I decidedly did not), I still would not have made it to Black Mesa Ranch. As it turned out, I needed a solonoid valve, or, as Kawasaki cleverly disguises it in their parts diagrams, the "magnetic switch." The part was not in stock anywhere in Tucson. I did happen to learn that it was in stock in San Antonio, however, and still in the "I'm doing whatever I want this weekend, because I'm so sad I missed my trip" mode, and airfare being low, I decided it prudent to fly there to pick it up and settle for being a motorcycle passenger. I saved so much money not having the part shipped to me! While collecting my magnetic switch at the shop, I had to the good fortune to meet "Clutch" the Chihuahua pup.





One must have Barbecue whilst in Texas. Here's the spread at the Coopers' Barbecue I've written about before, this time the New Braufels location.



No trip to New Braunfels would be complete without a visit to the Snake Farm. (???) Here, in addition to viewing any number of exotic snakes (why?), you can:

watch large numbers of crocodiles rush the guy feeding them (the alligators are much more polite),

(movie clip too big to load, use your imagination)



see just how strong a snapping turtle's jaw really is (Answer: very),



and, of course, pet goats! So I did get my goat fix, after all.