7 random things about me...

Over the last 3 years I've tried to keep this blog about what I see, hear, experience... I've just been tagged to list 7 random things about me and truly it makes me think. As a mother, I rarely think about me in the big picture--it's usually a spur of the moment gotta-have-this-it's-so-me (think Halloween stuff on sale, a really cool something something at the craft store...) to validate that I have a desire for something other than what the kids may need.

I figure everyone knows my love of critters, dirt, plants, magic, etc... so I'll try to dig deeply and see what I come up with.

1. I absolutely love religious iconic art. I collect what moves me--Catholic prayer cards, illustrations in old bibles, missals--they all just leave me speechless. Early on I wanted to be an illustrator like the monks that used to hand write and illustrate bibles.



2. Infants are magic. I love the smell of babies and admire their tiny pudgy fingers and their puckered cherubic lips...

3. I collect coats, jackets, hoodies and sweaters. Though it rarely gets cold enough to wear them all here, I won't be caught unprepared!

4. I have a favorite pillow that I never leave home without.

5. I found and was able to keep my very first dog, Sandy, 6 years ago.



6. I am shy in crowds. I am gregarious, outspoken, witty, flirtatious, and often smart one on one. But get me in a room with more than one person I don't know and I'm looking for a way out without being noticed.

7. I love looking for old religious relics in antique stores. I recently stumbled across a small white marble font that would be mounted at the entryway of a catholic church or rectory. It was beautiful. It was hugely overpriced and I kick myself for not getting a photo. Someday I will collect them!

This was tough and took more time than I thought. I like these tests of self knowledge. Perhaps I will find more and pass on the challenge to you.

Another day, more Grace.

So I was off today and was out front taking pictures of the butterflies when I heard what I thought was a distress call of a rabbit? A hawk of some sort? An owl??? (in the daytime???) I was still in my flannel jammie bottoms and long sleeved t-shirt and Brent's flip-flops--to die for I know. I walked across the neighbor's front yard and across the street and stopped in front of the little cemetery. I for sure thought that whom-ever-it-was would be up in the trees inside the locked gate. Then, of course, there wasn't another call. Walking back to the house, camera in hand, I saw the girls had tippy-toed to the front yard in hopes of a hand out.



Ok, they got one. As they hung around snacking, I sat on the bench and documented the drama.



The feline girls made a tight formation in order to check out what was going on. They are fond of the dry dog food I sprinkled in the grass and I could tell they were wondering if they could take down the large ungulates that were feasting on their treats. I suppose they realized their folly so they faded into the garden only to observe--and make sure if there were any leftovers, they would taken care of.



After a dry food snack, a doe gets a little thirsty. Between the 6 deer that showed up, I had to fill and refill the birdbath because they all drank deeply. This drought has been hard on them but somehow they manage.







With just a little help from the herd cat.

Grace lives.

You know, all it takes is to walk to the front door and see the front garden teaming with butterflies--handful after handful--to relieve one of the day's (week's, month's) burdens. Because we all know there are days that life's burdens are overwhelming .



Among and around the differing tones of greens, lavenders, and grey, bright bursts of gold, yellow, and black swirl, flutter, and still in the blink of an eye. The sheer energy from the little flashes of life melted my foul mood. I was able to stand a little straighter and smile.



What perfection!

Portland loves....

(Bunny spray painted at ground level at the corner of a building on Aberta Street in Portland).

My journey is nearly complete. I am exhausted and yet I can internally reflect on the last 4 days in the middle of the chaos that is the Portland airport. My flight leaves in less than an hour and yet my day was full before noon.

This day began earlier than the last few. A 4am text from Brent asking if I knew where Lillie's backpack was... yes. This really happened. This was after my alarm went off (I have no idea why) and I had talked myself into going back to sleep and not going to the coast. The Oregon coast, the coast that I had told just about everyone I talked with over the last 4 days that I was going to visit. Yes, I had chickened out. Then the text.

So I got up. 4:30am. Showered, packed every single thing I had collected (and it all actually fit!!), checked out and off I went in total early morning darkness on my journey-to the Starbucks down the street from the hotel. No adventure should be attempted without a serious dose of manna--Triple Venti No Foam Latte.

I was set. The caffeine boost was enough to send my fears of the unknown into the dark corners of the itty bitty rental car.



It was a little tricky to navigate a city I do not know, in the dark and rain, and on the phone with Misty. Something had to go so I could drink my latte!!! Just kidding--I made it with NO turn arounds!! (unlike my arrival!)

Somehow, the directions held true and by full daybreak I arrived at Seaside, Oregon. Led by my gut, I found the exact cul de sac I had been told about. I parked, grabbed my camera and off I went.



It was so cold and windy and rainy that had I not been on a serious mission to touch the western coastal waters, I might have ducked into the bakery I parked in front of to wait it all out (like I had even seen the sun since I got here!!)

Looking for shells to take back to my family, I came across this partial sand dollar. And another. And another. The only shells on the beach at this time were partial sand dollars... amazing!!



You know something's up when the residents are all fluffed up and look miserable.



Walking along snapping shots of whatever I came across, I found this perfect heart, minus the wings. The chest plate of a crab--who would have known crabs carried such beauty so close?



I was in the land of crows! Walking into my hotel, one serenaded me from the roof. Driving along the roadways, I saw their dark shapes on the light posts, in the fields, on the sidewalks... I was in heaven!!! I shared my coffee cake with a crew--a murder of crows. First one, then two, the six... there was a trio on the beach as the area warmed a little. This one let me get pretty close before he fled.



Too quickly my time at the beach was over. On the way to Seaside, I noticed a natural area and found it on the way back to Portland. Driving down the single lane paved road, I was transported into the land of long ago. The area was quiet, the only sounds were the running water--in the creek and through the branches of the trees.





I would never tire of this view.



I will return. I have to!

The girls from Mississippi

They came in this huge trailer. No one seeing the long white trailer on the road could possibly know there were two lives inside who were being taken to a new home, a better home, than the one they'd been living in for so many years. They had been part of a 'collector's' menagerie for the past 15 years. We really weren't able to find out a lot about their previous circumstances except the person was getting rid of the animals.

The girls had been loaded up in Mississippi the night before and had been on the road the entire night. They had no idea that when the back doors of the trailer opened, their new lives would begin.

The trailer arrived early in the morning and pulled up to the rear of the lockouts. Our single male African lion was curious of the company as he only sees humans when being fed.



He could see the trailer and everyone walking around, but, when the back doors of the trailer were opened and the girls began talking, he really perked up.

The back doors of the trailer were opened and the girls blinked from the brightness. They were in huge wild hog traps with hay and water bowls. It had been a long journey and it was almost over.

I'm sure the person who had them before had named them, but, to tell them apart, I call one Girl and the other one Sister. Girl is the more aggressive one. Even though she had been on the road for almost 24 hours, she was still very vocal about her situation and a little more than sensitive to every one's movements.



Both cages were offloaded and on each girl's terms they entered their lockouts. They had an entire enclosure to check out and make their own. In the meantime, the male lion was watching every moment. Here is his fist look at Girl.



She didn't seem to be too impressed with the slobbering boy on the other side of the fence, and, he probably wasn't so sure more lions were a good thing. After all, he had been king for awhile now and his 'only child' status was slipping rapidly.

The girls were left on their side of the enclosure for several days so they could get used to their new environment and get used to their neighbor, who would eventually be their room mate (remember Three's Company??!!!).

The day came for the guillotines to be lifted between the enclosures. We gathered around the lockouts preparing the plan and preparing for anything that could go wrong. There was no way anyone would be able to enter the enclosures if there was a disagreement between the lions, so we enacted safety precautions and called on all things powerful to watch over this introduction.

The guillotine between the yards was raised and the boy lion was lured into his yard and the door was closed to his lockout. He had never seen the guillotine opened before so wasn't aware he could squeeze through it to gain access to the neighboring yard.

After time had passed, it was agreed that the guillotine between their lockouts would be raised so that he could walk through. The girls by this time had walked into their yard. The guillotines were raised and he walked from his yard, through his lockout, through the guillotine that separated the lockouts to the girl's lockout. He then walked into the girl's yard, past the girls and zeroed in on his prey---



a plastic ball used for rats and guinea pigs to roll around in. In this particular instance, the ball had been washed in a bleach water mixture and given as enrichment to the girls several days earlier and, from what Mike said, he'd probably been eye-balling it since he put it in there.

The girls walked near him and he ignored them preferring to play soccer with and claim the ball. The one I call Sister laid nearby, guarding him. She looked back as if to tell Girl that she had the situation under control.



Girl's reaction was to wrinkle her nose as if to say "Ewww, a stinky boy" and strolled back to her lockout.



Boy lion kept playing soccer with his ball and the girls watched from a distance. He ended up in the shade beyond their play structure and they watched him alternately from their lockout and underneath the structure. There was one little skirmish (just voices, no contact) between he Sister. During that time Girl strode quickly back to the safety of the lockout. After, Sister went to comfort Girl in their lockout.



The girls stayed in their lockout and Boy lion stayed in the shade beneath the trees with 'his' ball. We all decided it was a good time to retreat from the area and allow them to adjust to one another.

There was just one more skirmish between the three. It happened later that evening. No one is quite sure exactly what happened, but it was plain the girls were still a little stressed and that the boy lion was probably more than a little confused. So the group was separated during the night for the following few nights and then were allowed to be together at all times after that.

It's exciting that our boy now has girls to keep him company. Or more to the point, to keep him in line--whatever that entails.

Texas Porcupine

Back in June this little one was found tangled up in a towel in some one's front yard. No one knew where she came from and no one ever saw her mom walking the neighborhood looking for her. The people that found her called their vet who in turned called the sanctuary. The tiny baby porcupine soon found herself as a unique addition to all of the raccoons, squirrels, and opossum babies that were being cared for.

Porcupines are found in this part of Texas (south central) and chances are, you won't usually see one. They are incredibly secretive and don't bother anyone (unless of course your dog decides to try and chase one out of the yard and they end up in the only corner in the yard!). Their diet is similar to that of other nocturnal animals--bugs, grubs, ripe native fruits, leaves, and the inner bark of trees. The may forage on the ground at night, but during the day, they sleep and nap up in the trees. They are superb climbers with long black claws on all 4 feet. The soles of their hands and feet are soft and I've often likened adult porcupine feet to baby's because of the similar shape.

Her body was a little larger than my hand and her tail wasn't much longer than that. Her fur was black and soft with just a few prickles to remind you of her species. She made a small, quiet 'huh' sound and you could tell missed her mother terribly. She was fed a specialized formula and given small bite sized pieces of fruits and veggies to nibble. She seemed so small. She loved hiding in a small crate with a pillowcase and hay for comfort and medium sized tree branches near so she would be familiar with her native elements.




She stayed in the clinic until she was a little bigger and a little older. In July, she got her own place outside. There, she was able to experience the sun, wind, outdoor sounds, and night time in safety. I can only imagine what her thoughts were. I took photos one afternoon and she roamed the area of her hutch. She immediately began eating dirt and gnawing a rock. Since they live so close to the ground and eat mainly the inner bark of trees, minerals play an important role in their diets. Shortly after, she found the tree that shaded her home. She took her time smelling around the base and then climbed between the trunk and branch and took a short nap.

By this time she was getting more spines and while they were smaller and darker than her adult ones would be, they were still hurtful! She began to 'startle'-meaning that if she was startled, her fur would stand on end and the famous lower back quills (however small!) would stand out. Her tail fur and quills would also swell and stand up. It was amazing that even though she was in an unusual situation (being taken care of by humans with however little contact) she was instinctively defensive.




By the beginning of August, she was in an even more remote location and in a bigger space. She was in an old pigeon coop that offered her lots more room to climb and explore. Large logs were placed at angles so that she could practice her climbing and the roost boxes offered her hiding places.

Her 'big girl' quills were coming in nicely and they reminded me of the ones I had stashed away at home from when the dogs cornered a huge porcupine in the back yard and had to go to the vet to have them removed. Long and white tipped with black. Her black 'baby' fur was quickly being replaced with course white hairs that blended the black under-fur with her quills. I have often wondered how mama porcupines care for the little ones--even her ears are protected by tiny back quills.

Exactly what does a mother porcupine's love look and feel like?

Grief and Mourning

I felt the shaking begin in my midsection and flow outwards. My knees felt as if they would buckle. I could feel the sobs forming and having to consciously hold them inside--my body shook, racked with silent screams and sobs, tears leaking out of my eyes and falling downward, breathing ragged...



Oliver's death was entirely unexpected and a shock. He was brought into the clinic for a routine castration so that he could be put in the sheep pasture without worries of little ones popping up. As the vets prepared the surgery room for him, I visited and loved on him. How handsome he had become! His horns were getting long and his once baby face now took on the character of an almost adult barbado sheep.

During the surgery, he stopped breathing. The vets worked quickly and re-established his breathing but he wasn't able to breathe on his own so they performed a tracheotomy. After the surgery, he was put into a room to fully recover from anesthesia. I visited him and while he was still groggy, he recognized me and paced, ready to leave. I told him it wouldn't be much longer, that he would be able to get back outside as soon as he shook off the anesthetics.

In the meantime, I was outside photographing our first-of-the-season skunk experiencing green grass, the breezes, and the sun for the first time. Dee came outside and as she walked towards me I could tell by the look on her face that the worst had happened. We held each other and cried--how entirely unfair, how entirely unfair.

I made my way to where I had last seen Oliver. He was there, on the floor, looking as perfect as the last time I saw him. His death had happened so fast that everyone was still in shock. I stroked his sweet face and muzzle, his ears, his rounded belly... and cried, waves of grief pouring out of me. I barely heard the vets apologizing. All I could do was replay all of my memories of him in my mind.

Sometimes as I sit in the pasture with Rocky I still see his shadow running through the pasture, ears back, smiling...



Our sweet Cher was next to pass on. I had been in the yard saying yet another good-bye to Minnie Pearl and playing with them both. I spent several hours playing hide-n-seek, chase, and teaching them to climb on their shelter so each in turn could be Queen. That was a Thursday evening. Two days later, Saturday, Casey visited and as we ate lunch at a sandwich shop she told me that Cher had been brought into the clinic the night before not being able to stand or eat and was having trouble breathing. Not long after, she began to crash and wasn't able to be revived. She died of what was believed to be pneumonia due to aspiration.

I stopped breathing when Casey finished her story, shocked. Then sobbed. The grief of the loss of another baby was almost overwhelming. My mind raced, wanting to blame someone, everyone, even myself for not being there. Finally I realized there was nothing I could have done to stop what in some cruel way was meant to be.

Sweet Cher was with us only a short time but her presence is still felt and all who knew her smile--she was a star indeed.




This photo was taken two weeks ago on a Thursday evening. I spent most of the evening with the boys as I had taken Scooter to his vet appointment earlier in the day. Vinney had just overcome a severe allergic reaction that made his face and head swell. It was a tense few days. After about a week or so as the swelling subsided, the skin on his face hardened a bit and his nose cracked. The skin on his ears also began to harden a little. His lips then cracked--all of this was his body healing from all of the swelling and trauma of rubbing on everything he could find to ease the discomfort.

He wasn't keen on people touching him but he did come near when I was sitting with Rocky and I was able to see how he was doing. His face did look like a boxer after a fight-still a little swollen, but the scabbed over skin looked fine. He sauntered past but always remained close to Rocky and me.

The following Monday I got a phone call--Vinney had been found dead in the pasture that morning. Though I cried before the call was over, I found that I was somehow strangely removed from the news. For the rest of the day I intellectualized that I wouldn't see Vinney the next time I worked, but my emotions were frozen in disbelief.

The following day at work I spoke with Traci about what had happened and she told me that an intern was supposed to give him his meds and neglected to do so. She continued to speak but the tears began. I tried to hold them back but I couldn't. I put my hands over my eyes and tried to stop breathing. My insides shook so terribly and I suppose the sounds I made were disconcerting but Traci held me while I cried, gently letting me know it was ok, to let it all out... my boy, my sweet Vinney... gone. Really gone.

While it's unknown if the meds he was supposed to have received would have saved his life, I firmly believe that had the intern at least seen him that evening, things may have ended differently.



Sweet Scooter. The little goat that could. Not long after this photo, Scooter was again unable to stand. His limbs were again too weak to hold him. Arrangements were made for weekly chiropractic and acupuncture appointments, his diet was again modified with more browse, fewer pellets, and he was weaned from formula. He was just three months old and had spent just a few weeks on his feet. The majority of his life had been spent laying in a crate.

He rallied not long after his third appointment. He was able to stand and even take a few steps but it was obvious something big was going on--his back legs were very weak and his front legs couldn't coordinate with one another to walk far. Several days later he was again not able to stand. One front leg was not able to be straightened and his left side front and back was so incredibly weak. We had hopes that he could compensate with learning how to graze on his knees like Rocky but again his front legs were so weak that he wasn't able to balance.

Much discussion ensued about his quality of life. He was a goat and yet had just a few weeks in the outdoors grazing and living like a goat should. He was in obvious decline and while his demeanor was excellent and he had a true solid will to live, was living in a crate and being taken outside for short segments of time when time allowed good enough? With heavy hearts it was agreed that this was no quality of life and that it wasn't fair to him.

Everyone spent time with Scooter and a small group of us walked, he in my arms, out to the pasture he loved. His last moments were spent grazing and smelling the breezes. Rocky sat behind me as Scooter, cradled in my arms, took his final breaths and slipped quietly away, no longer suffering in a broken body, his spirit free.


I still have a hard time with all of these stories. I cannot write them much less read them without the emptiness in my center and tears coursing down my cheeks. I am holding on to the hope that they will each visit me in my dreams, showing me their new lives. I have hope.

Hurricane Dolly, meet Hurricane Lillie

Hurricane Dolly swept through the area today dropping almost 3" of wondrous, refreshing, rejuvenating, exhilarating rain. We've been in a drought for so long the moisture was welcome in any guise. There were tornadoes spotted on the south of town and winds that made you pay attention.

The rains began in earnest around 9am this morning. Rain that fell straight down, steady, with little sign of letting up. It was great. All of the ducks at work were out in force dabbling all through the submerged grass.

It was still raining when I got home after 4pm. Not long after Forrest gestured me to the front door to see Lillie enjoying the life force of rain that had come all the way from the Gulf of Mexico. She was fabulous! She made the hole in the lawn then stomped, dug, played, and danced in it. Not long after these photos, she took to a front garden. By the time I wandered back out front, she had a nice hole full of water that overflowed across the sidewalk and to the driveway.

Rain is fun.

Early Morning Treasure

So I was leaving for work one morning a little before 5am and look what greeted me--besides the deer with their fawns. I know whomever it was that passed me as I stopped in the middle of the road (you know who you are!) thought I was off the deep end again, but I was just catching the moment.



Same moon, different exposures.


Several years ago our resident swallows decided not to return to the front porch. They had graced us with a nest over the front door for seven years in a row and the countless stories of baby swallows being hatched and growing up to fly away were something that made our home special. One year we had the house painted while they were gone for the winter and when they returned I suppose they didn't particularly like the color, even though it was the same as before, and built their wonderful nest elsewhere. So, it's been 3 long lonesome years with no swallow magic. Until this year.



The couple began their nest quite late in the season. The previous couples would have returned and built their nest by late April, early May. Here it was the middle of June and the nest was almost complete.

Several weeks later, a bazillion trips between the two parents to finish up the nest, and days and nights spent sitting in the nest, one tiny fuzzy head peaks over the edge. What was more thrilling, Forrest found half an egg shell on the front porch--a gift and a treasure!



Not long after, another tiny fuzzy head wobbled above the edge.



We watched the parents come in and out, mouths filled with food for the babies. Each mouth full would produce a small white packet from the other end that the parents would gently pick up and transport away from the nest.

Maggie took particular joy in sitting on the front porch staring at the family therefore ensuring a swallow smack down. You must understand, swallows are very family oriented and will call for local family members to come and help with ousting an intruder with shrill calls and tweeps, fly bys and sometimes even fur grabs.

This morning brought about 20-30 swallows flying in a panic across the front yard and the porch. The alarm call had been sounded and I rushed down the stairs to the front door to grab Maggie inside so the birds would calm. However, when I grabbed Maggie and paused, I sensed something wasn't quite right. There was too much panic and too many birds for just Maggie. Something else was wrong--something else was going on.

I put Maggie inside, closed the front door, and waited on the sidewalk. The birds dispersed and eventually one swallow parent flew to the nest. But no one greeted her. Not even one fuzzy head.

Last evening as I left with friends, I proudly showed them how big the babies were getting--big enough to perch almost on the lip of the nest waiting for mom and dad to feed them and able to see their parents as they flew across the yard. Although one was smaller than the other, I knew that only a day separated them and the smaller one would soon catch up.

A parent swallow flew to the nest and hesitated. She walked a little down into the nest, paused, then flew away. I knew instantly something was terribly wrong. I grabbed a chair from inside and gently put my hand inside the nest. One tiny swallow baby was very cold and very still. I removed him and gently felt for the other one. Not as cold but not moving much. I removed him from the nest also and could tell it was only a matter of time before he joined his sibling. He was cold, not moving, eyes closed and breathing shallowly. I left him in his home.

I buried the littlest swallow in the garden near the front door--not so far away from the only home he ever had. Later on in the day I again checked the nest, removed the lifeless body of the second baby swallow and buried him beside the first.

Now the nest is empty. The parents haven't been back since this morning and I only hope they don't blame us for their family's demise. I surmise that it's entirely possible they caught and fed chemically contaminated bugs to their family. Who knows the poisons people spray around and in their yards never paying attention to the wildlife they affect and destroy.



The little mud cup of life is now empty. I hope it's not for long.

Goodbye Sweet Cher

Our sweet Cher died this past Friday evening. Her silky self will be terribly missed by everyone, including one very sassy boer girl.