cogKNITive Fun and More

Holy cow, this year is simply ZOOOMing by.

In late September, our Kangal "teenager" Tank (2.5 years old now) blew his cruciate ligament, and so went under the knife just as Yollie had done twice in 2007. He was not a happy camper:

Buzzy Tank on the way home (top) and Staples galore

Resting the hated collar on a chair.

Despite a variety of no-chew collars, he ended up having his cast removed after less than a week. It is hard to keep a 155-pound dog immobilized and entertained. Staples were taken out a little later, but we are still going through the rehab process. He is walking well now, and we're up to a mile twice a day, hoping all the while that the other knee stays strong, and that mine don't go in the meantime.

Our little rig in front of a Tehachipe art train

Shortly after surgery, we were invited to attend the first ever cogKNITive sock event in Tehachapi, CA, so we loaded trailer, dog and kennel and off we went. It was a great weekend, with wonderful people and a dedicated staff.

Their logo and our "Sock Sheep."

We attended as vendors, but the class offerings were wonderfully tempting, and so inspiring that folks literally filled the hallways and common areas spinning and knitting for the entire day. Lots of people tried out the Navajo spindle for the first time, while Tank kept a watchful eye on the proceedings from his spot in our "booth."

This month we drove up to WeFF (Western Fiber Festival) in Torrance - sans dog - and had an even busier day. Whew, what a stimulating and busy place!


A good chance to practice keeping my head attached. Thanks to all of the patient people who waited for me to find stuff, show stuff, and write stuff up. And especially to those people who were good enough to tell me what and how much they bought afterward when I realized that I had not put any numbers on their credit card receipts!

Well, the shearer has come and gone again, another 100 pounds of wool and llama have been delivered to Shari at Morro Fleece Works for processing, and summer is AT LAST pretty much behind us. Cool and crisp days give hope that we may yet see some fall - maybe even winter? - weather.

The ants come marching ...

The Ants Go Marching One By One is a children's song set to the tune of When Johnny Comes Marching Home.

The posted lyrics read:

The ants go marching one by one. Hoora, hoora!

The ants go marching one by one. Hoora, hoora!

The ants go marching one by one, the little one stopped to suck on his thumb,

And they all went marching, down to get of the rain. (BOO- BOOM!)

The ants go marching two by two. Hoora, hoora!

The ants go marching two by two. Hoora, hoora!

The ants go marching two by two, the little one stopped to tie up his shoe,

And they all went marching, down to get of the rain. (BOO- BOOM!)

The ants go marching three by three. Hoora, hoora!

The ants go marching three by three. Hoora, hoora!

The ants go marching three by three, the little one stopped to climb a tree,

And they all went marching, down to get of the rain. (BOO- BOOM!)

The ants go marching four by four. Hoora, hoora!

... etc.>>

Well, this time of year we are totally inundated, and I wish more than anything that they would climb a tree or stop to suck their thumbs -- if ants have thumbs. Right now, they are marching here by the tens of thousands. They may be after the rain, as the above suggests, but rain will not be due here for several more months, so they must make do with the cat food, the dog food, the eggs, anything in the kitchen or in the house or the garbage or in the surrounding half-mile.

The cat would make periodic pilgrimages inside to cry at us when his food bowl was totally over-run. The dogs' food would remain uneaten - by them - while the ants feasted. But when I found myself waking up several times a night to pick ants out of my ears, off of my face and out of my eyes, I finally realized that we had a serious problem.

Since we live in the country, I tend to adopt a live-and-let-live philosophy whenever possible; I despise the idea of using poisons of any sort. Ground squirrels and rabbits pretty much have free rein. Bugs enjoy the fruits of our garden pretty much at will. But enough is enough. When I can't sleep, the war has begun.

I dug out a recipe that I had used in years past, and prepared a snack for our little friends.

Measure 2 cups of sugar, 2 tablespoons of boric acid, and one cup of water into a pan and boil for several minutes to make a syrup. I put a few cotton balls in jar lids, soaked them with the syrup, and let things be. In about three days the ants were gone. That nest had been dessicated. Unfortunately, every few feet there seems to be a new tribe, so we are now working our way around the house. Boric acid does not seem to be very toxic, and no one else in the household seems to be interested in it, so ... so far, so good. We'll keep you posted.

Karabey

It has taken me a few months to bring this to post, but this piece is:
In loving memory of Karabey
4/3/04 to 6/20/09

Sired by ASLAN (Herkul and Sultan) born to MELEK (Panter and Duman)
Breeder: Salim B. Yilmaz
Owner: Kathy Gluesenkamp/Lambert

At 16 weeks Karabey was taken to the Veterinary Specialty Hospital in Rancho Santa Fe, CA, for a full work-up and was diagnosed with probable cerebellar /vestibular disease (unknown cause) along with other skeletal, neurological and systemic abnormalities (congenital hydrocephalus and distemper not ruled out) and given less than two years to live.

After a full and loving life, he was euthanized at 5 years 2 months of age, due to severe congestive heart failure, skeletal abnormalities, neuralgic deficits and cardiac insufficiency. He had an amazingly full life.


Karabey at 3 months


Handsome as an adult


One of the gang, Karabey continued to enjoy life far beyond given expectancies.
The dark pup in the background is our Turkish import Yollie, who was dyed black in order to expedite her trip from Turkey. She has since had surgery on both knees, and is now a lovely, natural blond.


Karabey (left) was the role model's during our stressful week-long fire evacuation.


Farewell, dark lord.

Karabey was one of the gentlest and kindest souls that I have ever known, in any corporeal form, and I hope that he finds peace and rebirth quickly. It is also my fondest hope that I might meet his reborn soul sometime before I die.

Goat by Any Other Name

Goats are one of the oldest domesticated species in the world, having been been used for their meat, milk, hair, and skins in many cultures and in many countries.

Chivo, chevon, cabrito, chèvre or mutton: no matter what you call it, goat meat is eaten around the world because it is lean and delicious. I have had it in Mexico and Texas, and figured it couldn't be all THAT hard to make meal-sized portions out of our late kid. Another day-long learning experience. Eventually, I ended up with several pounds of stew meat, some loin pieces, LOTS of bones for the dogs, and - amazingly enough - four legs.

A beautiful blog featuring pictures and recipes to make you drool is Masa Assassin -- and he knows about Talones, too!

My favorites are too numerous to mention, but old-style pot roast, with potatoes, carrot, onions and peas is outstanding, as well as virtually every other lamb recipe you have ever tried.

Lunching With Wolves, Part 2

Friday morning dawned quietly, but then rapidly picked up speed as a friend of one of my sons called to see if he and wife and child could drop by to see the place and say hi. We had met before he went to Iraq, I like them very much, so was happy to invite them over. Besides -- as I recalled, Jubal was a big, strapping Texas fella, and I knew that would come in handy.

We fed them some fresh strawberry shortcake, chortled the baby and chatted a bit, and then offhandedly asked if they wanted to see the animals and, oh, by the way, would he be willing to help out with moving a few? Yes? Oh good!

We first moved four ram lambs from the ewes' pen down to the boys' enclosure at the bottom of the property. Stuffing the little buggers into kennels in the back of the Escape was a piece of cake.

Then we caught Bubba, a huge rambouillet-cross ram, and led him back up to a pen where we added four of his favorite fine-wool ladies. By this time we were all breathing a bit hard, but we had just two more to go: the ailing ewe and a yearling goat who had been on my must-go list ever since she first started screaming at all hours of the day and night. They were to go to the wolves. Catching and loading them took just about all the juice we had, and left us all sweaty and panting. Jubal seemed, well, jubilant, and we were unspeakably happy to have his help for the morning. They left to continue their journey north, and we headed south to the knackers.

Talone's Meat Market doesn't look like it has changed much, if at all, in the past 60 or 70 years. With a small yet well-respected meat market in the front, the old slaughter house sits on several acres of undisturbed history in the middle of Escondido. In the back are clean cement pens of live hogs, goats and sheep with a few rebel roosters strutting in the back lots. A sign points to a small office where one goes to transact business. The usual question is, "How many pieces?" But for the wolf-bound ewe, we didn't want pieces, we just needed her to be dead. This was a difficult thing to explain, but eventually I managed to convey the idea. Pointer finger to the head, drop the thumb, just dead. "Nada mas." OK, fine, $20 anyway.

However, as we were discussing this, I began to wonder why we would feed a lovely, milk and grass-fed goat to the wolves when we could very well enjoy it ourselves. So when the question came, "How many pieces?" I thought a minute, pictured the smallish goat, and said, "Two." He shrugged; $40.

The animals were off loaded and led up a series of ramps and into the dark interior. The ewe was calm and submissive, even ready, while the goat dug in her heels, screaming and protesting every inch. By the time she finally disappeared into the building I was wondering if the wolf center would consider just throwing her into the pen alive and letting us watch the wolves eat her. After adding up the sleepless nights for the past year, we would have almost paid to see that. But as it was, the ensuing silence was payment enough.

After an hour or so, one of the fellas came out with a wheelbarrow containing the body of the ewe and several large, blue plastic bags. We loaded everything back into the car and headed off for Julian.

Although we were much later than anticipated, one of the kind people at the non-profit California Wolf Center waited for us. The facility is wonderfully isolated, perfect for its guests. We unloaded the ewe into their freezer, and then enjoyed an amazing up-close (well, through two much-appreciated chain link fences) visit with some of the wolves in residence.

Some of the wolves are scheduled for release in Arizona soon, so they will not be fed any domestic animals. But the others will enjoy the lamb, goat, horse, beef and chicken from the freezer. I think we were of particular interest to the Mexican Gray Wolves (which are normally very shy) because we were standing up wind of them, and had spent the last 3 hours wrestling sheep and waiting at the slaughter house. Several made repeat "drive-by" visits to check us out.

It had been a long, tiring and eminently fascinating day, so when we got home I just put the bags of goat into the spare fridge without paying much attention. I would deal with them later. Boy, would I.

Lunching with Wolves, Part 1

Well, it wasn't exactly lunching. In fact, I don't think we had time for any lunch at all that day, but hopefully the wolves did.

This adventure started when we realized shortly after shearing last weekend that one of our older ewes was going to have to be put down. I called the vet, then looked to see what was left in our checking account and became instantly, doubly depressed. It costs well over $100 to have the vet visit and put an animal down, then another $100 to have the disposal people come pick up the body. And this old gal, though aged, was full of vigor, not at all like Gwendolynn. Definitely not a plastic bag candidate. With the firm belief that there had to be a better (cheaper, easier) way, I sat down and started calling around.

County animal control said yes, they took in animals for euthanasia, was I interested in "after-care"? "No thank you," I said, "just disposal." She asked what kind of pet it was, and I told her that it was a sheep.
"Is it already dead?!" she asked with some alarm.
"No," I said with measured words, "I just need it dead."
There was a pause, before she told me abruptly that they did not accept livestock, but would happily give me the number for the pet mortuary where they sent their animals. I told her I didn't think that was a realistic possibility and asked, "What about road kill? What do you do with those animals?"
They contracted out for that, and she gave me the number of the livestock disposal people, which I already had.
"Do those go to the pet mortuary?" I asked the disposal people.
"No, they go to the landfill." OK -- now we're getting somewhere! What about the landfill?

Unfortunately, there is no real landfill in these parts, and the number she gave me was for the local "transfer station" where trash trucks disgorge their daily pick-ups. The guy there said they could take maybe a dead bird or a rat, but definitely not a sheep. Actually, I knew this already, because once I had tried to load a dead ram into our trash can for pick-up and got a nasty note and a stern warning: "NO DEAD ANIMALS" Plus, then had to go dig a HUGE hole and bury a very smelly, very heavy, by then long-dead ram.

Ever the helpful sort, he asked why I didn't just shoot it and bury it myself. By now, several hours into this hopeless search, my patience was dwindling. "Because I am a fat, 65-year old lady with arthritis and the ground is like concrete!" He mulled this over for a minute, then gave me the number for the REAL dump, somewhere down near the border.

The woman who answered the phone there was very kind and sympathetic, but allowed as how they couldn't take dead animals either. Then she started to say something, reconsidered, and finally said, "I don't know how you feel about this, but..." I am sure she could hear my little heart screaming, "Yes? Yes, but what??!"
"Well, there is a place in Julian that takes dead animals to feed their wolves." And before she spread her wings to take off to heaven, she gave me the number.

The California Wolf Center is located 4 miles south of the little mining/apple/tourist town of Julian, California, and about an hour and a half from here. The wonderful people there confirmed the fact they did indeed take dead livestock, providing it was not killed with chemicals and was already dead. They sounded happy, and said they would even drive out to get it -- sometime in the next week or two. Unfortunately, we needed to move things along, so I said we would be happy to deliver the sheep to them ... that Friday, two days hence.

The next morning the vet came out to confirm that the sheep was not in any way infectious, and I got online to ask local livestock folks about the next step and received a tip about a "custom slaughtering" place halfway between here and Julian. Zounds, a plan falling into place!
From then on, it was just a matter of ironing out the details.

Yeah, right.

Garden Euphoria

It is curious to me, when or if I stop to think about it, how someone who can care for and nurture animals with pretty near infinite patience (and a fair amount of success) has absolutely no ability to grow plants. And it is not for lack of trying. I have spent half of my life trying to have a garden of one sort or another, but usually my animal endeavors, children, work, climate, pests, and general forgetfulness spell doom from the first immersion of tiny seed into soil.

Our "garden" from the past few years was a weed patch, surrounded by gray, broken picket fence panels. Most people thought we were trying to replicate a Gothic cemetery. While we have probably the richest compost pile in the county, the main stumbling block was moving the compost to where we needed it. Then my husband got his little tractor going, and hope sprang anew.

We tore down the old fences, weeded the whole patch, extended two of the three raised beds, and then set about moving in scoop after scoop of llama compost and dirt from the goat pens.

What little fella doesn't like to play in the sand box?

Of course we all had our own ideas of just how things should be done, including the job forman, Ms. Mad Hen. Still, it turned out to be an amazingly pleasant, cooperative and (we all hope) productive bit of work.

Mad Hen spent the entire day worrying about the garden.

In a few days, we actually had plants in the ground. Most of our plants come from vendors at the farmers' market, but there are some seeds in the ground as well. The two upper beds contain everal kinds of squash and cucumbers, both gold and red beets, various colors of chard and lettuce, a few Cherokee tomatoes (more to come), a row of yard-long bean plants, and some left-over herbs that somehow managed to survive years of neglect in the lower bed. Herbs are in a big herb pot, plus smaller outposts (outpots?) around the place.

So far, so good.

The picket panels keep the dogs out (they love to dig in the cool, moist ground), and chicken wire keeps the rabbits at bay. Ground squirrels still sometimes go up and over the fences, but so far that predation gas been fairly light. Next week the eggplant should be ready to transplant, and we hope to add a few new kinds of tomatoes and peppers. Hopefully staggering the planting will result in a more continuous crop... do you think?

I have a few adult pima cotton plants, and am working on sprouting some colored ones. Next thing in the ground will be my dye plant seeds:
True Indigo (Indigofera tinctoria)
Common Agrimony (agrimonia Eupatoria)
Tansey (Tanacetum vulgare)
Common Toadflax (Linaria vulgaris)
Golden Marguerite (Anthemis tinctoria Kelwayi)
False Saffron (Carthamus tinctorius)
Madder (Rubia tinctoria)
Cosmos (sulphureus Bright Lights and Klondyke Sunny Red) will go in my big "planter tubs" (old bath tubs no longer needed for watering livestock.

Maybe woad and Dyer's Knotweed, if I can find any more room, but more than likely they will have to wait until next year.

Gardening is a matter of your enthusiasm holding up until your back gets used to it.

~Author Unknown

Let's hope that works out. Cheers!