Our dog situaton has gone from bad to worse. We have our two old stand-bys, that I christen "the two best cowdogs in Cherry County, because they stay in the houseyard when we work cattle." Of course, the Kosmo Kid got his dream dog, a registered Bloodhound. Archimedes is totally worthless, but somewhat cute and loveable. About a week before Easter, a black long-haired cowdog-type drifted in to our place. We'd gladly give her back if someone would 'fess up to losing her. A couple days before Easter, another lonely looking black short-haired female cowdog-type showed up. Once again, no one seems to claim her. The day before Easter, company from eastern Nebraska came to visit. They have two city dogs, of the yapping hyperactive bounce-off-the-wall type. These dogs usually are house dogs, but when they are at our house, they stay in the company's vehicle. When I showed up at the house that evening, there were seven frickin' dogs and a hungry bucket calf, all in the house yard. It flat out made me want to run away from home.
The Kosmo Kid is letting his chickens "free-range," so we are boarding Archimedes on a fairly permanent basis. The garage doors need to be closed each night, or he parks his big Bloodyhound butt on a Polaris Ranger seat for a bed. He goes through lots of dog food each day, too. Oh well, it's a small price to pay for Bloodhound wisdom that is available for us to assimilate. Our two old regulars are here, and the two new dogs are just nice enough that they have gotten to stay so far. While riding my Delilah mule this evening, one of the new black dogs suddenly materialized out of a tree grove, and about got me piled. I said, "That's once," and I hope she realized the precarious probationary period she has now assumed.
Before
I think the surprise of the dog alarmed the mule enough that she was goosey the rest of our ride. We were trotting serenely through the soapweeds in a far pasture, when she spooked violently and caught me completely unaware. I hit the ground hard, and she took off. I was able to brush the sand off my face and hat, and rise painfully to me feet. Delilah was long gone, headed back in the direction of home. I gimped along for half a mile to the closest gate, where she was nervously pacing along the fence. Having no luck recapturing the wayward steed, I had to climb a high hill where cell phone reception was available, and summon Peach and a Polaris to assist. We were able to grab the reins of the mule by getting her boxed in between the fence, the Ranger, and the two of us. I rode Delilah back home, and thanked Peach for rescuing my ass and my ass. :roll: The cowdog is not to blame, but she definitely helped set the mood. :wink:
After
On the subject of our red calves, I am sure they are all the product of recessive genes.