RANCHO POLLOS Y PERROS

                   

To the right is one of the "deals of the day" that recently blessed our home. It's a "Kitchenaid Pro-Series" burr coffee grinder. These things retail for 179.95 + tax. Thanks to a local estate sale, it cost us 25.00. I hate using my little "Hamilton Beach" spinning blade coffee grinder because you can only grind (whack, actually) a couple of tablespoons of coffee beans at a time. It takes forever to grind all of your beans. Not so with this big baby. 

This is "deal of the day" number two. It's a "Cuisinart" programmable coffee maker. They retail for 99.95 plus tax. But, it was acquired at the same estate sale as was the coffee grinder and we paid...get this...five dollars for it! You can't even tell that it's been used! 

To the right we see our sled dog, Missy. I have to tell you, she is a sweetheart. But, she is also a high-spirited and completely bored doggie. That isn't a good thing. Below, we see what a high-spirited bored doggie does in her spare time (which she has a lot of). It's a brand new doggie watering pan that lasted about 30 minutes. As it is, her other doggie watering pan is one that has been repurposed from being used as a chicken watering pan. It will remain in service. She hasn't been able to 

destroy it but she has been able to frequently

empty it. 

This picture is proof that you can feed two old yard sale'ers and bargain hunters lunch for less than ten bucks. With the senior discount (discounts are our friends), the tab is about 7 dollars and change. That's with an "up size" of the drink to a large one. Not bad at all. 

To the right we see Princess Schlaufenhund not forgetting to warm up in the sun for awhile prior to taking care of the business of being a good guard dog. 

A beautiful day in Springville, California, US of A. 

When the opportunity to try some bison jerky came this way, you can guess who said, "YES!" right away. There is a reason why there were so many healthy Pawnee, Shawnee, Blackfoot, Dakota, Lakota, Sioux, Kiowa, and Topeka (and many more, to be sure).  I had a bison steak at the "Cold Springs Tavern" in the Santa Ynez Valley near Lake Cachuma (near Santa Barbara) many years ago. It's good stuff.

Well…It’s February. Doesn’t that just make you want to hock your bandwagon? Instead of bellyaching about how fast the leaves of the calendar are shredding off (you know: like as fast as a 747 that just experienced catastrophic bi-lateral wing spar failure at 45,000’), grab your notebooks; I’m going to be talking about  electron beam welding and vacuum annealing of titanium (just kidding).

Now, some of you may be ruing the fact that I don’t share more about it because it’s actually very interesting stuff. Come to think about it, it’s likely that only a few of you would be interested. So, we can then probably divide that number by my shoe size which means that only one person will have to suffer the loss of this great technical knowledge and not many. Great idea, Ran.

Anyway….I’ve decided not to learn Klingon as a second language.

Rancho musings: As I age, I’m finding that there is no longer an ample supply of “Under Dog Super Energy Pills”. That’s really sad to do that to old people, don’tcha think? Most likely, they outsourced them to an enemy country so they’re no longer manufactured here. The enemy is now hogging the entire supply; can’t blame them for that, I guess. Who would want an enemy that’s stronger than they are?!

It’s not like I have a monstrously huge need for them. I mean, I gave up trying to save the world all by myself some time ago (though Superman is still my favorite super hero). But, a real boost would come in handy now and again. There are always things that need to be toted, lifted, lugged, moved, raised, racked, packed, and stacked around here. And, when Abbie tree’s a coon at midnight, it would be nice to just shinny up and retrieve it from the top of the tree. That’s so that I wouldn’t have to wake the neighbors with a large caliber alarm clock.

This is also to say that not all shortages are on the shelves of markets. There’s an energy shortage here at the rancho. It takes time and energy to service the lawn tractor and get it ready to mow the front jungle. It takes time and energy to service the Echo weedeater then lug it around and whack the jungle in the back yard and garden area. It takes time and energy to rebuild the garden boxes that have seen better days and which are now falling apart. It takes time and energy to haul stuff to the dump (those trash barrels haven’t lost any weight since the previous dump run).

So, this ol’ rancher sorely misses those days when there was an ample supply of “Super Energy Pills” provided by my ol’ pal, Underdog (he can’t get’em, either!). “SIGH”

Eggs-istential crisis - Speaking of shortages, we have a chicken shortage crisis. Our little flock of layers and one rooster has further dwindled to a critical level. We never thought we would ever see an egg shortage around this place but, alas, there is one. We’ve gone from selling four dozen eggs per day to having very few eggs at all (at least eggs that we can find).

It isn’t a “head scratcher” at all: no mystery here. Missy, the plunder dog who eats chicken without begging for a side of fries, has a nasty habit of sandbagging our birds until they are within reach (she’s on a 15’  rope). Then, like lightening, she snatches them and energetically enjoys the fruit of her machination.

So far, she’s halved our layers and Ol’ Roo, the beloved one-legged rooster. We’re down to three layers and they have evaded a swift death by simply camping in the trees instead of risking going in the direction of the coop (which is near Missy’s doghouse but outside of her reach). That also means that they are laying their eggs somewhere (anywhere) else. The old people who run this egg factory don’t have enough energy to conduct a daily Easter egg hunt (did I mention the energy shortage around here?). So, the three dirty birdies will be captured and locked in the coop for a couple of weeks. That’ll reset their “homing beacon” so that they’ll return to the coop at night instead of the wild (which has its own hazards).

No mas Missy – having said all of this, as much as I love this beautiful and intelligent pooch, we don’t actually need her. The main reason we brought her home was so that Abbie would have a pal to wrestle with and not be lonely.

And, it is going to take some time and…energy…to train her to be a “chicken dog” that protects our birds instead of a “chicken chomper” who dines on our pets.  So, “Craig’s List” has a new listing.

The decision to let Missy go to a new home wasn’t taken lightly and it wasn’t without regard to other factors. “What factors are those, Ran?”. I’m glad you asked. It’s factors like the recent experience with trying to keep her warm. “Aunt Joyce”, our dear friend and neighbor who loves our doggies, gave Missy a beautiful new winter jacket so that she would be comfortable this winter. She wore the jacket exactly one day. By feeding time the next morning, she had destroyed the jacket’s zipper rendering it unusable. How did she do that?! No one knows but it’s certainly in alignment with the other mysteries surrounding this dog who is an escape artist extraordinaire.

Then, there is the new watering pan. The bright shiny new 18” plastic pan was filled with water and left on the ground near Missy’s big doghouse (which began life as “Maggie’s Mansion” many years ago). The pan didn’t last 30 minutes. She shattered and scattered it all over the place. The thing only cost a couple of bucks but if you have to buy ten new pans per month, it could be an issue.

Radio Snacks: And, we can’t forget the fact that she loves to eat radios for snacks. I kid thee negative! The other day (when lots of things happen around here), the Ol’ Rancher parked his old airframe on a bucket so he could take the time for some “doggie love” with Missy. She loves to be loved, of course, so she soaked up all the attention. What wasn’t noticed was that the little Baofeng BF-888 “Rancho Radio” slipped off my belt when the session was over with (when I get enough box tops saved up, I’m sending off for a new Batman Utility Belt. I need one around here).

In about a half hour or so and when I needed to call Connie the Canner, it was noticed that the radio wasn’t hanging on my hip; it wasn’t difficult to remember where it had last been seen. I did find it but can you imagine the look on the Ol’ Rancher’s mug when he discovered that his nice new radio had been dismembered, covered in mud, and scattered all over the back yard?! Many thoughts raced through my mind as I stood there (thank you, Marty Robbins). One thought was to blame the dog but I just couldn’t. You can’t blame a high-spirited and bored-to-death pooch when she destroys whatever is within reach.

There is a positive outcome on this particular disappointment, though. One is that these little radios are cheap so it’s no great loss when one of them bites the dust (and several have done just that). That’s why Ol’ Radio Ran buys them by the box. This means that there were plenty of replacement parts and pieces from other radios that have croaked or which have been whacked (lots of croaking and whacking going on around here for some strange reason). Cannibalism is our friend!

The little transceiver was cleaned, the cracked battery case was replaced with another one (though the old battery itself was salvage and stored for later), the mangled antenna was replaced, the lost (or swallowed) volume knob was replaced, and the mangled belt clip was replaced. In no time at all, the radio was back in action.

Can you dig it?: Added to these things is the digging. She’s a great excavator, too (if you happen to need an excavator, which we don’t). There are five “ankle breaker” holes in the ground that will need to be filled at the earliest inconvenience (read: whenever the super energy pills arrive from backorder).

It became clear that we are in over our heads with this deal so we’re going to fix it. Perhaps we can find a more compatible companion for Abbie (who loves being boss over the much larger Husky).

I tried having a conversation with Missy and used words like “Doggie for sale” and “Firing squad”. But, as smart as she is, I don’t think she got the message. My sled dog has to go but she will be missed…sort of. The ad on “Craig’s List” has only been up for a week so we’ll see.

Thou shalt not baptize thy iPhone (but particularly not in unholy water)! – Well, reckon that when you indulge in modern conveniences, you will, by default, indulge in the hazards that accompany them. These are the hazards that lurk in darkness and then pounce upon you when you aren’t paying attention and when you are least expecting them. They exact a stiff price for your laxness and your daring to feel that flawless you is without the ability to royally screw up. Senescence is not our friend.

Not long ago (but longer than the other day), I was lounging in my “work clothes”. That would be my genuine cheap Wal-Mart bed pants and a T-shirt (don’t laugh. At least they aren’t Eeyore jammies…yet). Until it’s time to go outside and face the cruelties of ranch life, the Ol’ Rancher resides in his comfort zone while working on computers and such.

When it’s time for ranch work, he is found in full battle rattle. This includes (but isn’t limited to) a box cutter, maybe a machete, a Crescent wrench, and rubber wader boots. This is definitely not my “Mr. Clean Jeans” attire. This is the down-and-dirty nitty-gritty work garb called for at Rancho Relaxo and the Ol’ Rancher isn’t usually allowed too far into the house without making some revisions.

 Now, bed pants are loose and baggy for a reason. They are not built for speed and are not in any wise sown for safely carrying an iPhone. Are you seeing where this conversation is going? No doubt you can.

While in the process of tidying up after my morning constitutional, I heard an unsettling “splosh” noise. Lo and behold, my handy-dandy hi-tech iPhone had just leaped from my pants pocket and had baptized itself without my permission. And, it was rather unholy water at that. Egad: just what I needed.

The wayward gadget was retrieved and dried off with a slightly moist towel (not rinsed off) then a dry one was used. Long story longer….water seeped into its guts and the little contraption became an expensive paper weight.

In a couple of days it became apparent that no old person (who had already used one) could live in modern times without a smart phone. So, a 150 dollar replacement (Amazon refurb) was soon on its way to the newly awakened and mighty careful old dude so that he could reattach himself to the network of life. Lesson learned.

Goin’ to Town or Visalia, here we come: From time, we find that we are required to head out to Visalia for one reason or another. One time it may be to pay taxes at the courthouse or to show up for jury duty (that’s really fun to be stuck in a room all day awaiting your turn to be selected or not). It’s a less-than-an-hour trip over exceedingly familiar roads. One could even say that it’s a rather boring ride. Sometimes we take the route through Tulare just to break the monotony and to maybe knock over “Popeye’s” for a chicken sandwich.

One good thing about Visalia is that it the nearest real town to Hooterville (which, as you’ve heard the ol’ dude grumble, is not at all a real town). So, to help mitigate the harsh reality of leaving our comfort zone and having to deal with Sacramento-like traffic and foolish, inane, incompetent, and inconsiderate drivers (who are thoughtlessly and intensely set on killing anyone who dares to try to drive on “their road”), we focus on the positive parts of the event.

As mentioned in a previous posting, there’s a really great fried chicken restaurant over there called “Raising Cane’s”. That means that part of our mood’s amelioration was in knowing that we were on our way to Visalia to commit some grand and glorious gluttony there.

In fact, on this most recent trip, that was the first place we went when we hit town. Connie ordered the sandwich and I ordered the four piece lunch. Talk about good stuff! We intend to be regulars there. I wouldn’t even mind if they gave me the Indian name, “Dances with Fried Chickens”.

Well....there you have it: another short episode of the long happenings at Rancho Relaxo: home of Rancho Ran, the world's foremost authority (the previous one died): home of the Yo-Yo Twins, home of a retarded duck, home of Connie the Canner (world's greatest side-kook): where the air smells, where alliteration reigns supreme, where being modern is optional, where there are no slaves to fashion, where the eggs are always  mostly fresh, where things can get...interesting, where it’s all news to me, and where...you just never know.