Rancho Próspero Año Nuevo

Here's the Howden bunch up from Harbor City! From left: Thatcher, Warner, Liesl (think "Sound of Music"), Kuyper, Moyra, and Cosette. They all came up from Christmas and did we have a grand time!! In the background, you can see the electric train exhibit at the "Porterville Museum" at D and Putnam streets. Grandkids are our friends! 

 To the right is Kuyper who seems to be another chicken-loving bird brain. That means he fits right in with the rest of the rancho wranglers.  

Cosette loves our birdies! I think she could be a chicken sitter in no time flat! 

  

This is Moyra's first real attempt at "chickening". She didn't do too badly at all for a four year old, all things tallied. She gave it her best shot and did great.  Kuyper is the helper on this one. They have the sun directly in their eyes so are squinting a bit.

Liesl is an old hand here at the ranch. She's 13 so has been here a few more times than the others and isn't afraid of a sometimes squiggly chicken.

Warner, on the other hand, is  also experiencing his first "chickening" event. He took to it like a frog in a mud hole! It won't take him long to be a true feather lover. 

Thatcher is missing from the pics but that's because he had other things to take care of. He, too, has been here a few times and has become quite acquainted with our birds and is an old pro at it. 

It’s January, 2018! Doesn’t that just make you want to pluck your magic twanger, Froggy (all you Andy Devine fans out there – “Andy’s Gang” 1955)?! Man!! Stacking these birthday bricks on my back makes for a heavy load! Yes…I’ll quit my bellyaching.

Rancho Report: 2017 was a very…interesting year. No major happenings that required a 911 call or that cost us an arm, a leg, and the deed to the ranch. Sure: we had our ups and downs, of course. Some were not all that high and some were not all that low. There were a few things that required our full attention but nothing really serious (if the croaking of a few chickens isn’t considered “serious”). I guess you could say we were down right blessed! In any case, we’re still cranking along in high gear and getting stuff done. Works for me!

The trusty GE microwave gave up the magnetron ghost the other day. But, that’s no biggy. It had served faithfully for about 15 years or so. GE’s m/w’s are made by “Samsung” as I recall. As a former appliance salesman, I was impressed enough to buy another GE unit. It’ll be here in a few days. It is a brand new unit and there was no tax, there was free shipping, and it sold for ten dollars less than any place around. You just gotta love yard sale'ers, eh? 

Oh, yes; since we’re talking about dead things (a few chickens), there were a couple of dead batteries that had to be replaced. One was for Tojo, the pickup and one was for the “Ranch Rino”, our trusty (and somewhat rusty) circa 1952 Ford 8N tractor.  No fire, no tire movement. Batteries are our friends. 

That meant that I was finally able to mix up my compost pile. It gets stirred every couple of months or so. Come springtime, the plan is to haul a bunch of it up close to the garden boxes and refill/replenish them. It is likely that we will plant a few things this year but as to just what, I'm not sure yet. We're well stocked on a few things but can always use zukes and maters. We'll see.  

Probably the most interesting thing that happened was when I wasn’t paying attention. During summertime, I usually keep my Ruger “Critter Git’R” nearby. So it was on one particular sunny afternoon at the ranch. The protocol is to leave the rifle on the patio table and just grab it once in a while to survey the “back 40” (a total of 2 acres) for varmints. While sighting through the scope, Ol’ Ranger Ran was fairly certain that he saw a mangy varmint out by the pole barn. However, the grass was a bit higher than usual so he had to use a bit of “funky windage” to extrapolate. Short story longer…..there wasn’t a preening fuzzer there. After firing the rifle, nothing happened.

However, some days later, it was discovered that there was a trailer tire hiding in the grass instead. It was sporting a flat spot on the bottom, was without air, and had a bullet lodged in it (too traumatic to repair with a plug). A low painful growling moan could be heard crawling from the gun slinger’s throat as his eyes rolled slowly back inside the top of his skull. Thankfully, yours truly secured his tongue between his teeth prior to cussing himself out in three different languages and all further noises were supressed. Cost for not paying attention: 95 bucks and change and a lot of energy wasted dismounting and mounting the tire (it could have been used elsewhere). Note to self: don’t let this happen again.

Moving along, there was a hope that we could blow this pop stand and head ….anywhere….for a few days. But, that didn’t happen. I’m not talkin’ about a “day trip” or such. I’m talkin’ about a genuine jaunt where we can get a bit of salty breeze blowing through our ears and get a belly full of clam chowder. That’ll take at least three days as far as this ol’ chicken chaser is concerned. Otherwise, it’s too much of a rush and being in a rush is not on our agenda.

This is to say that I have to be mindful that we don’t abuse the old folks while trying to get some R & R. On one particular occasion, we headed to Morro Bay and took the whale watching tour for a few hours. When we returned to the parking lot and thawed out, we had to take a nap in the van just to survive. After the nap we headed back home too exhausted to even use the remainder of the day for “fun”. It was nap time when we hit the front door. We almost needed a tow truck to haul us to bed.

Anyway, though the fruition of that notion is in the future, it is supposed and hoped that it will be in the not-too-distant future. The rancher needs a day off. 

The most likely destination will be Monterey. I haven’t been to the aquarium there in 30 years. Connie’s daughter says that it is marvelous and I believe it. The previous time there was probably in 1987 and not all that long after it had opened. It was absolutely astounding then! Since Connie hasn’t been there yet, there’s no real reason why the Minnicks shouldn’t get the update on the place, eh?

It would be nice to fly over there. But, some time ago, a low-time pilot pranged the kite that we usually rented. That was the cute two-place Evektor “Sportstar”.  It was a real nice flying little plane and it will be missed...a lot....maybe two lots....or even three. 

And, about the same time, an idiot pilot, flying a rented C-150, didn’t bother to check his gas gauge and the engine stopped in flight (no kidding?!). He made an off-airport emergency landing but walked away from a bent bird. The FBO stopped renting both of their aircraft. That meant that the really super C-172 that we usually rent was no longer available. I say “super”  because it had been upgraded from 150 hp to 180 hp and had a constant speed prop. I loved that plane because she really liked to fly! Most 172’s are mush-mobiles that barely want to leave the ground if there’s anyone on board. Anyway…..we’re …grounded…..stuck on the ground….ground sick....no wings… slow boat…..ugh. We much preferred the chariots of the gods. 

It probably should be mentioned that we’re not baling quite as much hay per day as we did a few years ago. Seems some of our “get up and go” done got up and went. Lots of things that were on the agenda just weren’t accomplished. Some of it required the strength of Hercules and all I had on hand was the strength of Pee Wee Herman. *SIGH*. My friends, Mr. Starbucks, and Mr. McCafe, do encourage me to think that there may be hope, though.

Though certainly not earth shattering, not long ago, Ol' Ran did encounter a bit of the retarding of his performance level (it doesn't take all that much). He managed to slice an index finger on his left hand (prompting him to self-limit his access to sharp things) and then had another injury issue with the index finger on his right hand. Needless to say, both injuries were acquired without the assistance of anyone. Both wrecks required the bandaging of the index fingers. 

OK....so you have a visual on that. But, did you manage to consider just how inconvenient it is not having access to both of your index fingers? EH?!  Think about it. Do you really want to wrap your clean bandage around a greasy piece of fried chicken or a dripping taco?! A guy could starve to death that way! And, precisely how can you continue with your daily nasal maintenance with a wad of bandage on your finger that is bigger than your nares? No, sireeee! Besides that, you could get something stuck on your bandage that could later slide off on your tuna sandwich! That won't work! 

So, you can see that being thusly and seriously inhibited compromised my nose-mining abilities. However, being a man of "options", there were other digits upon which I could depend. But, just ponder this; when was the last time you saw someone hauling out toddler raisins using his....pinky fingers?! EH x 2?! Thankfully, the wounds healed quickly and I was able to breathe freely after the dirt clods were gone. 

Christmas at the ranch! The Howden grandkiddies were transported by Mom Trixie so we could celebrate Christmas! We had a grand time of it! Because of time constraints and the 200 mile distance hurdles, they don't get to visit all that frequently. So, each time is a joyous occasion.

It's a bit of a culture shock to come from a "real" city to a rural area like Sprangville (sic) which may not be a real city any time soon (given that nearby Hooterville has 60K + folks living in it and it's not a real one yet either). Unlike Harbor City, you can actually throw a rock here and not hit anything! Anyway, the kids took to the rural rancho like gravy on a biscuit and they all had a good time. 

Speaking of biscuits and gravy, we managed to pull off a huge country pancake and bacon breakfast their morning day here. Everyone had a full tummy after the feast that included O.J. (uh.....not Orenthal James), milk, and coffee for the farmer dude! The good news is that Ol' Potlick Pete got to play "cleanup crew" and make sure that no flapjacks escape unnoticed (he's a real pro, don'tcha know. Heheh). The chickens got the tailings and loved us for it. 

In fact, they loved us so much that, when the kids went out back to feed them, they were almost bowled over by the biddy brigade who mobbed them in anticipation of getting more goodies (they seem to not be satisfied with a mere ton of chow per day.....each). The big fat greedy gobblers surrounded them and prevented the smaller kids from even moving! It was a hoot! They tossed their offerings to the birds which, to the kids' relief, followed the chow away from them.

As the pictures indicate, they all had their turns holding some of the hens. In fact, some of the kids delighted in catching some of them! Even Warner, at  almost 3 years of age, fancied himself as a cluckaroo! He grabbed a nearby plastic milk case and began tossing it as a trap. You wouldn't think that he could pull that off but.....lo and behold!....he caught a hen! That boosted him and older sister, Moyra, age 4, into "trapping mode". She started tracking down a suitable set of feathers and got ready to give her trap a sling. But, the Ol' Rancher stepped in and suggested that we not do that for now. It's not that I mind them being them being trapped. It's that they won't be trapped and, instead, be clobbered by a wildly-slung milk case. As it turned out, there were enough of the birds who, with the help of an older sibling, were tame enough to simply be picked up. Close enough.

Included in the activities was showing Cosette how to make espresso coffee. She took right to it and did a great job. Connie showed her how to help with breakfast and to make peanut butter French toast. She has all the makings of a really fine country girl. 

After things settled down, the youngin's were all gathered around the Christmas tree where the goodies were then divvied up. It was quite a haul for all! There was wrapping paper all over the place, of course, and kids playing with new things. After a few batteries were installed, there was even a small drone aircraft making the rounds! 

Ol' Ran got a couple of nice gift cards, too! One was for "Starbucks" and another was for "Amazon". Both are my friends! 

After all the food and fun and lots of chickenin', it was time for them to depart. Following another huge breakfast and some more fellowship, the Howden clan departed under sunny skies and with warmed tummies. We can hardly wait to see them again!

Princess Dawg Report: after appearing to have left her desire for obedience in the birth canal, our pooch at least had the decency to bring along a few instincts that seem to be serving us fairly well. The other day, she commenced barking at Tojo. Experience has shown that there was a significant possibility that a critter of some kind was lurking in, under, on, or about the little pick-me-up truck. 

It just happened to be early morning while Abbie still had her shock collar on (before the chickens were turned out for the day) and had quite a bit of freedom to move about. So, my first thought was to lift the hood to see if there was, again, something hiding there.

 I threw open the hood and saw a blur of fur shoot out! The fuzzer made it about 10’ then was nabbed by the vice grip jaws of my (sorta) useful huntin’ dawg. Quicker than you can break me off a piece of that “Kit Kat” bar,

that, as they say, was that. Abbie – 1; Fuzzer – 0. Go, Abbie!! 

Chickenin' report: well, our girls have had a revelation that they are not roosters and have begun laying again. They must only have a partial revvy though since the production count is still down quite a bit for as many layers as we have. No, complaints, though. We have a couple of new clients that dig our eggs (they even eat them too! Amazing!). 

Our baby birds have been turned loose from the cage within the coop. Only one was released and it seemed to do well. After a few days, the others were released. That went well until tonight when I went to check on them. All four were not in the coop that I could tell. It was night time and the lighting wasn't all that great so I'll figure it out tomorrow. They'll be back for chow, no doubt. They may be stupid but at least they'll be hungry. 

There you have it: another episode of what’s happening at Rancho Relaxo, home of Rancho Ran, the world's foremost authority (the previous one died), Connie the Canner (world's greatest side-cook), where things can get…interesting, and where… you just never know.

Rancho el otoño

Here's our little birdie buddies enjoying their first day outside in the orange coop.

Here's "Miss Peep". What a pretty birdie!! If you remember, she's the little presumptuous pullet who was standing on Connie's head in one of the previous postings.

Here are the first chicks hatched here at the ranch! You can see that two of them are related to Pedro. They are really pretty birds.

Here's "Duggin's Citrus Express" setting up for a private Thanksgiving gig. You can seem my vintage Fender "Precision" bass in the foreground. It was a nice time but the gals all thought it was a tad cool.

Ol' Singin' Ran at the private gig. I don't get a chance to wear a hat very often and this is the first time to wear my new black hat! Ain't she a beaut?!

Here's the band with leader, "Soozie Singer", belting out a tune. Talk about a "feed"!! They had grilled tri-tip steak and grilled chicken and all of the fixin's to boot!! By the time we kicked off the music, it was nap time!! We survived to play and sing another day. I've been singin' for my supper for a long long time. As long as they keep feedin' me, I'll keep pickin' and grinnin'.

Here's our pretty little burg in the fall time.

I grew up here and swam and fished a lot in the Tule River to the right of this picture and just down the hill a couple of blocks.

Great Caesar’s ghost! It’s December! Boy! Doesn’t that just put snot in your pocket?! It seems like months are arriving on a weekly basis. *SIGH*

Rancho report: can you smell…BBQ (assuming that you can already spell it)? I finally broke down and lit the fire under my grill. Though it was “Black Friday” (which of itself is a grand reason to hook it up so you don’t get mistaken as one of the mindless hordes mobbing the shopping centers), it was still used under duress. You see, in California, if you don’t fire up your grill at least twice per year, they throw you in jail for being stupid without a license (I’d rather go to jail for aggravated moping than for that and I’m too cheap to pay the fee for the license anyway). 

As my ol’ grand pappy used to say, “If you’re going to do something, do it up right”, so I did just that. I broke out the bacon, the Ball Park franks, a chuck steak, hamburger patties, and set of pork short ribs and torched off the grill. Then I lined the top shelf of the rig with a row of spuds. Smoke was blowin’ in no time! The way I figured it, no one would have to do much prep work for meals for a few days. We’ll just be “heat n’ eat”.

You probably already know me well enough to know that the bacon didn’t make it to the table. It never does. You may just as well climb Mount Kilimanjaro as try to protect a pile of grilled bacon from Ol’ Ran’s fangs. I think Connie stood waaaaay back when she saw me breakin’ out the pork because I didn’t see her for a while. It probably wasn’t safe what with the slingin’ of grill tools, gnashing of teeth, flingin’ elbows and grease, and what all.

Few things can force a pallet into ecstasy like grilled bacon. I’ve been doing that for years prior the Internet making this discovery (you know, the old click bait title, “You will never eat bacon the same way again after you tried this weird trick!”). The first pound never made into the kitchen and the succeeding pounds haven't made it since. I suspect that I will only behave myself if we have company.

If you ever want to treat yourself or someone special to a marvelously delicious chunk of flavor, it’s easy. Just grill up a pound of thick-sliced bacon (I recommend grilling two pounds and you’ll know why after you do it….and you’ll be sorry if you don’t). You’ll need to use one of those dollar store round or square/rectangular mesh grilling trays, though. It beats fetching your slices back up from the bottom (though it is worth the effort).

And, you’ll need to babysit it as well since it cooks fairly quickly but it’s worth every second of the wait. If you don’t, you risk turning a beautiful soul-pampering banquet into a pile of greasy charcoal fit for the chickens (who will love you forever). Once you’ve sampled this special treat, think it not strange that your tongue will slap your face silly trying to get more!

Connie, ever the one for moderation, sampled a taste and enjoyed it. I explained in great detail that, if she wanted any more, she should weigh in now or there simply wouldn’t be enough left to feed a starving bot fly. She snoozed and she loozed. I stuffed myself with all of it and ended up with a wonderfully greasy smile on my mug. Never a bacon monger, she stuck with the grilled hamburgers.

Wrestling the white elephant: well….it wasn’t exactly an elephant. But, it was exactly white. To make a long story longer: everyone knows about “Murphey’s Law”, right? But, not many folks know about “Mrs. McGillicuddy's Law” that states: “When you are exhausted and don’t have the strength to suck the guts out of a Fig Newton, something major will happen that requires you to expend the strength of three wrestlers one of which will be either Hulk Hogan, Sting, or Wahoo McDaniel”.

Just as the Ol’ Rancher was settling in for the evening, Connie voiced a somewhat urgent request over the walkie squawky radio. Her Maytag washer was coming on then stopping. She would start it and it would run for a few seconds and then shut down with a certain error message being presented. Great. It had been a long day and there was no way that the “Computer Dude” was ready to doff his garb and slip into a “Washer Repair Dude” costume and save the day (I lost the cape anyway).

Connie the Canner, who was already wearing her “Washer Woman” outfit, urgently (and I think somewhat balefully) said, “I can’t finish my laundry!”. Well….it was the maid’s day off so we just couldn’t let that happen, now could we? To save time, I forewent the save-the-day apparel and just dug into the job wearing my “work clothes” (you know: the plaid Wal-Mart bed pants and a T-shirt).

You would think that disassembling a Maytag washer would be a rather daunting task. However, Once you’ve pulled every….single….piece….of hardware out of a Toshiba laptop and replaced every…single…one…of them, you’re ready for brain surgery without fainting or Google’ing.

 I pulled apart the control unit at the top and checked all of the wiring and hosed the area with my trusty dust blaster can of compressed air. After re-assembling it, I pulled the back panel off and poked around in there. After that, the agitator was unbuttoned and hoisted off and, lo and behold! There sat someone’s coin collection! Once those little pests were removed everything was glued back together and the machine was back to nominal operation. Hopefully, the Maytag repairman will be lonely for a long long time.

Chickenin’ Report: no mas Pedro. One of the things Ol’ Rancho Ran has discovered about chickenin’ is that you just can’t outwit a stupid chicken. I had high hopes for Pedro but he just didn’t get the memo that it isn’t safe for a chicken to spend the night outside of the coop unless they are sporting an AR-15 or a bodyguard. He had neither so he ended up being forcefully invited to dinner.

One of the recent changes made was to round up the stray chickens at night so Abbie could be let free to run. I put the shock collar on her and set her free. The idea was that she would be loosed from her cable so that she can bark at the moon and whatever spooks she desired in the front or back yards.

Knowing that my dog is the consummate huntin’ dawg, I policed the entire area around the periphery where she would be guarding (at night) looking for a low-lying pile of feathers. None were found. But, the next morning, our little hard-headed (read: stupid) Pedro was found.

Actually, I should say most of his larger parts were located. Some were not. It is highly likely that Pedro, not having graduated at the head of his class, sauntered into Abbie’s beat while she lay in wait for him to get close enough for an ambush (I’ve seen her do exactly that in the past). Then, POW! Instant chicken dinner! Pedro was no more. Abbie was gnawing on most of him when I got there in the morning. *SIGH*.

The good news is that there are a couple of new chickens that look almost exactly like Pedro. So, one of them will be named “Pedro Dos” and the other “Poncho” (or “Ponchita” if it turns out that it’s a pullet).

When you hang around Rancho Relaxo long enough, you learn that there is almost always some circus act happening at any given time. That’s what happened recently when a small cricket was rounded up and tossed into the tub with the seven small chicks. The cricket hit the floor and the fertilizer hit the ventilator! You could instantly tell that this was not going to go the full twelve rounds. One of the chicks snatched that thing before he could get his bearings. The chick ran with his booty and, when he did, the other chicks turned into line backers and the game was on. Wait until you see seven chicks sprinting all over the place just like the Keystone Cops and ricocheting off both ends of a plastic tub at mach one! It was hard to contain the laughter so I didn’t.  Chicks – 1; Cricket – 0.

The next day we had another circus act similar to the first one. When it was time to empty the compost barrels (next to the coop), I knew there would be all kinds of bugs hiding there. After a few “Here, chick, chick, chick’s”, the first barrel was rolled back. You should have seen the bugs scatter and the chickens go wild! They were scratching and flinging dirt and gravel everywhere! The bugs didn’t stand a chance. For a couple of minutes, it was almost a “hard hat and safety glasses” area. My girls mercilessly and indiscriminately harvested the insects. There was no place to hide since the chickens got their scratch on and ferreted all of them out. That same thing happened with the next two barrels until the bug fest was over with and our hens were satisfied happy hunters.

One and only one pullet was released from the in-coop cage to see if they are ready for the real world. She was accepted without much ado other than the usual “pecking order” being continually being re-established. The little bird is pretty quick on its toes and managed to stay out of major tiffs with the older biddies. Soon, she’ll be close to the top of the game and ready to bully other birds. Unlike one of the previous pullets, she came back in to the coop at dusk without issues.

Update: since the little bird did fare well, two other little ones were let out to fend for themselves. There are yet two slightly smaller all-white birds (though the same age) that will be cut loose in a few days when the time is right. So far, so good. Update: the other birds were set free and they are doing great and are coming back into the coop at night and I don’t have to hunt them down! Am I happy about that? Is the Cookie Monster fast friends with Famous Amos?!

The other older pullet still tries to stay out of the coop at night. I just wait for darkness and then pluck her from her roost next to the coop and plop her in with the others. She’s your basic slow learner, I guess. Update: she just started going into the coop at night. Update: she parked outside again tonight. This is the last night for free ranging so she and the others won’t be let out much until warmer weather. No more chicken hunting.

There are two other smaller white birds that need to obey the rules and come home at night. When the coop dries out in a few days (another story for another time...*SIGH*), my big beautiful biddies that are all fattened up for the winter, will be locked in and no longer allowed to free range. Then, I can trap the little guys and put them in with the other birds. Next spring (or at least in a few weeks), they will be allowed to free range again and we’ll see if they will return to their coop at night.  I’ll need to snatch one of them from its perch in the tree out back. The other one is probably nearby but she’s playing hide-and-seek for now.

Update: With all of the clucking but no laying happening, there was a temptation to think that we now had a magpie farm. What we did was to do a test run by keeping them in the coop for a couple of days to see if it would make a difference. In only a couple of days, a few of our girls started working again and we had a half a dozen eggs each of the two days. There is much hope that that number will increase to four dozen or more per day. I had to let them back out, though, due to another flood in the coop. Like I said, that tale will be preserved for a later date.

Connie’s kitchen smells like a chicken coop so, the other day, the little chicks got their first day in the sunlight. That’s one of the reasons we have the orange coop; it’s so we would have options (options are our friends). They loved it and we loved it that they loved it. It’s all about love around here so that works for us.

Today they even got to sample chicken scratch in addition to their normal chick starter crumble feed. Since they can get to some grit, they can digest the scratch. Yes, perhaps we can re-start the dormant fermented scratch regimen again for the little ones. How soon? Probably as soon as we can get a …..day off to deal with it, I suppose.

If you are solely relying on regular TV for entertainment, I truly feel sorry for you! You simply must switch to “Chicken TV”! There’s nothing like watching chicks to brighten your day. For instance, toss some slices of unused toast or bread out in the middle of some chickens. You are about to experience a hoot and holler!  It’s particularly peaceful in the late afternoon prior to them getting ready to retire. Not sure why but it seems to work that way.

Turkey Day at the Ranch: boy! Did we do a whole lot of nothing on Thanksgiving day! We had already had turkey at the church potluck so were content with not having any more that day. So, we just lolled around and rested a bit. We still had the usual chores but we went absolutely nowhere! You’d have thought that someone had padlocked the doors! We loved it!

Not stuffing yourself also means that there’s no post prandial fatigue with which to deal. We didn’t end up with a stuffed turkey (hmmmmm…wonder just how should we interpret that?). This is good, at least for me, since a turkey feast usually acts just like Kryptonite does for Superman when I’m full.

Rat and Other Varmint Patrol Report: well…something must be working. The rat population has dwindled down to a very wonderfully few of the buggers. I think it was the poison bait that did the trick. In any case, they are not swarming the coop as they once did. I’ll be elated when the last of them has left the property.

The pocket gophers have not taken over yet but they a starting to feel so comfortable here that their putting up “room for rent” signs around their holes. We’re hoping the neighbor’s gophers don’t notice.

When I was a teenager (boy! Has that been awhile!),  I worked in an orange grove in Strathmore for the airport manager, Vernon Baird (I was practicing to be an ol’ rancher some day and didn’t know it). He poured gasoline into the gopher holes then stuffed newspaper in the hole. It seemed to work but I hadn’t remembered it until now. Since gas has been right cheap lately (note: CA just added a dollar per gallon tax!!) and since the Ol’ Rancher is rather concerned about the matter, that tactic was implemented. So far, it seems to be effective. If it does work, I’ll re-fuel and start in on the front yard.

However, I’ve had about as much luck diminishing the fuzzer population as a one-eyed one-armed Eskimo hunting for seals. One hope is try the gas attack used on the gophers. However, their holes are usually too large to stuff with anything smaller than a twin bed mattress. Well, OK….maybe not quite that large. But, they are fairly big and Ol’ Ran will be looking for options (have I mentioned that options are my friends?).

I can boast of taking one brown pelt the other day. On a whim, I grabbed the ol’ “Critter Gitter” Ruger 10/22 and eased out the back door onto the patio. To my great delight, I spotted a mangy varmint primping in the shade of my pole barn. The top rail of our patio enclosure is where Connie the Canner mounts her flower boxes and guess what? They make for a great gun rest! How convenient, eh? Slowly I turned, step by step, and eased the Ruger onto one of the boxes and took careful aim (my un-careful aiming has not done well for me so far).

When I eased into the 2.5 pound trigger pull (yep. It has the kit) the .22 caliber 38gr copper-plated bullet was launched out of the end of the barrel at a satisfying 1260 fpm. In only 0.15 seconds, the fat, dumb, and happy preening rodent was lying flat on the ground. Ah, but I saw him moving. So, to end the threat of being faked out (oh yes! They do that!) and me being made a mockery of (again), I launched two more rounds his way and he stopped his moving. But, I thought I saw him twitching. So, I launched a couple of more hollow points at him. Then, I was pretty sure he made a quivering motion and that meant two more slugs were tossed his way. Reckon he was dead.

The way I figure (Jethro Bodine taught me how to figure and do a bit of ciphering), it was well worth the 40 cents worth of ammo to rid Rancho Relaxo of at least one brown bane and purchase a small slice of victory (I’d have spent a lot more to save face, don’tcha know).

There you have it: another episode of what’s happening at Rancho Relaxo, home of Rancho Ran, the world's foremost authority (the previous one died), Connie the Canner (world's greatest side-cook), where things can get…interesting, and where… you just never know.

Rancho Se Vende Mucho Mas y Mas

 We're getting ready for the the big annual yard sale that we hold during the "Springville Apple Festival".

Along with the stuff on the tables above, we have these, too. It's about a tenth of what we usually haul out for sale.

 To the left, you see one of our other participants getting her goodies ready. She did really well again this year.

Another view but from the opposite end of the driveway. You can see "Tojo" the pickup in the far background. It's a mighty handy gadget to have at a yard sale.

To the right, we see the post sale mess that we usually have to deal with. No biggy though; we just took our time and got it all cleaned up. 

Take a look at this nice clean yard and then compare it with the pics below.

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A "just because" pic. This is our porch swing which is sometimes the viewpoint for "Chicken TV" if the Squawk Squad is around in front.

The resting garden boxes. We'll prepare them for action next spring.

Some of our girls basking in the shade.

We get some really pretty sunsets at times.

Here is the front yard and it's fully populated.

Lots of stuff....everywhere.

More lots of stuff.

Getting ready for the kickoff.

Susan Newsome getting ready! She's a pro!

Leanne Chapman had the most stuff and she sold a great deal of it!

What do you do when your above ground pool liner gets leaky? You take the poles and make a clothes rack out it! That was a "Connie Idea" and it has worked marvelously for the previous 5 years!

These here are a bunch of pichers (sic)

Another picher.....

Lots of'em....

 Never seen so many of 'em....

  

 Never run out of'em........

 

Wheeeew!! The end of pichers......

Here's one of our latest rooster additions. I'm not sure why but I've been calling him, Pedro. I think he is the offspring of an escaped fighting game cock. We could have some really weird looking chickens around here before too long.

And, tossed in for good measure, a "sign of the times" courtesy of our local Wal-Mart.

Well! Kiss my glockenspiel! It’s November!!! I can hardly believe this flogginshmoggin! .8333% of the year is gonzo! Oh, well…..may as well just tighten my schlunkendorfer and get used to it. *SIGH*

Well…we did it again! The big annual “Apple Festival” yard sale is a done deal. Everyone had a great and peaceful time of selling and...... eating! Most of the setup was done on Wednesday and Thursday and we were all ready to go on Friday morning at 8AM. From that moment on, there was no lack of foot traffic.

In fact, we even had considerable foot traffic late in the day on Sunday! That’s not common of us. We stay open until almost dark anyway and people do stop and they do buy stuff. But, this time, lots of people were still milling about, shopping, and importantly, buying.

Connie and I had far fewer tables set up this time. We just simply couldn’t get everything out on display that we had hoped. Perhaps we can do so next year (which will be here only too soon, I should suppose). All things tallied, we actually suffered far less stress than usual but were still utterly exhausted by Sunday evening. It takes about a week to totally clean up and re-pack and haul stuff to the Salvation Army or such. A lot of the stuff will be stored in our hangar for now.

Every year we, as the hosts, get first crack at things for sale and this year was no different. What was different was that we didn’t need our pickup in which to haul things off. A couple of years ago, prior to the opening bell, we spent more than 100 bucks on some really nice goodies! My thought was that it couldn’t have happened to nicer folks. But, that’s just my opinion, eh?

Comida: we had food, too! On Friday, we had chicken salad sandwiches with sides of baked beans, potato salad, and chips, then cake and cookies as dessert. On Saturday, we had pulled pork sandwiches, grilled hot links and hot dog buns, chips, sides of potato salad and baked beans with cake and cookies as dessert. On Sunday, there was hot chicken and dumplings, all of the above as leftovers, and hardly anything left over! What little there was leftover, the nice folks left for us to finish! I reckon skinny people are not allowed to live at Rancho Relaxo. Pity.

It’ll take a while to recover but we’ll soon be making ready for next year’s event. This thing has taken on a life of its own and we may one day just be managers or coordinators. After that, we may ultimately be found as sightseers and shoppers. Who knows?

Cut it out, Ran: when, in the course of human events (like running a ranch), there comes a time when you have to entrust someone with a sharp object. Well, when you entrust certain people (like, say, Rancho Ran, who purposely doesn't chew gum if he's doing anything other than sitting down) with a new machete, you just never know what will happen. But, you can guess that it will be….interesting.

Certain things have to be done from time to time when you live on a ranch. One of those things is that you need to whack and cut things. About a week or so ago, along came this out-of-date papaya. To make all those wonderful black seeds more easily accessible for my Squawkin’ Squadron, it needed to be hacked in half. So…..Ol’ Ran just happened to have a brand spanking new $6.99 machete (a half-price closeout from “Tractor Supply”....closeouts are my friends) that needed a good breakin’ in.

What was amazing was that the dad-blamed thing was sharp (cheap machetes aren’t supposed to be sharp)! The papaya got whacked but so did my finger! Swell. Blood began to gush (I much prefer that my blood seep or trickle if there’s extra-venous flow at all). I don’t recall how many languages I employed to curse my stupidity but I have a strange feeling that it wasn’t a few.

Of course, it wasn’t my first time to see blood gushing from my body. Heck; I’m an expert by now (if you ask right polite, I’ll show you my batch of scars and stitches....sorry, I have no etchings or tattoos). I knew by the acute sting that it was a deep wound but I also knew that it was a clean incision. That meant that it wouldn’t take all that long to heal. Most likely, it'll probably take about as long as it would take to stop kicking myself for not paying attention. I'm going to try to miss the next shipment of stupid. 

It was a rather messy event, though. There was blood everywhere but on the saddle (all you Tex Ritter fans). I mean, there was blood on my hand, my arm, on my shirt, on the patio gate, all over the patio, the back security door, the back door, on the kitchen floor and then on and in the kitchen sink. By the time I got a compress on it, Connie thought that I had amputated my left leg. I told her, “Silly girl. If I had done that, I would have needed two compresses”.    

Being the farm gal that she is, rather than faint (guess she figured that, if I was making noise, I was probably OK), she helped me get things under control and made sure that there was an ample application of “Triple Antibiotic” (Wal-Mart, of course) to insure a sterile environment.

Despite things looking like a chainsaw massacre flick, the wound is healing well. It’s healing by secondary intent since I didn’t want to pay a couple of thousand dollars to rent a doctor for fifteen minutes, an ER for four hours or more, and to a own few stitches for a week. It will add a nice scar to my collection, though. Note to self: pay attention!

Princess Abbie Report: *SIGH*…on second thought….make that a pair of *SIGHS*. Just what do you do with a coon hound that wants to roust your chickens…..all…..day….long? You’d think that she’d be used to them invading her airspace and just make good friends of them. But, no; not my little doggie. She prefers perceiving the cluster of clucks as aliens from space or maybe opossums from the swamp. She stays jacked up all day long “protecting” her space with her hyper-coon-dogged-ness.

Granted, there’s not a lot for a chained up pooch to do all day. But, when I put her shock collar on and let her roam, she started corralling hens and making chewable Nerf balls out of them. That won’t work. I ended up with a crippled Rhode Island Red because of it so I’ll be looking for options on what to do about her freedom. 

The electric collar is set pretty tight but she can still go around front and closely by the sides of the house. I may just move her dog house out front and just let her bark and keep us up all night. I think I'll get Connie's vote, eh? Any bets on which way she'll vote? 

Of course, it’s only partly her fault. The stupid chickens get in her ranging area and she bounces them like a Jap Zero. I really don’t think she means to harm them. It’s just that they are just sooooooooo much fun to catch and play with.

You should have seen one hen who decided that she wasn’t going to be bullied! Abbie and the biddy were in a standoff with Abbie barking wildly at her. The hen actually did a banzai charge at Abbie which caught her off guard and she flinched backward. What a hoot! Abbie regained her regal composure and leaped back at the aggressor and the hen jumped out of the way only to re-attack and be repulsed again! After that attack, the hen beat a hasty retreat only to have Abbie grab a mouthful of her tail feathers. Not sure why, but the hen managed to slip out of the jaws that usually win tug of wars with Buicks and did so with all of her feathers intact. 

Varmint Report: we’re moving along in the rat suppression program. In fact, I just killed one tonight. I’m not a true hero, though. He was feeling mighty ill from eating some of the poison in the trap on the back porch. He was moving about one inch per hour when Connie found him and apprised me of his intrusion upon her domain. I grabbed the CO2 pistol and put him and Connie out of their respective misery. Connie the Canner doesn't do rats and believes that the only good rat is a dead rat; I obliged her post haste.

A couple of weeks ago, I covered the entire protected trash area with rat poison and it seems to be working. I’ve only seen a few rats in the coop since then but still pack my CO2 pistol just in case I need to expend 20 BB's and not hit anything. 

The next regimen will be flooding the fuzzer colonies with poison grain. If I have time, I may flood the holes with gasoline then stuff newspaper in the holes (probably a good idea to wear fire-retardant clothing to protect the retard who can't properly use a machete). 

I learned that trick from a retired commercial pilot who owned an orange orchard in Strathmore. I was his “go-fer” (you just know I had to do that) and helped him to employ his game plan (I don't recall anyone being blown up). I tried it in a hole next to the house and it seems to have worked. 

A plan that has been proven to work is parking all day in a hunting blind of some kind and bring a rifle of some sort to the game. One friend knocked off more than 30 fuzzers in one day using that method. Another friend advised that a friend of his whacked more than 20 with his pellet rifle as the squirrels sauntered within range. Sounds good to me! I just need.....a day off so I can get to whackin'! 

Chickenin' Report: Peep! Peep! Peep! Peep! Peep! That's how many new chicks we have! We had just parked our latest batch of rapidly growing chicks in the cage in the coop when friend and brother, Brian, called to advise that their neighbor caught more chicks. Of course, they're as cute as the previous bunch of fluff balls. 

Connie had remarked that she was glad that her dining room was chick free but now she's a "chicken granny" again. As usual, she just loves the little critters and can't wait to see what colors they will be when they fledge (other than the black ones). 

It won't be all that long and they'll be outside with the others and cranking out huevos like champions. Perhaps they'll teach the others since they aren't in production mode for now.  

There you have it: another episode of what’s happening at Rancho Relaxo, home of Rancho Ran, the world's foremost authority (the previous one died), Connie the Canner (world's greatest side-cook), where things can get…interesting, and where… you just never know.