RANCHO SPRINGO GREENO BLOOMO

 

It's a bit difficult to see, but the new cut for the spillway at "Success Lake" is at the right-center of the picture. The new road is at the middle of the cut. Click on the picture for an enlargement which may help somewhat. 

This is the marina and a good shot of our short-lived greenery. It only lasts for a few weeks then it's gonzo. We get "California Gold" in its place. 

"Lemon tree very pretty and the lemon flower is sweet. But the fruit of the poor lemon is impossible to eat". Y'know...I'm not sure that Trini Lopez has that right. Maybe he ran out of pure cane Cuban sugar or some such. Maybe he just put the lime in the coconut and drank it right down. Don't know. He's dead now so we can't ask him. 

Anyway, we like lemons here so this is a picture of one of the two new ones that we planted. 

We try to make sure that we have our staples on hand in case of hard times. That includes have a functioning staple gun around when we're in the mood to secure things. This is actually gun number two but, for 7 dollars (at a yard sale), it was just too good to pass up. It has no signs of usage and, when hooked up at home and tested, it worked great. Yes...I have plenty of staples, too. 

Well, it’s April. This year is already ripping by so fast that it almost makes me want to watch “Flash Gordon” reruns on “You Tube”. The speed at which the months are flying by is almost incomprehensible. It's only 264 days until Christmas. But, the show must go on. On the whole, I’d rather be crapping fishing.

They say that “April showers brings May flowers” but, for a while, we've only been getting what we call a “mad rain”. It’s really only enough rain to make you mad because it doesn’t even wash off the “Springville Insulation”. It just makes a mess of your car.

Finally, we did get a nice “soaker” rain but it was nothing like the “frog stranglers” in the Midwest. Our orange trees were mighty happy and the neighbors were dancin’ in the streets (at least, that’s what I heard). It did appear that they were so happy that they were making burnt offerings to the gods. It may have only been their BBQ’s going off in celebration at the same time. In any case, we all think that our weatherman is a few cousins short of a family reunion. 

Connie Canner Report: The rancho’s remarkable numero uno fantastico canner, cooker, cleaner, baker, sewer, and chicken grandma is doing well and back to canning everything that doesn’t leap out of the way. This is also to say that her wrist has healed up very well. There’s still a bit of limiting of the range of motion but she’s still improving on that, too.

I lost count of the number of jars she’s put up so far but it’s remarkable, to say the least. She even canned some walnuts, turkey meat (to make room in the freezer for other goods that can't be canned), different stews, flour (dry canning), and such. She’s amazing! 

She's also "Connie the Baker", too and can whip up some of the best cakes (e.g. carrot cake), zucchini bread, cookies, pies, fresh hot loaves of bread, and other goodies that you can imagine! She’s my sweet Hostess Cupcake (I think I’m probably her Hostess Ding Dong).

Busy Bees or Honey, I’m home: Professional beekeeper and dear brother, Dave Kruse, recently checked our two hives. He advised that we a lot of honey that needs to be harvested. It appears that we’ll have more than 40lbs of that liquid gold stuff! And, it’s “orange honey” which comes from our oranges as well as from the other groves around us. Orange honey is our friend!

But, honey harvesting entails a ton of work. We have the bee suits, smokers, centrifugal honey separator, strainers, and such but it is a lot of work. After harvesting, it has to be stored in glass jars. It takes time and a lot of effort but it’s worth it. Honey will store forever. 
We're in the the middle of a big bloom this spring so we'll soon see. 

Missy the Melting Dog: It looks like a sled dog can grow on someone. That someone would be me, of course. Even with her puppy-inspired behavior and frailties (like casually chewing my reading glasses to bits), it’s just not possible to not fall in love with this gorgeous and intelligent pooch.

She just needed to be loved and have someone pay at bit of attention to her. She was lonely and needed a playmate, too. So, between Abbie being the playmate and the ol’ dog lover being the attention giver, Missy is settling down and learning to fit in. She’s still a bit rough around the edges but, in time, she’ll be fine. At least she will sit when commanded and not bowl me over when I try to feed her. 

The other day (when lots of things happen around here), I was spending some time with her and letting her know that she’s part of the family. It was a beautiful cloudless spring day and the bright sun was providing a little extra warmth.

Missy was reveling in all of the attention and getting lots of lovin’ from her owner who was sitting on a five gallon love-dispenser bucket. This high-spirited lassie had calmed way down and was nestled between my legs while being showered with care. It was so intoxicating that she just melted and slid down into pile of fur on the ground. Her eyes were closed and it looked like she was overdosing on love. She was as gonzo as if she had just had a big hit of heroine. 

Walkin’ the Dog (Rufus Thomas - Walking The Dog - 1964) : A couple of days ago, it was time to take Missy for a walk around the rancho. She needs to be trained to be "leash broke" so that she doesn't haul the Ol' Rancher face down around the back forty (you can't imagine how strong this pup is!). And, she needs to be familiarized with the approximate parameters of the electric fence she'll soon be facing. 

So, her 15' (or so) link chain was loosed from the dog mansion and configured on my hand (so I could hang on) and wrist (in case my hand came off) to keep her from running off if she tried to bolt away. She loved it and wanted to continue the trip to nowhere in particular! 

I must say that I was a tad surprised that she caught on so quickly. It wasn't necessary to restrain her all of the time. She was allowed to snoop and sniff just about anywhere she pleased. Abbie accompanied us most of the way. We three enjoyed the walk. 

At the start of the walk, we moseyed past "Cabrito", the law tractor which was covered with a tarp. Of course, it needed to be investigated by Abbie the coon hunter and Missy, who's  bred for pulling sleds and not chasing game and critters. Nevertheless, it didn't take long for the lights to come on. Both doggies erupted in barking frenzy and began to circle the tractor. The game was definitely afoot. I was getting set for a grand show when both dogs circled to the front of the tractor. At that exact moment, a little cottontail wabbit exited the rear of the tarp and rapidly bounced his way to safety. 

All I could do was to try to speak in simple enough English for the dogs to look the other way and see their prey laughing at them as it wandered off. "Git'im! Git'im! There he goes! Git'im!" Abbie, the great black and white hunter, and Missy, the sled dog, refused to abandon the track their nose had encountered. To them, the wabbit was still under the tarp. *SIGH*. 

After a while, it became apparent that the game had been called off due to the opposing team having left the field. So, the tour around the place was resumed. 

The Bunny Hop or Wabbit Wabbit. Who's got the the Wabbit?: As we headed away from the tractor and up the driveway and toward the back end of the property, Abbie abandoned her escort responsibilities and bailed toward the neighbor's big back yard to the west of us. It wasn't long until I could see her bobbing up and down through the high grass at high speed chasing a....wabbit. Yep. It was the same cottontail that had escaped a few minutes earlier. They were quickly out of sight. So, after a good laugh, no thought was given to the matter because there a lot of places for a small rabbit to ditch a dog out there. Missy and the Mister ignored Abbie and walked for awhile longer then headed back to the doghouse. 

The next day, Abbie didn't bother with her breakfast. She just turned her nose up at it. She's a real "breakfast dog" so, when she didn't eat, I knew something was up. But, my little girl dog is so well fed that there was no reason to be concerned so that was that. She'd eat when she was hungry. 

About noon the next day, you can't imagine what showed up next to the patio gate; it was the carcass of a half-eaten rabbit. You can't say that I was surprised because Abbie is a huntin' dog, after all. It sho' nuff explained why she had skipped breakfast and dinner the day before. 

Chickening report: Well….the Ol’ Chicken Dude can’t seem to find the time to trap his dirty birdies and hide them in the coop for a couple of weeks. It’s not like it would take all that much time. It’s  only a matter of setting up a cardboard box, a 24” stick of some kind, and a 10’ length of string/twine and that’s about it. You just toss some chicken feed under the box and wait for the stupid chickens to get under the box: pull the string and the box drops down and you have a baffled bird in a box.

The idea is to retrain them to stay in the coop again. They got into the habit of avoiding the coop because of Missy being so into free chicken dinners. The plan is to have her muzzled and on the electric fence (basically a shock collar that limits her range). When she is trained to ignore the chickens like Abbie was, then all will be well at here at rancho pollo. Both dogs can wander about and the chickens can range in safety.

The good news is that our three layers are doing just that. As of late, they  found a great place to lay their delicious cackle berries. It's the smallish plastic wheelbarrow on our back porch. It's partly filled with flower pot excelsior because Connie the Planter was overhauling her flower boxes and planters and stored it there. The hens dig it. Even our new bird, Feral Fawcett, has joined the egg wagon. It keeps us from having an Easter egg hunt every few days, too. 

Speaking of eggs, we now have a few dozen eggs that were preserved through "water glassing". Using that method, eggs will keep up to a year or so. It's really simple and easy and not at all expensive. E-mail us if you would like to know more about it: ranchorelaxoeggs@gmail.com.

Tired!: We've been driving the Camry as of late for a couple of reasons. One is that it gets decent gas mileage (which is greatly needed now that gas prices are outrageous and getting higher yet). The other is that the Coop DeVille has the trailer hooked up to it so that we can haul trash to the dump and also so we can haul stuff to the hangar where we can sort and price it for the yard sale next month. 

The trusty little car has given us no issues in years so it was very interesting when we pulled into church last Sunday and the right front tire was flat. Thankfully, we had a spare. There was no hurry to get a replacement since the spare was in excellent condition. 

Ah, but this is Rancho Relaxo and you just never know what's going to happen, eh? A few days later, while in town, we pulled into the church to drop off some stuff. Lo and behold, another tire was flat! Come to find out, because we hadn't driven the Camry all that much, the tires were weather worn and were separating. 

Not wanting to experience a third flat, it was off to a local tire place where we had them mount a nice new set of 195x70Rx14 "Kelly Springfield" tires. All is smooth and well again. No more flats (and that's flat out good news)! 

It's about thyme: We love to have spares and backups around here. That includes spices. A quick check of our pantry would show that we could probably accommodate all but a 5-star restaurant. Heck; we even have enough chili powder and cumin to start our own Mexican restaurant. 

But, when Connie the Canner was trying to can some beef stew, we ran out of thyme! We then checked all of our spice supplies a couple of times and just couldn't find any! Trust us; that won't happen again! 

Getting to the hub of the matter: When, in the course of human events, you are bound to run across certain issues pertaining to your wheelbarrow; what are you to do? You fix the thing. So it was with our nice and necessary wheelbarrow when one of its tires decided to go flat. Well.....actually.....it had some help going flat. 

Last October, we tossed a couple of sacks of concrete into  "Clyde", the wheelbarrow (as in Clyde Barrow), in anticipation of resetting our steel wagon wheels on one side of our driveway. Some miscreant hooked a rope to them and dragged them down the street so it was incumbent upon us to solidly re-establish them. 

However, despite the fact that the wheelbarrow was covered with a tarp, it somehow got wet when it rained. The bloody thing was flooded. UGH. That meant that there were more than 120 pounds of solid concrete in it. That much concrete presented too much stress on one of the pneumatic tires so it went flat and destroyed the tube. Great. 

The tires were already about 8 years old so not much thought was given to the matter. In fact, it didn't matter so much that we are just now getting it fixed (I mean, just what are you going to do with a 120 pound solid chunk of concrete, anyway?). 

The next trip into town saw us bringing home a nice shiny new tire, tube, and wheel with which to remedy the tire tragedy and remove the eyesore.  But, this is Rancho Relaxo and you just know that things got....interesting.... rather quickly. 

After pulling the cotter pin, the old wheel was slipped off and the new one was popped on. Uh.....the axel was magically too short so the cotter pin couldn't be replaced. Great. The opposing wheel and axel was gently tapped so that they were snug against the cotter pin in hope that it would slide just enough to allow the other cotter pin to be inserted. Still "no go".

 So, after a bit of pondering and eyeballing the matter, the bearings on the wheel hub were (gently) knocked out (they're just "press fit"). After that, the hub was circumscribed at 5/16" and a hacksaw was employed. In a few minutes, the saw job was completed, the cut was de-burred, and the bearings were re-fit. The wheel was slipped on and the cotter pin was inserted without further ado.  It was exactly the right fit without any slack in the axel. 

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.  

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

RANCHO MARZO VERDE

 

Here's some yellow roses for y'all. Why? Because we like you (for all you Mouseketeers out there)!

    (Click on the pics to enlarge them)

Remember from a few months ago the little tiny ball of fluff that flitted about the barnyard at barely sub-mach speeds? This is "Speck" who is now a full-fledged hen. She contributes to the daily supply of huevos around here. I've started calling her "Ruby Dooby" since she's a Rhode Island Red. 

This is a nice shot of Missy on her chain. There's enough room for her to be able to romp with Abby (and romp they do). If we keep her, I'll have to use a muzzle for the times that I take her off the chain and while using the shock collar to keep her near the house. If she gets the message that chickens are not to be used for dietary purposes, then we'll can take muzzle off. 

T

This shot is for all of you "ex-Ports" out there (ex-Porter-villains).  It's the “Sequoia Dawn” apartment complex in Springville. It’s getting a complete overhaul and makeover. They even took out all of the trees and shrubbery. That’s a real “Thank God!” deal since it truly was an eyesore from the git-go. More pics when they finish the job.

This is actually the truth. We're gong to be getting another dozen chicks or pullets. We prefer pullets but will have to pay a bit more for them. Raising chicks isn't quite the fun thing that some folks may think. The chore of rearing them isn't mitigated despite the fact that they are sooooo cute. (especially after you've done it a few times). 

Well….it’s March! Doesn’t that just make you want to go to a shad bake? Time is zipping by so quickly and so many crazy things are happening in the world that it’s almost like waking up in a different decade or on a different planet! OK….no more bellyaching. Let’s get to the blog. When do the Jedi get here?

Rancho Thought for the Day: Getting old means that, despite having many years of practice in dressing yourself, your wife may have to advise that your T-shirt will look better if the pocket is on the front (that and your neighbors will be unable to confirm their suspicions about you). Hint: never dress in the dark or away from a mirror (*SIGH*).

Rancho Musings: From time to time, the Ol’ Rancher dude finds himself mentally hearing the ancient sounds and smelling the ancient smells of decades past. And, there are lots of stimuli that conjure up those smells and sounds. 

For instance, a lot of guys love “guy things” like big noisy car engines, medium noisy car engines, small noisy engines, big and small noisy aircraft engines, noisy tractor engines, noisy gas engines, and noisy diesel engines. Some dig the smell of diesel smoke in the morning. In every case, that would be me.

Yep; the Ol’ Rancher’s lil’ ol’ heart still pumps red, white, and blue hydrocarbons. That roughly translates as the different colors of aviation fuel. Red colored av gas is 80/87 octane while blue av gas is  100/130. (though, today, it's the 100 octane Low Lead gas). And, for the record, purple av gas is 115/145 octane (which is fighter, bomber, and race plane territory). 

Fun fact: there also used to be “white gas” which was used in camping stoves and such. It was your basic simple gasoline which did not have all the climate compensating additives that comprise auto gas. Until the late ‘60’s, my folks had a small camp stove that used it. I doubt if it’s available to the public now. 

Here’s a list of the stuff that’s in our fuel:

Benzene; Toluene; Ethanol; Butylated hydroxytoluene/BHT (yes; It’s the same stuff that we use as a preservative in foods); 1,2-Dibromoethane (anti-knock compound that replaces tetraethyl lead); Isopropyl alcohol (yes; the same disinfectant you buy at Wal-Mart. It helps remove water from the gas); Nitromethane (yes; the same stuff the drag racers and R/C modelers use); Ferrocene (another anti-knock component); Di-isopropyl ether; Ethylenediamine (didn't I see that as an ingredient in shampoo?! Just kidding).

So, there really is red, white, and blue gas. If you’re ever on “Jeopardy”, this information will help you win a really nice prize.

Plus, to help your memory, there’s always the local car club where some guy has an old car that really floats your barge. You boys know this guy; he’s driving the slick old cruiser with big rumbling iron under its hood that makes your ticker flicker and which you wish you owned.

Anyway, while surfing the Net, a couple of gorgeous old cars smacked me in the face and it stirred up my rememberator (sic) which  kicked into high gear and called up days of old. It brought about great days of roasting rubber (a unique smell, to be sure) in my beautiful red 2 door ’67 Ford Fairlane GT sporting a four-speed shifter and beautiful white bucket seats. My mind had no trouble getting up to speed as I mentally recalled shifting from third to fourth gear at 105 mph; I could once again feel and hear that big 335 hp 390 CID engine sucking air through a carburetor that was squalling like a banshee. The speedo hit 130 mph and was still headed north when my foot lost its intrepidity and backed off the pedal. That was the first and last time that trick was pulled. The mental goose bumps were ironed flat by the reality that not everyone who takes such a risk makes it back home alive.

Some years later, while in the police and paramedical profession, I saw numerous young men who weren’t so lucky. It was heartbreaking.

Back to the present: that was way back when I had lots of get-up-and-go and enjoyed being adventurous and daring. But, now that I’m getting older, I have to eat a nice big lunch so I’ll have enough energy and daring to sneak up on a nap.

The FORD Ranch: Just about every day, there is something that needs to be fixed, replaced, or otherwise repaired around here. One day, it’s a hose (yesterday). On another day, it’s the lawn tractor. And, on the next day, it’s a  toilet (we have three of them), a leak, or a computer. It’s  non-stop fixing around here. Maybe I should just change the name of this place  to “FORD Ranch” (“Fix Or Repair Daily”, for the younger folks). 

And, I'm fixin' to clean up the back yard which looks like Patton's 3rd Armored Division camped out for a few months. The tarps and covers have about been worn and blown off and that'll have to be fixed. It'll have to be done prior the big yard sale in May. 

  “Oh, the pain!” (stolen from Dr. Smith on "Lost in Space") or “Pass me the Ibuprophen please”: Since it’s the beginning of March, the need to switch to “spring mode” was sure to pounce on us. It did. The “bloom” has started which means that certain chores can no longer be delayed (or ignored which is what El Flojo is inclined to do). The problem is that my “spring muscles” have yet to blossom so things got interesting.

The rancho riding mower, "Cabrito", was fueled and set loose on the jungle out front. After the yard looked somewhat normal, the weed-eater (aka Chewy) had to be taken for a stroll. I always look forward to that because I can't wait to see what new body part will be abused or injured from flying debris. The front part of the rancho is still a pretty big place so it took quite a while to whack the jungle into submission.

Then, the budding plum trees needed to be pruned or we'll be trying to pick prunes eight to ten feet in the sky. The good news is that the tools required to do the job right and not over tax the workforce are on hand. On tap are four different loppers that do a great job of pruning. The favored one with the longest handles was employed. That fun gig was good for about another hour of joy.

You can imagine what the Ol’ Rancher’s body was screaming at him after the last of the pruning was done! It was something along the lines of, “You keep whacking and I’m going to whack you, Pal! You’ve got 3 minutes to quit this rodeo and grab the Ibuprophen or else!”. There wasn’t a problem complying with the ultimatum (given that I’m not doing any of this for therapy). It’ll probably take some time to rebuild the relationship with my angry body parts. 

“Let there be…phone!” Or, “Don't call  me up!”: Back in the ‘50’s, most folks used the phone only when it was necessary and, even then, only if calls were within their budget. Long distance calls were rare for the common folks (you were billed by the minute). Lengthy calls (by and large) were for the wealthy.

They were a really nice tool to have around for times like when your bike had a flat. Ah, but not just any flat; how about a flat at the farthest place you’ve ever ridden it in your young life (that would be to Success Lake from A Street in Porterville) and needed a ride home?

I called but didn’t get help because my folks weren’t home. My great-grandmother then advised that I should “hoof it”. “Hoof it?!” Given the numerous miles involved, that thought wasn’t immediately logical to me. Later, it dawned on me that my great-grandmother was born when there weren’t any cars in the entire country and even bicycles were a rarity. You rode a horse or you “hoofed it”. Plus, she had probably worn out a hundred pairs of shoes by the time I took possession of my bike so it was quite logical to her to advise me to hit the bricks. 

OK; I was out of horses so “hoof it” I did.... all 6 miles back home.

The other day (when lots of things happen around here), AT&T decided to switch from their 3G service to the newer 4G provision. Our home phone and our backup flip phone no longer worked. Oh, swell. That’s not a game changer but it really is a proverbial pain in the glutes. We had to order a new flip phone (free, which is our dear friend) that was 4G compliant when we next went to Hooterville. But, this is  Rancho Relaxo where you just never know what’s going to happen.

Our “land line” is actually a 3G wireless phone. Pay attention because this is really screwy. AT&T sent us a new wireless radio/modem to replace the 3G rig that we had. In the real world, all you should have to do is take the bloody thing out of the box, plug it in, hook your phone to it, then activate it online. A piece of pie, eh? Ha!

After numerous times trying to activate the new box (Ol' Ran isn't exactly a novice at electronics and computers), AT&T tech support was called in to assist. Another slice of pie, eh? Ha! Ha! After 2.5 hours of dealing with clueless agents (it took more than one to not know what was happening), it was decided to send me another box because mine was defective. Great. I get to be without a phone for a few more days. Would you like to guess what happened next? Sure you would!

What happened was that the new box and sim chip didn’t work either. Swell + great = grrrrrrrrrr. It only took another 2.0 hours of dealing with two other clueless agents to find out that things were definitely inconclusive (do people major in "clueless"? There sure are a lot of them around). Add another "great" to the pile. So, they sent me yet another box and sim chip.

We’d been without a phone for close to two weeks when the newest new box showed up. The next step was to go online to activate the phone per the destructions. Once again, it was a “No go!”. Great. Just great. 

AT&T tech support was called yet again. This time, I was able to connect with someone who had a full complement of gray matter and a full understanding of the entire operation. In only a few more minutes, the phone was activated and sucked into the new 4G system. Great!

God only knows what will happen when the 5G service hits town. 

Breaking the tie that binds or Unchained Malady: I have to admit that, as partial as I am to Abbie, my princess pooch doggy dog, Missy, is the most amazing and intelligent dog I’ve ever encountered. She’s also as sweet as a bucket of bonbons which somewhat mitigates her being an obstreperous handful (which I guess comes with being a pup). Truly, though, my little sled dog had me at “woof!”

However (why is there always a “however”?), in addition to having an appetite for free chicken dinners, she is an amazing escape artist! After a number of inexplicable escapes from a cable and two ropes, she was finally placed on a “link chain” (something you would see holding up your porch swing and which has a 300+ pound pull limit). “No sweat. That should do the trick”, said I. Ah, but this is Rancho Relaxo and you just never know what’s going to happen next.

Let’s do a quick backstory: The other day (when lots of things happen around here), my neighbor (once again) texted me to advise that Missy had gotten off her new chain. What had happened was that she had slipped the new camo harness that I got for her. Thankfully, she didn’t run off into the vast unknown but stayed close.

After hooking her up again, it was quickly noticed that she had destroyed the nylon harness. That was a complete mystery because, although there were very minor signs of her having chewed on the harness (how she reached it is beyond me), the main connecting strap was (get this) broken (not chewed loose) from both ends. What?! Only a 500 pound gorilla that bench presses Honda Gold Wings for grins could pull that off! She has a heavy duty leather collar so the chain was hooked to that.

So, we have yet another mystery. If this continues, I’m leasing her to David Copperfield so she can teach him a few things. I could use a few extra bucks. Anyway, so far, so good.

Then, I happened to catch her performing yet another circus act. She derives great joy in removing her mats, blankets, and rugs from her dog house and then scattering them (or destroying them depending upon her mood) all over the place. 

Well, to keep them somewhat rounded up, they were tossed on top of the roof of the large pooch hooch. Despite the rooftop being about 5.5 feet high, Missy ever so nimbly made the smoothest and most effortless leap I've seen in awhile and snatched  one of the rugs off the top. A true Olympian, she is! For now, she sleeps on the floor boards of the doghouse. Abbie always slept on the blankets and rugs. "SIGH".

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.    

 

 

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.

RANCHO RAINO MAXIMO

 Click on the pictures to enlarge them. 

Some of you have yet to see the "Coop de Ville". It is actually a dump truck cleverly disguised as a Ford Freestar van. It has hauled just about everything imaginable from chickens to church supplies. It also hauls our two trailers, Dumbo and Wooley Pulley. This thing is handier than a Boy Scout at "Senior Citizen's Night" at a KOA. She's only sporting a little over 100,000 miles on the clock and has lots of life left in her. 

This is the "bare  bones" motherboard of the gaming computer the Computer Dude is building for his son, Jeff. The cooling fan and heat sink are mounted as is the RAM (all 32 Giggles of it). It'll soon be covered in wires and cables and will have a liquid cooling system mounted on the CPU. She'll be a sweet box, to be sure. 

This is Black Mountain which resides due east of Rancho Relaxo. This shot was taken in the morning and you can see that we got a dusting of snow during the night. We're at about 1,000 MSL so the snow level is probably at about 1,800 MSL or so. 

Our official sign for Springville declares that we are "above the fog". Yeah...well...we're not above some of the other clouds. This is a morning shot looking due east and taken from the parking lot of "Sequoia Dawn" apartments in beautiful downtown Springville, CA, US of A. This is proof that we have clouds that visit our town. 

This is a shot looking due east from the back patio of Rancho Relaxo. The sun is peaking through after a welcomed snow storm that hammered our mountains and turned them into beautiful objects of snow-covered adoration. You can see some of the snow on the hills directly over the yellow barn. 

This is the same shot with the storm in progress. 

Here are three of our dirty birdies who have conspired to disobey the command to "STAY OFF THE PATIO, YOU STUPID CHICKEN!!". It's not that we hate chickens; quite the contrary. It's just that chickens have a way of being very selfish and headstrong. They are also known for disrespecting the feelings and property of others by leaving "trail markers" behind them. 

It is far from unknown for them to dig out Connie the Planter's planter boxes and empty them of their contents. This isn't a good thing when Connie has spent a lot of time planting germaniums and such. If that wasn't enough, they sometimes use the boxes for a place to lay their eggs! This is  also not to excuse the fact that we've never met a chicken who is housebroke or even patio-broke. Nobody likes "chicken surprises" but certainly not Connie. 

This is the new pup on the block. I have to tell you that she's as sweet as a full stack of maple syrup-covered blueberry pancakes. She's also as frisky and feisty as a you could ever imagine. The good news is that she extremely intelligent and, so far, fairly easily trained. I'm no expert but I think I have her identified as a full-blood Husky. At first, I thought she was a mix. That was because I couldn't imagine someone just dumping their very expensive pup for someone else to deal with. Though she seems to be a bit "soft" in the face (compared to other Huskies), I still think she's a pure bred pooch. Let me know what you think; it won't hurt my feelings if she is a mix. 

Well!  “Happy New Year!” We here at the rancho wish you all a great, happy, and prosperous 2022! 

And, what can be said but, “Where the heck did 2020 go?!” (sic). Here we are donning a new year like the old one was defiled, worthless, and wasn’t clean and comfortable enough for us. Ok…reckon, it wasn’t such a fabulous year. But, it wasn’t one that should have been purposely chucked into the dumpster that homeless people live behind! Even an old woolen sweater with holes in the elbows and frayed cuffs has some life in it and can be used to keep the north winds at bay. And, it’s only 356 days before Christmas! It’ll be here in no time flat! Trust me!

Besides: there was a lot (quite a lot!) more that needed to be done here at the rancho in the previous year prior to the new one pouncing upon us! (Not sure why we need to keep the Langoliers busy). Reckon, we should move along before we experience a rant-induced depression.

I have it from a reliable source that you should never talk to snakes in your garden.

Health update for Rancho Ran and Connie the Canner:  Our health remains strong and Connie’s wrist is healing up nicely. Her range of motion is still limited but she’s working on that matter. She is still able to pull a full daily load of work as though she had not been injured. Amazing, I say! 

Though I can legally fly under the FAA’s “Basic Med” provision, I can still pass the standard Class 3 physical and retain my medical. Sure, there are a few age-related aches and pains but usually nothing that a couple of Ibuprophen can't help with. My BP is nominal and all other systems are "GO". I'm probably a few watts low on brain power but I can live with that. 

We certainly could use a couple of weeks off to get some rest, though. If that happens, then I’m 100% fully expecting to not get anything done at all. Rest is our friend and it helps in leading a healthy life (thank you, Ben Garwood, for the tip that I hope to fully implement). 

 

Let it rain! Let it rain! Let it rain! (and let it snow, too!):

Things are moving along here at the Rancho Relaxo global headquarters.  We’re kickin’ but we’re not makin’ a lot of dust. It’s not so much that we are physically disabled; rather, it’s mostly due to the fact that we finally got some much-needed rain. Wet weather has a tendency to calm down much of the dust, eh (Ginzu Boy at your serivce)?

Unless they used to live in southern California, folks who live in Washington and Oregon have a hard time understanding what we endure down here in the “dust bowl” (I think all my Okie relatives dragged the “bowl” to CA with them in ’39, bless their darlin’  hearts). The northern folks are always reveling in the “California mist” (rain that missed California and hit them). Up there is where everything is green and growing and it’s where the discouraging word, “brown”, is never heard. They have no idea what it’s like to sneeze dirt clods on a regular basis.

I recall sitting at my desk in 1994 and reading the local newspaper on one summer day in Longview, WA. The headlines of the local “TDN” (“The Daily News”) newspaper lamented that Cowlitz County had recently endured a “drought”. Having already lived there for a few years, I was unable to comprehend what they were even talking about. There was no sign of dust or brown; everything was as green as ever. There were no “watering days” mentioned much less being enforced and I don’t recall anyone even knowing how to spell “parched”.

What really threw me was that the drought (that was spoken of in almost disastrous terms) had lasted…gasp…21 days. 21 days?!! I almost laughed myself out of my chair and into a new “Huggie”. No precipitation for three weeks! The reporter for the paper made is sound like they were making ready to start shipping water in by truck

You can understand my amusement when you consider that the Cowlitz River actually runs through town and the Columbia River (you may have heard of that little ship-laden stream) runs alongside the town)! There are many times when floods are counted in multiples during the winter rainy season.

Being from California’s notoriously dry San Joaquin Valley, there were times when the temperature didn’t even get below 100 degrees for three weeks much less rain. The annual rainfall in the SJV is about 10” to 11” on average. Some years only see about 5”. That’s pretty dry!

From what I understand, California is still trying to buy water from WA and OR and build a canal and pipe system to bring it down here. The web-footed folks up there don’t cotton to the idea at all so, good luck with that. The last I recall it was all “LOLOLOLOLOL’s” from them. California asked if they could make a deal if they upped the ante. Washington just said, “Up yours”.

In any case, we have above normal rainfall for the season (large crowd of neighbors heard cheering in the background). Southeastern Central Valley California is not the Olympic Peninsula but we’ve gotten almost 5” of rain which is roughly 180% above normal! The folks in this area are almost ready to don their wetsuits!     

“Clean up on aisle 32!” or “We can sell the house now, Martha!”: Probably the biggest event to report for the new year is the fact that we finally cleaned up the October yard sale tailings! We failed to do the cleanup in record time. In fact, not only did we not clean it up in record time, we set a new record in getting it done at all. It took more than two month to deal with the mess. Usually, it’s completed in a week or so.

Last year took a bit longer than usual; but, this time was different in that we just couldn’t make it a priority. It was due to a combination of a lack of spizzerinctum, lack of time, and uncooperative weather. At least we can now take down the “Sanford and Son Salvage” sign. 

Yes; it is most likely that we will continue to host the huge annual yard sale. Despite the huge effort and lengthy recovery process, it is a lot of fun. And, we usually net a bit of gas money and a few cases of “Ben-Gay” in the process. However, it remains unclear as to how involved we will be other than hosting it next October.  Since we would miss the camaraderie, at the very least, we’ll fire up the crock pots and stock up on chips and donuts and monitor the activities. We’ll see.

Printing is a passion? It probably seems odd to most folks that anyone other than a large office would need multiple printers. There’s no argument from the ramrod at the rancho about the matter; it is odd. But, Ol’ Ramrod Ran is a bit tetched anyway. This is probably why he has six inkjet and one lasterjet printer in his office/shop.

They really do come in handy. You see, printers are cantankerous little buggers that can “jack up” at any given time (usually the wrong time) and bring you to fits. That was a lesson learned long ago when the office only had the one printer (back when the old ‘puter dude had more teeth and hair). Just when the printer was needed most, it would hunker down, glare at me, make guttural crunching sounds, and refuse to comply. It wouldn’t work even after fooling with it, replacing cartridges, cleaning it, checking for jams, threatening it, and even almost begging it.

Then, after adding another printer, there would be (too many) times where something would go wrong (at the wrong time) with both printers! When one just wouldn’t work, fine; just use the other printer, eh? Ah, but you just know that someone had forgotten to have back up replacement ink cartridges on hand, don’t you? After experiencing this phenomenon with adding yet another printer, there had to be a solution to the matter. There was a solution: add more printers to the collection.

There was help with the matter. On more than one occasion, a client called to have their new printer set up. They would then ask me to haul off the old one (the old one usually having much life left in it but it “just wouldn’t work” any longer).  Many times, the old one is tossed. But, on more than one occasion, the printer merely needed to be electrically reset (an easy process) or a jam resolved.

In another case, the client thought the ink was too expensive and that the machine was too complicated to deal with (it hadn’t been set up properly). So, the client simple gave it to us. Cool! Free is out friend!

Those several printers really eased the work load around here when it came time to do the bulletins for church, don’tcha know. It no longer took 90 minutes to do a 15 minute print job. That meant that Printin’ Ran could go to bed on time on Saturday nights and not struggle with recalcitrant printers all evening and even into the late morning hours.

But, all printers are made by man and they all go “tick and whir”. That means that they will all wear out. Such is the case with the two hefty HP 6978’s that carried the main print load around here for a couple of years. They started acting up and the usual maintenance recourse was ineffectual. Not being in the mood for any more hair pulling and teeth gnashing, something had to be done. So, guess what’s sitting on the shelf now? Yep: two new HP 8022’s. Grief gone and no teeth were harmed.

The first one came in and was set up. It did such a great job (and the other old one did such a lousy job) that the second one was immediately purchased! They are factory refurbs with a 4 year extended warranty and we got each of them for less than half the retail price of a new one! TWO’FER’s are our friends!

So, now we're back to smooth sailing and grief free printing. Life's good! 

The Magic Dog Trick or How’d That Happen…again?!  OK…I’m a pretty clever toilet lever when it comes to figuring out some of life’s mysteries. But, I have to confess that it ain’t happenin’ this time.

The other day (when lots of things happen around here), the two old people walked out from the back patio and were headed to the barn to grab some boxes of Christmas trimmings and ornaments. When, what before our not-at-all-bloodshot eyes should appear but Missy! Yes, Missy, the sweet pooch doggie dog, and she was at least 10 feet beyond the length of her ¼” steel cable!  What happened?! Hooy, boy!

That isn’t a good thing: she’s a four-legged tornado that eats, mauls, completely disassembles (or disembowels), or levels anything in her path. If she were a toy, she’d be a “Hasbor”  “Destructo Doggie” gift: “Destruction in a complete kit! Get one for your offensive, undisciplined, hooligan child, today! Never worry about your house being in one piece again!”.

Anyway….the mechanics were simple; the pin had come out of the clevis link. Ah, but that’s not the mystery. The mystery is that the properly installed and secured cotter pin was missing so that the clevis pin could come out. A search was made for the pin and cotter pin but to no avail. Did Missy eat the dang thing?! Who knows!

So, a couple of quick links were appropriated and installed (using a pair of pliers) to secure a short length of chain (to which her cable was secured) on our wayward pup so that it couldn’t jiggle loose (it had actually jiggled loose one other time because the quick link was only finger tightened).

The next day, and to our great surprise, a neighbor came to us to advise that Missy was, of all places, in our 10’ x 10’ refuse enclosure behind the barn (you know: the one with the 6’ fencing and a shut front gate)! My lightning-fast mind thought, “You can’t be serious!”.

When we got behind the barn, there she was with her severed steel cable trailing behind her. The previous repair of the chain was fine but the cable was now severed! She had hopped up on a barrel and simply leaped between the canvas top and the chain link fencing. What the heck was she looking for in there? You’ll have to ask her because I don’t have a clue: one more mystery.

After dragging her out of the bin through the front door, she was re-secured to her doggie house (the former “Maggie’s  Mansion”) with a 15’ 5/8” nylon rope. If she keeps this up, I’m going to book a spot on Penn & Teller’s “Fool Us”!

Since then, a long section of double-link chain was purchased and, on my next day off, she’ll be wearing her new harness which will be secured to her new chain.

The next thing she did to express her intelligence and challenge my patience was when I was loading my trailer in the back yard. To get to my side, she jumped over the tongue of the trailer. In an attempt to teach her to go to the other side, she refused to go over the tongue but then, as fast as lightning, ducked under the tongue! Great! Now she has looped the rope around the tongue. OK….as she’s tugging, resisting, and otherwise, being overly energetic, she had to be forcefully pushed under the tongue then back over the tongue so she could be freed up. Simple, eh? Not at Rancho Relaxo.

Missy, in full rebellion mode, simply repeated the entire dynamic of getting the rope tangled in the trailer tongue. She just doesn’t get what the word “NO!” means. How do you unwind a doggie who wants to keep winding?! It took a couple more minutes to finally get her straightened out but I think  I just created a new-but-unwanted doggie trick! Great. The loading job was finished and the trailer was moved out of the way.

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.