Rancho Frio

This shot of the snow cap was taken from the Lake Success viewpoint parking lot. The campground is in the middle of the picture. It is surely nice to see some congealed water on our mountains!

The viewpoint parking lot again and looking NE.

Still at the viewpoint parking lot. The campground is in the forefront.

On the way home eastbound on Hwy 190 and in front of the River Island Golf Course. Shot from the Coop de Ville. This is Black Mountain. It's nice to see it covered with snow and not fire.

Something new has been added! No more "Port-a-Potties" at the viewpoint parking lot! It's nice to know that there's at least one genius left in this area!

This is what's left of the Lake Express Market. It burned down some time ago but they only recently hauled off the debris. These are the gas pumps which were not damaged by the fire. No word yet as to what will be built/re-built on this spot but......I can guess.

Call me "silly" but I really love "halo shots" where the sun highlights an area on the ground. Click on any picture for an enlargement.

To the right is one of our neighbor's duck pond. It was just too pretty not to take a picture of it.

Another shot of the same pond. It's over on Ave 176 around the hill from us and on the same dirt road leading to the home of one of our computer clients.

A winter time view of Rancho Relaxo when the view is not occluded by the big fruitless mulberry tree. Not enough rain to keep the grass green and not enough spizzerinctum for the Ol' Rancher to water it. We often park the Coop de Ville in front of the door. It's much more convenient when loading and unloading. And, you just know that Ol' Rancho Ran is convenience oriented.

 Here are our vines. They're all nice and pruned up for winter.

I tossed this in for reference. That is to say, there are folks who can go to the supermarket and buy tortillas. But, in some places (like Hooterville, CA), you have markets that have an entire aisle dedicated to tortillas (plus the end cap)! It just goes to show you that all tortillas are not the same or made equally (and it really speaks of the ethnicity of an area, eh?). I didn't bother to take the time to count them....but was tempted to do so. Tortillas are our friends!










Well!! Flames of Atoma (all you old “Captain Video” fans out there)! It’s March, already!! What a load of kartoffelpuffer! Moving along but with resentful guttural sounds being made……….

Rancho Report: well, here we go again for another round of what’s happening at the “Daily Plant It” (where my alter ego is wearing an apron instead of his lovely cape). It’s more or less the same ol’ seven and sixes but different each month. We’re just doing whatever is necessary to keep the Oompa Loompas from rioting at this chocolate factory.

The Rancho Twins are quite busy as usual keeping up with our assigned tasks. It’s “upstairs, downstairs, out in the kitchen” (all you “Stringbean” fans: “Hot Corn Cold Corn”) then off to town (Hooterville) to pay bills, shop, visit, pick up chicken food/greens and what all, up to Springville to mail stuff or get chicken scratch, get gas for the gas cans (for the tractor and other motorized stuff round here), feed the dog, and keep up with the chickens (most folks only have to keep up with the Joneses). And, wait folks, there's more! We stir the compost pile, take out the trash, collect eggs, fix computers, check the mail, check e-mail (with a hot cup of coffee latte’ on hand, of course), take care of phone calls (both directions), start some of the gas engines so they don’t clog up, get stuff ready for church (e.g. bulletins, recording equipment, et. al.), and deal with whatever exigencies arise (and they do arise). It can leave a fella lookin' for....a day off. 

Do make note that we occasionally have what we call a “stay home day” which we appreciate so very much. On those days, we manage to keep up with e-mail, computers, and such things that allow for us to stay in our “work clothes” (i.e. Wal-Mart bed pants, T-shirt, and slippers) and not have to wear our street clothes. I suppose that I really shouldn’t say “we” given that Connie leans toward being a bit (actually, two bits) more human and regularly stays in more normal attire. Perhaps she feels that at least one of us ought not to appear to be a slovenly bum if someone comes to the door (oh, to where has my youthful vanity fled with such alacrity?). All I can say in my defense is, “comfort is my friend” and to check for aberrations in my DNA.

And, riding herd over a bunch of brainless squawkers is a mighty hard task and keeping up with too-intelligent computers is a chore. Thankfully, overseeing a bunch of believers at church is comfortably in the middle. I guess it all works out in the end. 

We local yokels were bemoaning the dang near hot weather around here when that changed overnight. The temp fell from highs in the 70’s and lows of about 42 degrees to 26 degrees. That’ll put frost on your Edsel! Hace frío en Springville! It's about time that the weather was conducive to seasonal change. Our trees and vines need the rest (albeit it seems the rest won't be all that long). We finally got some snow on them thar hills, too! We actually had a brief snow flurry  that apprised us that winter was stopping by for a visit (big whoop). 

Thankfully, we live in a small cove area that is largely protected from hard freeze events (though not always) so we didn’t have to patch broken pipes the next day. This old warm-blooded guy actually welcomes the cooler weather. At least he gets to wear his jacket two or three times each winter.

There was a light dusting of snow on Black Mountain, just to the east of us. It had the first few hundred feet of its top dusted with white stuff. A couple of days later, we even had a brief snow flurry (brief as in about 3 minutes around our near vicinity). It only happens infrequently and certainly not so soon after such warm temps. Black Mountain was re-sprayed with a bit more snow a second time and with more lovely white stuff than the previous time. So, we think that the real mountains (east of Black Mountain) got a goodly dose of the much-needed precipitation.

In 2000, we got about 6” of snow dumped on us. That was a first, to be sure. I had seen about ½” or so in ’63 (I think) but no accumulation since then. There is even a picture of the more recent event posted in the Springville Post Office.

It was “Smog Check Time in Springville” so I aired up the leaky left rear tire on Tojo and headed down the hill. Since we would likely have to drop off the little picky up truck and leave it, Connie followed in the Camry.

The tire has had a slow leak for at least 6 years that I can think of so there was no thought of having an issue with it (it never goes anywhere but to the dump, the gas station, and to the smog check place). After all, just because the tire was ragged looking, weather checked, leaky, and was 20 years old, why should the Ol’ Rancher be concerned about it? It did have a modest tread on it and the other three tires were quite fine. But, Ol’ Mr. Back Up brought along his nice yellow portable air tank just in case.

That was a really good idea because, prior to reaching P’ville, I had to pull over because, amazingly, the air had escaped the tire. No, worries, says I. Out comes the air tank, a blast of fresh air into the tire, and away we go.

It certainly seemed prudent to head to “Carroll’s Tire Warehouse” a couple of miles away. That, too, was a good move since the tire was almost flat again when we pulled in. After discovering a tear in the sidewall (so much for a slow leak), the guy at the counter sold me a tire at cost (long story). So, 43 bucks later, we’re headed to the smog shop.

At the smog house, it was a “NO GO”. The truck didn’t pass because the catalytic converter (a mere 33 years old) was shot. We’d need a new one. OK; we can do that. But, first we’d have to park it at the church so we could continue shopping and such in the Camry.

Only a few blocks from the church, a strong odor of gasoline flooded the interior of the truck. My lightning-fast mind concluded, “This is not a good thing”. I continued on but looked into the rear view mirror just in time to see a pool of liquid at the intersection behind me. A second conclusion was: “This could be….. interesting”. I have been to more than one car fire and wasn’t immediately interested in participating in one myself. Thankfully, I quickly pulled into the church parking lot with Connie closely following.

“No worries”, says I. “That’s why we have ‘AAA’ towing”. My guess is that the fuel pump may be leaking or a high pressure hose leading from the pump gave up on us. Shouldn’t be a biggy that I can tell. We finished our chores in town then, when those were completed, returned to our comfy sanctuary of peace and called for a tow.

When the tow truck got to our place, get this, the right front tire of the pickup was….flat. Can you imagine that?! Two flats in one day! Hmmmmm….we need another tire (probably a full set), a catalytic converter, fuel pump (plus installation), and a smog check. A quick mental tally showed that that would roughly be equal to or even exceed the worth of my little beater truck.

Well…..that sort of cleaned up the last remnants of my good day. I can’t say that I was as upbeat as Ulla Inga Hansen Benson Yansen Tallen Hallen Svaden Swanson Bloom but I wasn’t wrecked. I have…options and options are my friends.

I figure that I can install the fuel pump myself and can probably find a set of “take offs” or used tires and save some cash (if I can ever get a…..day off). We’ll see.

A couple of days later and a trip to “DMV” (bypassing the mile-long line by making an appointment, natch), Tojo was on “Non-Op” status until further notice. We also canceled the insurance, too, which saved a few Green Stamps.

The other day, it was “bean time” at Rancho Relaxo. You  know, of course, that man does not live by bread alone; he has to have a bean (I think that’s in the book of “Third Randy”). So, the Ol’ Rancher fired up his “Power Pressure Cooker” (we are great friends, that thing and I....hmmmm...sounds like a great title for a movie, "The Thing and I". Maybe not) and tossed three cups of beans, ½ pound of bacon (never skimp on that stuff), and approximately one tablespoon of salt into the water! You probably can’t imagine the anticipation that a hungry chicken plucker can muster when he smells beans and bacon cooking!

That, in turn, precipitated a great need to add the classic “Okie/Arkie” side dish, fried taters! It was time to rip the skins off some spuds and get to whackin’! Thankfully, Ran, the cookin’ dude, had just enough time to wrangle the Russets and get them perfectly fried up exactly when the beans were done! Whoooo dooogies!

Yes!! I do, indeed, know what you are thinking: “Where’s the cornbread, you dummy?!”. I know….I know. I was hoping that no one would turn me in to the “Southern Cooking Police”. I’m beggin’ for mercy! I just couldn’t quite fit it into the timetable. I’ll try to double up next time!

Anyway, when it was all done and steaming hot, we grabbed our big soup bowls (small ones not allowed in our house) and filled them slap up with beans and taters! Oh, man! I wasn’t hungry until the next day! Now, I ain’t braggin’ but it’s understood that I don’t do nothing that I don’t do good (all you Bob Wills fans: “Bring it on Down to My House”). I’ll do that again and soon!

  

Princess Pooch Report: Abbie has a way of redeeming herself at just the right time. Our little rambunctious coon hound has way too much time on her hands and gets into mischief at the earliest impulse. 

For instance, she's pretty good at tracking down a lone and unsuspecting cardboard box, hauling it off, and shredding until it isn't immediately recognizable as such. That's what happened a few days ago. Swell....chunks of cardboard all over the place. 

However, she recently earned her "Old Roy". The other night, the chickens had been bedded down for a couple of hours or so. That would include the one Red that seems to not get the memo on how dangerous it is to park her feathers out in the open. She probably just inherited a lazy gene since, instead of marching thirty feet to the coop, she parks on the tongue of Dumbo, our covered trailer. The goofy bird does that every time the girls are let out for the day. I have to take her from her roost and haul her into the coop where it’s safe. Dumb cluck.

Continuing….when the birds are safe, I put the shock collar on Abbie so she can roam about at night. It allows her to go halfway up one side of the coop. Later that evening, when I recognized that familiar, “I’ve treed again, y’all!”, barking and headed outside to see what was happening, that’s precisely where I found her.

She was trying with all her might to get under the plastic skirt that we had hung to protect our girlie birds from the winter winds. Expecting to find a large rat, I hauled back the curtain and watched Abbie blitz into action. In a few moments, she was hauling out the largest ‘possum she had ever caught so far. It had ceased to function and it’s legs were flopping as Abbie hauled the carcass away.

Though I don’t doubt the crushing capability of her jaws, ‘possums do “play ‘possum”. Not wanting to embarrass her by being fooled (again), and not wanting to risk having a critter running around the ranch while happily breeding other chicken snatchers, I grabbed my CO2 pistol. Abbie was a bit hesitant in allowing me to share her glory but eventually acquiesced and allowed me access to the thing so as to insure her success. Abbie – 1; Critter – 0. I'm teaching her to "high five". 

  

Fuzzer Report: it's almost springtime and the fuzzers are...uh...springing into action. They are rejoicing at the fact that they don't have to combat freezing temperatures. Accordingly, they are scampering about with all hilarity and just daring me to stop them. So, I did that. Recently, the Ruger "Critter Git'R's" scope was dialed in so it wouldn't have to be used as a club. Out it came, the Rancher to aim, and three fuzzers are no longer getting fatter and happier each day. Fuzzers - 0; Deadeye Ran - 3

The other varmint rifle, a 17 HMR, needs to be dialed in,  too. That little sweetie can really reach out and touch a critter at 2,500+ fps. That's roughly twice the speed of a .22LR. So, the trajectory is quite flat when using it around the back 40 (all two acres of it). Fuzzers beware!

Chickening Report: while heading out to the mailbox the other day, it was easy to note the mass of scattered potting soil on the front porch. One of our craptors (it’s difficult to not be denigrating when it comes to stupid chickens….even if you are a bird brain and love them to pieces) was parked in a deep hole she had dug out of a large porch rail planter. That, of course, left potting soil all…over…the place. To conflate her intolerance for our property, she knocked off a porcelain pot and broke it. That just doesn't sit well with the folks that run the ranch. With 36 built-in boxes in the coop and a small chicken house in which to lay eggs, she picks one of Connie the Canner’s flower boxes. *SIGH*. 

Not wanting to have to clean a dead chicken and prep it for freezing or dinner, I deferred advising her about the matter. The hope was to act as surprised as she when we both next headed to the car. That actually sort of worked. It was close.

After a short time, she, with her profoundly normal hearing, heard a,“Hey! I just laid an egg!”, cackle being loudly proclaimed by the offending hen (you do learn to speak chicken-ese after awhile, don'tcha know). "How  convenient”, I thought! So, Ol’ Ran headed out to the scene of the crime and found the egg. Wasn’t that just swell of me?!

Now, things would have worked out just fine from there had not another feathery egg producer not tried to arrogantly upstage the previous offender. One of the Rhode Island Reds decided that the hole dug by the Leghorn would perfectly fit her fluffy egg laying factory. After clucking about and making an even bigger mess of things, she set about her business. Sure enough, within a short time, we had another egg in hand and a proud hen loudly proclaiming her victory.

That may have gone well except that, when finished, the recalcitrant Red decided to dismember the nice flower in the planter! She was busily pruning the thing when we stopped her and steered her out of and away from the planter (ever so gently though not without the temptation to do so with a sharp axe). Note to hen: Don’t do that in the presence of someone who is an expert in canning chicken! 

Connie grabbed a broom and dustpan and cleaned up the mess (but not until after cooling down a few hundred degrees and me hiding the butcher knives). Amazingly, two hens dodged the pressure cooker that day. 

Chicken points to ponder: isn’t it amazing that a chicken can gain all the weight it wants to…and never show it in the face (thank you Roger Miller)?

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 Hombre Largo

                                                                                 Our gobblers getting down on a pan of crushed egg shells. We save them, dry them in the oven, then feed them back to the layers so they are not calcium deficient. On the ground you can see the cabbage that they are still in the process of pecking to death.

This is the winter view of Rancho Relaxo. The Camry is in front of the Coop DeVille. Wooley Pulley is in the middle, and Tojo is on the right. Tojo suffered a flat tire so a new one was mounted. Then, before we got home, the fuel pump failed. It had to be towed home. By the time it got home, the right front tire was also flat. So, it's "Non-Op" time for the old trooper. We'll keep it around for hauling stuff on the ranch.       

I wanted to ad more pics but the blog formatting is out of whack for some reason. 

Rancho Hombre Largo

It’s February 2018 already! Doesn’t that just make you want to dig out your Xavier Cugat albums and start dancing the mambo?! Yeah….me neither. Still, you have to wonder why time is in such a hurry when it has no particular place to go. *SIGH*

Rancho Report: things are moving along here at the ranch. Connie the Canner and I even managed to make it to Visalia (about 45 min. from our place) to keep our Thursday appointment with a tooth mechanic. As you can imagine, while we were in a real town, we couldn’t help knocking over a real restaurant. It just so happened that we hadn’t had “Chinese” in a while so were obliged to head to the “King Buffet” on south Mooney Blvd.

I’d actually been there before (more than once) but it had been a long long time. When we got there, their menu had changed. It was almost like we had entered into a Star Trek transporter because I thought we were in Sequin, Texas! They had virtually the same goodies up for grabs as the Chinese place there! This is to say, they had the most beautiful pan full of hot and spicy crawdads I’ve seen since Texas! Whoo doggies! It was time to dig in! Not one of those mud bugs made it out alive!

The great thing about crawdads is that, any part that isn’t hard, is edible. At least that’s the consensus of those who were blessed enough to establish southern eating protocols. Not everyone agrees, of course. Connie (“No creeping things here, thank you”) thinks that these “things” should remain at the bottom of a muddy creek in Texas or Louisiana or somewhere where humans can’t reach them. Not even labeling them the high class sounding, “langostino”, will help reconcile her to their culinary importance. She still thinks that Mxyzptlk, Mars (presumably the capitol) is close enough for her taste (are you “Superman” fans listening?).

I mean…come on! How can you not like tearing into these little crustaceans and liberating that tasty morsel of tail meat, eh? Then, you get to suck the mud out of the front part, too! Zowie! Ok! Ok! I still like you non-southernized folks who still need to get the memo. I won’t “un-friend” you.

Anyway, there was a real determination to just eat until full instead of eating until I made money. My heart was right and, by and large, the goal was accomplished. However, I still couldn’t keep myself from stocking up on calories until dinner time next Tuesday.

Thus, the “Rancho Largo Dude” title. It’s difficult to arrive at any other conclusion when a guy goes to the doctor for a checkup and he hears the new digital scales holler “Hey! One at a time, moron!”. Then, he turns around and dives headlong into the next buffet he tracks down…on purpose. 

The Ol’ Rancher can’t turn the clock back but he can surely turn back the scales. There are some dietary changes in the making. It may take a while but, the next time the scale speaks, I hope to hear it say, “Nice job, lightweight dude!”.

Adding to that foray, we recently got to experience a trip to Farmersville (about 5 miles east of Visalia) to a church there for a “singsperation”. We were again invited by some super friends, brother James and sister Fern Hill who have a family member who attends there. It was as great the second time of getting together with other brothers and sisters and sing unto the Lord many songs!

Since winter has skipped this part of the country, spring dutifully stepped in early and has sprung. It was ….get this…76 degrees today! This wonderful comfort is great but it’s a double-edged sword. We seriously need rain because there is no snow pack on them thar hills!

Heat in February is not a good thing. It doesn’t bode well if we have to continue water rationing around here. The state will FORCE US to only use about a tenth of what we actually need (https://californiapolicycenter.org/permanent-water-rationing-coming-california/). The truly sad factor is that residential water usage only comprises less than 10% of total usage. The State, on the other hand, flushes more than 30% of allocated water into the ocean. Go figure.

My guess is that’s why another 250,000 tax payers fled California and its lunatic politics in 2017. Thousands of business including those from this area (and even Toyota after decades in Torrance) have simply said, “Enough of this BS” and have moved to adjoining states where they are now thriving. Isn’t it fabulous when people finally put an end to their being abused by the government and simply walk away?

Moving along….this is California so when warm weather arrives, the carnivore instincts kick in. Being inspired by a confluence of gastric juices and a complaining tummy, Ol’ Ran just had to fire up the grill. It just so happens that there was some lamb in the freezer that needed to be either eaten or fed to Abbie, the one-pooch cleanup crew.

So, out came the lamb steak and a package of my favorite brats (that would be the ones that can’t get away) and the trusty-dusty-but-not-even-rusty “Weber” propane grill was excited to life with the piezo starter button. The big Brinkman charcoal briquettes grill is my back up in case I have any extra energy and I’m not so convenience oriented (uuuuuh….could be awhile). In fact, I may just use it solely as a smoker. All I need is…..a day off. Yeah, buddy.

The Rancho Grillo Dude couldn’t help but think that the lamb dinner couldn’t possibly be complete without at least one large baked potato (the brats are for lunch de la mañana). Three fat spuds were placed on the grill to be partially baked and then completed in the new microwave oven (we’re still talking convenience here). They were alongside some freezer burned hamburger patties that later became treats for Abbie.

That all went well so the evening meal was a feast. I hadn’t had grilled lamb in decades. I won’t make that mistake that again and will look for deals and sales on lamb. Good stuff and Abbie got some fat and meat trimmings, too!

Computer Dude Report: though this is as much a “Rancho Relaxo Report” matter, it fits tidily into this part of the report. Our trusty microwave oven decided to stop flinging its miniscule waves. We then purchased a new 1.5 cubic foot GE microwave from an eBay seller. When the nuke box arrived, we joyed over it and immediately put it to work. 

However (I’m not a big fan of “howevers”), there was an unidentified growling noise coming from it. Since there simply aren’t a lot of moving parts in a (standard) M/W oven (at most two), it was easy to deduce that the turntable motor was defective. Sure; we could have just boxed it up and sent it back to Plainfield, IL (yes.. that Plainfield, IL where friend and brother, Ben Garwood calls home). However (ditto), that would have been really….inconvenient.

Since it was under warranty, we called GE Service who connected us with “L&S Appliances” in Porterville. That was cool as far as I was concerned since I had dealt with them 20 years ago while managing the apartment complex there. Because it was a free-standing unit, we had to lug it to their shop about 5 miles east of town. They took the unit, ordered the part, and a week later, we had our nuker back.

The great news was that they had three computers sitting and collecting dust in their office. After a few questions as to the issues and what disposition they had determined for them, I wound up taking them home to fix!

Here’s the next part of this saga: not long ago, one of our two newest freezers (three years or so old) went out. This is not a good thing. The old ranchers had to scramble and get things over into another empty freezer in the barn (it was full…ugh). Because it wasn’t sorely needed, it sat forlornly for a while. Then, Connie the Freezer Lady decided, “This thing needs to be fixed so’s we can use it”. You know…it’s hard to argue with a logical person.

While at “L&S Appliances”, the lady mentioned “barter” to which we were immediately amenable! Long story longer….”L&S” brought our M/W back to us and took a look at the freezer. He determined the issue (a faulty thermostat control) and ordered the part. The next week, he came to the house to install the part. Our freezer is freezing again!

We’re now looking to resolve a mysterious clanking on our “Maytag” washer (you know…the one where the repairman is a hermit because “Maytags” are so reliable…heheh…all you old people remember him in the ads on TV).  Bartering is our friend!

Chickenin’ Report: our biddy buddies seem to be trying (though not all that hard) to maintain a modest egg production. If it weren’t for that, I’d have to come to the conclusion that we have too many feathery pets around here. You just can’t have an egg business for very long if you keep having the same food costs but having little or no return for the investment.

We do cut costs by feeding our girls the produce tailings from a local supermarket in Porterville. That surely helps! And, we let them free range during the day after we think that they’ve had enough time to lay their eggs. Certainly, we still have to track down a few “Easter eggs” (that gets old). But, we do get a few that way.

We’ve had to account for the fact that some of our birds are just old and are “retired” at egg laying. Most egg ranchers will replace their producers every 2 to 2.5 years as the layer’s production naturally decreases. Ol’ Rancho Ran is going to have to resort to replacing his girls at some point. Otherwise, continuing to cosset and pamper the birds that only produce feathers and squawks will get really really old as well as really expensive

The other day, we headed out for Hooterville and had decided to take the Camry. The Camry is our ride of choice when we don’t need to haul stuff around or pick things up and such. It dutifully sites beneath the large fruitless mulberry tree awaiting our every behest.

When I approached the car, I noticed that there was a huge…as in large…as in great big… black and white mess on the roof! Now, this just didn’t seem quite right given that my birds, as healthy as they are, could muster up enough…uh…black and white mess…to merit such concern. It was a mystery!

When given such a poser, I’ve learned to use the “Sherlock Holmes” method of resolving matters. It basically says that, “After eliminating all other possibilities, whatever remains is the answer”. There weren’t any other possibilities that I could think of so my lightning-fast mind made the obvious conclusion: there is a pterodactyl in my tree!

It had to be! After all, there aren’t any ostrich or emu farms around here! There may be a couple of llamas but, when was the last time you saw one of those up a tree? I mean, we do have mountain lions in these parts. But, that would mean that you’d be looking for your llama on the roof and not just up a tree. The California Condors are near but don’t come down this far. Even then, if it were a condor, it would have taken a week to recover the Camry. And, the red tail hawks and our big white owls aren’t usually this close to our house.

Of course, it didn’t take long to figure out that there actually were other possibilities and that I was mistaken (3.67492 seconds, to be precise.....I did mention my lightning fast mind, didn't I?). Upon closer examination and while watching the tree for chickens to roost that evening, it because obvious what had happened. It wasn’t a single chicken that was the culprit; it was a pair of them roosting side-by-side. What a relief to know that I won’t be out the expense of adding a cathartic to their diet.

To make up for all of this expense and inconvenience (have I mentioned that I’m convenience oriented?), I’m waiting for a psychic chicken to show up so I can take it to “America’s Got Talent” and clean up! Then, I could put it on YouTube and it would go viral! “Randy, the YouTube Millionaire” sort of has a ring to it, eh?

All seriousness aside, it’s time for the chickens to start being real layers instead of solely chicken scratch vacuums and yard fertilizers.

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 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.