My Three Sons, Sort Of

Today was a big day for Puff and her kittens. They took a trip to Two River's Pet Hospital shortly after their afternoon nap where Dr. Mike and his assistant Kaylee weighed them all, gave the kittens their first round of immunizations and Puff her postnatal check-up. "Everyone looks great", was the report. Puff is now scheduled for surgery so there will be no more surprises on Almosta Road. Contrary to my grandmother's belief, there IS such a thing as too many cats. As for me, until I met Puff I thought even one was too many. Funny how familiarity breeds understanding.

Before the exam was complete, we learned that all three kittens are boys! Dr. Mike declared, "my three sons", to which young Kaylee said, "huh"? On the ride home I pondered boy names but couldn't think of a single one that sounded right. Recalling Dr. Mike's declaration, I searched my ancient data bank trying to remember the boy's names from My Three Sons, the 60's TV show Mike referred to.

By the time I hit the cruise control south of town, the names Robbie, Chip, and Ernie came rolling off my tongue as I spoke over my shoulder to the pet carrier behind me. After saying, "Robbie" a few times, I decided it just wouldn't work for me. For some unknown reason the name doesn't roll of my tongue well enough to suit me. Not willing to give up on Chip and Ernie, I recalled there was also an Uncle Charlie on the show who was quite a character. I wondered, could I name them Uncle Charlie, Chip, and Ernie? Why not? That's really the fun of adding new members to the family--you can name them any darn thing you want.

Well then, so it is. Uncle Charlie, Chip, and Ernie--Puff's My Three Sons, sort of.

Once again, all is well.

I Don't Know Nature's Way

Sometimes a mouse isn't a mouse!

I could have sworn that dark lump on the barn floor was indeed a mouse. And, I thought, it was probably the mother of the three babies Puff nearly killed last week. I left it where it lay believing that Puff hadn't killed it but only mortally wounded it like she did the babies, and that it was prudent to allow nature its due course. Sometime later this afternoon, I reasoned, I would scoop it up and remove it from the barn.

Returning to the barn a few hours later expecting to find a dead mouse, I discovered that it had moved a few inches from where I had seen it earlier. Moving a bit closer, but not too close, I could see its life force moving inside. Since it had moved around a bit, I could now see its very long dark legs that bent at a very sharp angle. A quick, "whoa", burst forth up from my gut. "What kind of mouse has long thin dark legs that bend sharply and tuck under its belly?" Puff chattered the entire time I looked over this weird whateveritis. If only I spoke "cat", I would have understood that Puff was telling me she had caught a bat, batted it around for the kittens benefit, and like the mouse babies, left it for dead.

Was it Carole King who sang, "I don't know nature's way?" Well, I'm with you, Carole, I not only don't know, but it seems my learning curve has taken a sudden upward turn.

I might not know nature's way, just yet, but Puff knows enough for all of us. And what she knows she's passing along to her kittens.

Oh yeah, I do know enough to know that bat's carry rabies. Batman will remain on the floor until his spirit has gone to bat heaven at which time my husband will bury his remains. I don't do funerals!

Once again, all is well.

Another Day, Another Lesson

This morning as I entered the barn the kittens ran playfully toward the stream of light pouring through the open door, while Puff waited eagerly for the dish in my hand.

After a quick head count and assured that everyone survived another night, I turned toward the door to leave. Once again my eye stumbled over a small dark lump. Perhaps not everyone survived.

This time, it seems, Puff found the mother.

Another day, another lesson.
And so it is.

The Scapegoat Wilderness

Pat has returned from his first of several planned trips into the backcountry. This trip took him and three other men as well as 14 horses into the wilderness area known as The Scapegoat Wilderness, part of the Bob Marshall/Scapegoat Wilderness Complex. It was created and preserved with the "wilderness" designation in 1972. The Scapegoat area alone covers 239,936 acres and straddles the Continental Divide.


Located in western Montana south and adjacent to the Bob Marshall Wilderness, The Bob (as it is locally known) is noted for its hunting, fishing, scenery, and geology. Massive limestone cliffs that dominate the Scapegoat are an extension of The Bob's Chinese Wall. This wilderness complex is the only place outside of national parks in the lower 48 states that supports a grizzly population.

Access to the complex is restricted to hikers and backcountry horseman. There are no roads, and no motorized vehicles allowed. This restriction includes emergency and park service vehicles making it truly wilderness as well as one of the Last Best Places.

And so it is!

The Middle of the Road

A cool brisk breeze sent me shivering under the covers where the girls and I snuggled for as long as we could before shuffling downstairs to begin the feeding chores. Before drifting off to sleep last night I decided that this morning I would brave up once again and allow the girls off leash--just for a little while.

I'm sure it's quite exhilarating to run as fast as you can unbridled, untethered, unaware of any potential harm that may cross your path. I was very happy to see the girls happy. They both settled quickly into their routine, which to my surprise didn't hold their interest very long. Within minutes both dogs were back at the house sitting by my side enjoying the cool brisk air and the warm rising sun while I enjoyed the smile on their faces and my second cup of coffee.

Once dressed and ready for the day, I remembered there were a few pieces of outgoing mail by the door. Since it was a gorgeous morning, I thought that the three of us would walk the mile round-trip to the mailbox. Staying in the middle of the road, we quickly found our pace. Oh what a gorgeous morning! On the last stretch about 50 feet from the mailbox, watching the gravel road stretch out before us, glancing occasionally into the ditch on either side, my eyes fixed on a long thin shape that broke the random pattern of gravel right in the middle of the road about 20 feet ahead.

Giving a quick pull on the leashes and a stern, "whoa" all three of us came to a dead stop. Sure enough of what lie ahead, I wasn't sure if it was dead or alive. We share this lower portion of the drive with two neighbors, so it was possible someone had struck it earlier this morning, although from my vantage point it didn't look smooshed. I bent down, picked up a few pieces of gravel and began tossing stones hoping that if it was alive I would annoy it enough to move off. Not so much as a flinch! These snakes are really starting to tick me off.

Not wishing to tempt fate, the three of us turn tail and head home. Within a few moments our neighbor, Jason, turns onto the drive, spots the snake, turns the wheel just a bit, hits the snake, backs up, hits it again, gets out of his truck picks up the snake and flings it into the tall grass, returns to his truck, drives up to us, stops and says, "watch out for snakes; stay in the middle of the road".

Once again we headed down the middle of the road, dropped our mail, then headed home. I think it was Helen Keller who said, "Life is one daring adventure, or nothing at all."

Well said, Helen.

A Funny Looking Stick

I should have known a snake would appear today. I've experienced a series of coincidences lately that have led to this moment. First, I mentioned to my sister-in-law over the weekend that I hadn't heard from my uncle lately. He had been a frequent caller since his brother died two years ago. However, it had been quite a few months since his last call. Then, lo and behold the next day he called. The first question out of his mouth was, "have you seen any snakes yet...?"

Whenever Pat's away, I become a bit anxious about letting the dogs run off leash. Although they have been vaccinated against snake venom and have received aversion training with live snakes, that doesn't ensure they won't encounter a snake. It only provides a probability boost toward surviving a bite. It's the encounter and the bite that give me the epizoodies.

I know that keeping them in the house and on a leash when outdoors dishonors their doggy spirit, but this is how it is until I'm able to allow life to flow as it should.

So this morning, I brave-up and let the girls go full tilt off leash. They rarely go far; in fact, they have a rather interesting routine they more or less follow each time. They both head straight for the barn where they sniff at the door hoping for an opportunity to have Puff kick their butts. When that opportunity proves disappointing, Luna scoots around the corrals searching out unsuspecting bunnies and giving chase until she's pooped. Cali stands over her favorite gopher hole waiting silently, patiently. Her sharp instincts tell her to avoid making a shadow over the hole, and she knows to stand behind the angled opening so as to remain invisible. When that game proves unfruitful, she trots gingerly to the nearest, freshest pile of manure where she rolls and wiggles with delight covering herself in the most wonderful aroma second only to fresh cow plop.

I stay nearby and watch with a careful eye while Luna becomes pooped and Cali becomes poop. Coming off the paved road, heading toward our house, a Fed Ex truck slows as he approaches. The dogs race to meet what they hope is there new best friend. With leashes in hand, I hook them both up while holding their eagerly wagging bodies at bay allowing the delivery guy to hand me a package. I sign for it, exchange a few pleasantry's then turn toward the house. "Oh", he says, "by the way, I think there's a snake on your driveway, or maybe it's just a funny looking stick."

I stop dead in my tracks, my heart pounding in my chest, my grip on the leashes tightening as I turn toward this jokester and respond, "Well which is it?"

"A snake, I think".

"Well, I appreciate you letting me know. I wonder, if he's still there when you drive out would you be willing to run him over?"

"Oh, sure, no problem".

"Thanks again, have a nice day."

I watched as he drove away. The truck slowed approximately 100 feet from where I stood. It swerved to the right, stopped, backed up, then moved forward again slowly before resuming its journey to the next stop.

With the location fixed in my mind, I returned the dogs to the house, grabbed the truck keys, and performed an act of kindness on the badly injured, dying, oh wait, did I mention huge? The badly injured, dying, huge, funny looking stick.

Kindness, Compassion, or Indifference

Yesterday morning as I tended to Puff and her kittens--filling water and food, and changing the litter box, I noticed something on the barn floor that seemed out of place. As I approached, thinking it was a small clod of dirt that had fallen off Pat's boot, the small something moved--then moved again--ever so slightly. Dismissing the idea that it was dirt or a ball of dust mixed with cat hair, I wondered if it could be a cricket or a beetle. But on closer inspection the color seemed off. Walking more slowly toward this "thing", wanting to give my brain enough time to catch up with my senses, I soon realized that the small something resembled a hairy finger. A pinkie, no less. A very small hairy finger---pink in the middle with soft wispy hair around the edges.

My heart stopped for a moment as my brain caught up with the message that this small something was alive, and mammal, and...a baby mouse. A very young baby mouse. Barely alive, alone in the middle of the barn, lying on the cold hard floor. Not bleeding or outwardly injured, but obviously dying.

What do I do?

Apparently, Puff had found a nest of newborn mice. She raided the nest, played with the baby, perhaps showing her kittens how to hunt, and how to toy with the prey, not killing, but leaving it hopelessly doomed. That's what cat's do.

Within moments two more babies caught my eye also lying helpless and hopeless. Their mother nowhere in sight.

I felt confused. On the one hand, we have a barn cat for the express purpose of managing the barn's rodent population. This is her job. And she's performing well.

On the other hand, I'm stunned by the recognition that I must decide what to do with these helpless, dying, babies. It's my responsibility to respond. But how?

I recall a very wise man named Gay Hendricks talk about how he categorizes people into three general groups--those who are kind, those who are compassionate, and those who are indifferent. Drawing upon Hendrick's general categories, I wonder if in this moment, my decision will come from a place of kindness, or compassion, or indifference as Gay suggests. If this is so, then there are three general responses to choose from. If I choose kindness, do I take the baby mice outside and finish them off with a quick blow from a shovel? Would compassion consist of trying to find the nest and return the babies to their mother? And what about indifference? I suppose if I scoop them up and simply drop them into a trash can, that would qualify as indifferent.

I have no idea how to proceed. I'm repulsed by the whole idea of "having to do something". Why didn't Puff kill them herself? I would have less of a problem picking up dead mice and disposing of them. I can't help but wonder about degrees of LIFE. What if I entered the barn and found three kittens barely alive? What if a coyote or fox had found them and toyed with them until they were barely alive? How would I respond? With kindness, compassion, or indifference? How do we reconcile that one life holds more importance than another? The importance lies within us; nature doesn't discriminate. We make the determination. We decide that the cat holds more importance, or VALUE, than the mouse. After all, didn't I hire Puff to manage the mice? Now that she has done her job, I find the consequences difficult to face.

Again, I find it interesting that we create a hierarchy of value on the different species of life. Most of us have no problem stepping on a spider or swatting a mosquito. I suppose the larger the creature or the more they are like us the greater the value! I don't really know. All I know is that I must decide how to deal with dying baby mice. Then reconcile my decision as one of kindness, compassion or indifference.

And so it is.

Field Trip

The alarm rang at 4:30 am, never mind though, we're all awake, eagerly awaiting this new day. The girls run downstairs, tails wagging, jockeying for position at the back door while I put on my shoes. Pat prepares the coffee, then heads out to feed Puff and the horses.

Back inside, we meet at the table for breakfast, me on one side, Pat on the other with Luna sitting squarely on his lap, her nose tucked into his armpit. She knows daddy's goin' bye-bye. She knows she's not. And so, the sad look of disappointment covers her face as she buries her head.

A half hour later, breakfast is done, every one's eaten--the dogs, the cats, the horses, us.... Nothing left to do but load up. First Boots, then Koda, and finally Liam, a bit hesitant at first but excited knowing he's made the grade and is joining the boys. He's not sure what it all means, where they're going, what they'll be doing, just glad he's one of the pack. Last one in, but first one out. The first to see the mountains, smell the fresh clean air, and view the trail that marks his first adventure.

As the truck and trailer roll down the hill out of sight, I return to the house where Luna cuddles up on my lap--sad that she's left behind--but glad she's not alone. She listens curiously as I read daddy's horoscope out loud: "You might enjoy a field trip today..."

And so it is.

Training Day

Preparations are underway for Pat's first pack trip of the season. Since Shadow's illness will keep him home for the first time in ten years, Pat will need to rely on our young Tennessee Walker/Thoroughbred cross, Liam, who will make his maiden voyage with a six-day trip into the Scapegoat Wilderness Area. The trail begins at Elk Creek and will take the group of four men and 14 horses to the camping area known as Welcome Creek. From there the group will set up camp relieving the horses of their heavy loads that consist of clothing, tents, food, and a commercial kitchen. Then each day, the group of men and horses are free to enjoy trail rides traversing the wilderness, scaling mountains, stopping to fish, and returning back to camp each evening to enjoy a hot meal and spend a few hours chewing the fat under the spectacular night sky.


In the meantime, Pat has essentially 48 hours to ensure that Liam can handle the rigors of managing himself in the middle of a three-horse pack string as well as the plethora of challenges that await from stepping over logs to negotiating draw bridges across fast moving water.

After only a few hours, Liam shows himself worthy of the challenge. He wants so much to please Pat carving his place as one of the boys; it's very sweet to watch him blossom as he becomes the newest member of our herd.

On this day, just 24 hours before they hit the dusty trail, Liam will work his lessons a few more times reinforcing what he learned yesterday. Unfortunately for Shadow, he's sitting this one out, but one horse's misfortune becomes an other's opportunity, and this little guy has shown himself worthy. And in Pat's own words, "he's a dandy".
And so it is.

My Teacher

Many years ago I heard someone say that every person we encounter in our lives is a teacher. That means that within every interaction with every person throughout every moment of our day there lies an opportunity to learn--something. It is our responsibility to pay attention to these interactions in order to identify and learn the lesson. If we choose to ignore the lesson, it will come again and again in slightly different and stronger ways until we have no choice but to stand still and learn.

I believe that is true. I also believe that not only do we learn from every person we meet but also from every encounter with animals and nature. Today this idea struck me like lightening from above.

Now that the kittens are getting around and getting into everything, especially trouble, I felt it necessary to spend time in the barn making every nook and cranny secure. Since the temperatures have begun to climb, I began looking for ways to keep the barn cool without allowing the kittens to get out or an unwanted intruder to get in. Not an easy task with what I had to work with.

Finally, after sweeping up, tidying up, tightening up, and watching these four-week-old kittens literally run and climb like Olympic athletes, I decided there was no immediate means to keep them out of trouble. With that I rounded them up with the intention of putting them back into their kennel along with mom, closing the door, attaching a baby-gate at the door of the barn, then leaving for an hour so I could get something else done. The plan involved returning every two hours or so to allow mom out to stretch her legs and take care of her business, since the litter box is on the outside of the kennel. The kennel is plenty big enough for her litter box, food, and water, however, the kittens are busy enough to wreak havoc scattering the food, eating the litter, and drowning in the water.

So there I was chasing kittens one at a time, putting it inside the kennel, searching for another, bringing it back, then discovering that the first one is no where to be found. These three Houdini's kept me running and searching for ten minutes--laughing all the way--me, not them. Once I got all three in the kennel, closing the door became another game of chance. I finally got the door closed after pushing back one then the other, then the one again, only to realize that Puff was not in the kennel. I opened the door, picked up Puff, and that quick three little kittens hopped out of the kennel and ran behind the stack of hay. At that point I sat down in front of the kennel, looked at Puff and said, "what should I do"? She walked up to me rubbed up against my leg then bit my hand.

Puff is not an aggressive cat nor is she nervous about me handling the kittens, so I took this as a sign, or, an answer to my question. I knew instantly that Puff was telling me to stop chasing the kittens and putting them in the kennel--JUST STOP--was her answer. I listened. With that, I got up, secured the door, and left. When I returned an hour later, Puff had everything under control. Not one of the kittens was running around, climbing walls, or spilling dishes. All three were sound asleep on the rug in front of the kennel with Puff by there side.

I believe, and now I know, that within every encounter, whether with another person, a cat, or a flower, there contains the possibility for growth and expansion. It is our responsibility to awaken to this, seize the opportunity, and become all that we are meant to be.

And so it is...
Thank you Puff.

Canines, Felines, Equines, Oh My

We had a sick horse last week. Shadow wasn't eating or drinking, usually a sign of colic, which can be life threatening. Pat had the vet on the phone before 7:00am and within 30 minutes he and his assistant were here making a quick assessment. Doc Neuman determined he needed to put Shadow on fluids so Pat hitched up the trailer and away they went heading for Neuman's clinic. He's still there--six days later. Neuman said he thought Shadow was not long for this world at one point. Apparently along with the colic he also has salmonella, a parasite that can lay dormant in a horse's digestive system, and can become triggered by stress months or even years later. After a nail biting week, we fully expect Shadow to make a complete recovery; in fact, he will probably come home tomorrow.


Neuman's a very thorough and thoughtful veterinarian. We appreciate that. We also appreciate that he makes house calls even a 30-mile round trip. I find it very interesting that vets are willing to make house calls, but my doctor won't. I'm thinking the next time I'm sick I'll call Neuman.

A week before Shadow's illness, we had another vet emergency. Luna, our springer spaniel, had an allergic reaction to something, which caused her face to blow up with welts and hives. She was also extremely agitated as if she was crawling out of her skin. Our dog's vet, Doc Peterson, said to bring her right in. As soon as we arrived, he made himself available to look her over and get her started on a few meds to calm her and begin reducing the swelling. Over the next two days, Peterson called twice to ask how she was doing. Again I was impressed by the quality and speed of service.

We've had our hands full with animal dramas over the past two weeks. In the midst of medical emergencies, we've also got three kittens who are now a month old and ready to take on the world. As cute as they are, I'm wary of becoming attached to them. The odds of their survival are not in their favor. They've got a lot to learn about keeping themselves out of harms way. I sure hope Puff's able to teach them everything they need to know. Once again, all's well.

Business As Usual

Each morning after walking the dogs, sipping a 1/2 gallon of coffee, sitting in the rising sun and hopefully absorbing enough vitamin D to ward off the epizoodies, I prepare a bowl of cat food for Puff. She greets me at the door with a warm and eager MEOW. The routine is the same, we sit together on the rug outside the kennel while she eats, then she hops up onto my lap for the feline equivalent of a deep tissue massage. Soon afterwards she's ready for her walkabout. She gingerly trots out of the barn and into the corral where she finds the perfect spot to conduct her morning business.

Much to my surprise, she leaves the kittens alone and exposed with the barn door wide open; although, she does look back frequently to see that I'm at my silently agreed upon post.

This morning her business coincided with the horse's morning stroll to the watering hole. While Liam awaited his turn at the well, he noticed Puff scratching around in the dirt. Endlessly fascinated by all things new and different, he pranced over to say hi and perhaps join in the fun. Not at all amused by her unwanted companion, Puff sought refuge and solitude in the next corral all the while keeping a watchful eye on the barn door.

Once out of Liam's playful reach, she got down to business, covered it with due diligence and a bit of dirt, then returned with a new found bounce in her step. Back inside the barn, she conducted the usual head count. Content that all is well, she hops back into the kennel welcomed by three yawning, stretching kittens who barely noticed she was gone. I leave the barn in total agreement: all is well.