Treading water in a clawfoot tub

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The single highlight of this week was the return of the prodigal tub. With any luck, it will assume its permanent place in this house, likely the last place I will do a house make-over since I now consider this house and locale quite temporary. Back in the 70s when house restorations became popular, someone wrote "There is really only one house restoration in all of us." Some five or six house projects later plus those done for a living, I am finally running out of heart and steam.

I had looked and looked for a four foot long cast iron tub for ten years before finding this one. The four footer is ideal to serve as a period shower base in a small bathroom. There were ample supplies of the five foot long tubs but not the more coveted four and six foot lengths, at least none that hadn't been buried vertically and converted into a yard shrine housing a Madonna years ago. I once knew a fellow who had photographed each kitschy tub shrine he found in New England and he had contrived a hilarious although sacrilegious title for each one in his collection.

This one was remarkably well preserved when I found it; usually abrasive cleaners and unchecked faucet dips ruined the porcelain over time. I had found this one at a remote rural old hippie yard sale. It even had the hard-to-find brass drain plumbing on it and, for $75, the guy even helped me load it into my tiny pickup. This was not a find that I could stash away in the barn/work shop by myself so, after giving me 'the look', Terry helped me unload it. I spent considerable time slowly rasping away with a metal file during the following weeks to wear down many casting glitches on the tub and legs. The big moment of satisfaction was when I was able to apply primer to all the parts to stop further rusting.
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Long story but a couple of acquaintances showed up this week with the tub and I cannot tell you how excited I was to see it again! Yes, like the Katlady, I have a passion for iron castings, truly, literally a heavy burden if you ever have to move. The return of the tub brought nothing more than later having to pry out a chunk of white porcelain from my forearm after a warning of a leg falling off went unheeded. No back miseries ... delightful!

I am kicking myself for not taking pictures of the incredible DC motor driven lift platform that Brian had placed in his standard pick-up rear receiver for the event. He even had me stand on it for a demonstration and gave me a lift up and down. After having a 130 pound can of turkey feed drop off my tailgate, effectively taking the skin off my lower shin and ankle upon landing, I was all ears about this incredible device. He said that it was rated for lifting up to 500 pounds to tailgate level and that it was able to heft a refrigerator with no problem at all. Better still, he had found it on sale from Harbor Freight for $199. Of course, we had to discuss all the mods and tweaks to cater to specific needs. As of that visit, the Harbor Freight catalogs will definitely find their way back to the toilet tank library.
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Catching up on old news, here is Wayne demonstrating the right stance for catching chickens, ducks and pigeons. It's not as easy or pleasant as you might imagine.
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And here is Gayle tackling a reluctant turkey. They were ALL reluctant in reality. Her grimace reflects the joy of being whipped in the eyes by sturdy feathers. Not being involved, of course, I found the whole process hilarious. Then Gayle let out a whoop of despair when one turkey hen escaped. When I said "Oh my, now how are you going to catch and cage her?" she replied "Uhm, actually that's one of the ones you own now" as we stood there and watched this hen take off like a road runner to parts unknown. When I suggested that the turkey-obsessed Brou be let loose to tire her out, Gayle noted that the wings on these birds had not been clipped and that we might be staring up at a turkey high in the treetops if he startled her. Really, what was I thinking in adopting inedible old turkeys in the first place?

After an hour of sprinting after a turkey adept at ducking and dodging, we herded her back towards the trailer and Wayne was able to corner the bugger and toss her back into the pen.
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Here is Wayne stuffing the first of the highly resistant turkeys into the cage on their trailer. You have to give W&G an 'A' for tenacity and eventually all their flying stock was captured and loaded up.
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You met Hannah already, now here is the rest of my turkey homies. This is Romeo (hey, I did NOT name these birds, okay?) . He is the Tom (male) of the pair of NM natives. This time Gayle reiterated their species name loudly and clearly as if addressing the profoundly deaf and daft - it was fitting and much appreciated. "THEY ... ARE ... RIO GRANDES!" And so this time, the info stuck.
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Here is a close-up of Romeo's plummage. A photo simply cannot do justice to the effect of the bright New Mexico sun reflecting off his feathers when he struts his stuff. I rather like that boy since he never fails to answer my "Booga-booga-booga!" when I walk out to the pen. And if the sun is out, it's likely that he will puff himself out as shown above and drum me an almost ELF ranged "shtooommmpphhhh!". A turkey hunter would know and love that sound well. He's a pretty cocky, cool bird.
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And here is the third bird. Again, don't blame me for the names ... meet Rita! She is the Rio Grande hen of the pair. She is the one who had us playing turkey round up when she escaped and the only one who ducks into the coop when I arrive with food. Rita definitely has a stubborn, defiant mind of her own.

According to W&G, I now need to find some good nesting straw and they will start laying eggs. While I really enjoyed the duck and chicken eggs that W&G shared with me before the bird exodus, I am tempted to raise enough native turkey hatchlings to release them out at the ranch some day. It's either that or (as I discussed with Harmonica Joe) raise and train turkeys as bird of prey substitutes just to utterly annoy elitist falconers. After being the only volunteer to ride in the back of a station wagon with the hooded falcon in Utah once, I became thoroughly enchanted with falconry. Being the frugal and pragmatic sort though, I think I might be able to replicate the same hunting function with a vaguely domesticated turkey, thus avoiding all that long apprenticeship and pricy licencsing ... whaddya think? I know, I know; they look more like a buzzard than a hawk but they sure can kick butt when motivated ... just ask Gayle. And it appeals to my growing eccentricity to ride the ranch someday on a Percheron, in a suit of armor with a faithful turkey of prey perched upon my gauntlet. If you are going to offend or annoy everyone eventually anyway, you might as well do it with an outrageous flare.
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The puppy update: Panda is definitely a deca-mom. You may not be able to account for all of them from this photo but there are ten little pups all piled on here. Panda has been doing an excellant job of taking care of them. That's a good thing since W&G have silently dropped below the radar since I sent them an e-mail announcing their arrival. That e-mail also contained a compilation of your many congrats and well wishes on Wayne's surgery and I am sure that they were very appreciated.
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And I discovered today that Panda is a shameless photo ham. Upon hearing her name, she presented me with new poses for every camera click until the batteries wore down.
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And to wrap up this photo tour, here is a snap of the wall that I stare at a lot when trying to write a new post. The student lamp, the wall clock and the pheasant all contain pleasant memories. The pheasant, in particular, has its own very special place in the memories that Terry and I shared. We called him Phred and no one can dampen or take the joy of that particular memory from me ... thank God, truly.
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