The Impromptu Sunday Hike

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I know ... another post without any news of the possible move to 'up top'. We are still in that irritating phase of dragging through the mire of appointments with those who have more influence on our future here than we do on 'our' bought and paid for piece of the dream. To say that this process is frustrating and disheartening is pure understatement so please bear with us. We are hoping for a satisfying conclusion and will pass it along as soon as (and IF) we get some tangible reassurances from those parties. In the meantime, let's blow off some pent-up steam and go for an impromptu Sunday hike.
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Brou and Daisy were keeping up their vigil from the front porch but obviously waiting for some spark of new adventure. I was in that same stage of restlessness after the events of last week. Mark set down his newspaper and we headed down the road in the Dodge, Brou in the bed and Daisy following as usual since she still refuses to jump into the truck for any reason. He dropped us off at our hike site, Daisy caught up and he continued on to the main canyon to pick up his fresh newspapers in the mailbox. The dogs and I headed into our hike zone after he departed but not before some wild attempts by the dogs at following him.

My wild hair objective was to find Mr. Greer again. Well, not exactly Mr. Greer himself (unless this was a burial marker) but the rock carving he left probably a hundred years ago in a most unlikely and secluded cleft in the massive stone boulders that rest tumbled and haphazard at the foot of these mesa walls. That is the most tormenting characteristic of these canyon lands; that you may find a fascinating feature one day and never, ever find it again. It is this tantalizing and maddening aspect which has driven treasure hunters to complete obsession in the past. This will be the second attempt to find Mr. Greer's immortal inscription so let's see what we can find today.
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Even if we don't find Mr. Greer today, the hike through the monster rocks will be worth every single foot fall. It is our own private sculpture park tour, free from any elbowing spectators and the sole featured artists are Mother Nature and Time. How did they ever accomplish these works? So many, all so unique.
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Here is a natural sculpture which I see as the kindly mountain lion and the house cat. You may see something entirely different - what do you see here?
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We continue on, the two dogs frenetically lacing their paths across ours, covering ten paces for every one of ours. I am already tiring from watching their activities rather than from my own by now but they stop long enough to focus on a new find of 'ours'. When viewed dead on, these boulders offer a four foot wide shelter between themselves but this photo was taken as approaching from the side.
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One thing that I have noticed is that you start readily noticing the difference between what is natural and what is an anomaly amid nature's usual themes. There is something odd about the four impressions well above human head height in the rock on the right. They are not the round impressions worn by water and time but more like brutal impacts from human endeavor. The top of the rock on the left would line up perfectly with these divots as though someone had planned to place four pine logs across the opening and notching them in to the rock on the right to support a sheltering roof over the gap. What do you think? Spanish sheep herders, Anasazi, Pueblo, Navajo perhaps? So many questions, so little expertise but the questions are thoroughly titillating and satisfying enough for one day's adventure.

Okay, so we didn't find Mr. Greer this time either but there will be more fine days and excuses down the road to look for him again. Tomorrow ... or maybe the tomorrow after that one, or that one. Mañana ... it's as good as a life can get.
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Moi?!

.Here is a photo of Daisy, an impromptu rescue dog who helps run off some of Brou's limitless energy supply. Isn't she just the sweetest thing, lying there innocently with her paws crossed in such a lady-like manner? That dog might just be the death of me however.

She came home with Mark one day last summer after one of the vet's staff e-mailed us a charming, irresistible photo. This dog had spent it's life confined to a small backyard run with no visible signs of interest or affection from the family. The staffer had seen the lollipop symbols on our foreheads and the lavish concern we had expressed for Brou and made her move. Yep, the sucker assessment was spot on. But, like all dogs with that sort of unsocialized history, she came to us 'with issues'. Some bloody irritating ones, in fact, for someone as old fartish and jaded as I.

She will NOT ride in a truck. If you do get hold of her (fat chance) and place her in a truck, you will be cleaning up anxiety barf for the next week. BUT! She loves to follow them down the road, absolutely deaf to your calls to return. Here in heavy coyote pack country, having a dog wander away from camp is not a good idea. We have heard stories from Slim and the locals about how the coyotes will send in one member to play 'come hither, come play with me' to lure a dog away deep into the sage. The rest of the pack will be waiting over the next rise to tear them up. They don't call coyotes wily for nothing. We both like coyotes and don't want to lose that appreciation with a grisly loss of one of our own canines. Our charming neighbor shoots them on sight. Slim, however, shares our view that they are more of a natural eco-balancing benefit in the long run and leaves them alone.

Well, Slim stopped by with his usual truckload of cattle dogs on Tuesday morning to pick up some papers. When he left, I remembered that Daisy was outside and more than likely inclined to chase him all the way out to the main road since he always drives at a relaxed loping pace. Amazingly, she returned to my call long enough that I got hold of her collar and Slim headed down the road. But with her attention still riveted on Slim's truck, I knew that I had to bring her inside for the next twenty minutes. Her freedom any time sooner would have her sniffing the tire tracks like a bloodhound and taking off after it.

I was bent over at a right angle with my hand on her collar and she walked back with me until we reached the steps to the Rat. Social-working didn't do any good so I finally gave a tug on her collar. Without warning, she sprang up the stairs with me still hunched over but barely keeping my footing. Despite this impressive inertia suddenly sprung into action, she decided to cross in front of me and stop dead. I knew there was a severe owie moment heading my way.

Down I went. From Daisy's scale and perspective, she was seeing Babe the Blue Ox felled and heading her way and wisely leaped two foot forward - the limit imposed by my hand still stuck around her collar. My knees hit the deck so hard that I thought I might crash right through the 2x4s. Remember, this is all now happening at the speed of light or at least at the speed of terminal velocity. She had yanked my arm to the left across my chest and I landed on top of her; my right bosom, my right arm and her cement head doing a severe compression into the deck. I will not ask you to guess what gave in that process.

I rarely cry any more but this moment seemed most warranted. My hand was still snagged in Daisy's collar with everything in between there and my shoulder now twisted into Exorcist quality angles and my vision dissolved into an alternative universe of gray with flashing red and yellow supernovas of pain, undoubtedly coming from the discum-BOOB-eration which I had just experienced - forget the knees! My screeches of agony finally brought Mark to the window of the Rat and he asked what he might do to help. "G ... get th ... this ... d-a-w-g inside, pleeeeeeeze??!!!"

I eventually followed behind them and collapsed into my wing chair, still emitting occasional moans and shrieks from the pain leaping out from the right side of my chest. Timing, as always, decided that my brother should make his annual phone call. "Hey, so how's it going?" I stared off at the ceiling for a moment, still bridled with some mild residue of decorum but, between gasps, finally replied "I just found out what it is like for a gentleman to receive a groin kick to the family jewels."

I was concerned that I had cracked a rib but realized that a special trip into town would not be physically pleasant and could only confirm a cracked rib for which there is no suitable treatment anyway but certainly create a pricey, uninsured medical bill. So far, so good ... the pain is finally letting up to a reasonable degree. Oh Daisy ... I don't know if I can handle a few more of those incidents from dogs with issues. But it did seem in keeping with the traditional stream of holiday events.
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Humor of the day: (from FatHairy)
After Buck's quick reply comment, I just had to add this one. It's is only marginally off-color but exemplifies one universal area in which you can expect most men's full empathy:

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The pastor asked if anyone in the congregation would like to express praise for answered prayers.

A lady stood and walked to the podium. "I have a praise for our Lord. Two months ago my husband, Jim, had a terrible bicycle wreck and his scrotum was completely crushed. The pain was excruciating and the doctors didn't know if they could help him."

You could hear an audible gasp from the men in the congregation as they imagined the pain that poor Jim experienced. She continued, "Jim was unable to hold me or the children and every move caused him terrible pain. We prayed as the doctors performed a delicate operation. They were able to piece together the crushed remnants of Jim's scrotum and wrap wire around it to hold it in place."

Again, the men in the congregation squirmed uncomfortably as they imagined the horrible surgery performed on Jim.

She continued, "Now, Jim is out of the hospital and the doctor's say, with time, his scrotum should recover completely."

All the men sighed with relief. The pastor rose and tentatively asked if any one else had anything to say. In the dead silence you could hear only footsteps as a man rose and walked to the podium.

He said, "I'm Jim and I want to tell my wife, ONCE AGAIN, the word is sternum, STER-NUM!"
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First Snow - We Got It All Right

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We had plenty of advanced warning all right. Red e-mailed and asked us what we thought of the snow storm warning - ??? Well, it hit. Prior to this morning, we had one odd afternoon several weeks ago where snowflakes fell lightly in a half-hearted manner and died before hitting the ground.

Last night brought the first of this year's real snow, followed by many low and long murmurs of rolling thunder. We are still not used to snow being chaperoned by thunder but it seems common place out here. I was already in bed and counted patiently to 50 last night before the first long growl of rolling thunder ceased.
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This morning, we awoke to the scene above, well not quite. We awoke to a pristine mantle of snow but by the time I got the camera out fifteen minutes later, Brou and Daisy had already embossed the landscape irrevocably once they remembered that this white stuff was delightful. Daisy was the least inclined to try it and this probably hearkened back to her previous life of solo confinement outside. When Mark tried to get her to join Brou, she politely declined, turned tail immediately and went back to her bed. After some coaxing, she finally discovered the joys of running free in the snow with Brou and cavorting in their usual summer-long manner. It feels wonderful to see her slowly shedding some of her over-shadowing memories.
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The above photo was taken around lunch time. The clouds had become sparse and a generous amount of clear blue sky was reigning above them but the clouds were moving in noticeably fast fashion - you didn't have to find a fixed point and wait patiently to discern which direction they were moving today.
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Barely ten minutes later, I snapped this photo. Any hint of the blue sky had disappeared. The far juts of mesas were rapidly disappearing and the snow began to fall lavishly once more. Nature was not done with her venting by any means. By the time it was all done, we had picked up about four inches of snow.
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About an hour later, I took this photo. Sporadic patches of blue skies had returned and we sensed that the heaviest assault had passed. The temperatures climbed a little, enough for the accumulated snow to start melting and running off the roof of the Rat in a frequent and steady "tap, tap, tap". Not a single vehicle passed by to disturb the wide, white band of snow which had been the road just yesterday. This whiteness without blemish and the silence was a heady elixir of pure peacefulness.

Tonight it's going to be a few tasty chicken club sandwiches on broiler-toasted French bread with real live French fries after my Thanksgiving folly. That's the thing about living out here without the never-ending onslaught of media hype; I thought that TG was still at least a week or more away and didn't put a turkey down on last week's shopping list. We certainly had stuffing out the wazoo though. If you are going to live this far out and have so few supply runs, you need to plan efficiently for them. Well, we are obviously still working on that aspect. Don't want to hear any smug snickering either - try a supply run only twice a month with absolutely NO little cheat stops at the local quick mart - I would dare you to try it in fact. It might tell you things about yourself that you didn't know or care to acknowledge.
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