Walter F. Pratt Picnic Area - Part 2

The dogs and I were hiking along the reservoir in the Walter Pratt picnic area (see also Part 1, posted yesterday):

We came to the peninsula and the dogs ran to the top of the ridge, apparently smelling something interesting:

I stayed down by the water and gave the pooches a call to join me:

We got to the end of the peninsula, a favorite spot out in the middle of the water:

From there I saw a small flock of what appeared to be Bufflehead Ducks who hurriedly moved away from us, out towards the ice:


We all walked up to the crest of the peninsula, another fine place for a scenic photo:

And apparently also a fine place for interesting smells:

Fergus and Seamus stayed close to me while Clover and Daphne explored the water's edge. Jack, as usual, was busy running full speed in giant circles:

White Pine cones and needles, with clumps of green moss. After our long and difficult winter, it sure was a joy to see the color green:

And speaking of joy, take a look at happy Seamus as he frolicked beneath the trees:

But we were almost back to where I'd parked the car, which involved more time walking among these venerable old White Pines:

All the dogs stopped for a quick sniff and a couple more pees, and then I declared our walk at an end:

Walter F. Pratt Picnic Area - Part 1

Finally, after the longest winter I can remember living through, we had a warm, sunny day - and the promise that it would continue and turn into springtime. I took the dogs to the nearby Walter Pratt Picnic Area, a favorite place for quick and scenic walks:

There was still ice on the reservoir, but no snow on the ground, so we started off by walking toward the dam. The dogs were as excited as usual, and I tried to keep them reined in by blowing on my silent dog whistle. To my surprise, it worked pretty well:

 The pooches are particularly fond of the picnic tables and fire pits, places they always hope to find food scraps. I am happy to report, however, that they seldom find anything:


 We rounded the corner and began walking to the top of the earthen dam:

Fergus ran down to the water's edge by the cattails, but Seamus and Daphne excitedly ran to the top of the dam. Clover was all the way ahead of us, up near that gate with the yellow bar. Jack, as usual, was running in giant circles. Notice how skinny Seamus looks. That's partly because he had a haircut, but also because he lost a lot of weight. I've now increased his food lest he get too thin. He's in fine shape right now, as evidenced by his lively gait and happily flopping ears:


I stopped to admire the scenery, one of the nicest things about this spot. That peninsula which juts out into the water from the left is another favorite spot, and I knew we'd be heading there shortly:

We started toward the spillway:

And then I thought how we'd been that way many times before. So I walked down the opposite side of the dam into the woods. Seamus, however, stayed up at the crest:

I briefly examined the forest below the dam and then we headed back up to join with Seamus. The cool thing about dogs is that they are beside themselves with joy to be going in any direction. For them, the joy is in the journey. Oh, that I should be so wise:

They stopped often to pee and to sniff what I call the Doggie Newspaper:

My sniffer doesn't work as well, but I did stop to examine the lichens, mosses and single pine seedling at the base of an old White Pine:


We headed off through the forest toward the peninsula which you saw in one of the above photos. I'll post Part 2 tomorrow:

The Red Poll Ladies (and one boy)

I'm almost afraid to say that spring is here lest winter return as it did recently with a weekend surprise ice storm, complete with high winds, snow and miserably cold temperatures. But we are all feeling some relief now, hoping that winter is over:

 It appears that I will have hay left over. It would be best to have figured it perfectly, but better too much than too little. I can feed out what is left next fall:

 Rocket is growing rapidly and becoming more handsome by the day:

 And he still likes to run and play:

 I keep a selenium/mineral/salt block and granulated minerals on hand at all times, though there isn't much I can do when snow covers them. I couldn't even find them once this past winter:

 We've passed the time when the cows could begin calving, pregnant by the neighbor's bull last summer. Gracie looks pregnant, but she's so fat that it's hard to tell:

 Rocket has become sort of friendly, but only once has he come this close:

 I thought he was dead one day as I walked up to him, calling him and trying to rouse him. Finally, I touched his leg - and he burst up in a panic and ran away:

 After a particularly difficult winter, the cows are feeling happy and comfortable. I hope I will soon be posting new calf photos, but nothing yet:

 Gracie and Amy squinted against a brilliant sun. I imagine they were feeling good just then:

 Scarlett and Rocket, mother and son, vied for a bowl of grain. Mom won:

 Rocket had a face full of milk. He's a sloppy, ravenous eater:

Around The Farm

I took this photo on a day when Remy insisted on grazing where the snow had melted, even though there was nothing much in the way of grass to eat. He also ran and played, rejoicing in the spring weather:

 The little bantam hens still can't go outside because of our ravenous fox population:

 But they know it is springtime and are laying eggs again. I've been hard boiling the eggs and feeding them to the dogs as treats:

 The Barred Rock bantams are getting kind of old to be layers now, which is a blessing because I am feeling buried in eggs now as it is:

 Violet and Rocket, the biggest and smallest Red Polls:

 The fantail pigeons have been nesting for months now but so far, no eggs have hatched:

 Even though they never run out of food or water, they flock to the feeders when I top them off. I suppose it's a case of "hope springs eternal." Maybe some day, they hope, he'll bring us champagne and caviar:

 They have their own pigeon society, complete with rivalries, squabbles, boredom and love affairs:

 Georgette has moved from the kitchen table to a small stand nearby. Daisy has made a few peaceful gestures and Georgette has shown some courage, strolling boldly across the floor as her former tormentors watch. As for me, I am glad to see signs of peaceful coexistence:

 I saw these tracks outside my barn after our last (I hope) snowstorm. I checked them out and decided they were raccoon tracks. I'd never know of all the wildlife which crosses my property at night if it weren't for the tracks in the snow:

 This scene looked to me as if Violet and Amy were whispering derogatory quips about Remy as they watched from behind:

 I found this photo in my camera a couple of days after Bramble was put to sleep. It was his last morning, and he was next to Clover on the big floor pillow. You can see how his spine was protruding. You can't see his belly, but it had bloated. The vet said his kidneys and heart were failing. This photo was a nice, albeit bittersweet, surprise:

Another Sad Pet Farewell

In 2005, I was living near Albany NY and actively volunteering at the local animal shelter. One day, toward the end of the summer, a litter of black and white kittens came in. They were all cute and friendly except for one who was gray and white. Another volunteer, a cat specialist, said to me that the gray and white kitten was unfriendly, unhealthy and would likely never get a home. She suggested that I adopt him, and I did:

I brought him home and named him Bramble. He was playful and happy, if not affectionate:

 I also fostered many dogs and cats. Bramble never much took to people, but he loved all other animals, and I have lots of pictures of him with various foster dogs. This was Bramble and Wally, who I eventually adopted also. Wally died in 2013, just before I retired:

 Bramble may not have been affectionate, but he sure was cute. I began submitting photos of him to the website, Kitten War! He did well, winning many of their cuteness contests:

Bramble never met a dog or cat he didn't like. Here he is in the middle bed of a cat tree in our old home, along with Snoozey (bottom) and Draco (top), both of whom moved with us up to the farm but have since passed away:

 Jump ahead to 2018 and Bramble was showing signs of aging. He had mellowed, and he began to enjoy human contact:

 But mostly, Bramble continued to like the dogs and cats he lived with:

 Unlike the old days, I never had to go looking for Bramble. He could nearly always be found in the kitchen corner or in his own personal bed atop a bureau in the living room:

 As time went on, Bramble forsook his personal dog bed and began sleeping on the chair by my computer. After awhile, he stopped sleeping there and spent all his time in the kitchen corner:

 Bramble continued slowing down. His spine began to protrude and his belly began to swell:

 He didn't seem uncomfortable, but I knew he was approaching the end of his life, so I let him be but kept a close watch on him. I began giving him canned cat food, a treat he loved:

 This was the last photo of Bramble I took. When it came time to bring him to the vet, I was told that his heart and kidneys were failing. So the vet quietly put him to sleep. I buried him outside, beneath where the hay bales had sat all winter. The ground was thawed and easy to dig there. The trouble with loving animals is that their lives are so much shorter than ours. Nevertheless, what would existence be without them?