Really Now,

The new comment spam: Dropping a (possibly even applicable) comment on someone's blog, with the name of the commenter linking to some oddball shit.

I'm deleting all of them I find. My blog is not your ad space, most especially not for free. This is my space on the internet, go get your own you smarmy bastards.

I don't click through to see if it's a legit comment anymore. I right click and copy the link location, then paste it into an address bar or notepad to see where it points. Some of them at least must be getting paid by the click.

So, all you stealth spammers, go blow a goat in a thunderstorm with a lightning rod stuck up your ass, because I will not be providing you any more click throughs than I can help, you won't be making money on me.

(And now, to sit back and see how many of them comment on this....)

A Friend In Need

Miss Tam is... well, she's hard to describe in a properly colorful way, to be honest. The best descriptor I have for her is that she is Tam, because she is wonderfully unique.

She's also having some medical issues, with a very small income, which I can completely sympathize with.

I adore Tam, and look forward to her visits at Blogorado every year. She's one of the people that I always wish I'd gotten a chance to talk to more, but with Tam, it's a case of her talking to everyone because she is, and always will be, beloved and popular in our little group.

So, a friend of mine (though we rarely talk much between Blogorados, since she's notorious about returning non-gun-chat emails, it's ok Tam, I still like you) is staring down the barrel of not only facial surgery to remove a carcinoma, but the enormous medical bills that go along with it.

While I have absolute confidence that if she wanted to, Tam could snark that cancer right off her nose, bill collectors just seem to get more irritating and persistent when you snark at them, so her powers are useless there.

But you're not. Go hit her tip jar on the right sidebar on her blog. Any little bit that you can spare will help, and ease her mind a bit about the cost so that she can concentrate on getting better, because we all want her to get better, and continue being... well, Tam.

Keeping Up With The Pup

 Butcher has been growing by leaps and bounds, and eating everything in sight to do it. Not kidding, he's eating two to three times the food of the big dogs.

Anyway, he's also learning by leaps and bounds, as are we. Mostly learning where he's stubborn and just how much incentive he needs to do the right thing. He's a really good pup, he has a pair of good examples so he's learning a LOT of the house manners by osmosis. The big dogs do it x way so that's the way it's done kind of thing.

I also love that his reaction to new things and high stress situations is.... to sleep. He seems to go "ok holy shit what the fuck is this?.... it's not going away? ok fuck it I'll nap, maybe it'll be over when I wake up."

I was going through some pictures on my phone and found a couple that really demonstrate how much he's grown since we got him.

Here he is with one of my size six and a half shoes the day we got him:

And here he is with one of the same pair of shoes, today:

He's grown a bit. We still have no idea what he's going to wind up looking like, body wise. Some days he looks like a bulldog, some days he looks more like a schnauzer. His face is old school bulldog, and he's got the digestive system of a bulldog, if the tear gas that escapes from his ass to fog up the room is any indication.

But he's a pretty good pup, a quick learner, and a complete and utter love. I think we'll keep him.

Ugh

 NFO links to a contest being held in New Mexico, as an incentive for, I assume, population control on local coyotes, with the quaint suggestion that I could possibly win. I'm rusty enough that I doubt I'd make an impact and I can't call a coyote to save my ass anyway, but it's a nice thought.

Reading the comments, though, got me a little twitchy.

Some of the things mentioned were the concept of livestock as "slaves" to humanity, anyone who hunts being a "serial killer" and, one of my personal favorites in the hypocrisy challenge: got coyote problems? Don't kill them. Get dogs.

Let's talk about that last one first. I think protective herd dogs are awesome, I know people who use them, and they work like a charm for guarding your livestock. And your neighbor's. And the wheat field three miles down the road. And that patch of woods that everyone leaves alone cause it's nice to have a place for the wild things to be wild. See, most guard breeds don't just hang out in the middle of the herd waiting for trouble to come to them. The ones I'm most familiar with in this context is the Great Pyrenees, and I know for a fact that they patrol a beat, and depending on the dog and how intense their guard instinct is, that beat can be anywhere from one square mile to god only knows how far they go in a night.

And, folks, for anyone who might be confused about this point, guard dogs don't always just scare off coyotes by pooing in their claimed territory and just being there. Sometimes, the coyotes look at the guard dog or dogs, and think "We can take them" and try anyway. Know what happens then? Either the coyotes kill the dog, or the dog kills the coyotes. And, let me be clear here, getting killed in a dogfight is not pretty. Most of the time, in a dog fight, there's a lot of scuffling and biting and ripping until one party loses enough blood that they just can't be quick enough to stop the other. With a few exceptions in breeds specifically bred to bite and hold on, the strategy of a dog in a fight is to cause damage and get the hell out. So, yeah, coyote in a guard dog's territory pretty much equals someone is going to get torn up. Also, I've met Pyrenees that would track coyote packs. If they got close enough to the Pyrenees's territory that he could smell them, he would go find them, and kick the shit out of them.

Let's presume for the sake of argument that a coyote and a Pyrenees scuffle, but the coyote realizes the error of his ways and gets the hell out of dodge, and the Pyrenees doesn't track him down to finish the job.  Now you've got a coyote that undoubtedly has open wounds, at the very least puncture wounds. You know what kind of wound is most likely to infect and abscess, even in domestic animals that get direct care? That's right, puncture wounds.

So your precious coyote that you're trying to protect from the cruel and inhumane death of a bullet (which, yes, you can get a bad shot, but a good hunter finishes the job as soon as they can, and most who try for coyotes can get a shot that will kill within a couple of minutes at most) is now dealing with massive infection, will be feverish, achy, and miserable for days, or weeks, or months. Just the right level of sick, which happens fairly frequently, thanks to the amount of effort the body puts into fighting infection, and your noble coyote dies, not of infection, but of starvation, as it's body eats itself up trying to fight the infection, and the coyote is too sick to go find food.

I can hear the din now, "but the pack will take care of it!" No, they won't. Social animals are amazing, but in the animal kingdom shit gets real in a hurry. If a pack of coyotes assesses that a member is more of a drain than a benefit, best case, they'll leave it behind. Worst case, they'll kill the draining member themselves, and depending on exactly how much food is available at that particular time, they might just eat them.

To a certain extent a pack might bring food to a sick member. It's more likely when the pack has pups, and they're feeding the pups anyway. But there comes a point when the rest of the pack assesses Uncle Sicky and figures out that he's just more work than he's worth.

Donkeys and llamas were mentioned too. Do you have any idea what a coyote that has pissed off a donkey looks like afterwards? A red, gooey smear. Pretty much the same with llamas. So again, you're trading death from a bullet for a more labor intensive and excruciating death, this time being bludgeoned to death with blunt objects. Well done.

So, now let's look at the serial killer thing. I've killed animals. I get a sense of achievement from hunting, be it prairie dogs or dinner. If what I kill isn't a snake too close to my livestock that refuses to be shooed off, a coyote behaving the same way, or a prairie dog, chances are good that I'm planning on eating it. I don't like buying meat, first off because store-bought meat sucks, and secondly because it's farking expensive.

Anyway, yes, it feels good to me to be skilled at what I'm doing, but you know where most of the sense of achievement comes from? A good, clean kill. And if anyone wants to whine about the poor prairie dog, here's something to balance the scales: the raptors know when you're shooting p-dogs. They hang out and wait for one to drop outside the hole, then come have lunch. So it's the cycle of life, just with a little help.

I don't think I'm a serial killer, for all I enjoy hunting on a certain level. Everything I kill is either for food, or refuses to cooperate with my preferred method of live and let live. Hell, I even give poisonous snakes basking at the base of a fencepost in a corral where my horses will be tempted to stick their noses under the fence to get that juicy weed a chance to move on. Generally, I'll have a long stick in one hand and a gun in the other. I'll hit the ground and make lots of noise as I walk up, and if they don't move, I'll poke em a bit with the stick, with the ultimate goal being to make it uncomfortable enough for them right there that they decide to leave and enjoy being a snake elsewhere. If they do, no harm no foul. If they don't, they've made a bad choice and end up feeding whatever scavenger notices them first.

But if you think I'm a serial killer, oh well. I don't spend any time trying to convince vegetarians to eat meat, I consider that a personal choice. They don't give me the same respect, but then, they also don't give much respect to the animals they claim to want to protect, either. Frankly, they don't have a clue what would happen if humans stopped having a reason to care for domestic animals. Oh, and that cute domestic pig you think you want to save? Let it go feral and you get a huge jump in aggression, to the point that they will attack people who stumble across them in nature. I don't say this as a call to kill all wild pigs, or even in support of raising domestic pigs. I like bacon, whether it's been pampered and fed or not. But, there are consequences to every action, and if you want to advocate for something, you need to be aware of the consequences.

Do some honest research on the horse slaughter ban, and what happened to unwanted horses during that time, whether they were lamed or bought because horses were cheaper than a purebred dog before the new owner discovered that buying the horse is the easy part, feeding and caring for them is the hard part. Anyone who has read any part of my blog knows that I love my horses, probably beyond sense, and I was against the slaughter ban. That, my friends, should be a clue to how horrible the consequences were.

For the last point that was brought up by commenters on the article about the contest, I'll point again to the rest of my blog. Particularly the posts concerning my favorite part of having horses being when they come up to me to get attention in the pasture, just to be together. Also, the posts about fighting all night to save a calf that's mother has given up on it for whatever reason.

Clearly, I'm an awful animal hating person, because I ride horses and raise livestock, and think that a contest to win a couple of AR's is a good way to incentivise population control on a nuisance species that will literally breed until the food supply runs out. Coyotes have their place in the ecosystem, but they're opportunistic little buggers that will exploit every food source they can, including your garbage, your dog, or yourself, if they think they can pull it off. In certain places, they could literally eat every other scavenger and predator out of food if the population is allowed to explode.

So, go ahead, call me whatever you want, but I'm willing to bet I understand the consequences and effects on the ecosystem of my shooting a few rabbits for the pot, or failing to shoot a few coyotes for population control, far better than you understand the consequences and effects of any of your hair brained plans for fixing the world.

That's why we have brush piles on the ranch, leave ditches and fence rows weedy for cover, maintain scrubby areas as unused space. That's why we have rabbits to watch, quail in the back yard, doves in our trees.

And that's why I'm going to keep on living the way I do.

Blogorado

Was awesome, and tiring, as usual.

The weather screwed us a little on Saturday, with a fairly normal for October but unusual for Blogorado weekend day of cold and spitting mist. So instead of going to the range most everyone voted to stay in town and bs.

And unclog the kitchen sink, which decided to stop draining completely right about the time mom was going to clean up the roasters to start the pot roasts... she did them in the oven instead, but it was fairly imperative that we fix it anyway. DM had taken the FarmTruck out with a trailer full of steel to set up the range and we had to call him back because all of FarmDad's tools were in the truck. 

A few of the guys did brave the cold and wet to go out and do some set up on the range that hadn't gotten done yet, and holy cow kudos to them. They also hauled in a bunch of firewood (read: Cedar posts that have been stacked and unused for many years) for the fire pit, so the people standing around outside for whatever crack headed reason could have some warmth.

Sunday we got the range day, and everyone had a blast. Old family friends showed up as well and brought their toys, and as usual there was a bit of a crowd when AD got over to the shotgun line, as he gave a quick instructional and helped some of the newer shotgunners break some clays.

Sunday night was another of BSing and drinking, with the usual storytelling and laughter that comes along with. Sadly, Monday morning people started leaving in numbers, but those who remained made one more range trip, then went to plink some prairie dogs. I went with AD and mostly watched as he shot mom's Tikka and giggled, my little 22mag is a lovely rifle and I adore it, but I just flat ass don't have the ass to reach out there much past 100 yards with iron sights, so the majority of the shots were just too far out there for me.

Christina, Sci-Fi, Mrs Sci-Fi, Holly, and JPG were huge helps in cleaning up, and we got it done in a quarter of the time it would have taken me and Farmmom alone, much less Farmmom alone if I hadn't been able to stay and help.

Got the chance to watch AD do his thing this weekend, too, since he'd agreed to give a talk to our volunteer EMS guys. It was worth going. I didn't understand a lot of it, but it was still interesting, and the parts I did understand will enable me to know in the future if the person I'm looking at in the aftermath of this accident needs medical attention right now. It may enable me to give information to the first responders (um, guys? This one is in really bad shape, I know that guy is all grody lookin but uh, can someone come over here for a minute?) that could help save someone's life. Regardless, I learned a lot. Granted most of it I'll never use, but it's still knowledge, and all knowledge is worth having.

I had a blast and talked myself half hoarse, which is ironic considering what I do for a living these days. Thank all of you for coming, and especially thank Farmmom and Farmdad for the work they put in this year. I wasn't able to go across and help much, but they busted their butts to ensure everyone had a dry place out of the wind to sit down in town, and food to eat while they were there. All credit goes to them, this year, and I mean that.

Rules 2 and 4

Don't just apply to guns.

Yesterday, I was removing a tag from a new collar for Butcher, with one of those evil zip-tie attachments that it is impossible to break and equally impossible to get scissors under unless they deliberately leave you room.

So, of course I had out my handy-dandy Kershaw (which, by the way, is sharp as hell, and thus able to cut through the hard plastic without sawing at it, which is why I was using it.)

Knowing, as I do, that knives are sharp and will cut you, I did not, in fact, have the knife laid across my hand applying downward pressure. I had the tip against the edge of the plastic, sharp side away from my body, applying pressure down and away.

My mistake came in after I'd gotten a bit of a cut in the plastic and had to re-arrange my left hand for leverage, as the damn tag was attached to the ring on the collar, and sliding back and forth.

I got my leverage, and continued with steady pressure, rocking the knife around so that when it broke through the blade would hit the metal of the ring and the back side of the plastic.

Except it cut through sooner than I was ready for. And the blade, not being in the position I wanted it in, skidded off the metal and into the index finger of my left hand.

Have I mentioned that knife is sharp enough to perform an autopsy?

 This was taken after I'd applied pressure for long enough to stop the bleeding (or, at least to stick the subcutaneous fat together in such a way that it didn't bleed as much) but I know the knife stopped when it hit bone.

Once I'd gotten the bleeding stopped (and oh it bled like a stuck pig, that picture was after I'd used a damp paper towel to clean up the surrounding area so that I could tell where all I was actually cut, because I couldn't see and there was enough blood I was sure I had to have caught myself somewhere else) I sat for a few minutes and contemplated the injury and the first aid tools we had on hand. I also ransacked my (somewhat hazy thanks to adrenaline, endorphins, and sheer panic cause for a while there I didn't know if I was going to be able to stop the bleeding) medical knowledge, put laceration + gaping open + needs closed together and came up with Butterfly Closures! I was fairly certain we had some so I dug out the first aid kit where everything more exotic than gauze pads and bandaids lives, and went into the bathroom, where a lightbulb hit and I realized that I had friends with real life medical knowledge.

Not here, of course, but technology is wonderful. I snapped that picture above and shipped it off to AD with the question "can I stick a couple butterfly closures on this and go or do you have a better plan?" I was, of course, hoping he wouldn't say "Stitches" but that is what he came back with, and the grudging alternative that I could theoretically superglue it shut and immobilize the finger.

We have finger splints! I got all ready to do so when it hit me that the superglue bit was really more of an addendum as if he figured I'd think of it for myself anyway.

"Do I really need stitches or will the superglue actually work? I'll go get stitches if I actually need them."

"You really need stitches. I know you, you're not going to be able to keep that finger immobile enough to keep it from breaking open."

And so I sighed and went to the ER.

After meeting the nursing student who took my vitals, the doctor came in and took a look at it, said "Yep we can stitch that up in a jiffy. Unfortunately where it's at, we may not be able to numb it completely." I sighed and said "Well shit."

As soon as the Doc left the room I pulled out my phone and texted AD. "Damn you, doc just said he can't numb it completely!"

To which he answered "Why can't he do a nerve block?"

This I passed along to the Doc, to whom I had already explained that I probably would have taken care of it myself at home if my paramedic friend hadn't threatened to beat me with sticks if I didn't come get stitches. I got a dirty look, which I replied to by holding out the phone and asking the doc if he'd like to talk to AD about it, I was just along for the ride here. 

"I could do a nerve block, but where that cut is we'd have to stick needles into the palm of your hand to block all of those nerves in order for it to work."

"Hey, I was just passing the question along."

"If he wants me to do that to you, tell him he's welcome to come down and I'll do him at the same time, cause that's just mean."

"He's in Louisiana."

"Tell him it's too proximal for a digital block." The doc then stalked off to get the lidocaine to numb my finger.

AD replied with "Yeah I figured. It's right by where they'd inject for that." Gee, thanks mister wizard, I didn't understand the word "proximal."

Back the doc comes with the lido, me having been re arranged on the bed for best angle, and hits about six spots with the needle, while I do my best warrior stoic routine and remind myself that yes this sucks but it'll feel better in a moment. While this was going on and afterwards I heard a lot about what a "trooper" I am, most big men get all whiny and squirmy when the lido is injected.

"Well, I knew it was going to burn, and squirming and whining would just make it take longer, so why bother?"

Once the lido kicked in they sent in a very nice young lady to wash it out with some gauze and magic soap that dissolved the clotting I'd been able to produce and made it bleed. Again. To which I responded "dangit, I'd just gotten that to stop bleeding."

She looked at me funny.

Then back in came the doc with the suture kit, got himself all set up, and my little nursing student came in to watch. And apparently to distract me so that I didn't freak out about the stitches. Unnecessary, since I'd looked at the mess around my hand, and the needle, pondered it a moment, and decided for myself that I didn't really need to watch.

I'm not squeamish, needles don't bother me, but for some reason, I get grossed out by my own blood being drawn, and a moment of contemplation told me that watching myself get stitched up wasn't likely to be any better. It doesn't bother me a bit to have my blood drawn, or apparently to get stitches, I just don't want to watch.

So we chatted about our dogs, and the Doc got all ready to go, I wasn't looking when he took the first stitch but I felt it. See, he'd chosen the one small spot of skin where it hadn't been numbed to take his first stitch. The skin hadn't, everything underneath was, so I felt the needle stick, then everything else was tugging. Weird.

I guess I tensed, since the Doc paused and asked "You felt that one, huh?"

"Just the skin," I told him. "Everything else is numb, which was odd as hell."

"Ok, let me know if we find anywhere else that isn't numb."

And off he went putting the stitches in. A bit later, I felt a pinch on my middle finger.

"That's the other finger, Doc. I felt that one."

He'd been reaching for the end of the suture to tie a knot, and it happened to be up against my middle finger, and he pinched me with his forceps. No biggie but the nursing student started giggling.

She got called away for more valuable learning opportunities, and I looked over at my hand as the doc was tying off the third stitch. Might as well get a picture, I thought.

I pulled out my phone and the doc paused a moment to let me get a shot as I explained that I planned on doing a blog post about being dumb with knives.

"Oh, well, yeah, get it now then, once I'm done we'll clean it off again and it won't look so gory."

"I got one right after it happened, too, once I got the bleeding stopped. That's what I sent to my paramedic friend that made him tell me to come in and get stitched."

 And the finished job:

It hurts like a bitch, by the way, and I'm discovering just how intertwined the muscles in the hand are, every movement of my hand seems to pull on something right there, except maybe for wiggling my pinky finger. It's taken me a couple of hours to put this post together, because I'm typing with three fingers on my left hand and having to pause now and then while I look at the gauze and vet wrap (awesome stuff) bandage around the base of my finger (covered and antibiotic ointment for three days, doctor's orders) like it jumped up and bit me cause that motion shouldn't have hurt that spot that bad.

So, folks, remember, the Rules are applicable with things other than guns. Like really sharp little knives that I'd like to throw out the window, but... hell, the damn thing cut me so fast and clean it didn't even get bled on.

Food, Food Everywhere

Its that time of year again.  Time to make some preparations for Blogorado!!

Last year was a little tough to get anything done ahead of time and it really cut into my time at the range.  This year I decided to make as much ahead of time as absolutely possible.

We started out yesterday and ran the pork through the smoker.  Then this morning I started in cleaning it and pulling it.

That right there folks is 22 LBS of pulled pork!  

The fabulous Phlegmmy is bringing a couple of Beef briskets to cook for us and let me tell you folks that woman can cook a brisket!

Scifi and Mrs. Scifi are planning on bringing some wonderful seafood from out east and we will all be in a food coma by Friday night.

Good thing the guys will be out setting the range up on Friday.  I don't think we would be able to pry them out of their chairs to do any work after dinner.

We also put 20 LBS of chicken leg quarters in the smoker.

Plans are for the chicken and some Brats for another meal.  Then of course there will be the Pot 

Roast because it is easy to put on in the morning and it is ready when we get in from the range.

I think I am on schedule for having most of the food ready to go so I can just throw it in the oven and warm it up so I can enjoy all the shooty goodness more this year.

I refuse to miss the tannerite this time!

 

 

We have several special things planned and I'm hoping to make this year another success.  Of course what makes it special is the folks that attend.  I love my Tribe and I miss them terribly between visits.  The change of venue has me a bit nervous but I'm hoping it works out for everyone.

The countdown is on.