I Figured It Out

Finally, while watching the dogs wander and stare mournfully at me in the tub, I figured out what their problem is.

They're not fascinated. They're worried.

It's so obvious to me now that the dogs are terrified that I'll slip under the water and drown and thus be unable to feed them and pet them and tug on their ears.

I realized this when FarmDog would go from staring mournfully at me to diligently investigating every corner of the bathroom, obviously looking for something edible in case of my demise.

Also, it says something about me (probably something very sad) that I got the most amusement I've gotten in a long while out of watching her when she got a little fluttery bit of toilet paper stuck to her inquisitive nose.

It stuck to her wet nose, she sneezed, it stayed stuck, she shook her head, it stayed stuck, she crossed her eyes at it (I am not kidding) it stayed stuck.

Finally she resorted to snapping at it. Yes. Picture it. It's stuck to her nose and she's snapping at it. Lunging forward trying to catch it unawares.

I almost did slip under the water and drown laughing, watching this. Fortunately Fuzzy Pup wandered in at this point and she wiped it on him like a true sibling does with anything that comes from one's nose.

Then she looked at me like I was a horrible person because I was still chortling and snorting and holding my sides and went to lay just outside the bathroom door, while Fuzzy Pup took up the vigil to make sure that I didn't do something stupid and kill myself in the tub and cut off their supply of treats.

Randomness

Why is it, when you're running a bath, you can stand in the bathroom for thirty minutes doing this and that in pre-bathing preparations and at the end of it, three inches of water are in the bottom of the tub, but step out of the bathroom for 2.5 seconds and suddenly the tub is three drops away from overflowing?

While I'm on the subject what is it about a bath rather than a shower that fascinates animals so? I can shower all day and the dogs care less. Run a bath, and since I'm not pitching their furry butts into it, they're absolutely fascinated and want to stand at the edge of the tub and stare like I'm pulling doggy treats from thin air.

Also... chapter eight is in the works people. As soon as I satisfy my inner diva with a long languid bath and humming sappy country songs to myself while I shave my legs, I'll get back to work on those pesky last few pages and get it up. Tonight, it will be up tonight. Tomorrow at the latest. Unless something horrific happens.

I'm putting up a sign that says "Writing, if there's not blood when you disturb me, there will be."

Which won't do me any good if I can't quit getting fascinated by weird crap on the web.

On Cowboys

Whenever I read that someone said something about how there are no more cowboys, it really pisses me off.

It's like me saying there are no more trains.

"But FarmGirl," I hear you say, "The bygone days of riding the range all week and carousing in the saloon all weekend are gone."

True. So is the steam engine, but saying there are no more cowboys because the days of bringing the stock in in a blizzard on horseback are over is like saying there are no more trains because the coal shovelers are out of work.

Cowboys live. They walk amongst us (ok maybe not you) every day. And I'm not talking about the buffed, polished, and shined rodeo boys you see on TV either, although they have their own place in the Cowboy Lexicon.

I'm talking about real cowboys. Stay up all night to nurse a sick calf, cry when his horse gets snake bit, hat wearing, spur jangling cowboys. Men who go out there every day and do a tough damn job for very little thanks or pay.

Men who are, in large part, responsible for your steak making it all the way to your plate.

They're still riding horses, checking fences, sweating and freezing and praying to get their herd through the winter. Sometimes they use the truck or an ATV instead of their trusty old pony, but when it counts, they'll fall back on that four legged partner because two brains are often better than one.

Sometimes they wear ballcaps instead of cowboy hats, but god help you if you touch either one without permission.

They still strap on guns when they leave the house, and usually carry a rifle, in case they run across a coyote. The gun may be a semi-auto and the rifle probably isn't the stereotypical .30-30, but they've got em.

Their jeans are perpetually faded, stained, torn, and frayed at the hem, except for one or two pairs that only get worn for special occasions, like dates or weddings.

They use computers to track their breeding herd and they check the market report on their cell phones, but they're still cowboys.

A cowboy isn't in the costume, and it isn't in the past. What makes a cowboy comes from an abiding love of the land, their critters, and their families. They're often wild, and sometimes they do dumb things, but they're not stupid, and they're a lot of fun.

They're never too tired to help out a neighbor, or a friend.

Cowboys live amongst us today and while they may look different, at the core, they're just the same as those men who rode the lonesome prairie a hundred years ago. They still retain a bit of the romance that their fore bearers are painted with, it's just usually covered in a layer of grime, and you have to look a little deeper.

And anyone who can't see, and respect, the code that those men live by, I feel sorry for. My life is richer for knowing them, their examples have made me a better person.

The world would be a sadder place without them.

Big Burly Guys Don't Need Guns

This morning I was pointed to a blog post here that made me do what I don't usually do... jump into an apparently ongoing argument.

Go read the post, then read the comment that I left, which at the time of this posting is awaiting moderation, and tell me, am I wrong to be a bit offended at his assumption that everyone is, or has handy, a large muscular manly man well versed in martial arts and what have you? That my safety is somehow less important than his? Because that's how it came across to me...

Here's my comment, and I did try to be polite:

Sir, as one of those “Radical pro-gun” people, who may be labeled a troll after this comment, I have to ask you a few questions-

How is it a sign of personal weakness that I assess the world in a realistic way? I’m 5′7 and 100lbs or so… no matter what martial arts or self defense classes I take, there is going to be someone out there who can overpower me with sheer muscle.

Does the fact that I consider the subject of my personal safety and carry a gun not because I expect someone to jump me, but because I know, in the realities of our times, that when seconds count, the police are only minutes away make me somehow weak or unfit?

Personally I think that the conscious and deliberate decision to use all tools available to you to protect yourself and your loved ones is a good thing.

I’ve made a choice, a personal decision, that my safety and well being is more important to me than the safety and well being of a person who means me harm.

Is there something wrong with that, in your mind?

I take personal responsibility for my own safety, and that is why I carry a gun. If that makes me weak in your mind, so be it, but I hope you’ll think about what I’ve said before you jump to conclusions about me.

Brrrr

With the cold snap causing freezing temperatures in places where they normally don't have to deal with such things, I thought I'd give a little tip for our southern brethren on thawing frozen pipes.

Because I got asked that very question this morning.

First, the best strategy to keep your pipes unfrozen is to leave water trickling overnight. That will keep them open at least a bit so that when you get up in the morning and turn them on you'll have water.

Failing that, when pipes freeze, you need to apply heat. I hear you all saying "Well Duh" but apparently portions of this aren't as clear as they should be.

For instance, if you can't get under the house to the places where the pipes actually froze, all is not lost.

Simply open up under the sink and apply heat there. A space heater works well for this as it's going to take a while and you can just leave it go until you have water. If you can improvise a safe propping method for your heat gun, fantastic.

Why apply heat where the pipes aren't frozen you ask? Because if you heat the pipes inside the house, the heat travels down the pipes via the water and the pipe itself if it's metal (PVC doesn't carry heat as well) and thaw the frozen bits. The further the frozen section of pipe is from your sink, the longer this will take, but it will work.

Be sure and open the tap, because once the water starts running, or even trickling, you're home free. The running water will work a path through the ice and open things up.

So, there's one piece of advice. How about all the other cold-staters? Anyone got a favorite method for thawing frozen pipes or dealing with some other cold-related problem?

Soldiers

The other day I got an email from a reader that made me feel really good about doing this blog. He'd dropped some cash in my tip jar and I sent out my standard "Thank you for your donation, here's Jane" spiel. Here's his reply, and you'll see why it made me feel all warm and fuzzy:

Ma'am

No need to thank me, reading about people living normal lives kept me sane for a 15 month deployment. So I should be thanking you. Seeing people able to have those freedoms that we gave up to serve reminds me of why I do my job. Good luck with the truck search and thank you.

Brian

It really brought home to me how the little things can make such a difference when you're so far from home. We've got so many men and women out there who probably wonder, at times, if we here at home remember what they're doing for us.

Regardless of whether you agree with what's been going on, or the timetable for pulling out of Iraq, or anything that they've been ordered to do, the fact remains that they're out there, serving their country. They're out there serving us.

We didn't ask them to, they volunteered.

So when there are such simple ways to make things easier for them, to make them smile, or just to make a crappy day a little bit better, why would anyone refuse?

You don't have to start a blog, either. Organizations such as Soldier's Angels have programs for sending care packages to specific soldiers who have been submitted to their organization. These soldiers may have been submitted by family who can't give their soldier the support that they would like to, or by friends, or fellow soldiers. You can send care packages, or write letters, or just donate some money to the organization to help them with their projects.

There are other organizations out there, like Any Soldier and I'm sure you can find others if you look.

Personally, I signed up for the letter writing team at Soldier's Angels.

Go tell a soldier that you appreciate them, just because you do. We shouldn't save that sort of thing for Veteran's Day.

And to reader Brian- I know I said it already, but again, thank you for your service. And thank you for reminding me that the little, normal, everyday things are sometimes the most important.



*Soldier's Angels and Any Soldier did not provide me with any compensation for this post. So go spit up a rope, FCC.

Jane

Kind of got back-burnered over the holidays. Now that things have slowed down I'll get back to getting you guys semi-regular chapters.

Honest.