Doug and I have been trying to save a little kitten, the tiniest and weakest of six born three weeks ago. He tells me that it’s given up the ghost.
This is what Spring is– some little things make it, some don’t. I drove by the field of mares last night to see the new foal out of the oldest paint mare; it was asleep on the grass. But then I noticed that one of the young mares had a tiny cream blur running alongside– a filly I think, foaled in the pouring rain night before last. While I watched the mare lay down and the filly stood next to her; then they got up, and came bolting for my truck! What a thrill.
I have always wanted a ranch in the Maroon Bells, high up in the mountains with a sweeping ranch and a broodmare band. I once wandered into the barn next door and what I thought was one of the stallions “cribbing”– sucking on his wooden gate– a nervous mannerism– turned out to be someone’s Paso Fino mare in labor. I went over to her stall; she was stretched flat out. I went in and sat behind her and shortly a gorgeous auburn filly slid into my lap.
It was a thrill. The filly had long eyelashes and was a real little imp.
Out of the litter of six kittens we have five doing well that will go to friends’ barns. Our panoply of yellow cats is thriving and the two days of rain will no doubt boost the alfalfa fields near us.
My favorite horse of the moment, Cheval d’Or– a Percheron/Quarter Horse cross– is in a run that’s too small but he often gets out for lessons and is being trained dressage. He’s a beaut.
I bought a basil plant. Tomorrow I’ll make Pesto as follows:
a healthy bunch of basil leaves, washed and chopped.
about 8 oz of pine nuts
three cloves of fresh garlic
a half-cup of olive oil
grated parmesan
Process these things together and refrigerate. Toss with pasta al dente.
I cook impulsively, by feel– I’m sure there are more precise recipes on the Net.
BTW: we had a mountain lion– a big young male– come in and lead the sheriff’s department on a chase down a bike path– then it hid under a trailer at a gas station and then took off again, taking a bunch of very high fences. We thought it was gone– but it showed up near an elementary school yesterday.
Uh-oh, Mountain Lion. DOW says it’s not afraid enough of people and may have to be dispatched. I hate that.
Now that I’m out of the baby goat business, spring is never the same. There is nothing like spending a cold night curled on a hay bale, waiting for babies, waiting, and waiting, and waiting. And then tragedy happens. Or beauty, or comedy, or hideous, awful in-between. Birth is a wonder, and I don’t mean that in a sappy, pink-baby-blanket kind of way.
I once had a pygmy goat with triplets– fortunately a neighbor came and sorted out legs, heads! All was then well. xxxj