When I was in high school my father bought a new house that we lived in for a couple of years. He rented out our other home and we eventually moved back there. I loved that house on Panarama Ridge. It was on an acre and a half and had a swimming pool in the backyard. It also had a big kennel next to the house, but alas, my parents wouldn't let me have a dog. They did let me bring my horse there one summer to eat down the overgrown lawn there.
I remember my father pulling up the carpet in the living room and discovering hardwood floor underneath. All the carpet was pulled up, the hardwood sanded and refinished, and a big area rug was put in the room.
Last year Kerry and I bought an older house in Cloverdale. I don't like the house. Its a place to live, that's about it. I like the sundeck and the size of the back yard and the big cedar tree in the back yard. The house itself is boxy and the room are small. It was built in 1964 as a one story rancher and in 1981 it was raised up and the basement was built. These days our basement suite is rented out to tenants. The upstairs where we live has ugly carpet in the living room and bedrooms, ugly linoleum in the kitchen and bathroom. But thinking back to my father's discovery in the Panarama Ridge home, shortly after moving in I asked Kerry if we could check under the carpet just in case there might be a hardwood floor. We went to the cold air duct in the hallway and lifed it out and checked there. Nope, was Kerry's determination. Just plywood under the carpet.
But I continued to hate the carpet. Its a light color and with two large dogs and Kerry refusing to take off his muddy shoes in the house, its impossible to keep clean. We have a carpet shampooer and one of us has to operate it while the other one collects the clumps of dog hair that roll up. Every time after we shampoo I get enough dog hair to make two new dogs!
I want laminate floor everywhere. Something that will be easy to keep clean. No more dirty carpets, no more dog hair clumps when we shampoo. Just easy maintenance for me. I hate that ugly, always dirty, hard to keep clean carpet.
A month ago we installed laminate floor in a friend's condo. That got me wishing for my laminate floors again. This time to the point that we checked stores and prices, with Kerry promising to take measurements so we'd know how much to buy for the living room, hall, and three bedrooms upstairs. I'm still waiting for the measurements.
On the other hand Kerry has started a project of installing a pocket door in the bathroom. This is because too many times our dogs go in there for a drink and accidentally shut the door and then they bark for hours (if we're not home) hoping someone will come along and let them out. The door he installed is a glass door - we're going to spray it with that frosted stuff so nobody can peak in. We have bought the drywall but haven't finished the wall he took down, so anyone in the house can peak in. This is going to have to be like my cousin's house with a sheet as the bathroom door if he doesn't get to this soon!
The other project is another closet for our bedroom. Remember the house getting raised in 1981? That left a high hallway on the other side of our bedroom wall where the steps come up. Kerry is going to extend the closet over the downstairs entry. That will be great. This house has small closets in the three bedrooms and a linen closet. There is no coat closet. Like I said, I don't like the house. And I especially hate the lack of closet space and nowhere to store stuff.
So Kerry is messing around on the stairs last night punching out part of the wall that he hopes will be approximately where the floor of the new bedroom closet will be. Then he comes into the bedroom and pulls the couch out from the wall to check where his hole came out. I hear him fiddling with the carpet back there. Then he looks up and tells me that underneath the carpet is a beautiful hardwood floor made of fir. I hop up to take a look. And sure enough, its like the Panorama Ridge house all over again, there is a gorgeous floor. Unfortunately someone long ago was painting the walls and got white paint splashed on the floor. Don't worry about it, says Kerry, that can be sanded down.
Now we're excited and go back to that duct in the hallway for a closer look. This time Kerry uses his knife and slices back part of the carpet to discover underneath - a tiled floor! Darn! Go more, I suggest. Maybe they tiled over the hardwood. Kerry peels off the vinyl tile, and yes! There's the hardwood floor. We go into the living room and pull back a couch. If we're ripping carpet we want to make sure it can't be seen. And if there's no hardwood, its no big deal as we're planning on the laminate. So he sliced the carpet, saw the tiled floor and peeled it off, and there is hardwood there too. We immediately check the other two bedrooms with the same story: a tiled floor on top of the hardwood. Clearly the master bedroom was the only room not tiled and where the hardwood is going to be easiest to uncover again.
But we're stoked. Kerry pulls up all the living room carpet, the underlay, and then the tile underneath. And its an odd tile. There are two different green color schemes in a checkerboard design. And no, its not the ugliest tile floor I've ever seen. That belongs to a house I lived in about 20 years ago. The owners told us that the previous renters had cats and dogs in the house and they were worried they may have peed on the floor. It was winter and we didn't notice any smells. But when summer hit - whooey! Stinky pee! We called the owners to let them know and they pulled up the carpet, to discover underneath a checkerboard tiled floor red and green. And they were hug tiles, about four times the size of the tiles we pulled out last night. After letting it air out for a couple of weeks the owners put in a lovely laminate floor. Anything was better than smelling the cat pee on the carpet during the hot summer months!
Its our guess whoever was raising a family in the sixties in this house decided to glue down a tile floor on most of the hardwood because it was more practical with kids in the house. Then in the seventies they probably carpeted the house, after all shag carpet was all the rage back then. And no, our current carpet is not shag. So the house has probably been recarpeted a couple of times over the years.
The hardwood uncovered in the living room has tile glue all over it and we're hoping it will sand down nicely. It also needs to be repaired in a couple of spots, looks like pipes came up through the floor at one time, and there are a couple of transition areas that plywood or similar was used. If worst comes to worse we'll put down laminate, but here's hoping the hardwood turns out well in the end.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Lucky at the Standardbred Show N Shine
Our local racetrack Fraser Downs has a horse adoption program called Greener Pastures to help place retired Standardbred racehorses into new homes. They make fine riding horses, they're versatile and excel in many disciplines.
To help raise money for Greener Pastures they've held a couple of horse shows this summer called Standardbred Show N Shine. They have classes in halter, showmanship, English riding, jumping, Western riding, and trail.
I have an ex-racehorse, Lucky, that I rescued from the local auction on December 15 2002. He was several hundred pounds underweight, covered in cuts, mud fever, and severely neglected. I got him for fifty bucks. The meat buyers weren't going to buy this rack of bones. I wasn't sure if Lucky would live or not, but that horse has heart and under veterinary care, some groceries and TLC he came back to be a healthy horse.
We've come out to both shows just for a little fun and an outing for him. At nineteen years old he's probably the oldest horse in the show ring and maybe the most obstinate too. The first show he refused to trot and paced nicely all day. His pace is so smooth to ride and I was quite comfortable, but he didn't score too well when he should have been trotting. The last show was held on September 7 and he was in a more agreeable mood that day and did everything that was asked of him. Lucky is a big boy with a big stride and when asked to trot and canter he decided he was in a race and ran circles around the other horses. He does nothing halfway. When asked to canter, he gallops. If I pull back the reins to slow him down he'll go into a trot.
Oh well, he can be a fun boy. I thought he would do his best in the trail class because he fearlessly goes through the trails and up and down hills, over bridges, around trees, and under branches as surefooted as a mountain goat. A trail class set up in a riding arena has makeshift obstacles. The bridge was a tarpaulin, and no way was he going to walk on that, even though he walks over a tarpaulin at home back at the farm. The gate was a couple of poles with a rope strung between them. Nope. No way. If it had been a real gate there would be no problem, but not this pole and rope.
Not too bad for an old, grumpy man!
To help raise money for Greener Pastures they've held a couple of horse shows this summer called Standardbred Show N Shine. They have classes in halter, showmanship, English riding, jumping, Western riding, and trail.
I have an ex-racehorse, Lucky, that I rescued from the local auction on December 15 2002. He was several hundred pounds underweight, covered in cuts, mud fever, and severely neglected. I got him for fifty bucks. The meat buyers weren't going to buy this rack of bones. I wasn't sure if Lucky would live or not, but that horse has heart and under veterinary care, some groceries and TLC he came back to be a healthy horse.
We've come out to both shows just for a little fun and an outing for him. At nineteen years old he's probably the oldest horse in the show ring and maybe the most obstinate too. The first show he refused to trot and paced nicely all day. His pace is so smooth to ride and I was quite comfortable, but he didn't score too well when he should have been trotting. The last show was held on September 7 and he was in a more agreeable mood that day and did everything that was asked of him. Lucky is a big boy with a big stride and when asked to trot and canter he decided he was in a race and ran circles around the other horses. He does nothing halfway. When asked to canter, he gallops. If I pull back the reins to slow him down he'll go into a trot.
Oh well, he can be a fun boy. I thought he would do his best in the trail class because he fearlessly goes through the trails and up and down hills, over bridges, around trees, and under branches as surefooted as a mountain goat. A trail class set up in a riding arena has makeshift obstacles. The bridge was a tarpaulin, and no way was he going to walk on that, even though he walks over a tarpaulin at home back at the farm. The gate was a couple of poles with a rope strung between them. Nope. No way. If it had been a real gate there would be no problem, but not this pole and rope.
But on the last show they changed the trail class a bit and held it in the warm up arena. They put the obstacles up ahead of time and let the horses practice a bit. This time they had a small wooden bridge. I tried Lucky across it with little success our first few times. Then he finally figured it out and crossed it nicely after that.
But the call came for the Western discipline classes and we returned to the show ring. Lucky picked up ribbons in each class and then the group headed over to the warm up arena for the trail class which each horse and rider would enter the arena one at a time and go through the course. When it was Lucky's turn he took the course wonderfully. And this time we were awarded a 2nd place ribbon.Not too bad for an old, grumpy man!
Friday, September 19, 2008
Bear in the campground!
My idea of camping is in a luxury hotel on the beach of a tropical resort, therefore a driving trip in a partly camperized van across British Columbia and Alberta was not quite what I had in mind. We didn’t have a fridge but we had an ice chest that worked by plugging into the cigarette lighter. It had a noisy fan and I didn’t want to be kept awake in the evenings, so we put the cooler outside with the cord still plugged into the lighter, but the window rolled up against the thin cord, and the fan didn’t bother me. We were unable to put the cooler outside of the van while at a campground in Banff National Park in the Rocky Mountains. This was due to bears, and the campgrounds had posted bear warnings and gave us a pamphlet on how to avoid attracting bears to our campsite.
On our way home we stopped for the night at a campsite in Canmore. My husband put the cooler outside with me questioning if there was a bear problem. He used to live in the area and assured me that bears didn’t come down this far. I checked the bulletin board and there was no mention of any bear sightings in the area, so I decided the cooler was fine sitting outside the van where the fan wouldn’t disturb my sleep.
We had all the curtains closed and were reading around nine-thirty in the evening when I heard a noise outside. We listened and it sounded like someone was pushing our cooler. Who would be trying to steal it? I peaked behind a curtain and there was a black bear trying to take the cooler! Kerry jumped into the front seat and tried to go out the door. What was he thinking? Luckily the automatic door lock was engaged and he couldn’t open the door, so instead he honked the horn. The noise frightened off Mr. Bear and we both exited the van with flashlights trying to determine where the bear had gone.
The path the bear chose was through the next campsite where a couple was sitting by the campfire in front of their tent. The bear had run right past them, and all we could see were the two of them throwing water onto the fire, jumped into their car, and drove off.
The man in the campsite across from us came over and we were standing there talking when a man driving a car pulled up and asked if we'd seen a bear. He'd been walking his dog and saw a bear near the camp entrance pay telephone standing on its hind legs. The image is rather amusing: a bear standing up like he's using the phone. The man called the police and a short time later an officer arrived and alerted each campsite of the bear sighting.
As for the couple in the campsite next to us, we never did see them again. Did they go to a local motel for the night or did they abandon their equipment and just keep on driving?
On our way home we stopped for the night at a campsite in Canmore. My husband put the cooler outside with me questioning if there was a bear problem. He used to live in the area and assured me that bears didn’t come down this far. I checked the bulletin board and there was no mention of any bear sightings in the area, so I decided the cooler was fine sitting outside the van where the fan wouldn’t disturb my sleep.
We had all the curtains closed and were reading around nine-thirty in the evening when I heard a noise outside. We listened and it sounded like someone was pushing our cooler. Who would be trying to steal it? I peaked behind a curtain and there was a black bear trying to take the cooler! Kerry jumped into the front seat and tried to go out the door. What was he thinking? Luckily the automatic door lock was engaged and he couldn’t open the door, so instead he honked the horn. The noise frightened off Mr. Bear and we both exited the van with flashlights trying to determine where the bear had gone.
The path the bear chose was through the next campsite where a couple was sitting by the campfire in front of their tent. The bear had run right past them, and all we could see were the two of them throwing water onto the fire, jumped into their car, and drove off.
The man in the campsite across from us came over and we were standing there talking when a man driving a car pulled up and asked if we'd seen a bear. He'd been walking his dog and saw a bear near the camp entrance pay telephone standing on its hind legs. The image is rather amusing: a bear standing up like he's using the phone. The man called the police and a short time later an officer arrived and alerted each campsite of the bear sighting.
As for the couple in the campsite next to us, we never did see them again. Did they go to a local motel for the night or did they abandon their equipment and just keep on driving?
Sunday, August 24, 2008
My Small Town - Cloverdale, British Columbia
Growing up I used to hear the term one horse town and I figured that pretty much described where I lived and I owned that horse.
Cloverdale, British Columbia was a small community part of the district of Surrey, about 30 miles from the big city of Vancouver. The main street was about 4 blocks long, part of the Pacific Highway, and big semi trucks rattled through town, using this route to get to the US/Canada truck crossing at the border.
Cloverdale Elementary School was about one mile from out house and a huge hill, Broadway Road, was part of my walk to and from school each day. One mile is a long way for a six year old girl to walk, but walk I did both ways for the seven years I went there, rain or shine, and mostly rain in this part of the country. I sometimes rode my bike, but pushing it up that huge hill was exhausting.
I remember a lot of snow when I was a kid and we’d all go to Broadway with our sleds and toboggans. No car was going to attempt that hill in the snow and icy conditions. Especially not confronted with a couple of dozen kids careening down the hill. But again, only one or two trips down and the walk back up in the snow was enough to call it quits. And the local cow fields would flood over in the fall and freeze in the winter and we’d all go ice skating out there. The worst thing that could happen if the ice was too thin and we’d break through standing ankle or shin deep in water.
Friday after school was my favourite time and I’d accompany my mother grocery shopping at the Co-op. This was a two story building with groceries on the first floor and a flight of stairs up the second floor for the hardware and clothing. And the building behind was the Co-op’s feed store where I’d buy oats for my horses when I got a little older.
A typical little sixties town with assorted stores: a five and dime, a couple of clothing stores, a couple of shoe stores, a jewellery store, a delicatessen, a few diners, the Clover Inn with a restaurant and lounge, and the Clova Theatre where we often went on Saturday matinees. Dann’s bicycle and appliance store is still operating in Cloverdale, for over fifty years. The Clova is still running too. The five and dime has long since closed as have most of the other business, many replaced by antique stores for awhile, and now assorted other businesses, many that don’t stick around too long. The bowling alley, Clover Lanes, has been there as long as I can remember. In the late 60’s or early 70’s Aaron’s Pizza opened just off the main street. Kind of a competition to the Shakey’s Pizza parlours with its picnic tables and casual dining. Aaron’s is still there, but the picnic tables have been replaced by family seating and they still serve pizzas along with pastas and other meals.
Cloverdale was always known for its rodeo held on the long weekend in May. For a time it was the 2nd largest rodeo in Canada, behind the Calgary Stampede, then it became the 3rd largest. I’m not sure what its status is now. It lost its ranking with the pro circuit because it no longer allows some events, particularly those that deal with tying calves. But every long weekend in May Cloverdale was transformed from a sleepy little town to a whoop hollering party town carnival. It was a good weekend to get out of town.
And then in 1975 the harness horse racing came to town, using the fairgrounds, and Cloverdale no longer was known as a one horse town with hundreds of Standardbreds calling it home. Horse racing was huge back in the 1980’s. Cars lined way out of town on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday nights. And the horses also raced on Saturday and Sunday afternoons. These days with so many casinos around and other entertainment venues horse racing has dwindled to 7 or 8 months a year on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays. The racetrack even converted over to a casino, Fraser Downs its now known as. The casino is the main form of revenue.
When I was growing up and a new neighbour moved in the neighbors would all come over with baking and to introduce themselves. When I was going to school I knew almost everybody and their brothers and sisters too, if not by face, then by name. Walking down the main street of Cloverdale always meant banging into someone I knew.
But nobody does that anymore. Cloverdale outgrew itself. But the small town atmosphere still kind of remains. This is home to Smallville and often the TV cameras and crew will have part of a street blocked off for filming. Likewise with other movie and TV projects that want a small town look. A few years ago in August Coca Cola filmed a commercial here that was a snowy Christmas theme and they trucked in snow to the streets and sidewalks. Several semi trucks decked out in Christmas lights are featured driving through town and a boy is racing across the fields yelling the Santa trucks are coming.
And maybe they’ll be back someday. Or maybe they'll find a real small town out there....
Cloverdale, British Columbia was a small community part of the district of Surrey, about 30 miles from the big city of Vancouver. The main street was about 4 blocks long, part of the Pacific Highway, and big semi trucks rattled through town, using this route to get to the US/Canada truck crossing at the border.
Cloverdale Elementary School was about one mile from out house and a huge hill, Broadway Road, was part of my walk to and from school each day. One mile is a long way for a six year old girl to walk, but walk I did both ways for the seven years I went there, rain or shine, and mostly rain in this part of the country. I sometimes rode my bike, but pushing it up that huge hill was exhausting.
I remember a lot of snow when I was a kid and we’d all go to Broadway with our sleds and toboggans. No car was going to attempt that hill in the snow and icy conditions. Especially not confronted with a couple of dozen kids careening down the hill. But again, only one or two trips down and the walk back up in the snow was enough to call it quits. And the local cow fields would flood over in the fall and freeze in the winter and we’d all go ice skating out there. The worst thing that could happen if the ice was too thin and we’d break through standing ankle or shin deep in water.
Friday after school was my favourite time and I’d accompany my mother grocery shopping at the Co-op. This was a two story building with groceries on the first floor and a flight of stairs up the second floor for the hardware and clothing. And the building behind was the Co-op’s feed store where I’d buy oats for my horses when I got a little older.
A typical little sixties town with assorted stores: a five and dime, a couple of clothing stores, a couple of shoe stores, a jewellery store, a delicatessen, a few diners, the Clover Inn with a restaurant and lounge, and the Clova Theatre where we often went on Saturday matinees. Dann’s bicycle and appliance store is still operating in Cloverdale, for over fifty years. The Clova is still running too. The five and dime has long since closed as have most of the other business, many replaced by antique stores for awhile, and now assorted other businesses, many that don’t stick around too long. The bowling alley, Clover Lanes, has been there as long as I can remember. In the late 60’s or early 70’s Aaron’s Pizza opened just off the main street. Kind of a competition to the Shakey’s Pizza parlours with its picnic tables and casual dining. Aaron’s is still there, but the picnic tables have been replaced by family seating and they still serve pizzas along with pastas and other meals.
Cloverdale was always known for its rodeo held on the long weekend in May. For a time it was the 2nd largest rodeo in Canada, behind the Calgary Stampede, then it became the 3rd largest. I’m not sure what its status is now. It lost its ranking with the pro circuit because it no longer allows some events, particularly those that deal with tying calves. But every long weekend in May Cloverdale was transformed from a sleepy little town to a whoop hollering party town carnival. It was a good weekend to get out of town.
And then in 1975 the harness horse racing came to town, using the fairgrounds, and Cloverdale no longer was known as a one horse town with hundreds of Standardbreds calling it home. Horse racing was huge back in the 1980’s. Cars lined way out of town on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday nights. And the horses also raced on Saturday and Sunday afternoons. These days with so many casinos around and other entertainment venues horse racing has dwindled to 7 or 8 months a year on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays. The racetrack even converted over to a casino, Fraser Downs its now known as. The casino is the main form of revenue.
When I was growing up and a new neighbour moved in the neighbors would all come over with baking and to introduce themselves. When I was going to school I knew almost everybody and their brothers and sisters too, if not by face, then by name. Walking down the main street of Cloverdale always meant banging into someone I knew.
But nobody does that anymore. Cloverdale outgrew itself. But the small town atmosphere still kind of remains. This is home to Smallville and often the TV cameras and crew will have part of a street blocked off for filming. Likewise with other movie and TV projects that want a small town look. A few years ago in August Coca Cola filmed a commercial here that was a snowy Christmas theme and they trucked in snow to the streets and sidewalks. Several semi trucks decked out in Christmas lights are featured driving through town and a boy is racing across the fields yelling the Santa trucks are coming.
And maybe they’ll be back someday. Or maybe they'll find a real small town out there....
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
My Scooter
Two years ago I bought my Suzuki Burgman 400. Its still classified a scooter because its manual transmission, but its a high performance scooter. In order to legally ride one a motorcycle license is required. It goes as fast as any motorbike, which must surprise the heck out of a lot of people.
One day I was riding home from work in a two lane 30mph zone, going the speed limit in the curb lane. I'm not a speed demon and I'm not out to break the law. A small car whizzes past me with 4 teenagers inside and a new driver tag on the back. The driver, a teenage girl, signals into my lane just before coming to the red light. I'm not sure why she did that because the two lanes end just on the other side of the light and the curb lane must merge into the center lane. So I changed lanes into the passing lane and stopped beside her at the light. They were all looking at me and must have figured they'd have no trouble passing a scooter before getting to where the lanes merge. The light changed green and away I go into the 40mph zone. The teenage girl is trying her darnedest to get ahead of me. Frantically changing gears and giving it all her little car would give. She must have used a lot of gas in her sad attempt. I quickly outdistanced her to where the lanes merge and then she was stuck behind me, travelling the speed limit, for the next couple of miles until she turned off. Her teenage friends must have had a good laugh at her because her wimpy car couldn't even beat a scooter off the line.
Another time I'm in a 50mph zone on a two lane highway, stopped at a red light. Several young men on sport bikes stopped in the lane beside me. The light changed and to their great surprise I quickly outdistanced them. However as soon as I reached the speed limit they all went whipping past me.
This happens to me all the time at traffic lights. Some unsuspecting driver gets beside me thinking they'll get ahead of me no problem only to be left in the dust. However any of them who want to speed can quickly catch up and pass. There's a great victory!
The Burgman is a great scooter. It has a glove box that matches the one in my car and 2 extra smaller glove boxs beside it big enough that I can put my keys, cell phone, or glasses. Beneath the seat is a trunk large enough to hold two motorcycle helmets. I've also carried a few bags of groceries in there and one time we bought several garden hoses and brought them home in the trunk. As much as I like riding it I also like being a passenger, and the passenger seat is much more comfortable than the back of Kerry's V-Star. It has a backrest and a seat soft enough for longer rides. And the drivers in the cars beside us are amazed that a scooter, with a passenger aboard, can still beat them off the line.
One day I was riding home from work in a two lane 30mph zone, going the speed limit in the curb lane. I'm not a speed demon and I'm not out to break the law. A small car whizzes past me with 4 teenagers inside and a new driver tag on the back. The driver, a teenage girl, signals into my lane just before coming to the red light. I'm not sure why she did that because the two lanes end just on the other side of the light and the curb lane must merge into the center lane. So I changed lanes into the passing lane and stopped beside her at the light. They were all looking at me and must have figured they'd have no trouble passing a scooter before getting to where the lanes merge. The light changed green and away I go into the 40mph zone. The teenage girl is trying her darnedest to get ahead of me. Frantically changing gears and giving it all her little car would give. She must have used a lot of gas in her sad attempt. I quickly outdistanced her to where the lanes merge and then she was stuck behind me, travelling the speed limit, for the next couple of miles until she turned off. Her teenage friends must have had a good laugh at her because her wimpy car couldn't even beat a scooter off the line.
Another time I'm in a 50mph zone on a two lane highway, stopped at a red light. Several young men on sport bikes stopped in the lane beside me. The light changed and to their great surprise I quickly outdistanced them. However as soon as I reached the speed limit they all went whipping past me.
This happens to me all the time at traffic lights. Some unsuspecting driver gets beside me thinking they'll get ahead of me no problem only to be left in the dust. However any of them who want to speed can quickly catch up and pass. There's a great victory!
The Burgman is a great scooter. It has a glove box that matches the one in my car and 2 extra smaller glove boxs beside it big enough that I can put my keys, cell phone, or glasses. Beneath the seat is a trunk large enough to hold two motorcycle helmets. I've also carried a few bags of groceries in there and one time we bought several garden hoses and brought them home in the trunk. As much as I like riding it I also like being a passenger, and the passenger seat is much more comfortable than the back of Kerry's V-Star. It has a backrest and a seat soft enough for longer rides. And the drivers in the cars beside us are amazed that a scooter, with a passenger aboard, can still beat them off the line.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
I Miss My Little Donkeys
I grew up in a small town that was surrounded by farms, the closest one right across the street. I begged my father to buy a farm so I could get a horse, but unfortunately I was doomed to be a city girl sitting on the wrong side of the country fence. I may have been acreage-challenged but that didn’t stop me from hanging out at friend’s farms, buying horses, and sinking paychecks into a couple of decades worth of horse boarding fees. Finally the day came when my dreams came true and my husband and I moved ourselves and our horses to a leased farm out in the country. Well, make that the outskirts of town as the nearest subdivision is about three blocks away. It wasn’t long before we heard the coyotes howling at night, and this time right below our bedroom window instead of way off somewhere out in the country. Unfortunately we also spotted coyotes running down the fence line into the barn where two mares and newborn foals were stabled.
Solution: insert two female mini donkeys that we picked up at the local horse rescue. While we were driving home with our new long-eared friends my husband admitted he hadn’t asked for the names of the donkeys. Inspiration struck and I named them Laverne and Shirley, aka the coyote posse.
Next came a crash course in Donkey 101. We upgraded the fences so the posse could patrol the entire property with the openings low enough for donkeys, but too high for horses to duck under. The donkeys can access two large shelters and have twenty acres to roam around, but they’re under the false impression that the carport and front door is primarily their new home and secondarily their toilet area. Judging by the deposits they spend a lot of time here. I have to muck out the sidewalk just to get inside the house with clean shoes.
I’m often reminded of the old children’s rhyme: “Sweetly sing the donkeys at the break of day. If you do not feed them this is what they say. Hee haw. Hee haw. Hee haw. Hee haw. Hee haw.” Forget daybreak. Whenever they feel like it, hungry or not, they’ll open their mouths wide and bray at the top of their lungs. These two little donkeys make enough racket to drown out a herd of trumpeting elephants. Sometimes Shirley will get into another field and Laverne can’t figure out how to join her and she’ll bawl about it, long and loud. One night the donkeys kept my husband awake with all their heehawing. He looked out the window and saw one of them running the fence line, so my guess is that once again Shirley managed to give Laverne the slip. Sometimes they bray at dogs walking past on the street. Perhaps they think they’re funny looking coyotes? My husband also claims they bray when visitors come onto the property. Watch donkeys? And yes, in addition to all the other braying, they do “sing” first thing in the morning when they think its time to get their morning grain. They’re more reliable than roosters.
Donkeys are little scavengers and eat everything they can sink their teeth into. I left a bowl of dog food on the lawn and they polished it off. My husband knocked a watermelon off the sundeck – don’t ask – and it exploded on the lawn below. The donkeys gobbled it up, rind and all. Forgotten vegetables and fruit in the fridge? No problem. Toss it outside for the donkeys. I’m still trying to figure out how they eat plum stones. I gave Laverne an unpeeled banana and she gobbled it down whole. When we moved to the farm I was happy to see several mature grape vines in the backyard. Throughout the summer big bunches of green grapes appeared. I watched my bumper crop closely, from time to time testing one but it was always sour. Then one day I saw the green grapes start to turn purple. That explains why those little green grapes were always sour – they hadn’t ripened into sweet purple ones yet. It was only a matter of days until they fully ripened and then I’d be enjoying them by the handful. But it was not meant to be. I arrived home and checked my crop. Gone! Not a single grape left! Donkeys! I got smarter the next year and put a small fence around the little vineyard. Donkeys don’t have discerning tastes. They drag cardboard boxes out of the back of the truck and munch on them. One day I caught Shirley with an envelope in her mouth. Thinking it might be important I wrestled her for it, prying her locked jaws apart, and finally she opened up her snappers. It was just some junk mail she dragged out of the burn barrel.
Laverne and Shirley entertain us as much as the old TV show starring their namesakes. Sometimes they fight and push each other around at dinner time. Shirley is smaller but she pins her ears and leans all her weight into Laverne. Sometimes they get mad at a horse and kick out, never connecting, and then run as fast as their little legs can go before the horse retaliates. They don’t seem to like my dogs too much. I caught Shirley chasing one of my dogs and she put the brakes on real fast when she galloped around the corner and found me standing there with the dog cowering behind my legs.
My husband was told if he fed the donkeys a special meal at six o’clock on Christmas Eve and went back outside at midnight they would talk to him. In a scene reminiscent of Linus waiting for the Great Pumpkin, my husband feeds them their special meal each Christmas Eve and then dutifully returns to the barn at midnight but so far Laverne and Shirley haven’t told him anything he doesn’t already know.
Unfortunately we no longer live on our little home and Laverne and Shirley have moved to a donkey farm upcountry. And I still miss them. Their little legs running as fast as they can. Braying when they're hungry or just because they feel like it. One day I'll have some little donkeys again, but I'll never forget Laverne and Shirley.
Heehaw!
Solution: insert two female mini donkeys that we picked up at the local horse rescue. While we were driving home with our new long-eared friends my husband admitted he hadn’t asked for the names of the donkeys. Inspiration struck and I named them Laverne and Shirley, aka the coyote posse.
Next came a crash course in Donkey 101. We upgraded the fences so the posse could patrol the entire property with the openings low enough for donkeys, but too high for horses to duck under. The donkeys can access two large shelters and have twenty acres to roam around, but they’re under the false impression that the carport and front door is primarily their new home and secondarily their toilet area. Judging by the deposits they spend a lot of time here. I have to muck out the sidewalk just to get inside the house with clean shoes.
I’m often reminded of the old children’s rhyme: “Sweetly sing the donkeys at the break of day. If you do not feed them this is what they say. Hee haw. Hee haw. Hee haw. Hee haw. Hee haw.” Forget daybreak. Whenever they feel like it, hungry or not, they’ll open their mouths wide and bray at the top of their lungs. These two little donkeys make enough racket to drown out a herd of trumpeting elephants. Sometimes Shirley will get into another field and Laverne can’t figure out how to join her and she’ll bawl about it, long and loud. One night the donkeys kept my husband awake with all their heehawing. He looked out the window and saw one of them running the fence line, so my guess is that once again Shirley managed to give Laverne the slip. Sometimes they bray at dogs walking past on the street. Perhaps they think they’re funny looking coyotes? My husband also claims they bray when visitors come onto the property. Watch donkeys? And yes, in addition to all the other braying, they do “sing” first thing in the morning when they think its time to get their morning grain. They’re more reliable than roosters.
Donkeys are little scavengers and eat everything they can sink their teeth into. I left a bowl of dog food on the lawn and they polished it off. My husband knocked a watermelon off the sundeck – don’t ask – and it exploded on the lawn below. The donkeys gobbled it up, rind and all. Forgotten vegetables and fruit in the fridge? No problem. Toss it outside for the donkeys. I’m still trying to figure out how they eat plum stones. I gave Laverne an unpeeled banana and she gobbled it down whole. When we moved to the farm I was happy to see several mature grape vines in the backyard. Throughout the summer big bunches of green grapes appeared. I watched my bumper crop closely, from time to time testing one but it was always sour. Then one day I saw the green grapes start to turn purple. That explains why those little green grapes were always sour – they hadn’t ripened into sweet purple ones yet. It was only a matter of days until they fully ripened and then I’d be enjoying them by the handful. But it was not meant to be. I arrived home and checked my crop. Gone! Not a single grape left! Donkeys! I got smarter the next year and put a small fence around the little vineyard. Donkeys don’t have discerning tastes. They drag cardboard boxes out of the back of the truck and munch on them. One day I caught Shirley with an envelope in her mouth. Thinking it might be important I wrestled her for it, prying her locked jaws apart, and finally she opened up her snappers. It was just some junk mail she dragged out of the burn barrel.
Laverne and Shirley entertain us as much as the old TV show starring their namesakes. Sometimes they fight and push each other around at dinner time. Shirley is smaller but she pins her ears and leans all her weight into Laverne. Sometimes they get mad at a horse and kick out, never connecting, and then run as fast as their little legs can go before the horse retaliates. They don’t seem to like my dogs too much. I caught Shirley chasing one of my dogs and she put the brakes on real fast when she galloped around the corner and found me standing there with the dog cowering behind my legs.
My husband was told if he fed the donkeys a special meal at six o’clock on Christmas Eve and went back outside at midnight they would talk to him. In a scene reminiscent of Linus waiting for the Great Pumpkin, my husband feeds them their special meal each Christmas Eve and then dutifully returns to the barn at midnight but so far Laverne and Shirley haven’t told him anything he doesn’t already know.
Unfortunately we no longer live on our little home and Laverne and Shirley have moved to a donkey farm upcountry. And I still miss them. Their little legs running as fast as they can. Braying when they're hungry or just because they feel like it. One day I'll have some little donkeys again, but I'll never forget Laverne and Shirley.
Heehaw!
Monday, August 11, 2008
Under Apple Attack
We purchased our house a little over a year ago, a corner lot, located in a quiet area. On our side lawn are 2 mature apple trees. As the apples ripened last summer I tried the apples but didn’t like how they tasted so I collect them in buckets and take them out to the farm where I board my horses daily. One is a Transparent apple tree, mush yellow apple that bruises easily when it hits the ground. The other tree I’m not too sure about. It’s a red apple, similar to McIntosh, but doesn’t taste as good as one. This house had been rented for several years and the garden was badly neglected and overgrown, and likewise the 2 apple trees, badly neglected and not pruned for years.
Last summer a neighbour came over with an apple pie for us. She confessed to having picked apples so she could do some baking, and we invited her to help herself. Sad to say the apple pie wasn’t very good. Darned tasteless, mushy Transparents!
Over the winter we hired a gardener to prune the trees and as spring rolled around we put in fruit tree spikes and made sure the trees were well watered and we’re dealing with a bumper crop this year.
A couple of months ago we extended our fence line along the side of our house, putting the apple trees on the street side of the fence. Technically they are on city property but our responsibility. Therefore the apples fall on both sides of the fence. I’m constantly seeing apples with a bite taken out of them or even just the core left dumped on our lawn.
A couple of weeks ago I had just arrived home from work and was getting into my barn clothes when someone came to the front door. I heard Kerry talk to him and then he told me that the man who was pruning the neighbor’s tree saw our apples and asked if he could have some for his horses. Kerry told him to help himself. I was ticked. I hadn’t yet filled a bucket of apples for OUR horses. Not only did he clean us out but I saw him picking apples off the tree too. And those branches are quite high up due to our recent trimming. Nothing too close to the ground but he was a good sized man and was able to reach a branch and pull it down closer for picking range. And here’s the kicker. The man is trailering his tree chipper. One of our apple branches broke off and was lying on the ground right there in front of him. He's got to walk around it to get to the apples. The considerate thing for him to do in exchange for the apples would have been to toss that tree in his truck and then put it through his chipper the next time he was using it. But no, he didn’t. I told Kerry if he comes back wanting apples tell him no.
Today Kerry told me he caught a lady picking the apples off the ground and she told him she was making applesauce. Help yourself he told her. No problem there. I really don’t mind if the neighbor’s help themselves for their own consumption. There’s a bumper crop this year.
On Saturday night at 11pm I heard voices outside on the street. I peeked out the window and saw a group of teenage boys talking loudly and kept an eye on them. One of them stopped off the street onto our lawn and picked up an apple and started eating it. So OK, he’s hungry. Then another boy picked up an apple, took a bite, and apparently didn’t like it too much. He threw it at our house and it made a good thump against the siding. Then he picked up another apple and threw it against the house. Fortunately the siding again and not through a window. Kerry was downstairs and heard the noise and came outside. Ended up getting into a verbal battle and the boys took off down the street and he went back inside. I don’t think that was too smart for him to get into it with the boys because we park our truck on the street, and the car and motorbike in the driveway and those little buggers could have come back and vandalized any of them while we're sleeping. Then I watched the boys come back and the same boy picked up an apple and threw it against our house.
I know the police aren’t going to do anything so no point in calling them, so I grabbed my camera. I know its too dark to get a focused shot but the boys probably wouldn’t know that. All they'd see is the flashbulb going off. Then I heard 2 men down the other street yelling at them and the boys started running. I ran out to the sundeck and started snapping the shutter making the flash go off so the boys would know the camera was taking their pictures. And then one of the men yelled: “Good! They’re taking your picture.” The 2 men caught up with 2 of the boys with me continuing to snap a blurry documentary. I heard one of the boys yell: “Quit taking our picture. It wasn’t us.”
Kerry went back outside again and another neighbour across the street came outside. Apparently the boy(s) were throwing apples against his house too, though I hadn't seen that. One of the other men came back to talk. Apparently the boys had just been done their street and were throwing rocks at his neighbor’s house. As if that wasn’t enough one of them (probably the same apple thrower I observed) punched in the van that was parked on the street. That house/van owner is a biker. He caught up with 2 of them, and I believe he knew at least one of them, and found out who the other boys are, so it looks like he’ll take care of them.
In the meantime I now pick up those apples as soon as I can and do one final sweep before going to bed at night. Just trying to eliminate the ammunition.
Last summer a neighbour came over with an apple pie for us. She confessed to having picked apples so she could do some baking, and we invited her to help herself. Sad to say the apple pie wasn’t very good. Darned tasteless, mushy Transparents!
Over the winter we hired a gardener to prune the trees and as spring rolled around we put in fruit tree spikes and made sure the trees were well watered and we’re dealing with a bumper crop this year.
A couple of months ago we extended our fence line along the side of our house, putting the apple trees on the street side of the fence. Technically they are on city property but our responsibility. Therefore the apples fall on both sides of the fence. I’m constantly seeing apples with a bite taken out of them or even just the core left dumped on our lawn.
A couple of weeks ago I had just arrived home from work and was getting into my barn clothes when someone came to the front door. I heard Kerry talk to him and then he told me that the man who was pruning the neighbor’s tree saw our apples and asked if he could have some for his horses. Kerry told him to help himself. I was ticked. I hadn’t yet filled a bucket of apples for OUR horses. Not only did he clean us out but I saw him picking apples off the tree too. And those branches are quite high up due to our recent trimming. Nothing too close to the ground but he was a good sized man and was able to reach a branch and pull it down closer for picking range. And here’s the kicker. The man is trailering his tree chipper. One of our apple branches broke off and was lying on the ground right there in front of him. He's got to walk around it to get to the apples. The considerate thing for him to do in exchange for the apples would have been to toss that tree in his truck and then put it through his chipper the next time he was using it. But no, he didn’t. I told Kerry if he comes back wanting apples tell him no.
Today Kerry told me he caught a lady picking the apples off the ground and she told him she was making applesauce. Help yourself he told her. No problem there. I really don’t mind if the neighbor’s help themselves for their own consumption. There’s a bumper crop this year.
On Saturday night at 11pm I heard voices outside on the street. I peeked out the window and saw a group of teenage boys talking loudly and kept an eye on them. One of them stopped off the street onto our lawn and picked up an apple and started eating it. So OK, he’s hungry. Then another boy picked up an apple, took a bite, and apparently didn’t like it too much. He threw it at our house and it made a good thump against the siding. Then he picked up another apple and threw it against the house. Fortunately the siding again and not through a window. Kerry was downstairs and heard the noise and came outside. Ended up getting into a verbal battle and the boys took off down the street and he went back inside. I don’t think that was too smart for him to get into it with the boys because we park our truck on the street, and the car and motorbike in the driveway and those little buggers could have come back and vandalized any of them while we're sleeping. Then I watched the boys come back and the same boy picked up an apple and threw it against our house.
I know the police aren’t going to do anything so no point in calling them, so I grabbed my camera. I know its too dark to get a focused shot but the boys probably wouldn’t know that. All they'd see is the flashbulb going off. Then I heard 2 men down the other street yelling at them and the boys started running. I ran out to the sundeck and started snapping the shutter making the flash go off so the boys would know the camera was taking their pictures. And then one of the men yelled: “Good! They’re taking your picture.” The 2 men caught up with 2 of the boys with me continuing to snap a blurry documentary. I heard one of the boys yell: “Quit taking our picture. It wasn’t us.”
Kerry went back outside again and another neighbour across the street came outside. Apparently the boy(s) were throwing apples against his house too, though I hadn't seen that. One of the other men came back to talk. Apparently the boys had just been done their street and were throwing rocks at his neighbor’s house. As if that wasn’t enough one of them (probably the same apple thrower I observed) punched in the van that was parked on the street. That house/van owner is a biker. He caught up with 2 of them, and I believe he knew at least one of them, and found out who the other boys are, so it looks like he’ll take care of them.
In the meantime I now pick up those apples as soon as I can and do one final sweep before going to bed at night. Just trying to eliminate the ammunition.
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