C.S.I. Worland

There’s a criminal in our midst. Indeed, he’s sleeping on my recliner right now, one of this country’s 84 million domestic cats—dastardly bird assassins, nearly every one.

The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service estimates that a feral cat slaughters between 28 and 46 birds every year, while a free-roaming pet cat kills between 4 and 18 birds per year. The numbers for domestic cats are lower because those felines aren’t hungry but only hunt for sport. Besides, the pampered cats stay close to air conditioners, heaters, and woodstoves where birds generally don’t congregate.

Smokey Mew, alias the Terrible Tiger, is guilty as charged, but probably doesn’t bag more than 5 or 6 feathered victims a year. However, his predecessor, Sam, was considerably more bloodthirsty. Like most cats, Sam liked to display his trophies on the front steps, so I think it’s safe to say that he either met or surpassed his yearly quota of 18 innocent Tweeties.

Sadly for us but happily for the birds, Sam disappeared two years ago. Our search for Sam led us to the animal shelter, just in case. We were told that, because of a severely reduced rabbit populace, hungry hawks and owls were frequently preying on cats. The thought of a big old avian eating our dear Sam was dreadful, but we had to admit that, if it was the case, there was a certain justice in it.

 Sam

“The Lord executes righteousness and justice for all who are oppressed.” –PSALM 103:6

Figuratively Speaking

I hesitate to post these photos. At first glance, you may assume they are two pictures of the same bovine. When I tell you that the first is Daisy Mae and the second is Gracie, you may say to yourself, “Oh, I didn’t know that they clone their cows in Wyoming!”

We don’t. Actually, Daisy Mae is Gracie’s mama. The reason they look so much alike, more so than most cows and calves, is that they have a similar metabolic rate. I can’t tell you that exact figure (no pun intended), but I suspect it’s a fairly low number.

“Therefore be imitators of God [copy Him and follow His example], as well-beloved children [imitate their father].” –EPHESIANS 5:1

For Brian and Family

When we lose a loved one, friends, family, and clergy rally around us, offering comfort and casseroles, prayers and flowers, memorials and listening ears. But when the loved one was a dog—even a really, really good dog—we’re, for the most part, left alone to bury him and grieve.

Buddy, we’re so sorry. We miss you so much.

No one read the dog’s obituary in the paper, so they don’t understand why our hearts are so heavy. No one sees our eyes tear up whenever we see his leash or the empty spot in the truck that he loved so much. We know that our dog made the world an infinitely better place, but no one wants to help us say our good-byes with a gracious eulogy, beautiful songs, funny stories, and promises of heaven.

Buddy, you were special—so cheerful, fun-loving, beautiful. You loved us all.

We’re expected to ignore the giant lump in our throats, and to get out of bed and go about our lives as if nothing much happened because, after all, he was just a dog.

Buddy, we love you. If you’re in heaven with Dad, give him our love.

BUDDY (2000—2013)

“He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us.”                                 –2 CORINTHIANS 1:4

A Riddle

RIDDLE:  What is green and white and black all over?

ANSWER:  Cupcake, after a hearty breakfast of last summer's alfalfa!

“May the God of green hope fill you up with joy, fill you up with peace, so that your believing lives, filled with the life-giving energy of the Holy Spirit, will brim over with hope!” –ROMANS 15:13

Sneak Preview

Errand day led me to the bank, where Connie, a loan officer and fellow cattleperson, came out of her office to catch me. “Robin, when do your heifers start calving?” As most animal lovers do when asked about their animals, I responded enthusiastically, with more details than Connie may have cared to listen to.

At the grocery store, we ran into Debbie, the gal that does our A.I. work (see It’s Arranged from May 2012). Of course, she asked how the heifers were doing, how many were pregnant, and when they would start calving. We responded enthusiastically, with more details than Debbie may have cared to listen to.

Unlike our other cows--professional calvers and calf-raisers by virtue of practice--the heifers will require more oversight, prayer, and, possibly, help. Even though we know we’ll be overworked and under-slept, we look forward to calving season with eager anticipation—much like parents expecting a new baby.

When calving season starts, you can bet that l’ll be posting about it enthusiastically, with more details than you may care to read about! Just to whet your whistle, here’s one of my favorite calf photos from last season.

“Meanwhile, the joyful anticipation deepens.” –ROMANS 8:21

Olive

Please welcome a guest blogger, my sister Jenny, as she tells how the newest addition to the family, a West Highland terrier named Olive, has managed to capture her heart.

When we first got Olive and would tell people we got a puppy, the first thing they’d ask is what kind. Sometimes I was embarrassed because some thought she was a little poofy dog. I knew better because Westies are rough and tough, but most people don't even know what they are. A few times I mentioned wanting to get a real dog like a lab or golden retriever someday when Rilee [Jenny’s older golden] goes. Brian always teases me that I love Olive even though she's not a real dog.

The girls want Olive to be groomed all fancy and wear sweaters. They give her baths, but I like her scruffy and natural. When she went to the groomer she came back all white and poofy, reeking of perfume for days. She didn't look like the little brat that digs holes in the yard, chews shoes and electrical cords, and barks at the neighbors and their cats. She loves to wrestle with Brian, jump on top of him, even sleep on him like a cat. She’ll play with her toys by herself, but her favorite thing is stealing Rilee's tennis balls and teasing her with them.

Every morning before he goes to work, Brian splits a stick of string cheese with all three dogs. He taught Olive how to dance, which she does as soon as the cheese is opened, spinning in two circles and then jumping on her back legs. It's really cute, I have to admit. I even broke down and bought her the Christmas sweater in the picture.

“You've captured my heart, dear friend.” –SONG OF SOLOMON 4:9

More Than Enough

Some readers may be wondering how it’s going between Blueberry and Lolli (see yesterday’s “Not Inconceivable”). Since I don’t want to be indelicate, suffice it to say that Lolli has more than fulfilled his purpose for coming here! I’d heard about the ardor of goats, but, well, let’s just say that it has to be seen to be believed. If little Strawberry and Patch aren’t already on their way, then I’d be shocked.

I knew that the hormones had subsided when I saw Blueberry hiding from her Casanova behind the hay feeder this morning. Both have been partaking of more siestas than usual, so I assume they didn’t sleep much last night.

For her part, Meels has uncharacteristically planted herself upon a pile of hay all day, reminiscent of a hen sitting on a clutch of eggs. I can only surmise that she’s trying to look broody, aloof, and unavailable so that she’ll be left alone!

“God has been good to me and I have more than enough." –GENESIS 33:11