# 515 - Grads, Moles and Eyebrows!

This has been an exciting time for our family. Brice (Stefie's long-time boyfriend) has just graduated with his degree in Criminal Justice.

We are very proud of Brice.

Me and Brice - this past Friday night at his graduation party.

During Brice's college days, I gladly helped out with tutoring during research paper writing assignments as well as provided proof-reading and editing assistance. But, the arrangement between us was, "I will help with the paper, and you build my house."

After helping with a paper, I would look out the window over the acreage and say, "I don't see my house yet!"

Brice graduated a week ago, and he presented me with a gift...a house!

Actually, his effort was so sweet, and I will be keeping this house he built with his own hands! :-)

To me, this is a sculpture with a story behind it. Every time I see it, I will remember the joking that we enjoyed during the years he went to college.

Also, during the past couple of weeks, we had another great visit in the country with Stefie and Brice for several days. Those two enjoy going for walks and savoring the peace of the country. But, I love watching them try to run from the chickens and from having their feet pecked.

And Howdy is still in charge. At least he thinks he is in charge.

But, Gracie, the puppy we found in the woods, is a true farm dog. She has gotten to the point of rarely electing to coming indoors. She stays outside. Grace prefers to be with the chickens.

Another thing Gracie is great at...she LOVES putting her nose to the ground to sniff along all the mole trails we have zig-zagging through the land, then she zeros in on their location, digs like crazy and we end up with these...

Gracie is a hunter. No doubt about it. A mole hunter.

As for me, going to Brice's graduation party yesterday meant that I got to take my mop of curly hair out of the perpetual pony-tail, and I got to wear something other than my holy, dirt-stained farm clothes, and put on make-up!

I had to prove that I could still get out of the country-mode as I was preparing to drive off the acreage yesterday...

Good thing Stefie contoured my eyebrows for me this past week, and I did her eyebrows for her. It is SO NICE to have daughters who can save you time and money by helping you avoid "professional" contouring. Well, you know I was born and raised in the Greater Houston area, so those kinds of things were "normal" for us. Only, we girls learned how to do it ourselves. Thank Goodness Stefie came for a visit so we could tackle out-of-control eyebrows!

I thought you might enjoy that tidbit of family fact...we are eyebrow specialists. Lol.

I think Stefie's great eyebrows make her look awesome! The look...it's ALL ABOUT the eyebrows!

Too bad Brice doesn't let us touch one hair on his chinny-chin-chin, or touch his mustache, or sideburns. Actually, the extra-hairy look works for him, but for Stefie and me...not so much.

Life is awesome. I sure thank the Lord for our blessings, even for the rogue eyebrow hairs that were missed. Life is pretty great.

# 251 - I've Turned into a Mama Chicken; checking for feathers momentarily...

These two baby chicks found our way to our home after they were discovered in one of Stefie's friend's garage, after Easter. They had obviously been Easter chicks that had been discarded and somehow found their way to shelter in the garage. It's amazing they survived as long as they did

Stefie's little friend was trying to do a good deed by helping the chicks, but she was terrified of them and needed to find someone here, in a Greater Metropolitan area, that could take chickens. Not an easy feat. Fortunately, the chicken's had guardian angels who directed them to a place where people love chickens...our house.

Our two large dogs, each about 50 pounds, absolutely LOVE chickens. Lilya is especially giddy over the little chicks and has a motherly instinct that kicks in immediately. She wants to lick the chicks and care for them. Howdy, the Aussie, is extremely protective over the chicks and stands guard at their box, pacing and not letting anyone, but Deputy Dave and I, get near the box. He curls his lips back and growls and makes it clear that these chicks are his shepherding duty.

Liyla is simply so darn happy to have chicks again. We keep the chicks in our master bathroom and can hardly get Liyla to leave the room for us to close the doors. Howdy also is content to lie at the foot of their box and to be on guard. These dogs are truly amazing in their gentle, protective nature toward chicks.

And then, the unthinkable happened. Our little 6-7 pound Yorkie that we rescued last year found her way around Deputy Dave while in the bathroom and she suddenly went into attack mode as a chick was being put back in the box. In a flash, she lunged for the chick's head and managed to bite off the beak, mostly the top beak.

I'd been just around the corner from the bathroom and heard Deputy Dave repeatedly saying, "Oh my God" and I heard the horrible screaming of a chick in distress. I tried to prepare myself as I came around the corner to find his large hands cradling whatever was left of a chick and blood running down his hands, dripping onto the floor.

His hands were so big, I couldn't see what was left of the chick. But, the other chick was screaming too. It was another moment of chaos at the main homestead in the city!

Honestly, I stood there thinking that he was holding the remains of a chick that had been beheaded. In addition, Deputy Dave was thundering mad at Belle the Yorkie; she was in BIG trouble and running for the closet. But as I told Deputy Dave...she's a TERRIER; she's a HUNTER. Her breed is designed to search and attack, ruthlessly. You cannot turn your back on these dogs, especially with chicks. They are prime targets. But, I still love little Belle. However, we will have to turn up the senses a few hundred notches to compete with a terrier's determination. Around here, we are the bosses...she's learning.

So...Deputy Dave was fully traumatized. Here this big man is cradling an injured chick and devastated while at the same week he is working every day in criminal courts for a brutal Capital Murder trial. Not a good week. Same for me...I can't tell too much of what I'm doing right now, but it pretty much involves being exposed to some awful criminal cases that can turn your stomach, so both of our tanks were pretty much on empty already. Isn't that how life goes?

Immediately after the injury. After getting Belle into her kennel so that SHE could live another day...I flew into action online. I quickly went onto www.backyardchickens.com to search injured chicken beak data. Then, I posted a very fast blog to reach out to blog buddies. I did get some very good information and suggestions. One was to check to see if the nostrils were damaged. Man...I learned quickly how to find nostrils on chicks!

The chick, after the attack, clearly showed signs of distress because she could not stand. She wobbled, laid on her side and kept crying and bleeding all over the place. I was thinking, "How much blood can a chick lose?!"

It was horrendous to see a creature, a BABY creature suffering. I must admit, I had instant thoughts of taking the chick outside to put it out of its misery, on my own. However, my rapid on-line search had me second-guessing the chick's ability to indeed stay alive. Maybe there was a slim chance she'd make it through the trauma, the injury, and somehow adapt to living without a top beak. We checked for further injuries and could not see anything remarkable, so we decided to give her 24 hours.

However, the other chick instantly began to peck the injured chick's beak. Within two seconds of that kind of activity, we had the chick out of there and separated in another box lined with hay, a water bowl and feed bowl. But, the injured chick left the food and water untouched.

I tossed and turned all night...wondering if I was going to wake up to find a dead chick. To my amazement, the next morning, she was acting perky again. I was gentle and cleaned her beak of the dried blood packed with bits of dirt and hay attached to it. Then, I began to see if she'd eat. Starvation seems to be the main concern at this point. Initially, she wasn't able to peck for food.

Before the injury, I'd hand fed the chicks and they'd vigorously peck the food from my hand. Now, the injured chick would go into a pecking motion, but her beak area would never quite reach the feed in my hand...almost as if she were having "phantom beak" sensations, as if she had the sensation that the end of her beak were still present. 

Throughout the day, I tried to find a way to get food and water into her system. Fortifying the water with electrolytes, I began to take a syringe filled with the water and to put drops of it on the tip of what was left of her beak. Eventually, her little tongue would appear to swipe the water away and she'd throw her head back to swallow. TRIUMPH! After doing this for a bit, she figured out that the syringe was a source of food and water, so she'd eagerly down some of the goodies coming to a squeezing drop off the end of the syringe (open ended syringe for administering measured liquid medications).

I must admit, I felt a bit like a PROUD Mama Chicken.

I used my mortar and pestle to ground up her feed into a fine grain...she ate it. Deputy Dave even went to the store and purchased her Gerber Baby Food, pureed green beans! We were determined that this chick would have every chance to survive.

After he got home from work that next day, he sat on the floor of the bathroom with this chick and took his turn, even though he was exhausted, and made sure he got more food and water into her system.

Today, Deputy Dave felt her little throat area and could tell that she's again putting down food. She's looking good. Or rather, HE is looking good. We still don't know if this chick is a He or a She. As previously written about in a former blog post, I am sexually-illiterate when it comes to chickens, especially.

I'll just have to wait and see what we've got in a few weeks from now...kind of like a special Chicken Christmas present. Is it a Cock-A-Doodle-Do or Not?

Stay tuned. You'll find out the moment that I do!

I just hope it survives. If it's a rooster, we're not getting rid of this one. I don't know what we'll do. I don't have ready answers for this dilemma.

It's day by day.  Right now, even though I had a nap earlier in the afternoon, I can barely hold my head up to get this article posted. I'm off to hit "publish post" and go to bed.

# 248 - MAN - His Own Tribe

Deputy Dave is an expert marksman with a gun, most any kind of gun, small or ginormous. However, I think he told me a fib when he said that he didn't really know how to shoot a bow and arrow. For the record, I took archery classes while growing up; I know my way around a bow and arrow.

I mistakenly believed this man would need a few pointers to get started. Nope.

He took aim at an old ice chest left on the property and hit it with such force that the arrow impaled the side of the chest.

What about practice sessions? I thought you didn't know how to shoot a bow and arrow?

My arrow has now been violated by a marksman. The poor brand new thing barely survived Deputy Dave's first go-round with it. I felt like an apology was in order...

My little bow and arrow set that was supposed to be used for fun and games is now seen as a deadly weapon. No doubt about it. I had intended for the set to be used for shooting into a hay stack or into another kind of unliving target, with a big smile on my face along with some frolicking in the woods kind of intentions. My style of shooting had been to direct the arrows more toward the sky with aim being guided by guessing wind impact and angle.

No such A to B to C method for Deputy Dave; he went from A to Z in one clear, powerful shot.

Needless to say, I will be brushing up on my skills with the bow and arrow. After all, I'm the one with Native American blood flowing through my veins around this household.

However, this episode with the bow and arrow on our property has solidified the suspicion that Deputy Dave probably has Native American in his blood as well...at least he's got SOME KIND of tribal blood flowing through those veins of his. I just don't believe a man of German heritage can shoot that perfectly by instinct...Germans build great machines and nice cars...they aren't shooters. 

Yes, I think that his family has hidden some kind of tribal heritage from being discovered.

As I dwell on the matter further, I realize that Deputy Dave does indeed come from a famous tribe...it's simply called, "MAN."

Never mind. I now understand.



# 165 - East Texas Gun-Fire

As you have probably already suspected, Deputy Dave and I are not hunters. Well, Deputy Dave is a hunter of sorts...but not of wildlife. However, that might be changing. We've been talking about learning to hunt, but not with the gun below. These guns are city guns, suited for another purpose.

A great pocket-sized buddy.

Deputy Dave already knows how to shoot. Me...not so much. Deputy Dave is itching to teach me how to "properly" shoot a gun.

My history with shooting began with my brother and I, as young kids, standing on the diving board to the swimming pool in the backyard of our city home...standing on the far end facing the yard. We stood on our shooting platform and gazed across the yard toward the pyramid of stacked empty soda cans laid on the top fence board, cans ready for us to shoot with a Daisy BB Gun.

Our parents had no idea that we had set up a shooting range in our backyard paradise, we were typical city kids up to no good. Even though it was only a BB gun, we are very fortunate to not have hurt any of the churchgoers in the church parking lot situated directly behind our house, on the other side of the fence --- the direction we were shooting. Of course, we'd wait until there were no people passing by before we'd emerge from the pool to shoot a few more rounds...so sweet of us to be attentive like that.

We were the hellions who lived next to the church and who had parents who so carelessly gave BB Guns to their kids without supervision. I look back and wonder...What exactly did our parents think we would be doing with a BB Gun in city limits?

My brother and I, in a sweet moment of
not wanting to kill one another but we're getting close to the BB Gun Age.

However, for those of you who are worried for our souls, we're both Christians --- my brother a youth minister --- and we recognize kids like we'd been, kids who didn't think too much about their actions. Well, perhaps we DID care about our actions...after all...we never did shoot anyone in the parking lot behind the fence because we actually did practice SOME amount of safety. We were pillars in our community I tell you.

My brother and I standing next to each other,
he's about 17 and I'm about 21 years old.
And he's about to join the Marines and be leaving for the Middle East.

Since then, I've grown up, somewhat. My point is...I could handle a BB Gun with precision, I could call out which soda can I would be shooting in the pyramid and take it out. Those were the days. Since then, things have changed.

On the other end of the spectrum, as for Deputy Dave's own shooting abilities, you would not want to be in his range. Prior to big city work as a Deputy Sheriff, he served in the military and became an expert marksman on certain weaponry. Regardless, he's never been a hunter of wildlife.
Of course, he passed on this natural ability to his youngest daughter, Stefie. She can shoot a bullet hole through a paper target bull's eye and then shoot a second bullet hole through the first one. She did this the very first time she shot a 9mm, starting in her teenage years.

Me, I take the shooting stance that my husband calls "spray and pray." It's messy and not very on target, but it often gets the job done. Unfortunately, my oldest, Heather, employs this same kind of shooting ability...if she is ever forced to "protect" people in her household, we're all ready to duck low so that she has a better chance at shooting the bad guy and missing all of us good guys.

So, with a family split evenly with on-target shooters and the other half as those who spray and pray, we are quite a team and can clear an area quite efficiently. However, we know that hunting will be interesting. Deputy Dave will surely hunt like a military machine, using a minimum of bullets while I am unloading the clip, hopefully after learning to shoot a "big gun" with open eyes.

Yes, I've got a long way to go.

The firing pit on our property.

Until the day when we learn to hunt ourselves, I hope we can keep the "foreign" hunters off of our property. It's a hard job to conquer when you have acreage in the country with fuzzy boundaries that will be made more clear once we've moved out there full-time. It will be better for everyone after we put up our fences and are living out there in our cabin.

As for country living, I learned as small child while visiting our weekender places in the woods near our acreage that if you don't like the sound of gun-fire, then do NOT go to East Texas. This part of the map will guarantee that you will hear a mixture of birds chirping, followed by sporadic gun-fire, and then a short spell of silence.

However, I must say that gun accidents out there are a rarity compared to city dwellers because people in the country actually know how to handle a gun. The feel of a gun in their hand is the same as the steering wheel of your car in yours --- both can be a deadly weapon if not handled properly, but each can provide a strong sense of independence when taken care of responsibly.

In Texas, especially East Texas, everybody and their brother owns at least one gun and they use them. Hunting is a favorite past-time in East Texas. You can even obtain hunting permits for The Big Thicket Preserve...yes...a government operated entity allows hunting on its premises in Texas.

Learning to hunt will also require me to broaden my food preferences. Since I do not currently eat venison, this will be a massive challenge for me to overcome. It will be another hurdle for me to conquer once I'm living in the country because we have lots of deer on our property. I am a city girl; I don't eat venison, but I do eat Sushi.

As for hunting, it's good that we can officially hunt across the street in The Big Thicket during seasonal allowances and this will keep our hunting costs to a minimum. But, there is no doubt, I will have to find a way to get past my Bambi issues with deer meat.

I'm determined to overcome my deer meat aversion. Maybe I will eventually get to the point to being able to eat a ground venison taco and almost convince myself that it is beef...so I'm told.

Regardless, as for gun-fire in East Texas, once the shotgun sounds begin to ricochet around us because of the echoes that occur in the woods, I lovingly say to Deputy Dave while dressed in my country finest, without make-up and with my wild, curly hair all over the place, "We've had so many ups and a few downs, but I hope you always remember that you have been THE love of my life."

And he gives me this lopsided confused expression while saying, "What's wrong with you? I'm just here to refill the tractor with gas."

I don't think he even hears the gunshots, heck, he goes to work every day with a gun on his hip. But for me, hearing guns firing around me has a tendency to make me feel a bit nostalgic.

If you decide to visit the heart of East Texas forest any time soon, be aware that you will hear multiple gun shots going off, especially on a holiday weekend. Every Bubba in town has visitors come over for some 4-wheeling, BBQing, and a shoot-out. And once we got back home to our house surrounded by city life we were missing the tranquil sounds of country living, but we also found it odd that the absence of gun-fire was not very comforting.

Around here, in the city, if people heard their neighbors firing off their weapons on a regular basis, there might be a few less burglaries and such because warnings of occupancy are made very clear on a good sunny day with a gun shot or two. That said, I do NOT think it's a good idea to start shooting our guns in the suburbs. It's just a Wild-West thought to ponder. 

Even the most dense criminal can get the message of a gun firing off around the corner. Yes, it would be a great idea to love THAT neighbor.

I guess the bottom line about people hunting on our land, or rather, the thing about people trespassing on our land, is that in East Texas...people will avoid your property IF there is evidence of your habitation. However, IF the property appears vacated, then it is a free-for-all, with no ill harm intended.

And there you go...that's the unwritten rule of East Texas...stay away and you will be dismissed. Hang around and you will be remembered.