Puppy Paradise

That's right!  Time to take a break from the serious stuff and post about feel good moments.  Much irony here, seeing as how I'm suffering from a broken rib and the moment in question resulted in some of the worst pain since the fall.

It's been many days since we took the time to lay on the floor in the office and stream a show from Netflix. But I stumbled across the whole series "Firefly," and figured Twyla would like it, given her very discriminating taste in entertainment.  It's a shame the series only lasted for one season, but I can understand why it did.  Die hard Trekkie types wouldn't be able to handle the fact that it's more about plot and character development than about Sci-Fi technogeekiness (did I just make up a word?).  The plots and dialogue are witty and not meant for the American Idol crowd. There's no socialist utopia idiocy. Without you actually going to watch it for yourself, the only quick way I know to describe it is: The Old Western frontier set 500 years in our future. My favorite aspect of the show is the struggle to remain free and being willing to go without a lot of material comfort rather than be a slave to a totalitarian government and society.  Funny, that wasn't the original purpose of this post.

Moxie is quite the energetic dog.  She is as healthy and happy as she can be.  She has the run of quite a few acres up here on our mountain.  Depending on where we need to go and what we are doing, she gets to ride to town about half of the time, and she is a pleasure when it comes to riding.  She sit's quietly; doesn't get anxious about anything.

New "Chicken Little" on the right.

Most of the surprises we get around here are pleasant ones.  This spectacular fall on the back steps was not one of them, but most everything else is.  Like discovering a new chick out of nowhere in the front yard.  About three weeks or so ago, we discovered a new dog hanging around the area.  He's a mutt, but a really nice looking one.  Mostly boxer, and maybe some hound or short hair terrier.  I wish I'd have had a good photo of him by now, but he's still very skittish.  Moxie has really taken to him.  I didn't want another dog, but Twyla convinced me that he belongs here.  He started nesting under the front porch in what was left of one of the straw bales I used for chicken bedding.  Twyla has started feeding him.  He gradually came closer and closer each time Twyla was outside over the past few days, and he finally licked her hand.   I can only suppose that he was treated roughly before somebody either dropped him in this neighborhood or he wandered here from somewhere.  At first, he would run away at the mere sight of me, but he keeps getting closer to the door when I call to him.  Twyla named him "Beau."

Last night, we spread out the blanket and I ever so carefully got down on the floor.  Moxie was nearly beside herself with happiness.  She would get to be laying between master and mistress.  For Moxie, this is Nirvana. Seeing Moxie in that state just reduces Twyla to a fit of giggles, and I thought it would make for a good photo, although I wish I had a remote for the camera, so I could mount it on the tripod, and instead of depending on the timer feature, be able to hit the shutter at the right moment.

Once moxie gets into that position, she goes limp as a wet dish rag.  Everything is perfect in her world. But if I get up, or even act like I'm getting up, she goes straight to a state of alert. I've had several dogs, but never one that was so keen on wanting to be so attentive of my every move when possible.  So getting up to get the camera off of the desk was a major chore for two reasons. Even the tiniest movement that involves bending or twisting my torso can feel like someone is twisting a knife in my back. Secondly, Moxie has a hard time understanding that I'm not really going anywhere, I'm just trying to move a few feet.

Three Amigos in Moxie heaven

After attempting to take seven or eight photos, I got the second one you see here.  Sometime later, Twyla got up for some reason and Moxie followed her.  When they came back, Twyla laid back down and then Moxie, wanting that exclusive spot between us, started over me, but then stepped on my abdomen.  This sent me into breathless gasps, teeth and fist clenching, and tears forming.  Now the poor dog hasn't got any clue as to what she just did, but at this point I just can't stand having the dog leaning in on my left side with a broken rib.

I get enough breath in my lungs to muster up a very forceful command to "MOVE!" and this would be my undoing.  She was laying on her side facing me, and to reposition herself to get up, she pressed her back against Twyla and proceeded to shove her paws straight out against me to make room to stand.  Her lower paw thrusting directly into my rib cage.  I screamed.  Er, actually I SCREAMED!!  Every muscle I had originally strained on the fall felt like they were now tearing anew.  After the reflex of expelling all the air out of my lungs and every muscle in my torso seeming to have locked up as if I had been tasered, I wondered if I would pass out from the pain and actually hoped I would.  I had to concentrate on trying to make enough muscles relax in order to inhale.

Poor Moxie now lay in the doorway looking confused and frightened.

Later on, and it took a good while for the pain to subside, I thought about how much that dog loves me unconditionally, and could never conceive of trying to hurt me.  She was actually trying to be obedient to me at the very moment she hurt me.  I thought about how sometimes, in our relationships with other humans, we do things that end up hurting each other without even realizing it, because of things we aren't even aware of.

Every one of us walks around with a black box inside, and a special button outside somewhere that nobody sees.  Every once in a while, somebody pushes that button by sheer accident and a reaction takes place where the bystanders and the poor button presser are left in a state of bewilderment,  wondering, "What in the hell was all THAT about!?!?!"

Me love you.  I can has scurd now?

Sometimes it's major and sometimes it's minor.  Most of the time it's because we perceive an offense where none was intended.  What if, when such a painful thing happens to us, instead of lashing out at the "button presser," we instead asked ourselves why we felt like reacting the way we did? What if we could muster up the incredible grace to assume that the "button pusher" was innocent of any malice of forethought?  What if God allowed me that moment of incredible pain in order to prepare me for something similar down the road?

 Just a thought.

Eventful Day on A Tiny Farm

In our little spot on the mountain, things that probably seem "ho-hum, *yawn*" to others, make us laugh, shake our heads, and be thankful for such a seemingly mundane life.  We like it that way.  We've had enough drama in our life.  When we want more drama, we can go to Netflix.com and watch "24."

We prefer to have days like yesterday, when we marvel at the little things Adonai does in our life.  It's the things and even the timing.  I don't believe in coincidences.  I have a lifetime of events to convince me otherwise.

Yesterday, we cleaned out the storage shed again.  This was a little more painful for Twyla than most.  The things we were getting rid of represent thousands of hours of painting and care.  You see, becoming true disciples of the Messiah can mean having to make very difficult choices. Choosing to live according to God's appointed calendar and observing His appointed celebrations, rather than going along with man-made traditions is not easy. These are choices that friends and family may not understand.  Giving up the pagan holiday of Christmas is just such a thing.  Maybe when we get to Channukah, I'll take the time to post more in depth on why we just can't celebrate Christmas anymore.  But I digress.

"Oh Daddy, can I keep them?!!?"

Twyla had decided last Christmas that it would be the last time to be a part of that.  Mixing the Holy and the profane was no longer an option for her or us.  Now came the time to get rid of the things that were a part of that, and so, we needed to take all of that stuff to the Humane Society Thrift Store and be done with it all.  This is where the fun really began.

Our neighbor across the street, our only full-time neighbor, happened to also be at the thrift store at the same time, and while I was unloading boxes of ornaments, the Christmas tree, and all of Twyla's winter village artistry, the neighbor was asking Twyla if we wanted the baby chicks she had discovered at her daughter's house.  She had seven of them.  "Of course," I said.

So, the neighbor brought them over a couple of hours later, took a tour of the house and spent a good while in friendly conversation with Twyla, while I worked hard to finish organizing and getting all the stuff back in the shed while I had daylight.  Of course, they talked about pets quite a bit, and the neighbor had Twyla just about ready to go over and adopt a little Siamese kitten.  Then Casspurr came up in the conversation, and Mary said that she'd seen Casspurr with the neighbor next to us.  In explanation; this neighbor has a small RV parked next door that he has visited maybe two weeks out of the year.

"Where's my tuna ceviche?"

You can go read Twyla's description of that event by clicking here. 

Now Casspurr is back. At first he was freaking out a little as I carried him inside.  He was doing that kind of meow that cats do when their stressed out, like going to the vet in a pet carrier.  The house must seem very different with all the changes, and the smell of a dog. (Don't get any ideas; Moxie gets a bath about every five days.  "Stinking dogs?!?  We don't need no stinking dogs!!!"  - Treasured Perros of the Sierra Madres.)  But after about five minutes he was acting like, "Oh, I remember this place."  He seemed to just settle in as though he had been here yesterday.

He seems completely unconcerned about Moxie.  He found his spot on the bed and everything is just hunky-dory.

As you can see from the picture above, Mary brought us the seven little chicks in a bird cage.  We needed to wait until well after dark, so that Pretty Face could settle into that trance-like sleep state that chickens go into so that we could insert the chicks under her.  In order to keep the chicks comfortable we put the cage on the bathroom counter and turned on a space heater to get the temperature in the room up sufficiently.

Twyla once suffered a broken neck from being rear-ended in her car, and so we have to make accommodations for that.  We do like to watch "24" through Netflix.  In case anyone forgot, we don't subscribe to cable or have an antenna and the vast majority of TV is a wasteland anyway.  But to watch a movie on Netflix without actually receiving a DVD in the mail, we have to watch it in the office on the computer.  I set up the flat panel screen at an angle facing the floor and we put down a blanket and pillows and watch that way.  Moxie thinks this is paradise, since she's not allowed on the bed.

But last night, the poor thing was so torn.  Every time the chicks would peep a bit loud, she would have to jump up and go check them out and make sure they were okay.  Back and forth.  And now there is this strange cat that hasn't been around for almost a month.  Casspurr came and climbed up on my chest to get some attention and Moxie got a bit too jealous and snapped at him, so I had to administer some swift correction.  This morning everything seems to be peaceful between them.

The new chicks seem to be at least three or four days younger than our own two.  I base that on the overall size and the size of the flight pinions.  One of the new chick just seems so obviously to be a male to both Twyla and myself.  He has the white crown common to male black sexlinks

The fun never stops.