I was going to write about Bubbaz, but realized I would have to include Rosie. And then I would need to talk about the cats, and hey, while I was at it what about the horses? And the elk and the ravens, and… yeah, like that. I’ve got critters, lots of them, and they’ve all got a story.
So here’s a bit of everything critter-related since the last time I posted, the day after Bubbaz arrived.
I’m starting with him because I mentioned him first – no favoritism here!
Just a refresher: on June 26, 2020 I picked up Bubbaz from Round Valley Animal Rescue in Springerville AZ. I was told he was part Great Dane. Given his love for running – and by that I mean the dog never walks when he can trot, and never trots when he can barrel along at full speed – I’m more inclined than ever to think that there’s Greyhound in him, too. Bubz does not act like any eight year old dog of that size I’ve ever met. He does acrobatics when he walks next to me and thinks I’m going too slow, leaps over every obstacle he can find and with room to spare, and when we set out on a walk he runs circles around me.
Bubz has huge feet. Just sayin’.
He is a happy dog. His philosophy is whatever, it’s good. Thunder and lightning? No problem. Last one to get breakfast. That’s fine. Look in my ear? Well, if you must.
Except for one thing: He doesn’t like being left behind. His whines can be heard a quarter mile away.
Bubz is sensitive. When I get excited (usually that means yelling at my computer) he reacts. If I need to correct him, clearing my throat will get the message across. If he’s running out too far from me, I swear I can just think my concern and he comes zooming back.
When I first got him he had full access to the interior of my house and to a dog yard with a 6’ fence. We walked on leash. In a month’s time he has graduated to no leash, and I am super happy with him. The dog not only knows what it means when I call him, he actually comes!
Unlike with Rosie, who has to be cajoled, bribed, and sometimes escorted to get her to come — even when it’s for dinner.
The introduction of a new dog to Rosie’s established territory was painless. What might take weeks and months with other dogs took hours and days with him and Rosie. Bubz is just a super dog, and Rosie is happy to have a companion again. When she was rescued from the backyard she had been abandoned in (nearly a year ago) she had a toy poodle friend who got adopted immediately. It was good to have nearly a year to ourselves with no other dogs around. It gave Rosie, who is submissive to the extreme, the chance to relax and expand her wings to whatever extent possible. But when Bubz came into our lives it was like I had gotten him as a gift just for her.
In a way, I did.
One great thing about having such an energetic new companion is that Bubz encourages Rosie to put a little more effort into keeping up on our walks. She still takes her own sweet time, mind you. Bubbaz and I will have reached the one mile point and be turning back towards home when Rosie’s only covered a half mile. And then, when she sees us coming, she just sits down and waits.
I can’t blame her, though. It’s not just that she’s got such short little legs (I just measured them – her front legs are 9 ½” long from elbow to foot) so that she’s got to work harder to keep up with long-legged Bubbaz. It’s simply hard for her to breathe. In spite of the surgery last February, she still suffers from brachycephalic syndrome. She’s not as bad as she was, but I still have to be careful to not let her get overheated or stressed.
She also seems to be developing arthritis. We don’t know how old she is, but even young dogs can suffer from it. Rosie walks with a side-ways lurch, as if her feet hurt. She can’t jump into a car. Going up and down stairs seems to be a challenge. Lately she’s been peeing and pooping inside the house near the back door. It took me a while to get the message: She doesn’t like going down and then back up the stairs to the dog pen but if I leave the back door ajar she goes outside just fine – there’s only one low step for her to negotiate to get to the back yard. I guess I need to install another dog door for Rosie’s sake. And also because if I leave the back door open anything can come in.
Today a bird took the open door as an invitation. It’s a Say’s Phoebe, a favorite of mine because of the vocalizations. I know the “clear, slurred whistle” that’s repeated over and over drives some people crazy but I like it. Plus phoebes are flycatchers and anything that eats flies is a good thing in my book. I was able to catch the little bird easily with my nekked hands (usually I toss a towel over a bird I’m trying to catch). Phoebe was very patient while I grabbed the cell phone, got the photo app activated, and took a few shots for posterity.
Meanwhile, my valley’s extended raven family members (sorry, I refuse to call them a murder of ravens) are done with their courtship flights and most have gone off elsewhere, leaving a core pair that “owns” the valley and its contents. These ravens spend a lot of time around the horse pens. Sometimes just for the fun of driving the dogs to distraction they’ll hang out on the porch railing or a fence near the house.
Some people feed ravens and the birds get quite tame. I don’t feed the wild animals around me. If they became dependent and then something happened to me, they’d go hungry. Plus, well, wild animals should be wild. That’s what I think and I’m sticking to it.
The only thing is I wish they were just a wee bit less wild. I don’t want them to stop being wild, I just want to get a few good photos. Okay, a lot of good photos. I swear, every time I touch a camera or cell phone they wait just till I’m ready to press the shutter and then take off. Clever little devils.
Coming around full circle, Lili took only a few days to decide that Bubbaz wasn’t going away. She whacked him a couple times on his nose just so he knew who was boss, and since then she’s pretty much ignored him just as she ignores Rosie. They’re merely lesser beings she’s forced to share space with.
Tux, on the other hand, has not been so accepting. First he growled and attacked poor Bubbaz. After he’d sufficiently demonstrated that he was really the boss, Tux relented some. He’d go with us to the barn, talking the whole way (he’s quite the talker, Tux is) and on walks. It was getting downright friendly around here.
And then Tux disappeared.
He is prone to that – he is a tomcat, after all. He was gone so long this time that I started thinking maybe he wasn’t coming back. Finally, after nearly a week AWOL, I heard him talking as he approached the house. It was weird, though — I couldn’t figure out why he didn’t come in right away. He had to be hungry. And then when he finally did come in, he made a bee-line for the kibble bowl, scarfed down his food, and split.
Tomcats. I figured he had a girlfriend he was courting somewhere and was in a hurry to get back. I was right… and oh boy, was I wrong.
A couple nights later I heard a teensy mewling from outside somewhere. And I heard Tux talking back. Obviously, to a kitten.
Yes, Tux had brought home his very own kitten.
It bears mentioning that the nearest inhabited house to mine is several miles away. I haven’t heard anyone talking about missing a kitten from a litter so I’m more inclined to think this kitten is feral. Either way, I have to think Tux had been courting its mother who, given the size of this bit of fluff and the timing of Tux’s disappearance, had come into her post-partum heat. Since this wasn’t the first time Tux had gone walkabout this year, I also have to wonder if maybe he’s the father of the kitten.
I also have to wonder if Tux is so clever that he figured out if he had a kitten of his own here it could grow up to be a female cat he could breed without missing any meals. Or maybe, if he’s the father, he just wanted his own flesh and blood to hang with.
While it’s a mystery to me how he convinced a wee little kitten to follow him home, I have to say I’m kind of happy Tux did so. Lili and he have become indifferent mousers. She’s too old and toothless, and he couldn’t be bothered. But a young cat might well find mouse steak tartare to be an excellent repast.
To that end, I’ve been feeding the kitten in a have-a-heart trap, rigged to stay open and placed near the hole she scrambles into when I try sneaking up on her to see what she looks like. When she gets old enough to get spayed, she’ll be used to the trap and thus easier to catch. I don’t feel any need to tame her. She’ll tame if she wants to, and if not – well, she won’t be the first feral cat I’ve had in my life. On the other hand, I don’t think this kitten means to live outside the rest of her life.
Every night Tux attempts to to talk her into the house. If he can get her in, he retreats to my bed and lets her explore. Last night she made it into the kitchen. Lily was up on top of the cabinet watching. Bubbaz watched me to see what he was supposed to do rather than join Rosie in going after the small intruder. I called Rosie off before she was halfway across the room (pretty nimble for a dog that finds it hard to go up stairs).
The kitten skeedaddled out the dog door and I thought for sure that would be the last I’d see of her for days, but no. Tux followed her out, had a chat with her, and within minutes she was back inside, back in the kitchen where she had left off. I tried for a photo but that was just too much. She ran out and stayed out, no matter how much Tux tried to get her back.
She will be back, though. She already stuck her head in the dog door earlier today. It’s not hard to know when she’s around because she’s got to talk about it.
Just like her daddy does.
Sometimes I despair because each one of my five horses has got a problem. I keep forgetting that four of them are senior citizens and these issues crop up with old age. I’ve got an Arabian horse retirement and rehab facility here, and I can’t expect twenty and thirty year old horses to act like yearlings.
SE Kelsey Grae. At thirty three, Kelsey is the oldest. She’s in good health except she’s become a hard keeper. Even so, she moves as fluidly as ever, always reminding me why we had been such careful breeders back in the day, looking for athletic ability rather than just another pretty Arabian face. I haven’t been on her back for nearly ten years but I bet she wouldn’t fuss at all if I hopped on her back – except for that spine that sticks up.
SE Bint Tazala and SE Sofia. The next oldest – nearly thirty — are Tess and Sofie, neither ever started under saddle due to physical issues early on. Tess injured her left fore fetlock joint when she was one or two. It healed badly and she can’t flex the joint. Tess’ bloodlines are superb and we could have bred her, but we never did. She is still the most beautiful mare, even in her late twenties, and she’s got a personality to match.
Sofie developed severe lordosis (sway back) between two and three years old. We didn’t see it develop as we were in the process of moving to New Mexico then and all our horses were boarded out. Imagine our astonishment when we saw her next and she looked like an old plug! The vet told us that it wasn’t painful for her and that she could be ridden – or even bred. We had too many horses to ride as it was, and had no desire to pass on the possibly recessive genes involved. Sofie became a pet.
SE Kokopelli Kid. Koko, now twenty three years old, was going to be my endurance horse and breeding stallion. He’s the son of my soulmate stallion, Ben Nasrif, who I miss every day. Sadly for Koko his breeding career got cut short with the collapse of the economy in 2008, and I had some health issues that resulted in my never doing more than sitting on his back. No training, mind you. Aside from athleticism, we bred for intelligence and personality. The day I first sat on Koko’s back it was because I was sitting on the fence rail and he came up and stood next to me, essentially telling me to hop on. And I did. Sadly, Koko had an accident last fall – we never did figure out what he did to himself – and was severely lamed. He’s improved since then but he’ll never be sound again.
SE Redhill Sonetta. Last but not least is Sonny. She was the end result of an unplanned and unnoticed pregnancy, born long after Koko was retired from stud. He had been lonely and we had an old mare who’d shown no signs of coming into heat for years. You can imagine the rest of that story, but I’ll just go ahead and tell it. We let Suletta live with Koko. Never saw any sign of breeding activity. Koko was happy to be with her, Su was content to boss him around, as mares will do. A year passed. And then another.
One frigid January morning, New Year’s weekend I believe it was, I went out to feed. Su and Koko were turned out at night, but that morning only he came in for breakfast. I hunted for Su, but it wasn’t till I had given up, fed the other horses, and come in to warm up before going out again, that she showed up. When I went back outside there was the reason… a foal.
Talk about shocked!
Sonny grew up to be a promising endurance contender (her full and half-siblings were killer on the trail) until one day she came into breakfast lame. Not yet ten years old and she was suffering from laminitis. Out here it’s a major deal to get a vet to make a ranch call or to haul a horse the hundred miles or more to the nearest vet clinic where she could be x-rayed. Much treatment and many dollars later, she still suffers periodic laminitis bouts and when that happens I freak out, grit my teeth, and we start the whole recovery process yet again. In-between the bouts she travels up and down the mesa sides with the old lady horses and it’s tempting… but riding her wouldn’t be fair, not with those feet. So while Sonny is gorgeous hunk and an otherwise healthy middle-aged mare, she’s permanently retired.
None of my horses will ever have any other homes than the one they have now. That’s true for all my critters. Rescue dogs, stray cats, bumbling birds, and crippled ancient horses — doesn’t matter. I’ve got my own issues and I don’t want to be sent off to live somewhere else, so I won’t do that to them. We’ll all grow old together. Family.
That’s all I’ve got for you today. Oh wait — I forgot to describe what it was like one dark night when a herd of elk cows and calves wandered by the house, calling to each other in their weird high-pitched whistles for nearly an hour. Or the recording I made of spade-toed toads (say that three times fast) singing their love songs.. Or…
Maybe next time.