One strange thing did happen in the mornings of Wyoming: I finally made omelets. Over the years I have tried but it either turns into a scramble or some strange frittata. Well: I finally got it!
My view during breakfast.
This has nothing to do with anything except to prove life is better out west.
So day two of Yellowstone. South to get a glimpse of the Tetons. Stopping at some geothermal fields. After lunch by the Tetons back to Yellowstone. On the way back in the road goes by Lewis Canyon. This area was hit by fire in 1988. There are still tall burnt trees, but there is also strong regrowth. After hiking out a bit, I overlooked the most beautiful place I have ever seen.
Lewis Canyon
After this we heading to Old Faithful. Originally I thought this was not on the "must see" list. But after seeing the geothermal features it moved up on the list. Well we hadn't looked at the times it was erupting but we thought we would try.
As we topped a hill, there it was..... erupting off in the distance. It was pretty funny.
LOOK! Old Faithful!
So we walked the big geothermal area, it rained, it was all so cool. A smaller geyser erupted. And then we waited for Old Faithful. The visitors center has estimated time, then says +/- 10 minutes. For us it was +20. I now call it Old Faithful-ish.
Wild Cat.
Wild Deere.
The back to the cabin. One more night on the mountain.
Now.... I suggest playing this song while you look through the photo album.
(really I suggest you listen to that song while driving in Wyoming.... It is amazing.)
Well Wichita got what we are calling dysteria while on the Oregon Trail. So the day turned into a long line of stops. But at least it was pretty. This is also how I found out the sun doesn't set till 9 something up there! We found our cabin; which was amazing. The dogs were happy, we were tired.
The next morning.... I woke up in Wyoming!
Off to Yellowstone of course. Just 30 minutes down the road and I saw the gates. The first part was affected by a wildfire in recent years so it was really cool to see it coming back.
Now I had researched Yellowstone, and asked people who had been there what they recommend. After pouring over pictures and descriptions I realized it didn't matter which direction; there would be something awesome. And really all I wanted to see was a bison.
So off to the northeast path. Barely past the visitor center.... and I saw what I came to see!
And immediately we stopped in a bison traffic jam.
The rest of the day was waterfalls, and 300 steps to the bottom of the falls, and a river, and picnic, and just so much beautiful nature!
It ended in steak and whiskey back at the cabin.
Instead of all the details.... how about pictures? Here ya go: Wyoming day 1.
Grade school had a computer room in the basement. It was where I learned the greatest computer game ever.... The Oregon Trail.
Now this game spurred interest in the real trail. I've read and dreamed of what it was really like.
So.
After getting a great book of the maps, I knew I had to go.
Nebraska is gorgeous.
Most of the way across it the Trail ran on the side on the highway, but there were no physical remains. Until Scotts Bluff. There is a part of the park where swails are visible. This is where the combination of wheel ruts and horse tracks and human feet all made a worn out path.
It was so cool walking the swail. It was humbling to think of the courage it took to follow this trail. It was overwhelming to think of the history of this place.
Crazy week behind me, and vacation ahead. I can't even start to get into that.
The biggest thing I want to share is that after a spring of squirrel chasing I FINALLY got a tomato out of my garden!
Green ones!
Baby brussel sprouts!
The first one to ripen! With my basil.
Now: turn on your speakers and listen to the great John Denver sing out this topic. You may want to dance too.
Wichita is a sweet puppy. But this puppy had a wicked chewing phase. She had many victims. One big one went unnoticed for months, but this spring it was found out that she in fact had killed the lawn mower.
First some history: I hate gas mowers. I believe gas should be left for my SUV. So the hippie in me lucked into one of those old timey push mowers.
My old timey push mower.
I cut the grass exactly twice with this and realized it was over rated. Motors were added to lawn mowers for a reason. So. Enter the electric mower. It is like a vacume cleaner with a blade. Once in the groove of swinging the cord it is actually really nice. Until Wichita. Apparently the dangling cord was too inviting and at some point this winter she chewed it off. And I assure you, the electrics inside that housing were way more complicated than I ever could have thought. I was hoping she wouldn't chew one again, and was wishing there was a way around the long cord.
So the neighbor let me borrow her loud polluting mower, and I drug out the old timey push mower, while I pondered electric models.
And, because she felt bad Wichita tried to eat the grass to a reasonable height.
She loves her greens.
A solution was found; there is a new thing.... battery operated lawn mowers! No cord, no gas! But it seems it is an east coast thing, so I was afraid I would never find one in St. Louis. A trip to Home Depot was planned.... when a miracle at work occurred.
From across the back dock it looked like an electric lawn mower. I was so excited! Then I got to it, and started inspecting, and low and behold I could not find the plug to try it out. I opened the weird lid, when I saw why..... It was a battery operated lawn mower!!!!
It is everything I thought it would be. Quiet, light weight, NO exhaust throwing rocks or sticks. It has power, it has grace! It carries its own tools! And there is no cord for the puppy to chew. And there will be more gas for my SUV.
Two years. Wildfire officially became my dog two years ago today. He was my first dog, and truly he is the dog that I judge all dogs by. He sets the bar, and for being a dachshund mini poodle mix he sets the bar extremely high.
He is so handsome.
Far and away this little canine is braver most dogs out there. He came from a bad breeder, and a very bad dog-mother. He had a rough first month. Then he met me.
River fun in Gatlinburg.
Vacation. He is so great in the car.
Unfortunately under my care he has survived an attack by a much bigger boxer mix. And I will never know what he encountered the day of the break in. I know he was at the very least fended off with a Swiffer. I hope he bit. And I still thank the force in the universe that reminded me to take the key out of the key to key deadbolt in the back door. That action alone kept him in the house. And probably kept him in my life.
If the police ever catch the person(s) that did break in, I only want to ask them one thing. What did they do to my Wildfire?
But he has also been to may restaurants and Ted Drewes. He goes to the parks, and loves the local farmers market. He is a great shopping companion. He loves picnics, farms and snow. He is amazing in the car. He was an angel for the 8 hour rides on vacation. Vacation with him was great, this little boy was so excited and so adventurous. I am so excited to bring him out west this year. But his favorite road trip will always be his Oma and Papa Wright's house. They have a big back yard, and a deck and a big dining room table to hide under.
Nap under Oma's table.
Exploring he favorite back yard.
Visiting Great Grandma Wright
He is the guard dog. He taught Wichita very well. After all our hard work training he still has rough edges and probably always will. But he also has let go and shown his soft cuddly side. He is sweet and he is so smart. And he has given me smiles every day for the last two years. He is my little brave boy. I am crazy about him. And I look forward to so many more great years with him.
Sharing his bed with his little sister Wichita (when she was actually little.)
He is clearly the one taking the job seriously.
Happy boy.
He always picks the biggest stick to chew on.
One month after the dog attack. Fur on his neck was growing back.
He loves this shirt. He think it makes him look like his Papa Wright. (It does.)
Today is Bob Dylan's birthday. But unbeknownst to him; on his 8th birthday a truly great man was born. My father.
He is absolutely the funniest person I know. Sharp as a tack and truly hilarious. In fact his text messages alone are often the source of entertainment. My younger sister and I often trade his texts with each other. Often in tears of laughter. And the pickle cards... Makes me laugh every time.
He is also incredibly smart. He knows about rocks and birds and can name stars and airplane. And speaking of airplanes, he is the BEST airplane wheel photographer known to man. Seriously. Which brings up his talents.
I remember the days he could do flips on the trampoline, or cartwheels in the front yard. He rode his bike to work way before it was cool. And the patience, attention to detail and skill involved in the models he builds is quite impressive. The little pieces of plastic become a work of art in his hands. It's really cool. He does the same in bigger scale with bicycles. Quite impressive. I'm pretty sure he can fix anything.
A visit from my day can turn a bad day at work to good. He makes the best scrambled eggs. And, did I even tell you about his dancing skills?! He gave me a gift I'll always be grateful for: Soul. We dance, we sing, and we laugh.
He is great. And I am so blessed that he is my dad.
Happy Birthday Dad! I love you.
That sweet dog nicknamed Bowie. The little white and black one. He showed up again a few weeks ago. He would not come to me. I chased him, I stalked him. I tried so many treats. He would not come to me. I hated seeing him out again. He broke my heart.
This morning I sat on the curb at the end of my block with two other neighbors and he broke my heart again. He had been hit by a car. He died right there in front of me before I could help him.
I have been questioning my actions bringing him to the Humane Society that day. He had no chip, no collar, had not been neutered. I should have found him a better home. But who was I to judge. I thought that was the best place.
Forever, I will be haunted as to why I couldn't catch him again. There was no way I was going to bring him back to the Humane Society. I would have found him a new home myself.
But. This is not what happened. And the reality of what did happen breaks my heart.
So. With this heavy heart I went to Maplewood a few short hours later. There was a PBR - Stray Rescue event. Oh the sweet pups! Big headed pits, and soft shepherd mixes. Happy mutts all around: they had all be saved. The kisses from a three legged red pit bull made me feel better. She lost her leg and tail after being hit by car. She ran and barked and smiled and loved. All the dogs were so sweet. Truly they were all great. A human will be lucky to have any of them in their life.
As I loved on a sweet pup I heard a voice I know from Stray Rescue videos. It was Randy Grim. Founder of Stray Rescue, and an honest hero in my eyes.
So here, after an awful morning, I got to meet him. The irony of this was deep. The losses this man has seen are immense. But he goes on. And I am so grateful for him.
The best news is he is so incredibly nice... And he likes Wichita's name (her Stray Rescue name was Titanium.)
The day ended good, but I'll always remember Bowie. Strange day. Strange circle.
Cats are so different than dogs. Cats do not rely on humans for survival. They can hunt. They truly let us pet them. They have a independent quality to their souls.
In this way, we feel special when a cat welcomes us into their life. The subtle way a cat gives love is a special thing. I've been lucky enough to have two special cats in my care.
In four months; they are both gone.
Ripley (the siamese) left us in January and today we lost Punk Kitty (the grey calico.)
Cats are subtle animals. But there is a hole here. The quiet movements are missing. They aged. They haven't done the weird cat running or playing in a long time. And they both weren't able to jump into the bed the last week they were around.
I'll miss the head butts for petting, the purring, the surprise of a cat in a window, or bathtub.
It was 8 pm on a cold night in January. I was driving home and had reached the busy intersection of Natural Bridge and Hanley when I saw him. The big brindle dog ran across my the intersection.
Have I seen dogs running out like that before; sure. But that night it happened for the first time: I wanted I catch him.
Not to keep, but to make him safe. I turned around and drove up and down and all around. Armed only with a short leash and crackers I kept searching. Never found him.
As I drove home he haunted me. What if that were my dogs!?
I decided to keep the leash in my car. And dog treats.
My pups sounded the alarm a few weeks later: our ally was under attack!
There were two big dogs, labs perhap one black one white. Once my pups were wrangled inside I took off in my SUV. After one lap around I found the black one down the ally. Gentle coaxing and I got this poor old lady in my backseat. Bit then what!?
I called my friend Jaime. This happens to her all the time. Her advice was the Humane Society. I did not like this answer as I know they are a kill shelter, and this poor pup was old, and had some lumps. She had super long untrimmed nails. I mostly felt so sad for her.
So I called Stray Rescue. I knew they couldn't take her, but I needed to hear what they advised. This is where Wichita came from, I respect their work deeply. They also said Humane Society, to scan her. They gave me a website with all the local no kill shelters.
So, after getting Sweet Girl a bowl of food and a bowl of water we went to the Humane Society.
In my ideal world, she would get a bath and nail trim. She'd get a full exam, and that one awful growth on her ankle taken off. She would get a soft bed, and warm home. She was so old. She hobbled instead of walking. And I hated to think she would meet the end on the cold city streets.
We got there, and we hobbled in. She was so happy, maybe just to be inside to be warm, and to be the center of attention. They did find a chip, but it wasn't in their system. I looked at those long nails, and her lumps, and I realized she wasn't being taken great care of. My heart broke for her. At one time she was loved enough to be chipped, but there she was outside, unkept, no collar. I talked to the lady, she said if I left her there they would bath her, trim her nails, feed her, walk her, give her a place to stay, and try to track down the owner. If no owner came forward in 9 days she would be checked by a vet. If healthy she would be put up for adoption. So I asked what if she is deemed not healthy. And we both looked at her white muzzle, the lumps. The lady said if she wasn't healthy they had to think of her quality of life. And I thought of my cat. The sweetest prettiest cat, who was loosing her battle with kidney failure, so she was put to sleep, as she had no quality of life. And as much as I hated that, I knew it was the best thing.
In the end I let the Humane Society keep Sweet Girl. And I knew that she would probably spend her last days there. But she wasn't on the street. She would get attention.
I drove off swearing I was done picking up strays.
Then the pups set off the dog alarm Thursday night...... I just saw two white fuzzy ears peeking through the fence.
This time it was easier.... except the Humane Society was closed. So I called Jaime. Because Spot aka Bingo aka Bowie was so small she agreed to let him sleep at her place.
We blasted Facebook with his picture. But no one recognized him. He was scared and sweet. He wore a collar. I thought for sure he'd be chipped. But no..................................
Spot/Bingo/Bowie
I promised him two scenarios when we drove to the Humane Society that morning. I promised we would either find his family or find him a good new one. So when he was found to have no chip he looked up at me. I told him it was ok, it was probably for the better. He was a sweet little white boy with great white spots. He didn't bark, he liked other dogs, walked great on a leash.... but had no tags, had no chip, and was not neutered... and those three things equal to bad owners. So he needed to move on. He could do better. I actually hoped he wasn't claimed, I hope he gets a clean bill of health, and goes up for adoption. He will find a home so fast.
There will be more. And I will grab them. In the end what I keep thinking is "What if that were my dog?" I would not want them out on the street eating trash and sleeping on cold wet ground. Darting from cars, and susceptible to bad people. There are bad things done to dogs, and St. Louis is not a safe place for dogs.
So. I scoop up the ones I can. And every time I do, I hope that it will never be my dogs. May they stay safe.
And please: If you have an outdoor animal chip it, and give it a tag with your contact info. And PLEASE help control the pet population; have your pets spayed or neutered!
I received an email from my dad the other day; “Were you aware that your mother had a cap gun and a holster when she was younger!? It went with her cowgirl outfit. Guess I know where you get it.”
My mother is with out a doubt the reason I want to be a cowgirl. She is also why I love insects, gardens, tractors (John Deere) canning food, making jelly, yodeling, the flavor of burnt, and bonnets.
She is the smartest person I know. The kind of smart that she could have chosen to be an engineer, or rocket scientist, but she was a teacher. A math, science, and computer teacher.... you know the smart stuff! Oh and not the fun sciences I love; the physic and chemistry stuff, the hard stuff. And since I’m still hearing from ex-students how great she was... she was a great one.
She is also an artist. She can draw and paint, she can craft and sew. She makes playdoh and granola and bug collections. And I will never know anyone that makes better bread. Proof is the rolls and muffins in my kitchen. OH wait; those butternut squash muffins are long gone.... they were so good!
I have her great taste in a lot of things, I have her smile, maybe someday I’ll have her common sense (I bet she hopes that too...) Even when I do things she does not like, she still loves me.
She dances to Honky Tonk Women. She has the greenest thumb I’ve ever known. And the busiest bird feeder. She composted before it was cool, yet can maneuver an iPad better than me.
My mother is kind. She is a doer. She is one of the few people I truly respect.
And, quite frankly, she is a great cowgirl in her own right.
