Our New Hired Hand, Maybe

We received a surprise on Thursday - a little addition to our family . . . maybe.

When I pulled into the driveway later Thursday night after work and was making the bend to turn into the garage, I noticed something unfamiliar sitting on the front steps of the house. At first glance, I screamed because I thought it appeared to be a wolf. Now, don’t go laughing at me and everything, imaging I was thinking I was Little Red Riding Hood or something (and “my, what big eyes you have . . . “) but from first glance it did appear to be that. Then as I got up alongside for a more accurate view, I noticed it was just a big dog. What actually, I thought, materialized seemed to be more like a cross between a collie (yes, Lassie) and a . . . wolf.

Now, I know that there have been wolves released out in our parts, so it isn’t my imagination going wild. He had a tan color and a longer-looking snout, so I don’t think I was that far off. Bob, on the other hand, would beg to differ. He thinks he looks like a cross between a collie and a coyote. (We have coyotes out and about around us, too).

Anywho, we thought it was our neighbor’s as they had been down the day before looking for their dog. Upon placing a phone call to them, it wasn’t though. Their dog had been killed, probably run over, and moved about eight miles away. All I can say is, shame on that person. Man up if you hit someone’s dog. If it is in the road and unavoidable, it is unavoidable. But if not . . . man up, and if you have a beef with someone, don’t be so petty and childish as to kill their animals. Man up! That aside, he didn’t know whom this dog belonged to either, but thought he might have seen it wandering around a few days before.

So back to “my” dog. He is kind of shy and we have determined that if no one comes to claim him, then we will (may) keep him as a farm dog. We have been in need of a farm dog. Someone to keep the racoons away from the silage bags and the possums and coons out of our garage. We have a door to the garage that is nailed shut as it is rotting and no good and we haven’t gotten around to replacing it yet (that and the garage door itself). The cats have pried back a corner at the bottom so they can crawl into the garage in the winter time. And we let them. Poor things. The only problem is, we now also have a resident possum that likes to sneak in there, too. And, let me tell you, this thing is not any small little timid possum. This sucker is huge. It is as big as some of the biggest racoons I have seen – and we have some big racoons around our parts. Them damn (pardon my french) raccoons have dug holes in our silage bags, made themselves at home in the silos and they seem impossible to get rid of. And we also have a three-legged racoon that keeps coming into the garage when the door is open. A dog could possibly do the trick.

But we don’t want a dog that is going to chase the cows. They do fine on their own walking out of the freestall barn up to the milking parlor. They don’t need any extra help. But someone to help watch over them would be nice, too. Hence, the problem. We need a trained hired hand. Someone who has been there, done that. Those are sometimes hard to find. But, Wolfie . . . (yes, I have already named him and what a catchy name it is, too! Don’t you agree?!!) . . . Wolfie may just fit the bill.

He seemed quite shy at first and not knowing where he was from or how wild or possibly dangerous he may be, I kept my distance the first night. This also meant that when I let Pongo out so that he could do his duty, I had to go, too, to stand watch. Pongo is a little shy about doing his duty, and rightfully so, and now he is having someone watch, let alone follow him around when he has a job to do. But, alas, he had to put up with his guardian angel doing just that.

Wolfie stepped off the front steps when we came out and he jumped down off to one side or the other, giving us space. I talked to him as I went out, keeping myself between him and Pongo. He shied away.

The next morning, Friday, he was still there. We put out a couple calls and no one seemed to know who he belonged to. Could be the Amish down the road, but they would certainly come looking for him if they had lost their dog. I wasn’t sure what to do about feeding him because, as Bob said, he may hang around if you do, and we weren’t sure just yet if we wanted him to “hang around.”

Later that morning, we picked up our taxes in Mt. Horeb, ran some errands in New Glarus, Monroe and Argyle, went out to lunch and returned home around 3:00. When we returned, Wolfie was still sitting on our front steps. I told Bob that I was a little worried that maybe he was hungry or hadn’t eaten for awhile because I had never seen his tail come up. He always had it tucked under his stomach – he either was scared, hungry or being defensive, or a combo of all three. But I couldn’t stand to see him hungry, so I made the decision then and there that I would feed him. I had to do a little cleaning of my fridge, but I was able to get some scraps together for him. I put them in an ice cream pail and set it out for Wolfie to decide if he liked what was on the menu at the O’Connor farm or if he was going to leave without a tip. I let him be, and a half hour later, I got my tip. I went out to check on him and he was plunked down on the mat in front of the door. When I opened the door, he jumped up but did not go far. I stepped out, talked to him a little and that is when I saw his tail come up and start to wag. I extended my hand out and, with a few nervous baby steps, he came over and licked my hand. Not that my hand wasn’t shaking a little bit anyway, just because I wasn’t sure if he was still hungry (his pail was empty) and I wasn’t really serving up hand for supper. But he licked my hand. How nice. I was pleased, he was pleased.

If he is going to stay, however, I have to make sure things are okay with him and Pongo. Anytime Pongo goes out, he is right there on top of him sniffing at him. Now Wolfie is about 4-5 times bigger than Pongo, so Pongo is not quite sure what to make of this. He sort of looks up at me like “whatcha got me into here, Momma?” I just tell him to do his duty and try to coax Wolfie away from him best I can. There have not been any fights yet, but then again Pongo hasn’t growled at him either. Pongo and Paris (Brady’s dog) haven’t come to a good understanding yet, either. Paris is young and spunky and all over Pongo because she wants to play. Pongo is old and grumpy and not in the mood when Paris is around. So, we have another hurdle to get over here, too, if . . . that is, IF, Wolfie stays.

And, there is also the thing about Bob. He hasn’t gotten close to Bob yet either. So he hasn’t been following him up to the barn or around the farm. He has been doing his exploring all on his own or following the cats around. Oh, yea, there is that, too. The cats are scared of him. Their tails fluff all out when he comes around. The first night there wasn’t a cat to be found anywhere, not even in the garage. I think they didn’t dare come out of their hiding spots to make the trek to the garage. Now they sashay along a little until they spot Wolfie and then they are streaks of fur heading to the nearest high spot of building. If Wolfie sees them, he trots to them. Unfortunately, for him the cats are long gone by the time he gets there. I’m not sure if he means them any harm or is curious. But if he hopes to call this place home, he has to get along with Pongo and the cats. Anything else is intolerable.

So, now, a couple days have gone by and he is still sitting on our front steps. We haven’t seen a possum or a coon in the last few days, so he must be auditioning for a job. He may have gone just a little bit overboard, though, but that is okay as long as you don’t get too close to Wolfie or at least pet him for too long. Yes, he must have chased a skunk away that second night, because Wolfie is not smelling very pretty these days. Bob has noticed more paw prints around the farm, too. It looks like he has ventured down by the freestall barn, but we have not heard any commotion, so maybe he is keeping watch over our flock (herd), too. He has now been getting real dog food and water so he seems content. And, he lets me pet him (when I can get past the smell).

Maybe he is looking for a home. Well, we are kind of a looking for a cheap hired hand; maybe he will do just fine.

Oh, and if you are wondering when I named him Wolfie – it was that second day he was here and he had cleaned up the food, wagged his tail and licked my hand. I thought Wolfie was appropriate because of his looks. Actually, I’m hoping that he is less of a wolf in sheep’s clothing and more of a sheep in wolf’s clothing. Oh, scratch that, I’m beginning to think he is looking less like a wolf and more like a Collie – more like a Lassie – I just need to put a little more meat on his bones.

That is, of course, if he proves that he is a trustworthy asset to our farm crew.

Sicker Than A Dog?

Gosh, this has been a hectic winter. It seems like everyone has been getting sick, either full bore or a touch of something. One thing I have noticed is that pneumonia seems to be spreading like wildfire this year.
　
First, my aunt – the one that has been in and out of the hospital and currently in the nursing home – has had it. They have treated it and twice she has had a bout with it. Second, my dad’s cousin’s wife, Virginia, fought and fought with something this Winter and couldn’t get rid of it nor could the doctors diagnose it. I mentioned to her one time right before she went into the doctor again that she had better be careful or she would have pneumonia, too. Sure enough. She emailed me when she got back and she had pneumonia.
　
Then last Thursday I had stopped at the nursing home business office to put some money in Auntie’s beauty parlor account and was talking to my friend, Joyce. I hadn’t seen her for a few weeks and asked how she had been. She said that she hadn’t been feeling very good and her doctor suspected and/or wanted to get the jump on pneumonia (for God’s sake, we just turned 50, and we both thought that was something older people than us got!!). Her doctor had put her on prednisone and some other stuff. So that was case number three.
　
I have heard here and there while sitting in waiting rooms either at the emergency room, doctors’ offices or at the nursing home, that there are a lot of people who dancing with pneumonia this Winter.
　
I mentioned about Pongo being sick in my last blog. He had not been acting quite like himself lately. Usually, when I get home at night, he comes jumping off our bed and racing down the steps to greet me. It is more of a "hey, I got a pee first and then we’ll do the pet-me-give-me-a-treat greeting once I am done thing." But last week he would have to be coaxed to come down and only when necessary. He also was very touchy and hardly barked but when he did it was a hoarser sounding bark.
　
Pongo is a Minature Fox Terrier and looks like the "Taco Bell" dog on TV. (Oh, yes, you have seen him in the Thanksgiving picture above). I said once that I would tell the story of how we came to get him and I might as well tell that now.
　
Pongo belonged originally to my niece, Sierra. Sierra received Pongo for her birthday. During that time my sister Marci had just had their youngest, Brooke. Marci and her husband Wes were afraid that once Brooke started crawling, she would cause Pongo to maybe nip at her and they didn’t want that to happen, so they thought it best to get rid of him. Sierra was concerned about whom he would go to and would have liked it if he would go to someone they knew so that she could visit him. Well, one day I stopped at their house and Marci had already asked me a couple times if I would want to buy Pongo. I said no because we weren’t having any animals in the house. At that point, Pongo leaped up on the couch and came over and curled up in my lap. Oh, boy . . . I could see where this was going. He had never done that before. My boys had asked before if we would take him and I had said no. Pongo looked up at me with his puppy-dog big eyes (which when he stares at you like that they appear like they are welling up with tears about to explode). I’m really a sucker for stuff like this. I have it written on my forehead and it must appear out of nowhere and flash like a neon light "SUCKER, SUCKER, SUCKER." I told Marci I would have to think about it. Okay, where did that come from? Did I really just say that? The question was, or really the dilemmas were, two things; first, I didn’t want to pay for him, but I knew they had paid a lot for him and didn’t just want to give him away; and, two, how would I break that to Bob.
　
I talked to the boys and they had the solution to number one, but I was on my own as to what to do about number two. They had just got a new gaming system and they said they would be willing to give their old one to Sierra in trade for Pongo. They thought that it would go over okay because they would give her the system and all their old games. I started trying to add up in my mind all that I had paid for those games and was beginning to think I might be getting the raw end of this deal. I talked to Marci about it and that was okay.
　
Now to figure out what to do about Bob and the dog that would be infiltrating our house. Hmmmm. This was going to take some ingenuity and female smarts. Bob and I have sort of an unwritten rule of sorts when it comes to things like this. Each will play dumb when they are being played. We sort of put it in our pocket for another day to pull out if we need a trump card. I am sure he knew it at the time because he will still make some comments today, but I think he is still holding the trump card.
　
My plan was to tell Bob that we were watching Pongo for Marci and family while they were on vacation. We got him when it was about this time of year – in March. His birthday is in February and he was a little over a year old. He had been potty-trained already so that was good. So I picked him up and brought him home. The first thing Bob said when he saw him was "what is that mutt doing here?" (That is his favorite name for Pongo – "mutt"). I explained (with my fingers crossed behind my back) that we were watching him for Marci & fam while they were on vacation. Marci’s did take a weekend vaca during this time period, so I wasn’t entirely lying. I was in my mind – what I would call – stretching the truth. Pongo tried to even snuggle with Bob once in awhile because I think he could sense a bit of a dictatorship here and knew whom he needed to suck up to just a little. The rest of us were pushovers. The boys were overjoyed with him and he soon became more of Casey’s dog than anyone else’s. I think this is where the pecking order with Pongo started. Pongo was and has always been a very protective dog. If he is sitting in your lap, he is protecting you and no one else should dare come within his imaginary boundaries. If you did approach, he would bark at you and bare his teeth. He would never bite, but he could look fierce. One time I was going through a Culver’s drive-through to get an ice cream cone and had Pongo along for a ride. He likes ice cream because whenever we would go to Auntie’s to visit, she would always feed him a little bowl of ice cream warmed up slightly in the microwave. I drove up to the call station and ordered a cone for myself and a little kiddie dish for Pongo. Pongo started barking when I was putting in the order. When we drove up to the window, the kid said, "wow, is that all the bigger he is [he only weighs 7 lbs.], he sounded like he was a huge dog and I was afraid he might attack me when I was going to hand you the cone." I got a chuckle out of that.
　
Pongo likes to bark at whoever is lower on the pecking order. The pecking order goes Casey at top, me next, Brady third and Bob at the bottom of the pile. When we are all cleared out of the house, which is especially during the week, Pongo is left with just Bob and he would jump up in his lap if he was sitting. If no one was around, Bob was a softy and he has been caught in the past petting him. If someone was around, he would call him the "mutt" and shoo him away. The games we all play!! About a month later after our initial Pongo/game system transaction, Bob had asked me "aren’t they back yet." I laughed and then finally told him that we were taking over ownership. He balked at the idea but knew it was a losing cause. (He’s not so stupid – he knew he was getting an extra trump card out of this one.)
　
To this day and as recent as last weekend, Bob said something to Wes about "when are you going to take your dog back." Sierra would take him back in a heartbeat, but in the meantime, it is eight years later, Brooke has grown up and they have gotten a new dog. [Note: In the Thanksgiving picture above, that is my sister Marci seated in the second row immediately to my right, the third adult from the left; Wes is right behind her in the black; their oldest, Maci, is behind Marci; Sierra is in the front on the right end in the robin-egg blue sweatshirt; and the youngest, Brooke is right in front of Marci.]
　
With the history they have, it is funny how Bob can sometimes seem a little concerned about Pongo. Last Friday morning, I was in the middle of my cleaning frenzy getting ready for the "family invasion" (which I love, by the way). Bob called me from the barn to say that he had noticed one of our cats (one of the newer born ones who is probably approaching two years old), Midnight, was hacking a little when he went out that morning. He said he wasn’t his usual self, where when Bob would sit down in a chair in the garage to put his barn boots on, Midnight would curl around his leg, purring and waiting for a scratch and a pet. He said he had also noticed a lot of hacking going on with some of the cows and said he wondered if it was pneumonia with some of the animals on the farm. Pongo had been breathing kind of hard but every once in a while he will go through a little spell where he is not feeling good. This went on longer than usual though. I got off the phone with Bob and called the vet. I asked him what he thought after giving him his symptoms. Yes, he said it could be pneumonia or he is old enough where he could have fluid around the heart (thump, my heart sank at the mention of that), but he would bet it was the former rather than the later. We talked a little about it and I said I would rather opt for a shot than doing pills because I would never get him to eat them. So Pongo and I jumped in the car and took a little ride, which he loves to do and hasn’t done much lately since it had been Winter. Pongo despises the vet clinic (do you blame him!) and will usually get all upset the minute we walk in. I pled with him and told him it is going to be all right and that it will only hurt for a minute but that he will be better soon. Two shots later (one was an antibiotic for the pneumonia and the other a "Tylenol-like" fever reducing product), we were back home and within an hour he was romping around, just as good as new. It took a little hunk out of my day, but he was feeling much better and that made me happy. The doctor sent us home with a second shot to give Pongo which Bob and I have to tag team on to give to him in the next night or two.
　
So, the weekend comes and goes. Monday morning rolls around and I have a doctor’s appointment as a follow-up with my last A1C (diabetes) test. During the appointment, my doctor mentions that I am due for a tetanus and she would like to give me the Tdap shot which is a tetanus plus a booster for diphtheria and pertussis. She said that even though we are immunized when we are younger for the diphtheria and pertussis, it is now recommended that adults get this one-time booster which has been packaged with the tetanus. I said okay, as I am all up for anything that prevents me from getting sick. She also said that being a diabetic I am at high risk for pneumonia and I should get an pneumonia shot. (Aaahhhhh, that pneumonia thing again . . . ) Okay, again anything that prevents me from getting sick, I’m game. But, doc, any side effects? None, really to be concerned about, she said, but there is a flyer I will give you to read about it. Okay, I get both shots in my upper left arm because that is not my dominant arm. I get two Tweety-Bird bandages and I am ready to go. Oh, but one thing, before you leave, the nurse says, you may want to keep rotating your arm above your shoulder to work the shots into the muscles more or otherwise they will sort of just sit in that one spot and your arm will get sore and stiff. Okay, I can do that as I can’t see how that would be too hard not to do. So, I am in and out of the doctor’s office and off to the office to start the day, which I had already started four hours earlier and it is now only 8:30.

It is 6:00 and I am heading off to the nursing home after work to see Auntie. I’m feeling a little draggy and figure it is because I had a little bit of a lack of sleep problem over the weekend (those dang sisters of mine twisting my arm, making me go out and party with them like I am 21 again!!!). I visit with Auntie and head home by 7:15, make some supper, clean up a little and head to bed by 9:45. I wake up Tuesday morning and my arm is stiff and sore and a little warm. Oh, yea, the light goes off. I completely forgot about swinging my arm around like I was lassoing a calf yesterday. Ooops!! Geez, and I feel like I might be a little warm, too. I’ll grab some Advil, jump on the treadmill and then try to figure it out when I eat some breakfast. I stayed on the treadmill too long and need to hustle to eat, fill the dishwasher, throw a load in the washer, shower and get ready to head to work. Oh, yea, I was going to check out those sheets the doctor gave me.
　
The day comes and goes and I have now come full circle again and am heading back to the nursing home. Tired and with my arm still sore, I head home from seeing Auntie again and swear when I get home, I better check that sheet out again. With supper made and eaten, the kitchen cleaned up, and heading to bed, I grabbed the current book I’m reading (J.D. Robb’s "Fantasy In Death") so I can read a little before going to bed. I am thinking to myself that I am tired and I might not want to read. Then the light goes on in my head again . . . the sheets from the doctor. I pulled them out of my purse and started reading . . . yep, yep, yep. Fever, stiff and sore arm, tiredness . . . okay, what happened to "not likely" on the side effects, when these are all listed on the "probable" side effects. And, here I am feeling sicker than a dog.
　
I seem to always do well on the follow-up for everyone else when they are sick or hurting from something, but when it comes to me, I seem to suffer a little bit from a self-inflicted Alzheimer’s-type disease. I think that it is the Mother in me – take care of everyone else and ye shall be okay. Well, ye was feeling fine until I went to the doctor and then ye had two shots and now ye got sick. What’s up with this – the dog didn’t feel good and he got two shots and felt better an hour later! I was feeling fine, went to the doctor, got two shots and now I’m sicker than a dog. Seriously, where is the justice in this whole thing!! Maybe I should have gone to the vet instead . . .

Sad Day on the Farm: I've Lost a Snuggle Friend

We’re farmers. On farms you have cats. These are farm cats. Farm cats come and go; some are born on the farm; others are strays; some are dropped off at the farm. Every cat on our farm gets a name. As long as they are a nice cat, I get attached to them. It’s my nature. I can’t help it. In fact, the boys when they were younger got to a point that when a kitten was born, they wouldn’t give it a name at first until they knew they were going to survive. Otherwise, they thought they were jinxing their life. I lost one of my cats yesterday and it makes me sad.
　
The bottom line is: I love all my cats. Now, don’t get me wrong – I’m not one of those "cat ladies" where you will find 50 cats in their house. The cats stay out of the house. They hang in the barn, hay mow, shed, calf hutches, garage (if they can sneak in) when it is cold and when it is warm they hang around me when I am outside.
　
I have made one exception to the "no cats in the house" rule. Well, actually it was three - Pinky, Gizzy and Bootsy; sorry, correction, it was six – Gizzy had three kittens. Okay, now I’m sounding like a cat lady. Here’s the short version (but by now you know my stories aren’t short!).
　
A couple years ago late one summer, we got a semi-load of hay from Nebraska and after the semi-trailer left, Brady, who was getting ready to leave to play baseball, noticed a small orange ball over by the bales. It was a little kitten who was scared to death. He had the cutest, pinkest nose of which the color stuck out so prominently against the orange fur, that he was named Pinky (or more affectionately known as Pinkers). Brady picked him up and brought him over to the house. I was outside doing some yard work and watched as the other cats surrounded him and let him know that they weren’t the Welcome Wagon. Feeling sorry for him, I took him into the house and fed him some milk. I tried to put him outside and the other cats still were mean to him. Not allowing that kind of behavior to a new member of our family, I thought I would put him in the house for a while. Pongo, our dog, took to him right away; although for a while Pinky was scared of him. House kitten #1.
　
About two weeks later early on a Sunday morning, I was down at the park in town getting ready for a family reunion. It was a nasty, rainy morning. I had unpacked things, had to set up the coffee pot and then was going to run home to get the final things for the reunion. Rick, who oversees the park upkeep was walking around checking the things over when he and I both spotted a little Calico-colored kitten wandering in the rain closer to my picnic tables. The ones that I had just cleaned off and put nice cloth tablecloths on. I was afraid the kitten would climb on everything and leave little muddy paw prints. Rick said he thought the kitten looked lost. No other cats around, no mother crying out its name. Rick said why don’t you take it home; after some coaxing, I caved in. Rick grabbed a box out of my SUV and off the kitten went to find a new, dry home. I thought, great, I can leave her in the house with Pinky but I will be gone all afternoon and was a little afraid of what I would find when I got home. I unpacked the kitty, showed her the litter box (oh yea, I bought a litter box), the food and Pinky. Pongo sniffed and then his fatherly instincts (??!!) took over as they did with Pinky and he gave me the okay that she was okay to stay, too. Bob had his reservations about having Pinky in the house at first and now I was adding another to the mix. I left for the reunion and when we returned all was calm and the kittens were sleeping with Pongo keeping watch over his flock. House kitten #2.
　
Remember, I said that farm cats come and go. We had a momma cat that had kittens. All but one survived. They hung in the barn and ran around the cows feet and got stepped on and didn’t survive. All except Bootsy. Then Bootsy’s momma died. Bootsy would crawl up onto the water heater to snuggle since Momma and his sibs were gone. Bootsy got lots of attention from Bob in the barn and he started to get round and fat and grow out but not up. The cold Fall weather was setting in and Bob informed me Bootsy shouldn’t be hanging in the barn by himself anymore. Yep, you guessed it. House kitten #3.
　
So, now I had a whole array of colored cats in my house – Pinky was orange, Gizzy was Calico, and Bootsy was our farm-standard gray and white. All our farm cats at the moment were either gray/white or black. The kittens and Pongo became the best of friends. They would eat Pongo’s food, and he would eat their food. They would chase each other in circles between the rooms. First, Pongo would chase them all in a row; then, they would stop and turn around and chase Pongo. The kittens were growing fast. The three would snuggle up into one big colorful ball at night on a blanket. It slowly became a house divided – each with their favorites. Gizzy became mine because I had rescued her; Brady’s was Pinky since he had spotted him first; Bootsy, of course, was Bob’s since he was his little buddy in the barn; and, Pongo, the dog was Casey’s. Gizzy got bigger and would crawl up on our bed at night. When Casey wasn’t home, Pongo would slip into his spot under the covers by my legs. Gizzy would sneak up and curl up by my head; Bob got the other side of the bed that wasn’t taken over by the animals. How did we end up like this? We were never a house full of animals? Yes, when the boys were young they had gerbils (boy, that’s a whole other story!!); then Casey got a turtle and then two turtles. Then, we inherited Pongo (still another story). Now, I’ve got Pongo and three kittens slowly developing into cats.

Before Bootsy moved from the barn to the house, we had Pinky fixed and declawed. Gizzy just got declawed. They had to be as long as they were in the house - they were starting to scratch on the furniture. I kept telling myself this was going to be temporary. Yea, right. Then Gizzy started to get the itch!! Yes, boys and girls, we know what the itch means for a female....cat! She was in heat. Whenever she came into heat and if there was some testosterone around (the three men in my life) she would wrap herself around their legs doing the crazy little pole dance. No, it is not nice to see a desperate woman. The boys kept threatening me they were going to throw her outside so she could be entertained a little. Finally, I gave in and awhile later we had three little kittens. From the looks of it, Gizzy might have had fun with more than one of the farm boys because we had Grady who was a puffy soft gray, Sunny who was yellow and white and Midnight who was all black with a little sprinkling of white around the paws and his face. None of them looked alike but they were brothers true to the core. They were snugglers and didn’t want to be separated. They took after momma and loved to chase around with Pongo.
　
Finally, though, they all had to go outside. It was Spring and I had gone through a horrible Winter with Gizzy getting too ambitious. She started jumping up on my kitchen counters and then on top of the cabinets where over the holidays and winter I have my Village collection of houses and statutes. A lot of them ended up on the floor because she thought she could tiptoe through the winter gardens in my Village without disturbing anything. Gizzy made a good mother and the kittens stayed by her side wherever she went. Unfortunately, Grady ended up meeting a tragic death (he got tangled up in a basketball net that was laying on the ground and strangled himself). I found him and tried to quickly cut the net loose but it was too late. I bawled and bawled. That left Sunny and Midnight to snuggle with Gizzy but you could still see they missed Grady.
　
Gizzy had another batch of kittens this last summer or at least one kitten, Simba. Simba has made it so far through the Winter outside making his little nest in the shed on some straw bales. He is not as friendly yet as what Sunny and Midnight are, but he will need to come around now. Yesterday, Gizzy was run over. Bob found her late in the afternoon and thinks she was probably run over by one of the guys who stopped out to give us estimates on our barn and house roofs. Gizzy would sit on some bales of hay by the driveway and then when I (Bob or the boys) drove in, she would run along side the car. I would always stop when she did that because I was afraid I would run over her. I know I didn’t do it, and am glad because it was hard enough to take the news when Bob told me on the phone when I was coming home from work last night. He said do you want the bad news now or when you get home? I didn’t really want to hear it either time. I knew in my heart that this might happen. I never like it when any of our cats have run out of their nine lives; but that is life – it’s the cat life on the farm. I’m sad. I’m going to miss my friend, my snuggler. Simba, Midnight and Sunny are going to miss their momma. You and I both know mommas are hard to replace.

Now all we have is a farm full of boys. They and I both don’t have a snuggler – I have to find me another momma.