They always exceed your direst fears. The Lady with the Black Dogs sent me this link to a story about how Tesco, the huge British supermarket chain that buys most of New Zealand's lamb, will no longer allow shepherds to use herding dogs. You couldn't make it up:
"The supermarket chain has told its major supplier of lamb to stop using dogs, which it claims cause stress to the animals.
It means shepherds at the farm may need to use methods such as beating the ground with sticks and waving their arms to control the flock."
Oh, THAT should keep them calm.
"Outraged staff at Silver Fern Farms in Fairton, New Zealand may now have to get rid of up to 60 dogs to comply with the orders, meaning several of the animals will be destroyed.
Shepherd Mick Pethram told the Telegraph newspaper: 'New Zealand sheep are used to dogs, they know dogs.
'There's more stress in a human herding and manhandling them, waving their arms and beating sticks. Dogs are part of a sheep's life. This is absolute baloney.'
He continued: 'We'll be desperately trying to sell them, but most of us will end up putting down three or four each.
'These are good dogs. Taking away our dogs is like taking a hammer away from a builder; we can't do our job without them.' "
The worst thing is that these can't even be vegetarian animal rights-ists-- just people so utterly out of touch with the world that they think they can rewrite its rules.
On a vaguely related topic, here is a video of a flock guardian dog somewhere in the east-- Bulgaria?-- successfully taking down a wolf that attacks his flock. Great peasant celebration afterwards too.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Watchful
As we left the desert allotment yesterday, this badger ran into its burrow, but stopping to have a good long look first.
Working girls
On Tuesday, we started shipping our lambs to another desert allotment here in western Wyoming, to combine our lambs with that of a friend's, into one large herd. By the time the sale takes place in 10 days, there will be over 2,000 lambs in this bunch. Right now, there are four livestock guardian dogs taking care of the herd, and when we dropped off some of our lambs, I was very pleasantly surprised to see two female guardians we had raised. The big dog is Vega, a 1 1/2 year old Ovcharka (my Rant's sister). The other tall range dog is a short-haired female Akbash. Sweet, beautiful and fierce - good dogs.
That evening, Jim had to walk down the river to retrieve two cows and calves that had crossed over to the other side and had grazed their way down river. As he walked behind them through the thick willows along the riverbank, he found another bear-killed ewe. This ewe had been drug across the New Fork River and deposited in a covey underneath the willows. The carcass was eaten clean.
We honestly believe that the only way anyone will be able to find this bear that's doing so much damage is with scent hounds. But it's illegal to use the dogs on bears in Wyoming - even for our federal animal damage control specialists. Drives me crazy just thinking about it. The only tool I can see working, and it's off limits.
The art of setting a snare
First, you tie some sheep legs to a large tree, using heavy cable, burying the spring to the snare at the base of the tree. Then you gingerly set thin steel strips and wire mesh in the snare so the animal will feel some support as it puts its foot into the snare.
Next, add some deadfall and sagebrush, piling everything against the sides of the tree to direct the animal's travel into the danger zone. Top it off with some screened dirt to hide the set, and you're ready for a bear.
Rose hips, bear lips
We run sheep out in the sagebrush desert of western Wyoming, but we're along the New Fork River, a major corridor for wildlife. It's no wonder, with the amount of berries and rosehips covering our riverbottom, that bears would want to live here. Here's Jim walking through the brush, looking at the rosehips.
Our local problem bear has apparently really been enjoying our rosehip crop.
The ongoing saga
Things are really busy on the ranch, with this being the time of year we should be finished with haying, and starting our fall sorting and shipping. The predation issues we've been dealing with have taken far too much time and effort, really screwing up our haying schedule, with the result being the rather difficult decision to leave one meadow as standing forage rather than harvesting. Less nutrition, but bigger fires to put out.
Last Sunday, we moved the sheep herd back into a pasture downriver (our lambing ground), taking them away from the pasture with predation problems and getting us set to begin sorting and shipping on Monday. The sheep trailed easily, with burros and dogs. Right after Jim got the herd settled into the meadow, he walked down to the river’s edge and found bear shit. Oh shit.
Monday morning, I headed into the pasture to start the day by feeding the dogs. I found the dead ewe before I found the dogs and the rest of the herd. Our federal trapper arrived in two quick hours, confirming the ewe had been killed by a bear. Because he’s a federal guy, and bears are trophy game animals under state law, he had to call the state bear guys to see what they wanted to do. They authorized our trapper to try to trap and kill it. He decided he wanted to set leg snares, using the ewe carcass. We agreed to move the sheep out of the pasture, which we had completed before Rod got back with all his bear supplies. But in agreeing to move the sheep, which would eliminate a food source for the bear, that meant we had to tear down and move our shipping pen and chute. Jim and I spent the rest of the day doing that, and installing the setup in a pen out near the highway.
Since we lost of full day of work to these items, we never started shipping until Tuesday. We did stick around to watch Rod set the snares, which I’ve never seen done before. It’s part art, part science, part gut feeling. Our trapper is betting this is an older bear, and we don’t actually hold much hope he’ll be able to get the bear. The Wyoming Game and Fish Department will only allow three nights of trapping or snaring before he has to stop. The feeding pattern of this bear so far indicates that’s simply not enough time. It’s usually a week between kills. Sad that we know what is usual for a bear depredation.
Last Sunday, we moved the sheep herd back into a pasture downriver (our lambing ground), taking them away from the pasture with predation problems and getting us set to begin sorting and shipping on Monday. The sheep trailed easily, with burros and dogs. Right after Jim got the herd settled into the meadow, he walked down to the river’s edge and found bear shit. Oh shit.
Monday morning, I headed into the pasture to start the day by feeding the dogs. I found the dead ewe before I found the dogs and the rest of the herd. Our federal trapper arrived in two quick hours, confirming the ewe had been killed by a bear. Because he’s a federal guy, and bears are trophy game animals under state law, he had to call the state bear guys to see what they wanted to do. They authorized our trapper to try to trap and kill it. He decided he wanted to set leg snares, using the ewe carcass. We agreed to move the sheep out of the pasture, which we had completed before Rod got back with all his bear supplies. But in agreeing to move the sheep, which would eliminate a food source for the bear, that meant we had to tear down and move our shipping pen and chute. Jim and I spent the rest of the day doing that, and installing the setup in a pen out near the highway.
Since we lost of full day of work to these items, we never started shipping until Tuesday. We did stick around to watch Rod set the snares, which I’ve never seen done before. It’s part art, part science, part gut feeling. Our trapper is betting this is an older bear, and we don’t actually hold much hope he’ll be able to get the bear. The Wyoming Game and Fish Department will only allow three nights of trapping or snaring before he has to stop. The feeding pattern of this bear so far indicates that’s simply not enough time. It’s usually a week between kills. Sad that we know what is usual for a bear depredation.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Another Mauser
I had long given up on my quest for the perfect Mauser,as detailed in several posts here-- my 7 X 57 was sufficient, despite its "59 Cadillac" styling and lack of iron sights-- I am old fashioned about them.
So when an old friend, dryland farmer and craftsman Daniel Howell came to see me recently I had no idea that another was on the way. He explained that he and his wife were going to move to Hawaii to be close to her aging parents, "and I have something you might like".
He did. It was a classic pre- war Mauser sporter.
It has good iron sights, a 4X Weaver scope, and a barrel- band swivel mount.
It also has double set triggers which, I like, and a cartridge trap in the toe of the stock.
Best of all, it is as accurate as the last one, but is in caliber .270-- which I can buy 300 feet away-- unlike the other caliber.
It is a keeper.
So when an old friend, dryland farmer and craftsman Daniel Howell came to see me recently I had no idea that another was on the way. He explained that he and his wife were going to move to Hawaii to be close to her aging parents, "and I have something you might like".
He did. It was a classic pre- war Mauser sporter.
It has good iron sights, a 4X Weaver scope, and a barrel- band swivel mount.
It also has double set triggers which, I like, and a cartridge trap in the toe of the stock.Best of all, it is as accurate as the last one, but is in caliber .270-- which I can buy 300 feet away-- unlike the other caliber.
It is a keeper.
Only One
There was not enough rain in our usual monsoon season (Late July and August) so we found no mushrooms.
But for the last two weeks we have had monsoon- style storms, and Libby thought we should go to the mountains and look. I was skeptical, thinking there was an element of seasonality as well as moisture to their growth, but thought a day in the woods sounded good anyway.
As we entered the most productive canyon, Libby spied a big Boletus edulis. I jumped out and collected it. It was in prime condition, with no "worms" (actually fly larvae, present in most older ones, though no deterrent to our drying and using them).
And that was it-- the only one in miles.
We usually get either 50 pounds or nothing; what conditions could produce only a single??!!
But for the last two weeks we have had monsoon- style storms, and Libby thought we should go to the mountains and look. I was skeptical, thinking there was an element of seasonality as well as moisture to their growth, but thought a day in the woods sounded good anyway.
As we entered the most productive canyon, Libby spied a big Boletus edulis. I jumped out and collected it. It was in prime condition, with no "worms" (actually fly larvae, present in most older ones, though no deterrent to our drying and using them).
And that was it-- the only one in miles.We usually get either 50 pounds or nothing; what conditions could produce only a single??!!
Our back seat, with the sole 'shroom in all it's solitary glory. The rifle? That is still ANOTHER Mauser-- story to come.
Mini - Reviews
I have had a huge stack of books to review and it will take some time to get through them. The enormity of the task has rather unnerved me, and kept me procrastinating. Finally I thought I would mention each right here, with recommendations, a word or two on content, and a link if possible. Then I would be able to deal with one or two longer reviews at a time (when I have time!), and feel a bit less guilty.
Going Out Green by Bob Butz is a light hearted but realistic book about Butz's search for a "green" burial. All you Ed Abbey admirers out there-- I count myself one-- should enjoy this one.
A Primate's Memoir by Robert Sapolski (thanks, LabRat!) will tell you a lot about baboons and how field ethogists work. But it also takes on an air of increasing tragedy as his troop succumbs to a needless epidemic of TB caused by uncaring humans, and begins almost to take on an air of one of those AIDS memoirs from the bad years. Finally it attains an air of elegiac peace with two old primates, a surviving baboon and the author, snatching a fleeting peaceful moment together in the late afternoon sun.
Bond of Passion by Arizona bird dog man Web Parton, may be the best pointing dog training manual I have read, and I have read them all. The title says it-- if you don't love fine working dogs with a passion, do something else; the dogs have it for their work, and you should too to do them justice.
Mary Scriver's Dog Catching in America is both a sometimes- hilarious collection of tales from Mary's dog catching days, and a serious look at the compromises that must be made in a democratic society. I have sometimes banged heads with Mary on some issues because of my adamant dislike of most animal law, but she has reminded me of the real difficulties of being fair, especially in an urban environment.
Down Mexico Way by Chilton Williamson (available here) is a deadly novel that takes place on our dangerous border, a place Chilton knows well. If you like Cormac McCarty but can grow weary of his sonorous cadences, you'll enjoy this one. I also particularly recommend his Roughnecking it and The Hundredth Meridian, available from the same site. Chilton is too little known, perhaps because he is hard to put in the neat boxes that society demands, especially for writers: a rather"green' conservative who once was an editor at National Review (in its better days); a transplanted but genuine westerner; and an old friend of Ed Abbey's. And mine.
Falconer on the Edge by Rachel Dickinson is the best book about falconry by a non- falconer ever written-- in fact, it is better than 90% of the ones written by falconers! For an excellent longer review by artist (and falconer) Carel Brest van Kempen go here; for Rachel's blog go here.
Six Legged Soldiers by Jeffrey Lockwood is a fascinating book that might keep you up at night, about how societies including our own have used insect as weapons, from the distant past until now. Great if disconcerting read for naturalists; a good corrective for Utopians (see earlier post).
Finally (for now), Terry Wieland's Vintage British Shotguns is one of the two "must read" in subject today, along with Diggory Hadoke's Vintage Guns. Wieland's is the most readable and well written (Hadoke makes few concessions to the American reader, and you need to know more going in, although he may have more details). Wieland's tale of refinishing an exquisite but nearly ruined gun found in a Canadian barn gives hope to those with Champagne tastes and mooonshine budgets!
Going Out Green by Bob Butz is a light hearted but realistic book about Butz's search for a "green" burial. All you Ed Abbey admirers out there-- I count myself one-- should enjoy this one.
A Primate's Memoir by Robert Sapolski (thanks, LabRat!) will tell you a lot about baboons and how field ethogists work. But it also takes on an air of increasing tragedy as his troop succumbs to a needless epidemic of TB caused by uncaring humans, and begins almost to take on an air of one of those AIDS memoirs from the bad years. Finally it attains an air of elegiac peace with two old primates, a surviving baboon and the author, snatching a fleeting peaceful moment together in the late afternoon sun.
Bond of Passion by Arizona bird dog man Web Parton, may be the best pointing dog training manual I have read, and I have read them all. The title says it-- if you don't love fine working dogs with a passion, do something else; the dogs have it for their work, and you should too to do them justice.
Mary Scriver's Dog Catching in America is both a sometimes- hilarious collection of tales from Mary's dog catching days, and a serious look at the compromises that must be made in a democratic society. I have sometimes banged heads with Mary on some issues because of my adamant dislike of most animal law, but she has reminded me of the real difficulties of being fair, especially in an urban environment.
Down Mexico Way by Chilton Williamson (available here) is a deadly novel that takes place on our dangerous border, a place Chilton knows well. If you like Cormac McCarty but can grow weary of his sonorous cadences, you'll enjoy this one. I also particularly recommend his Roughnecking it and The Hundredth Meridian, available from the same site. Chilton is too little known, perhaps because he is hard to put in the neat boxes that society demands, especially for writers: a rather"green' conservative who once was an editor at National Review (in its better days); a transplanted but genuine westerner; and an old friend of Ed Abbey's. And mine.
Falconer on the Edge by Rachel Dickinson is the best book about falconry by a non- falconer ever written-- in fact, it is better than 90% of the ones written by falconers! For an excellent longer review by artist (and falconer) Carel Brest van Kempen go here; for Rachel's blog go here.
Six Legged Soldiers by Jeffrey Lockwood is a fascinating book that might keep you up at night, about how societies including our own have used insect as weapons, from the distant past until now. Great if disconcerting read for naturalists; a good corrective for Utopians (see earlier post).
Finally (for now), Terry Wieland's Vintage British Shotguns is one of the two "must read" in subject today, along with Diggory Hadoke's Vintage Guns. Wieland's is the most readable and well written (Hadoke makes few concessions to the American reader, and you need to know more going in, although he may have more details). Wieland's tale of refinishing an exquisite but nearly ruined gun found in a Canadian barn gives hope to those with Champagne tastes and mooonshine budgets!
Common Sense
England's Alan Gates, master eagler and creator of this wonderful site of Asian falconry and more, sent me a little "obituary" he thought our readers would enjoy:
Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who has
been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was, since
his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape.
He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as:
- Knowing when to come in out of the rain;
- Why the early bird gets the worm;
- Life isn't always fair;
- and maybe it was my fault.
Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don't spend more
than you can earn) and reliable strategies (adults, not children, are in
charge).
His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well-intentioned but
overbearing regulations were set in place. Reports of a 6-year-old boy
charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate; teens suspended
from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for
reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition.
Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job
that they themselves had failed to do in disciplining their unruly
children. It declined even further when schools were required to get
parental consent to administer sun lotion or an aspirin to a student; but
could not inform parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion.
Common Sense lost the will to live as the churches became businesses; and
criminals received better treatment than their victims. Common Sense took
a beating when you couldn't defend yourself from a burglar in your own
home and the burglar could sue you for assault.
Common Sense finally gave up the will to live, after a woman failed to
realise that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her
lap, and was promptly awarded a huge settlement. Common Sense was preceded
in death, by his parents, Truth and Trust, by his wife, Discretion, by his
daughter, Responsibility, and by his son, Reason.
He is survived by his 4 stepbrothers; I Know My Rights, I Want It Now,
Someone Else Is To Blame, and I'm A Victim.
Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who has
been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was, since
his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape.
He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as:
- Knowing when to come in out of the rain;
- Why the early bird gets the worm;
- Life isn't always fair;
- and maybe it was my fault.
Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don't spend more
than you can earn) and reliable strategies (adults, not children, are in
charge).
His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well-intentioned but
overbearing regulations were set in place. Reports of a 6-year-old boy
charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate; teens suspended
from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for
reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition.
Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job
that they themselves had failed to do in disciplining their unruly
children. It declined even further when schools were required to get
parental consent to administer sun lotion or an aspirin to a student; but
could not inform parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion.
Common Sense lost the will to live as the churches became businesses; and
criminals received better treatment than their victims. Common Sense took
a beating when you couldn't defend yourself from a burglar in your own
home and the burglar could sue you for assault.
Common Sense finally gave up the will to live, after a woman failed to
realise that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her
lap, and was promptly awarded a huge settlement. Common Sense was preceded
in death, by his parents, Truth and Trust, by his wife, Discretion, by his
daughter, Responsibility, and by his son, Reason.
He is survived by his 4 stepbrothers; I Know My Rights, I Want It Now,
Someone Else Is To Blame, and I'm A Victim.
Worst Idea EVER?
Darren at Terapod Zoology has uncovered what I think, seriously,may be the worst idea for the future I have ever seen, combining sentimentality, utter ignorance about how the world, society, animals, biology or any science works, along with a readiness (unspoken), to use the most totalitarian means to achieve its impossible goals.
His title says it all: "Predatory animals are bad and should be allowed to go extinct, or should be modified to become kind and herbivorous". They are serious. "It seems that philosopher David Pearce is honestly proposing that we should feel ethically compelled to eradicate all suffering and cruelty from the natural world in order to create a sort of global vegan paradise where predators don't exist. Pearce terms this the Abolitionist Project (for more on Pearce and his ideas see this wikipedia article). His plans are, as discussed in depth on his website, theoretically plausible and involve such things as the use of brain implants, behaviour-modifying drugs, and genetic manipulation. Eventually, the lion will, literally, lie down with the lamb, hyaenas will not feel compelled to eat baby elephants alive, and - I presume - ladybirds will not eat aphids, and so on."
The atempt to rid the world of all suffering might be called, by the religious, "immanentizing the eschaton"-- perfecting the world and making paradise on earth, something that every bloody Utopian political project of the past has tried and failed to do. But you don't have to be religious to be appalled by this-- anyone with the SLIGHTEST knowledge of evolution or ecology can instantly see how mad this idea is.
I doubt anyone will ever try to implement this impossible idea, but I give it to you as an example of how far today's urban intellectuals are fro the biological-- the REAL-- world.
Read the whole thing and all the comments-- most of Darren's readership feels as I do, but a couple of defenders of the thesis actually exist.
His title says it all: "Predatory animals are bad and should be allowed to go extinct, or should be modified to become kind and herbivorous". They are serious. "It seems that philosopher David Pearce is honestly proposing that we should feel ethically compelled to eradicate all suffering and cruelty from the natural world in order to create a sort of global vegan paradise where predators don't exist. Pearce terms this the Abolitionist Project (for more on Pearce and his ideas see this wikipedia article). His plans are, as discussed in depth on his website, theoretically plausible and involve such things as the use of brain implants, behaviour-modifying drugs, and genetic manipulation. Eventually, the lion will, literally, lie down with the lamb, hyaenas will not feel compelled to eat baby elephants alive, and - I presume - ladybirds will not eat aphids, and so on."
The atempt to rid the world of all suffering might be called, by the religious, "immanentizing the eschaton"-- perfecting the world and making paradise on earth, something that every bloody Utopian political project of the past has tried and failed to do. But you don't have to be religious to be appalled by this-- anyone with the SLIGHTEST knowledge of evolution or ecology can instantly see how mad this idea is.
I doubt anyone will ever try to implement this impossible idea, but I give it to you as an example of how far today's urban intellectuals are fro the biological-- the REAL-- world.
Read the whole thing and all the comments-- most of Darren's readership feels as I do, but a couple of defenders of the thesis actually exist.
Links
Hecate at Hecate's Crossroad (Wiccan, guns, and animal training) speaks of the relevance of "clicker training" to gun laws:
"So if you're seeing a whole lot of behaviors you don't want, you can bet those behaviors are being rewarded, somewhere, somehow."
(Snip)
"For punishment to work as a behavior-modification method, it must be a significant and immediate consequence of the behavior. No criminal commits a crime thinking he'll be arrested while he holds up the liquor store. But if he sees there's a good chance holding up the liquor store will get him shot, well, that's a clear disincentive."
(Snip)
"Now can anyone please explain to me how making it more difficult and dangerous for people like me, law abiding citizens, to own guns and defend ourselves effectively increases the risk and reduces the rewards for criminals who attack us?"
RTWT
Have you heard about the Tibetan practice of exposing their dead to be eaten by vultures (individually, not like India's Parsees)? It seems a fine green way to go (see one of my mini- reviews a bit later). As California poet Robinson Jeffers said, "What a life after death, what an enskyment" If you are not too queasy about the idea there is an excellent photo gallery here.
Be warned-- though I got this link from a birding site, the first page has NSFW ads-- though you might well feel that pics of feeding vultures are NSFW themselves unless you work in a strange environment.
Get your H P Lovecraft character perfume here.
Egypt destroyed all of its pigs. Every action has unintended consequences. Now Cairo is knee- deep in garbage.
Annie D sends this hilarious but true essay on how to publish a comment on a scientific paper.
"So if you're seeing a whole lot of behaviors you don't want, you can bet those behaviors are being rewarded, somewhere, somehow."
(Snip)
"For punishment to work as a behavior-modification method, it must be a significant and immediate consequence of the behavior. No criminal commits a crime thinking he'll be arrested while he holds up the liquor store. But if he sees there's a good chance holding up the liquor store will get him shot, well, that's a clear disincentive."
(Snip)
"Now can anyone please explain to me how making it more difficult and dangerous for people like me, law abiding citizens, to own guns and defend ourselves effectively increases the risk and reduces the rewards for criminals who attack us?"
RTWT
Have you heard about the Tibetan practice of exposing their dead to be eaten by vultures (individually, not like India's Parsees)? It seems a fine green way to go (see one of my mini- reviews a bit later). As California poet Robinson Jeffers said, "What a life after death, what an enskyment" If you are not too queasy about the idea there is an excellent photo gallery here.
Be warned-- though I got this link from a birding site, the first page has NSFW ads-- though you might well feel that pics of feeding vultures are NSFW themselves unless you work in a strange environment.
Get your H P Lovecraft character perfume here.
Egypt destroyed all of its pigs. Every action has unintended consequences. Now Cairo is knee- deep in garbage.
Annie D sends this hilarious but true essay on how to publish a comment on a scientific paper.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Sad News
Michael Blowhard has announced that he is hanging up his blogging spurs. All of us here at Querencia owe him thanks for the many kindnesses he has shown this blog. I was lucky enough to share an unforgettable lunch with Michael and his wife three years ago.
It just won't be the same.
It just won't be the same.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Swainson's family
This family of Swainson's hawks were perched on power poles outside of Pinedale this week. There was one more juvenile on the pole across the highway. I didn't have my big lens, so I walked up to visit them, getting scolded in the process.
Glamour shots
Every now and then, I need "glamour" photos to promote my appearances at book signings/festivals, so I turned the camera over to husband Jim last night. Since most of my books are for kids and are about animals, all my glamour shots involve critters as well. I like the photo posted above. Roo is the red burro, and the dark one with the beautiful eyes is Hillary. The marks on their necks are their freeze brands, since they were wild burros in Nevada that were removed from the range.
But darling Rena decided she needed to kiss the burros as well. Here she is kissing on Roo:
Roo loves cuddling, and in this photo she has completely melted on me, getting ready to start grooming my shoulder. She's about three years old now.
{The End}
NPR on Mongolia
National Public Radio has a special series on Mongolia this week: Mongolia in Transition.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Babies with fuzzy heads
Didn't actually get a clear, good shot, but this one explains it. Baby sandhill cranes have fuzzy heads. How perfectly endearing ...
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
San Juan Islands
Connie and I recently returned from a trip to northwestern Washington, where we attended our niece's wedding. Connie has three older brothers who live in that part of the state, Terry in Seattle, Tim in Bellingham, and Jeff in the countryside east of Blaine.
Finally we came into the landing at Lopez Island. Apparently we just missed four bald eagles who had been buzzing the area.
Terry had recently bought a small farm on Lopez Island, out in the San Juans, and was anxious for us to come up and see it. He was out on the island, working on some projects (he is a stonemason with a contracting business) so we flew into Seattle and drove up to Anacortes to catch the ferry to get to the island (see above).
It was quite a process getting everyone and everything on board. A round-trip ticket cost about $36. We were blessed with beautiful weather and the scenery is hard to believe.
We saw this tanker on its way in to Anacortes, which is a big oil terminal.
I took this view of Mt. Baker looking east from the ferry. The ferry threaded its way between the small islands covered with forest and scads of small boats out for the day.
This last guy looked like he really had it made, living on this beautiful old wooden boat, towing his runabout, and carrying his mountain bike on the top deck.
Finally we came into the landing at Lopez Island. Apparently we just missed four bald eagles who had been buzzing the area.The Politically Correct Pet
When Mr P came down for the sheep, he brought a piece of humor he and I had collaborated on when he was in High School. I don't know what it says about our minds, or that this is the first venue we found for it...
Introducing TAPEWORMS-- the politically correct,animal- rights- safe pet of the future!
Consider its virtues:
-You don't remove them from their natural habit-- they live in YOU, so--
-No housing problems!
-You don't have to feed or clean them-- just yourself.
-You can take them anywhere-- restaurants, hotels, other countries...
- They'll keep you thin-- perfect for models!
- They NEVER run away, bark, or annoy the neighbors.
-NO vet bills!
- Share segments with your friends-- a single investment can blossom into a lifetime of opportunity!
- And even Wayne Pacelle can't object.
What can I say? In Bozeman they used to call us the Addams family for stuff like this...
Introducing TAPEWORMS-- the politically correct,animal- rights- safe pet of the future!
Consider its virtues:
-You don't remove them from their natural habit-- they live in YOU, so--
-No housing problems!
-You don't have to feed or clean them-- just yourself.
-You can take them anywhere-- restaurants, hotels, other countries...
- They'll keep you thin-- perfect for models!
- They NEVER run away, bark, or annoy the neighbors.
-NO vet bills!
- Share segments with your friends-- a single investment can blossom into a lifetime of opportunity!
- And even Wayne Pacelle can't object.
What can I say? In Bozeman they used to call us the Addams family for stuff like this...
Of Mutton and Saws- Alls
Our friend Pieter Ditmars raises grass- fed meat sheep on Dunhill Ranch in the western foothills of the Magdalenas, using livestock guard dogs (Pyrenees) and border collies as assistants.
We always buy a lamb from him. But we had found him a lot of new customers, and this year he offered us a 5 year- old mutton ewe free if we did the butchering and cleaning ( we are also buying a lamb). As Peculiar and Mrs P were also down to get a bunch of lamb for the Santa Fe contingent we decided to make it a day.
After quickly dispatching the ewe with a .22 and bleeding it out we hung it from an ingenious stand made by Pete.
It made skinning much easier.
A Saws- All makes cutting off the lower legs or cutting through the ribs easy too.
Mrs P proffers a tray of organ meats (Mr P calls this photo "Cocktail waitress").
As a storm comes roaring in, Pete sends out a collie to bring the sheep in. They are visible as a white streak at the bottom of the hill. They came RUNNING.
We always buy a lamb from him. But we had found him a lot of new customers, and this year he offered us a 5 year- old mutton ewe free if we did the butchering and cleaning ( we are also buying a lamb). As Peculiar and Mrs P were also down to get a bunch of lamb for the Santa Fe contingent we decided to make it a day.
After quickly dispatching the ewe with a .22 and bleeding it out we hung it from an ingenious stand made by Pete.
It made skinning much easier.
A Saws- All makes cutting off the lower legs or cutting through the ribs easy too.
Mrs P proffers a tray of organ meats (Mr P calls this photo "Cocktail waitress").
As a storm comes roaring in, Pete sends out a collie to bring the sheep in. They are visible as a white streak at the bottom of the hill. They came RUNNING.
Libby thinks we should make a commercial for Saws-All but I think the time for things like that may be past. Or future.
(All pics courtesy Andrew Jackson Frishman)
(All pics courtesy Andrew Jackson Frishman)
Bird & Pupdate
She is not getting aerial as fast as I'd like but she is working perfectly with the dogs.
Irbis,as befits his youth, stays a respectable distance away. Ataika would rebuke him if he didn't.
Irbis,as befits his youth, stays a respectable distance away. Ataika would rebuke him if he didn't.
Ataika, who knows how to inspire confidence in a bird, gets a lot closer in hope of a tidbit.
More Links
Despite some recent data from Africa, it seems that southeast China still looks to be the most likely point of dog origin. But they might have eaten them at first, as some people there do today. HT Reid.
They are looking for the Mongolian Death Worm again. I must say more people THERE believe in it than, say, British Columbians believe in Bigfoot.
Coursing with cheetahs is (accidentally) legal in England! And here is a very elegant steampunk cheetah for a rainy day. Check out his other creations too, especially the elephant. HT Sari Mantila.
A pitcher plant that eats rats!
The first traces of color have been found in Dinosaur- aged bird feathers-- dark and irridescent like a grackle's. HT Annie Hocker.
The daughter of Prince Kropotkin, the gentle Russian anarchist and amateur animal behaviorist, became a Goldwater Republican.
A GREAT blog I don't mention enough: Smartdogs.
And a promising new one, by "Nagrom" of Rum and Donuts: Armed Bohemian.
And finally a video link to what one might call the sublimity of predation: Sardine Run.
They are looking for the Mongolian Death Worm again. I must say more people THERE believe in it than, say, British Columbians believe in Bigfoot.
Coursing with cheetahs is (accidentally) legal in England! And here is a very elegant steampunk cheetah for a rainy day. Check out his other creations too, especially the elephant. HT Sari Mantila.
A pitcher plant that eats rats!
The first traces of color have been found in Dinosaur- aged bird feathers-- dark and irridescent like a grackle's. HT Annie Hocker.
The daughter of Prince Kropotkin, the gentle Russian anarchist and amateur animal behaviorist, became a Goldwater Republican.
A GREAT blog I don't mention enough: Smartdogs.
And a promising new one, by "Nagrom" of Rum and Donuts: Armed Bohemian.
And finally a video link to what one might call the sublimity of predation: Sardine Run.
Links #1
Perhaps the ridiculous, the risible, and the maddening first?
Che's daughter poses nude (but armed) for PETA.
Copenhagen decides that walking helmets for pedestrians are a good idea.
Chas knows who the dope growers despoiling National forests are: it's those pesky Finns!
Scroll down to the second photo.
I should probably take this one more seriously: do novelists write better when they don't drink?
But not this one: the government has banned the sale of old children's books because they contain a miniscule amount of lead. Zero tolerance, no exceptions.
HUndreds of priceless bird skins, including ones collected by Darwin, have been stolen form the British Natural History Museum at Tring, where Lord Rothschild started the collection. Rogue taxonomists?
Many people-- Chas, Annie D, and others, sent me links to a CANARY FIGHTING ring-- see here, here, and here. I have never heard of such a thing, and would strongly suspect a hoax, except the names of the participants all seem Portuguese, even Cape Verdean, if names I know from my youth are typical. Could this be some weird ethnic thing?
Next post, more...edifying links.
Che's daughter poses nude (but armed) for PETA.
Copenhagen decides that walking helmets for pedestrians are a good idea.
Chas knows who the dope growers despoiling National forests are: it's those pesky Finns!
Scroll down to the second photo.
I should probably take this one more seriously: do novelists write better when they don't drink?
But not this one: the government has banned the sale of old children's books because they contain a miniscule amount of lead. Zero tolerance, no exceptions.
HUndreds of priceless bird skins, including ones collected by Darwin, have been stolen form the British Natural History Museum at Tring, where Lord Rothschild started the collection. Rogue taxonomists?
Many people-- Chas, Annie D, and others, sent me links to a CANARY FIGHTING ring-- see here, here, and here. I have never heard of such a thing, and would strongly suspect a hoax, except the names of the participants all seem Portuguese, even Cape Verdean, if names I know from my youth are typical. Could this be some weird ethnic thing?
Next post, more...edifying links.
Back...
From a few overwhelming weeks-- broken ribs (now tolerable, but not conducive to much but insomnia) a sick dog (Coronavirus, now totally recovered but scary enough for a midnight emergency run) a sick pigeon, a recalcitrant if friendly hawk (maybe the warm weather is keeping her weight up but I am beginning to think she is a "Breathairian"). Add Many guests, a new writing project or perhaps two, some other projects (butchered a sheep) and you get enough distraction that I didn't know whether I was coming or going. I haven't even gotten my license or opened dove season yet!
BUT:
I have lots of links to the sublime, the ridiculous, and the infuriating, as well as two whole posts that probably fall under the ridiculous heading.
I have , of course, update photos for dog & bird.
I have three virtual "photoessays": the sheep butchering (courtesy of Peculiar, who has found he wields a mean Saws- All as well as a camera); a trip by Vadim Gorbatov and his son Andrei in southern Kazakhstan; and some of John Burchard's photos of historical falconry in Arabia, if he permits.
I would also like to congratulate MDMNM and his bride, the lovely Amelia, whose wedding I missed due to those ribs, and Lauren McGough of Aquiling, who is off this weekend to spend ten months in Bayaan Olgii, Mongolia, on a Fulbright, to become an eagler's apprentice and the first female Berkutchi.
Finally, I hope to review some long- overdue books-- I'll list and recommend them in another post, then see if I can write more.
Expect some of this this afternoon but not all-- it is still uncomfortable to type for long stretches.
Oh and: Lib reminds me that courtesy of Tim Gallagher I am now on the masthead of Living Bird magazine, as a contributing editor. It is an honor.
BUT:
I have lots of links to the sublime, the ridiculous, and the infuriating, as well as two whole posts that probably fall under the ridiculous heading.
I have , of course, update photos for dog & bird.
I have three virtual "photoessays": the sheep butchering (courtesy of Peculiar, who has found he wields a mean Saws- All as well as a camera); a trip by Vadim Gorbatov and his son Andrei in southern Kazakhstan; and some of John Burchard's photos of historical falconry in Arabia, if he permits.
I would also like to congratulate MDMNM and his bride, the lovely Amelia, whose wedding I missed due to those ribs, and Lauren McGough of Aquiling, who is off this weekend to spend ten months in Bayaan Olgii, Mongolia, on a Fulbright, to become an eagler's apprentice and the first female Berkutchi.
Finally, I hope to review some long- overdue books-- I'll list and recommend them in another post, then see if I can write more.
Expect some of this this afternoon but not all-- it is still uncomfortable to type for long stretches.
Oh and: Lib reminds me that courtesy of Tim Gallagher I am now on the masthead of Living Bird magazine, as a contributing editor. It is an honor.
Monday, September 07, 2009
Lane Batot on Trailhounds-- Part 3
Once I had decided to keep Notches, the little Black-And-Tan hound, I naturally sought to fulfill my old desire of training a trailhound to pursue a variety of game, as the old time pioneers had done. I knew that with this previously traumatized dog, I would have to proceed slowly and patiently. At first she would not leave my side, even when out for a run with my other dogs, when they jumped and pursued various critters. When she cringed in fear at the first raccoon we encountered, her behaviour reminded me of other hunting dogs I had seen who had been "trained" with shock collars. My guess was that she was someone's effort to make a bear hound--common in that area--so raccoons had been taboo for her. Or, she may have been one of those unfortunate pups thrown into a barrel with a grown raccoon, and expected to fight it out. This barbaric method will certainly show you which pups have the most grit(at that time), but it also ruins more good coonhounds than it makes.
Notches at last began to run with my other dogs, baying with excitement when she did so. For such a small hound, she had a deep, rolling bawl that carried far, and I was pleasantly anticipating many future concerts of "hound music". After a time, having learned the territory well on our daily ramblings, and in no danger of being lost, and having gotten no adverse reactions from me when she ran with the other dogs, she began to do what all trailhounds were born to do--trail game! At first, she would just jump and trail rabbits. She would come back after a good run, cringing and peeing in fear at my possible reactions. Imagine her relief when, instead of punishment, I praised her lavishly! Once she realized this activity was not taboo, she became an extremely enthusiastic rabbit hunter, and I watched and listened to many a spirited rabbit chase. The clever cottontails never took her far, and Notches was often in sight as the rabbits circled back and forth in their brushy home. This suited her perfectly early on, as she was reluctant to range out very far from me.
As her confidence grew, she began to experiment a bit more, and go after other game along with my other dogs. For each and every effort, she received only praise and admiration from me. Very quickly, she added deer, fox(both red and grey), squirrel, 'possum, and even ruffed grouse and wild turkey to her repetoire--a real "trash hound"! Watching her trail turkeys and grouse was especially intriguing to me, as I had not realized before that trailhounds would show interest in gamebirds. Whenever she hit their scent, she would bay as enthusiastically as when on furred game, and often trailed them until they flushed. The birds usually sailed across a hollow or two, and then settled back to the ground. Notches would stop baying where the birds had left the ground, and then air scent them silently until she picked up where they had landed, and continue baying at that point.
True to the old stories, I was able, most times, to decipher exactly what she was trailing by the tone of her voice, and/or the patterns she was running. Whenever it snowed, I was sure to be out with my hound, so that I could verify by tracks exactly what she was trailing, and so honed my own "hound ear". In time, her favorite game to trail became fox, both red or grey. The greys were more common in the thick mountain forest where we lived, and I especially liked these hunts, too, as the greys ran a tight, circular pattern that kept my hound close, and I often got to see the nimble foxes as they weaved through the brush. I never killed anything, so all the critters became quite experienced at eluding my hound, and my hound became increasingly skilled at deciphering their trails.
A few times Notches picked up and followed black bear trails. Her voice had a questioning quality about it when she did so. I never encouraged this, not because I was not interested in bears(which I certainly am), but mainly because where I lived, the local black bear population was heavily persecuted, and I did not want to add to the hunting pressure they already had to deal with. Because I showed no interest in the bears, Notches soon began to ignore them, too. One creature which she never showed any desire to trail was, of course, raccoons! I jokingly began to call her my "Black-And-Tan-Everything-But-Coonhound"!
My "training", therefore, was simply to take my hound out, let her do whatever she wanted, and praise her for whatever I wanted her to keep doing, and ignore her when she was doing something I'd rather she not. No beating, no yelling, no shocking, and Notches molded her performance to suit my desires, while fulfilling her own drives as an energetic scent hound. But then, of course, I was not so particular as most houndmen are these days. Next--the inevitable encounter with the dreaded raccoon....to be continued......
Notches at last began to run with my other dogs, baying with excitement when she did so. For such a small hound, she had a deep, rolling bawl that carried far, and I was pleasantly anticipating many future concerts of "hound music". After a time, having learned the territory well on our daily ramblings, and in no danger of being lost, and having gotten no adverse reactions from me when she ran with the other dogs, she began to do what all trailhounds were born to do--trail game! At first, she would just jump and trail rabbits. She would come back after a good run, cringing and peeing in fear at my possible reactions. Imagine her relief when, instead of punishment, I praised her lavishly! Once she realized this activity was not taboo, she became an extremely enthusiastic rabbit hunter, and I watched and listened to many a spirited rabbit chase. The clever cottontails never took her far, and Notches was often in sight as the rabbits circled back and forth in their brushy home. This suited her perfectly early on, as she was reluctant to range out very far from me.
As her confidence grew, she began to experiment a bit more, and go after other game along with my other dogs. For each and every effort, she received only praise and admiration from me. Very quickly, she added deer, fox(both red and grey), squirrel, 'possum, and even ruffed grouse and wild turkey to her repetoire--a real "trash hound"! Watching her trail turkeys and grouse was especially intriguing to me, as I had not realized before that trailhounds would show interest in gamebirds. Whenever she hit their scent, she would bay as enthusiastically as when on furred game, and often trailed them until they flushed. The birds usually sailed across a hollow or two, and then settled back to the ground. Notches would stop baying where the birds had left the ground, and then air scent them silently until she picked up where they had landed, and continue baying at that point.
True to the old stories, I was able, most times, to decipher exactly what she was trailing by the tone of her voice, and/or the patterns she was running. Whenever it snowed, I was sure to be out with my hound, so that I could verify by tracks exactly what she was trailing, and so honed my own "hound ear". In time, her favorite game to trail became fox, both red or grey. The greys were more common in the thick mountain forest where we lived, and I especially liked these hunts, too, as the greys ran a tight, circular pattern that kept my hound close, and I often got to see the nimble foxes as they weaved through the brush. I never killed anything, so all the critters became quite experienced at eluding my hound, and my hound became increasingly skilled at deciphering their trails.
A few times Notches picked up and followed black bear trails. Her voice had a questioning quality about it when she did so. I never encouraged this, not because I was not interested in bears(which I certainly am), but mainly because where I lived, the local black bear population was heavily persecuted, and I did not want to add to the hunting pressure they already had to deal with. Because I showed no interest in the bears, Notches soon began to ignore them, too. One creature which she never showed any desire to trail was, of course, raccoons! I jokingly began to call her my "Black-And-Tan-Everything-But-Coonhound"!
My "training", therefore, was simply to take my hound out, let her do whatever she wanted, and praise her for whatever I wanted her to keep doing, and ignore her when she was doing something I'd rather she not. No beating, no yelling, no shocking, and Notches molded her performance to suit my desires, while fulfilling her own drives as an energetic scent hound. But then, of course, I was not so particular as most houndmen are these days. Next--the inevitable encounter with the dreaded raccoon....to be continued......
Friday, September 04, 2009
Companionable cowbirds
It's always a pleasure to watch the cowbirds as they pick for bugs and seed heads in wool, even as the wool remains on the sheep. Most of the sheep don't mind their presence at all, and the birds fly/hop from the back of one sheep to another. The fattest brown-headed cowbirds I've ever seen stayed in our corral one winter as we grain-fed some calves.
Cowbirds are parasitic birds, laying their eggs in the nests of a wide range of other species. They apparently never raise their own young. A female may lay up to about 40 eggs per year, but only three percent end up as adults. The female monitors the nests she parasitizes, and may destroy the nests of host birds that won't care for her young.
Cowbirds were originally a bison-following bird of the Great Plains, but are now often seen foraging on the ground in agricultural areas for seed, most often in association with grazing animals.
Thursday, September 03, 2009
Suburban Elk
We were totally surprised this morning to see these two bull elk as we were driving into work.
This was quite near our office, which is in west suburban Denver (Lakewood, for those who know) on the edge of the Front Range foothills. There are countless mule deer around here, but elk rarely come this low, especially this time of year.
They had somehow made their way across a four-lane highway (C-470) and up West Alameda Parkway. The sign on the fence post shows it's the boundary for a large city park/open space area, the best place for these guys to head for the day.
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
Something good
Now that I’ve done a depressing post with nothing good, here’s one with something good. I’ve spent lots of time in the sheep pasture lately, and have been toting my camera around to document everything that is occurring. Have I mentioned that burros are very nosy creatures? I have pictures that prove it!
Rena the Akbash (all white dog) and Rant the Central Asian Ovcharka let off a little steam this morning. Here is Rant standing on Rena, looking like some bad ass. He's younger than Rena by a year, and isn't near as tall, weighs a lot less. But it's only a matter of time before he's bigger.
I don't believe there were any feet touching the ground in this shot. We moved the camper close to the night pen, and the dogs played tag around it this morning.
Demonstrating the benefits of cropped ears on a guard dog:
There is nothing that makes Rant madder than anyone or anything grabbing his front legs. Rena knows just what buttons to push.
Rant has very big feet, and uses those front legs to slap and grab with. Very cool when he stands up on his hind legs to wrestle - the Ovcharkas do that a lot.
Nothing good
Our predation issues are still not resolved. First we had two big lambs killed and entirely consumed, in one event. Then things were quiet for a full week.
Last Friday morning’s early sheep check led me to a just-killed 90-pound lamb - nothing much eaten but the liver. Once again the scene was so fresh it must have just occurred - blood everywhere, upset dogs. Rant took Luv’s Girl to the ground for coming near the kill, which he was guarding but wouldn’t touch. Things were very tense.
On Saturday, I found another completely consumed lamb along the river - just blood and the pealed-back pelt. I called in all the kills to our Wildlife Services guys, who were responding to major wolf problems at the time. One outfit had 37 sheep and one yearling steer killed and one injured guard dog. A pack of six wolves were killed in order to stop the depredations. The next day, a pack of five wolves were killed after killing three guard dogs and 45 sheep. Our problems were much smaller in comparison, but we were also working really hard to try to minimize losses as well. The sheep were spooky and things were in a general state of unrest.
Sunday morning, an adult ewe - a big, beautiful Rambouillet - was killed. Only her udder was eaten. We could see where the ewe had been attacked, tried to flee, and was eventually taken down. A single bite to her throat was her blessed ending.
The last two nights, federal trappers have set wolf traps in attempt to catch the guilty predator. They have been unable to determine whether it’s a bear or a wolf - it’s one or the other.
I hate traps, but because this predator issue has continued to drag on without resolution, agreed to the trapping effort. In order to do that, the dogs had to be contained so they didn’t get hurt. We have a hay stack pen located right next to the highway in that pasture, so we started locking the sheep herd in the pen at night, with the dogs inside with them. It’s a scary situation, because if a predator gets in the pen, the sheep can’t escape. None of these decisions are easy, and they all have pitfalls.
This is me sitting in the pen, giving everyone good night kisses. Yes, I'm a sheephugger too.
With two nights of trapping, nothing has been caught. This predator is either not appearing for some reason, or won’t come to a bait. Nothing has been killed for a few days, but we’re nervous about the days ahead. Two guard dogs, three guard burros, and a pasture of horned cattle that don’t like canids hasn’t been enough to protect our herd out here in the sagebrush, hundreds of miles from Yellowstone, even when our presence is added to the mix.
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