Some Notes from Wednesday
The following is a list of events that occurred yesterday during my trip to town to have a mechanic fix the short in the headlights switch on my pickup.
1. Tried out new French press travel mug. Makes good, strong coffee and the cap stays on when the mug itself is violently jostled from the holder as I drive the obstacle course known as the Alderpoint Road. The cup holder in mid-1990s Dodge pickups is located at the top of the dashboard, which gives beverages a poor center of gravity. I have noticed in the newer models that Dodge moved the holder to the floor, which is apparently where my drinks want to be anyway. Until now, my efforts to hydrate myself while driving have almost always ended in soaked clothing and cuss words.
2. Dropped off pickup. Waited for friend to pick me up.
3. From the back seat, I silently questioned the wisdom of pulling a pickup and stock trailer across two lanes of traffic so a guy could tow a hay clipper across Fernbridge. As the sole occupant of this parked vehicle, I felt slightly panicked when things started to go awry (looks of indignant disbelief from other drivers), and then relief when my traveling companions returned and it all worked out OK.
4. Enjoyed a very fine cheeseburger at the sale yard cafe.
5. Made my way through most of this week’s New Yorker while waiting for the cowboys to return with herds of various animals throughout the day. I didn’t enjoy this issue as much as last week’s.
6. It was a spectacular day at the ocean and yet I did not take any photos.
7. Pondered and then argued about whether water accumulating under the trees was due to “fog drip” or a leak in the water line. No resolution.
8. Fretted over a crippled calf.
9. Moments later watched a sick coyote pup make its way through the tall grass.
10. Began to worry that a very cute dog and I might be thrown from an open window of the pickup as the driver tried to make his way up a hill covered in dry, slick grass while pulling a stock trailer with a horse in it. After four-wheel drive failed and we started sliding, and especially after the other passenger cautioned the driver, “What you don’t want is to get over on this side hill and flip this sonuvabitch, “ I began to wonder about the origins of the many dents already in the body of this pickup. Leaping out the window seemed like it might be a better option than patiently awaiting the inevitable. And then a small miracle happened. The driver’s face suddenly became red with anger and he let loose with a fierce string of expletives (much the same as those I reserve for my goddamn drink holder). He shoved the accelerator to the floor, and somehow, he managed to power us and the horse up the hill with sheer willpower. I like that driver. He’s alright.
11. Exhausted and thirsty from a day of watching other people work, returned to my pickup. Drove home with lights. Yay!
Surprise House Guest
When I went down to my neighbor’s place to feed his dogs last week, I had the unfortunate luck of finding a fawn that wasn’t more than a day or two old. Or more accurately, he found me as he teetered up on wobbly legs, desperately looking for a bite to eat. He was a little scraped up, pretty hungry, and hanging out under the porch with a couple of dogs and a rooster that mysteriously appeared one day last fall, much like this deer had just done. The older dog, Cindy, is kind of a crank (or at the very least, tragically misunderstood) and doesn’t care much for anyone besides the other dog, Daisy, and, as it turns out, this rooster. I guess Daisy decided she also needed a pet of her own because she had already adopted this little fawn. As she licked it clean, I pondered what to do.
If I had found this fawn in the woods or out in a field, I would have left it alone because its mother would probably be somewhere nearby. This was a little different, though, because I couldn’t come up with any reasons why a doe would leave her baby with the motley band of fowl and canines. I decided to let it be for the day. Maybe the mom would come back? If the baby was still there that night, I’d decide what to do then.
When I came back, it was curled up under the steps, so I fed it some canned milk mixed with water in a baby bottle and then loaded it in the pickup and brought it home. Three days passed with me feeding it every four hours or so. Everyone kept telling me I only needed to feed it every six hours, but if it didn’t get the bottle more frequently, it would make this awful high-pitched EEP! sound that would wake me from a very sound sleep--even when it was outside. I desperately tried to find a home for it. Since it was a buck, I figured that once it got old enough it would return into the wild on its own. Lots of people suggested other neighbors they knew who’d raised fawns before. This turned out to be a bit of red herring because I soon realized that anyone who’d done it once had already learned their lesson and didn’t want to do it again.
I called Fish and Game and talked to a guy who was knowledgeable and very nice, but wasn’t terribly interested in helping me. He basically said that a lot of fawns die every year and that’s just how nature works. This wasn’t news to me, of course, but I also couldn’t stand back and watch it die slowly under the porch from dehydration or starvation. Finally, some of my neighbors agreed to take the little critter, who, after three days was doing pretty darn well on the canned milk. They kept it for a couple nights, and then became worried they were getting too attached. After all, it was a male and when it grew up, there was a good chance somebody might shoot it. They made some phone calls and found it a home at a wildlife rescue place in town.
New Boots!
Remember that second pair of boots I was supposed to be making with the bootmaker over in Manton? You may not because I started them three or four years ago and haven’t done a thing with them since. Up until now that is. I’ve skipped straight past all that cumbersome cutting and skiving and stitching and gone straight on to strutting around in them. How, you say? Well, the bootmaker finished them for me in trade for help with a how-to DVD he’s making. Isn’t bartering cool?
Self-Promotion Inspires Me to Write Again
The Western Folklife Center just put up my most recent short film, “What’s a Nice Girl Like You Doing in a Place Like This?” Yay!
Lulu Likes to Watch
Check it out: I have walls!
I'm Floored!
Things are moving right along with the house. They finished the sub-floor yesterday. We passed another inspection, too. On Monday, they’ll put in the radiant heat, and then it’s on to the walls. Hooray!
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