Small Favors

Well, to all of our surprise, the ewe lamb continues to live. She is eating and drinking some, and we are going to start turning her out for short periods and see if she can act like a sheep a little at a time. She could still die any day, but I'm happily surprised she is hanging on for now.

The katahdin with the leg wounds is doing very well and turned back out with the rest of the flock.

Bad Neighbors

Alas, we have a bad neighbor where our sheep live. She has allowed her dog to run loose and savage the sheep 3 days in a row. Two ewes are badly wounded, and one is looking like it might be a loss. Time will tell, the vet came out and said the ewe lamb deserves a chance to try and live, and so we are giving that to her. If we were running a larger commercial operation she would be an obvious cull, but she is well below finishing weight and with so few sheep we have the extra time to give her some special attention.

I hate the idea of killing dogs, but I'd have no compunction about shooting this one. The poor dog, it is not her fault that her owner is irresponsible and not keeping her safe. But my sheep do not deserve to be terrorized and I don't deserve the financial losses nor the sadness and disappointment.

Animal control is some help but not much, advising us to "take care of" the dog ourselves. I went to the field bright and early today ready to ambush the dog, but it stayed away. Hopefully the dog and her owner moved out today as was planned and the sheep will get some peace.

Lucy and I are on our way out for our evening vigil of pain medication and antibiotics by headlamp. Lucy is such a wonderful partner in all of this, I feel blessed as always to have her help (Thanks, Diane!)

I know it is just a sheep, but suffering is not meant for any animal and I hope she either improves swiftly or passes swiftly without a great deal of suffering in between.

Curmudgeonly

I'm getting old, and that's a fact. I suppose there's no escaping it, though it might make sense for me to try and come to terms with my pathologic fear of death as it inches closer, a minute... an hour... a day at a time. I don't bounce as well as I once did, if I hurt myself it actually hurts. I have the feeling every day that life is short, and so I'd better spend each day doing something that is both important and useful to me at that moment.

cur·mudg·eon [ker-muhj-uhn] noun. a bad-tempered, difficult, cantankerous person.

I am stubborn, set in my ways. I feel like the world is traveling down a path I'm not interested in taking. I suppose this happens to everyone at one time in life, when the young people are harder to understand than the older ones. The things that bring me comfort are now passe, cliche or old-fashioned. My taste in movies is now "campy," my taste in music is now "oldies." Funny, I don't feel much different than I did at 17, except I'm a bit softer now. I think one of the secrets no one tells you as a kid is that once you get to your set point (a little different for every person, but I think it comes near the end of adolescence), you feel pretty much the same forever.

It is possible I feel the same since I've decided not to have kids, and so have not gone through that dramatic transition in life. That being said, I'm not ready to give that theory all that much credit since the quality of a person's personality and relationships is found to be the most salient predictor of their personality, behavior and relationship satisfaction after a child is born (Cowan & Cowan, 2000).

I like my life. I am grateful for technology and the many conveniences it affords. Without technology I would not be able to reach out (pathetic though it may be) in a blog, connect with old friends en masse via Facebook posts or contact 8 people at once to remind them of a team meeting. I would not be able to serve on a board of directors comprised of people from around the country and see and talk with them via Skype in real time. I would not be able to do all my shopping from home, have every bit of information imaginable right at my fingertips or stream content at a moment's notice. But this technology comes at a price in my mind. It has taken some of the intimacy out of my communication, some of the passion out of how I spend my time.

I miss "real" communication. Letters from a friend, written longhand. Going to the mailbox and finding an actual letter from a friend warms my heart. That small piece of paper scrawled in pencil or ink, posted across the country or around the world is a time capsule. It represents those few moments when my friend was thinking of me, caring about me and wanting to give me the gift of his or her time and thoughts. email is not the same as a letter. It is entirely utilitarian. Communicating by email allows me to keep in touch with friends when my life is too busy compared to what it ought to be. It allows customers to reach me and me to reply quickly even at hours that are entirely unreasonable. But it does not hold the same sentiment for me as a handwritten note.

Some of the many letters that live in a lovely cedar box full of memories

I'm finding as I talk to younger people that my sentimentality dates (and ages) me. Many would *rather* receive an email or a text than a letter. I suppose I have considered electronic communication a necessity but not a pleasure. This boggles my stubborn, cantankerous mind. It makes me think thoughts with short words.

I miss making art for the sake of doing so, and for the sake of making it a gift. Holding a pen, a paintbrush, a stick of chalk pastel in my hand and putting emotions onto paper. I often used to craft handmade greeting cards to give as boxed sets to friends. The market for such a gift is expired. No one sends letters anymore.

Some old samples of handmade greeting cards

The art store is one of my meccas, I can spend hours walking down the isles fondling the stock. I am particularly fond of handmade papers. I suppose that makes me old-fashioned, yet again. In this world, my "art" has become things created electronically. Websites, logos, digital imaging. The tangibility that satisfied my soul is somehow less with those forms of media. Yet the people who are young right now will know this as usual, and will be sated by it in a way I am not.

Yep, an old scholarship portfolio full of hardcopy work

I miss having a hard way to prove to myself I did work. Notebooks, papers corrected in red pen, pages of calculus homework meticulously drawn in 0.3mm mechanical drafting pencil. I have been back in college for quite some time now. The sum of my efforts could be reproduced a hundred times and stored on a microSD smaller the size of my thumbnail. The portability is wonderful, and certainly I can type more quickly than I can write in longhand. My laptop is my favorite friend. But there's something vague about words on a screen put through the "network of tubes." I don't feel as accomplished: because my ruler is so out of date. Yes.... I said "ruler." The evidence of my curmudgeonly ways mounts with every sentence.

Recently I acquired an eReader. It is ridiculously convenient, especially when I have numerous books required for school that are available cheaply and instantly on eReader. Yet there remains a special place in my black, cold and aged heart for paper books. The kind with worn covers and dog-eared pages that I've read a dozen times. The kind with dust in the binding and real glue binding the individually sewn signatures into a hard cover printed with gold foil. The kind that give old bookstores the wonderful musky smell of books and the people who love them. The very impracticality of my nostalgia about books should leave me aghast at myself. But I am not.

A few books read a few dozen times

I miss being unavailable, and being available for real communication. My smartphone makes my life more streamlined, and text messaging is convenient and very reinforcing. Every time we hear the beep-beep and it is followed by a few characters from a friend, we all get the ultimate tiny social version of click-treat. But I miss having the time for real conversations over coffee or sitting in the park. For talking my thoughts out beginning to end instead of being barraged by a series of half-thoughts and asinine abbreviations 165 characters or fewer. Yes, I like having text messaging, but I feel like texting has become the normative mode of communication for anyone younger than myself. Text allows a level of anonymity and social distance that can open people to say things they would not say in person. It accelerates a false sense of intimacy because accountability for statements is not required. Texting is a unilateral opportunity to throw thoughts and words at someone else without having to (or wanting to) see their reaction, or be accountable for the effects. I feel the same way about internet "dating."

In pixels on a screen, we can each create who we want other people to see. The screen is a shield behind which we can hide, and upon which we can scribble a caricature of ourselves. It can be false advertising.

The ultimate irony perhaps is the way I've delivered these thoughts. Electronically. Pixels on a screen. I feel somewhat better having written it down longhand first in my usual journal so my nostalgic self will have it forever, it can become dusty and musty with the rest of the paper trail of life I've left for myself. Now I've left little electronic breadcrumbs of my last few weeks' musings for the rest of you, as well.

Peace be with you.
Monique

Tell me... erm... heck what day is it again?

Laura from Crooks and Crazies posts these fun lists of questions every Thursday. I'm experimenting with my first answer and it is even on the wrong day for extra points :)

1. If you're not at the 2011 Sheepdog finals this weekend what are you planning to do?

In between lamenting about how I am not at the finals and not watching the live feed of the finals or reading tweets of the finals or explaining to myself why I am not doing any of those things, I am running Zora in an agility trial, taking 2 exams, writing a paper, taking Lucy to sheep twice and cleaning house.

Of course, during all of those activities I will be obsessively refreshing the browser on my smartphone to read said tweets and yammering on to agility people who don't care about the contents of tweetdom...

2. One item you NEVER walk onto the trial field (any trial field, or training class will suffice) without?

Well, hopefully my dog? I would normally say my whistle, but I did forget my whistle whilst doing chores the other day. Interestingly I just whistled like I would ordinarily whistle a tune and Lucy somehow by divine providence understood what I meant and was a gem. I would like to learn to finger whistle, in which case I could successfully avoid going ANYWHERE without my whistle, barring any unforeseen amputation events.

3. Katy wants to know if you have a pre-run ritual that you observe?

Yes. I work my dog within 48 hours before the trial whenever possible. The day before the trial I make sure my dog gets a moderate exercise day. Once on the trial field, I try to attend the handler's meeting. If I've missed the meeting I find the course director first thing and ask the course. Then I will make sure the dogs are set up in the car with water and shade and go visit and chat for a while, just getting the lay of the land. I pick up a running order if I did not print one at home, then fold it into 6ths with the current runs showing. (Check run order every 5 minutes ad nauseum until returning home.)

4 runs before mine, I take Lucy out and let her watch 2 lifts if I can. I used to do this only 2 runs in advance, but then one day the 2 dogs before mine never found the sheep. I, of course, went to the post wondering if I had my cell phone in my pocket to dial 911 before I died of heart palpitations. Lucy, cool as a cucumber in spite of my palpable insanity, ran out and found the sheep anyway. I did not allow her stellar performance to prevent me from developing a new obsessive habit of going out 4 runs in advance rather than 2. Between these spotting sessions I put Lucy back in her crate in the car if it is at all feasible. If that is not feasible, we go somewhere out of sight and quiet. After the last spotting session, I get out my crook and double check my whistle.

When we are just walking around relaxing and visiting, Lucy is generally off leash. When we are getting ready to spot and run, I leash her.

1 run before mine, we find a quiet place near the gate to sit and relax. I make a mental picture of how I want my run to go, and Lucy gets a neck massage.

4. How old were you when you had your first real kiss?

I was 5, my brand new dog was 2 ;)

5. Bonnie wants to know what you do for yard mud control during the winter?

We have a small potty yard for the dogs. There are 2 trails they tend to make it a habit to travel so we spread shavings on those trail areas from autumn through spring. There is an astroturf doormat outside the door and a heavy duty high-profile doormat inside the door which catches most dirt. If it is really horrible outside I also wipe paws.