You might have realized from October 19th's "Dead Goats" story that animals at my house don't have the best of luck. The funny thing is there were actually two other goats that died before the massacre. we don't know how they died either, but hey they're goats, whatcha gonna do?
Anyway it turns out that cats, although having more lives than goats, still die. A lot. We've had four cats that I can remember and they've all (by now) met the same fate. We'll start with Pickles. Pickles was a cat. A black cat. We had him and Socks to start with. Socks was also a cat. A gray cat. Pickles was the first to go. Although we never found the body, it was assumed short after his disappearance that he had met a gruesome fate at the hands of some animal or disease. Either way he's very very dead now because that was 12 years ago.
Pickles death wasn't all bad though, because after the departed for that big ball of yarn in the sky we got Nuggy (noog ee). Nuggy didn't seem to last long, but time went faster back then. I distinctly remember finding his body beneath the porch, his mouth agape, his heart stopped and his eyes in that squinty dead cat look that all Advanced Human Bio kids get used to after a while. Nuggy passing was... well, I honestly don't remember really. Nuggy wasn't especially memorable. Though I don't really like cats either.
Hey remember Socks? We don't, cause she's been dead 10 years! She was resourceful though, she survived Pickles and Nuggy. She even survived my sister and mine experiment to see if cats can really land on their feet when dropped- I mean falling upside down. We dropped her from about three feet up and, what do you know, they can. And apparently there's a "run away" reflex that causes them to bolt after hitting the ground, go figure. We wanted to retest from a higher drop point but we couldn't catch her again. And Kelsey (other sister, Socks "owner") got mad. Anyway, Socks was hit by a car.
Billybob, like Pickles, was never actually found. He came to us one day and we fed him and he stayed. Then, when our dog got bigger he left. Without a trace. He's likely dead now but if he's not then he's old. Billybob, if you're reading this, we miss you.
Those four were the only ones we owned (however briefly) but there was that one dead cat we found. it was buried in the garden. Dad thought it was a rabbit at first. He had us all come out to see. And then it was a cat. Yeah. Ooh. And one time I thought I found another one but it turned out just to be a raccoon.
Other than that there's Eloise. but she was dead when we met. She was very wet, smelly and tough. Very hard to open, and even harder to expose vital organs. But my was she beautiful. In a rigor-mortis-ified squitny, dead, formaldehyde way.
Monday, November 7, 2011
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
The Dead Goats
We used to own 4 goats and "used to" is the optimal part of that phrase. About a year ago, last winter I realized that one of the goats was lying on the ground. Finding this unbecoming of goats I went to investigate.
It was on its side on the ground. I grabbed a stick and poked it. There was a hollow thud as the body was completely frozen from being dead in the cold so long. Well great, the goat died. Now we have to figure out a way to bury it without digging in frozen clay earth or building a coffin. I think maybe my dad piled some rocks on it, there was no eulogy because, well, Red sweater wearing Star Trek extras have longer life expectancies than animals at our house.
Dismissing the Goat's death as a random act of God I continued with everyday life only to find a second goat dead a day later. Now isn't this interesting, but lacking Holmes investigative spirit I again dismissed this tragedy as another will of the creator.
When we found the third goat dead I knew something was amiss. We began to search for the cause of the death praying it wasn't El Chupacabra. What we did find was a dead rat in their water supply... This may or may not have been the root cause of death.
At this point I excepted the fact that the 4th goat would die soon and said my goodbyes, by which I mean I left the paddock without even glancing at the goat.
A week went by and miraculously the goat had survived. I felt hopeful, happy and glad, and then i heart this strange ghastly braying from the goats large pen. It wasn't the usual, "I'M A GOAT!" bray, it was more of a "I've fallen and i can't get up... and I'm dieing!" bray.
I found the animal halfway down the hill, lying there, immobile but alive. I decided the best thing to do would be to put it out of it's misery but being unable to even kill mice I figured I wouldn't be best for the job. Don't get me wrong, I'm not some tree hugging, vegan, animals-are-people-too people, I just can't kill things myself.
So I got my dad, the hardcore, raised on a farm man that i knew could kill goat 4. Well, it was Oregon, so it had rained in the last six or seven hours and was muddy. My father was wearing nice clothes and shoes and didn't want to walk down the muddy hill to get a point-blank shot at the goat (with the .22 rifle). So he walked down our driveway parallel to the paddock and took aim a the goat which was 50 feet away.
I was standing above, inside the paddock but outside the bullet zone because, let's face it I wasn't going to miss this! It was awesome!
The first shot hit it in the thigh so it just started flailing which can be difficult when your body weight is being supported by your neck. The next three shots brought the goat to a slowish fast death full of brays and flailing limbs. The sixth shot was just to make sure.
Afterward we went back inside to forget about the whole event. But after a day or maybe an hour (whatever) I decided that a dead goat with it's eyes glazed over and tongue sticking out blood slowly dripping from it's gaping mouth slowly rotting isn't the best picture coming up the driveway to a friend or relatives house. So "I'll bury it!" I thought.
Luckily the dirt/mud near the goat was soft and easy to dig (besides the freaking boulders). I dug a grave I thought looked deep enough and dragged the limp creature into it. it was at the moment that the wet floppy body hit the bottom of the pit that I realized it wasn't deep enough. Most of the body fit except the head was sticking out resting on the ground level dirt. I didn't want to have to drag it out and continue digging so I just flopped it's head back on itself. It was really easy because apparently its neck had broken in the fall so the neck twisted easily back to rest on its own side.
I still faced a dilemma though. The body was about 6 inches out of the pit. So, shovel in hand i began piling mud back on top of it. Unfortunately there wasn't enough mud to completely cover it. But, I did get enough to cover everything but one horn, sticking up through the dirt. I thought that was okay though because the horn just looked like a root or branch or something, especially from far away.
So, I left the grave sweaty and dirty contemplating a job well done.
It was on its side on the ground. I grabbed a stick and poked it. There was a hollow thud as the body was completely frozen from being dead in the cold so long. Well great, the goat died. Now we have to figure out a way to bury it without digging in frozen clay earth or building a coffin. I think maybe my dad piled some rocks on it, there was no eulogy because, well, Red sweater wearing Star Trek extras have longer life expectancies than animals at our house.
Dismissing the Goat's death as a random act of God I continued with everyday life only to find a second goat dead a day later. Now isn't this interesting, but lacking Holmes investigative spirit I again dismissed this tragedy as another will of the creator.
When we found the third goat dead I knew something was amiss. We began to search for the cause of the death praying it wasn't El Chupacabra. What we did find was a dead rat in their water supply... This may or may not have been the root cause of death.
At this point I excepted the fact that the 4th goat would die soon and said my goodbyes, by which I mean I left the paddock without even glancing at the goat.
A week went by and miraculously the goat had survived. I felt hopeful, happy and glad, and then i heart this strange ghastly braying from the goats large pen. It wasn't the usual, "I'M A GOAT!" bray, it was more of a "I've fallen and i can't get up... and I'm dieing!" bray.
I found the animal halfway down the hill, lying there, immobile but alive. I decided the best thing to do would be to put it out of it's misery but being unable to even kill mice I figured I wouldn't be best for the job. Don't get me wrong, I'm not some tree hugging, vegan, animals-are-people-too people, I just can't kill things myself.
So I got my dad, the hardcore, raised on a farm man that i knew could kill goat 4. Well, it was Oregon, so it had rained in the last six or seven hours and was muddy. My father was wearing nice clothes and shoes and didn't want to walk down the muddy hill to get a point-blank shot at the goat (with the .22 rifle). So he walked down our driveway parallel to the paddock and took aim a the goat which was 50 feet away.
I was standing above, inside the paddock but outside the bullet zone because, let's face it I wasn't going to miss this! It was awesome!
The first shot hit it in the thigh so it just started flailing which can be difficult when your body weight is being supported by your neck. The next three shots brought the goat to a slowish fast death full of brays and flailing limbs. The sixth shot was just to make sure.
Afterward we went back inside to forget about the whole event. But after a day or maybe an hour (whatever) I decided that a dead goat with it's eyes glazed over and tongue sticking out blood slowly dripping from it's gaping mouth slowly rotting isn't the best picture coming up the driveway to a friend or relatives house. So "I'll bury it!" I thought.
Luckily the dirt/mud near the goat was soft and easy to dig (besides the freaking boulders). I dug a grave I thought looked deep enough and dragged the limp creature into it. it was at the moment that the wet floppy body hit the bottom of the pit that I realized it wasn't deep enough. Most of the body fit except the head was sticking out resting on the ground level dirt. I didn't want to have to drag it out and continue digging so I just flopped it's head back on itself. It was really easy because apparently its neck had broken in the fall so the neck twisted easily back to rest on its own side.
I still faced a dilemma though. The body was about 6 inches out of the pit. So, shovel in hand i began piling mud back on top of it. Unfortunately there wasn't enough mud to completely cover it. But, I did get enough to cover everything but one horn, sticking up through the dirt. I thought that was okay though because the horn just looked like a root or branch or something, especially from far away.
So, I left the grave sweaty and dirty contemplating a job well done.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Friday, October 7, 2011
Cookie Recipes, from the Queen Herself
Recipes by Paula
Number 1 -- Coconut, Oat, Cranberry Cookies
1 cup brown sugar
1 cup sugar
1 cup shortening
2 eggs
1 teas. almond extract
2 ½ cups flour
2 teas. baking powder
2 teas. soda
1 teas. salt
2 cups oatmeal
2 cups coconut
1 cup dried cranberries
Cream sugars and shortening. Beat in eggs and extract. Stir in dry ingredients, oatmeal, coconut, and cranberries. Scoop onto greased cookie sheet.
Bake at 350° for 8-10 minutes.
Number 2 -- Gingerbread Cut-outs
Cream together:
1 cup shortening
1 cup sugar
Add:
1 egg
1 cup molasses
2 T. vinegar
Sift and stir in:
5 cups flour
½ teas. salt
1 ½ teas. soda
2 teas. ginger
1 teas. cinnamon
1 teas. cloves
Chill dough. Roll out on lightly floured board and cut with favorite cookie cutters. Bake at 350° for 5-8 minutes, being careful not to over bake. Frost with favorite icing and decorate!
Number 3 -- Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip Cookies
1 cup shortening
1 cup peanut butter
1 cup sugar
1 cup brown sugar
1 teas. vanilla
2 eggs
2 & 3/4 cups flour
2 teas. soda
dash salt
1 pkg chocolate chips
Cream shortening, peanut butter, and sugars. Beat in eggs and vanilla. Stir in sifted dry ingredients. Add chocolate chips. Scoop out onto ungreased cookie sheets.
Bake at 350° for 8-10 minutes. Don't overbake! Eat warm. That's when they're the best!
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