Dog Friends, Coydogs, and the Summer of Dogs

It has been awhile since my last post. I've been spending my time with my grandchildren in Colorado, playing in the parks, riding the train, photographing bugs and making friends with new dogs!

When I first arrived at my daughter's house she was watching over her stepsister and brothers who are all under seven years old. The children spent quite a bit of time at her house over the past month as they were evacuated from their own house twice due to the High Park Fire along with their parents and two dogs. One of the dogs is a massive Black Lab and Great Dane mix named Coltrane.

Coltrane

I am highly suspicious that Coltrane is actually a black bear that the family is trying to pass off as a dog. He has the largest head I've ever seen and carries around 140 pounds of solid muscle. When you scratch his belly he makes loud groaning sounds of pleasure that can be heard two blocks away. He can clear the dining table of scraps in a minute flat and I suspect he finished off half a birthday cake in one gulp when I turned my head to check on the children. In addition to his eating habits, he also enjoys climbing onto my chest when I'm trying to take a nap and sticking his tongue in my ears and nose until I wake up--Coltrane loves attention!

As you can imagine, Coltrane needs constant supervision, and his companion, Lucy, is perfect for the job. Lucy is what is called a Coydog--part dog and part coyote. If her mother was a coyote she would be known as a Dogote.

Lucy the Coydog

Some experts believe the mating between dogs and coyotes is rare, but as always, there are others who would argue that it happens all the time. There is an article online discussing this issue. I suspect it happens often. Instead of taking them to dinner first, the dog may end up as dinner later, (sorry, bad joke), but I've seen plenty of coydogs roaming the Southwest and Lucy is one of them. She was purchased from an Indian reservation and her previous owner is confident that her father is a coyote.

Apparently, there has been experiments in Germany with breeding poodles and coyotes, but Lucy is definitely not part poodle. Her former owner said she was part chihuahua. I was trying to figure out the logistics of that match, but truthfully, she does have a chihuahua look. Coyotes have also been known to breed with wolves. These pups are called coywolves.

Lucy, the coydog, is one of the gentlest creatures I've ever known, except when Coltrane misbehaves. She seems to have taken on the role of his conscience--if he so much as thinks of being naughty, she is nipping on his ears. It's rather amusing to watch since she is probably 1/5 his size, but he clearly recognizes her as the alpha dog in the house and becomes quite submissive to her demands. Lucy also likes to jump up on the bed and stick her tongue in my ears when I'm sleeping. So, I had very wet ears for a few days.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, my son-in-law brought home a new puppy. Marley is his name, and he's adorable. Training new puppies is always a challenge and I've discussed this on my blog before, but my son-in-law takes extra precautions to make absolutely certain any animal he brings into their home will adjust to being around little children. He is also taking extra care to make sure Marley is comfortable with other animals since most of their friends have dogs and the dogs--like Coltrane and Lucy--sometimes stop by for visits. While I was in Colorado, my daughter's house was filled with children and dogs. It was a grandmother's Heaven.

Marley

And there is yet another family addition! My grandchildren's other grandparents have a new dog named Hooch. Hooch is a competitor for the largest dog I've ever seen and yes, you guessed it...he also likes to wake me up by sitting on my chest and sticking his tongue in my ears. Hooch is lovable, cuddly, and a rescue dog, saved from a horrible fate. He was being trained for dog fighting when he was rescued and is now being trained by one of the best dog trainers in the state of Colorado to be a family pet.

Hooch

You may recall from my last post that I also have a new dog, Baby, who we rescued from the desert. This has become the summer of the dog!

Baby sleeping at my feet.

Unfortunately, as soon as I left my camera and computer both broke. I have so much to write about, including a massive dragonfly invasion this summer in the Southwest, and I promise this will come within the next week as soon as my technology is back on track.

Sea Shepherd's Captain Paul Watson

“Remember, always, that it is the nature of a warrior to act. Do not be daunted by the formidable strength of the opposition. Do not be depressed by doom and gloom predictions. A true warrior must welcome challenge and transform the impossible into the possible. Because you are living in these trying times, it is your task to confront situations created by human ignorance and apathy, and focus your actions through love for the future and all the children of all the children of all species.” — Captain Paul Watson in “Earthforce!”

Paul Watson is an animal rights and environmental activist devoted to marine conservation.

“To slaughter grand and beautiful creatures like these tuskers, whether terrestrial or marine, solely to obtain a few teeth indicates that we have not evolved very much since the days our forebears lived in caves and saught to prove their superiority by adorning themselves with teeth and claws.”
― Paul Watson, Ocean Warrior: My Battle to End the Illegal Slaughter on the High Seas

Wild Horses...

Wild horses on the Nevada Test Site.

"When the federal law to protect wild horses was passed, wild horses were managed on 306 Herd Management Areas (HMAs) in 16 states. Since the law, however, the HMAs have been reduced — illegally, mind you — to 195 in just 10 states; six states have entirely lost their wild horse and burro populations. That means that all the horses, once living in viable herds in those management areas (as mandated by law) have been removed.." ~American Wild Horse Preservation Campaign

Praying Mantis, the Baby Blue Mystery Bug, Orb Weavers and Mud Daubers--What's for Dinner?

Sweet little baby blue "assassin bug."

While it's true that all of God's creatures must eat, some tend to be a bit more aggressive when fetching their dinner. Perhaps grotesque would be a better word, or disgusting, even freaky! I have found this to be the case in four creatures that I have photographed. Three that I have been blessed with opportunities to observe and photograph often--Praying Mantises, Mud Daubers, and Orb Weavers--and another I have only seen once and called the Baby Blue Mystery Bug, but identified this morning with the help of MantisPets.com, mantis experts who also respect the beauty in all of God's creatures. According to the experts, although the Baby Blue Mystery Bug I photographed in Texas is not a mantis, it is considered an "assassin bug," a deceptively vicious killer!

Now, before you jump to the defense of those adorable praying mantis, let me assure you that I love them, too. When you see them with their (deadly) forelegs clasped together as if in prayer, the first thought is that they are praising the Lord, and perhaps they are giving thanks for a yummy meal. However, it is those spiked forelegs that the mantis uses to grab and hold its victim. (Oddly enough, its closest relatives are cockroaches and termites, though I would think most people find the mantis a bit more appealing!)

Baby praying mantis sitting on my finger. 

Mantis are predatory creatures and only eat food they catch themselves, though they are kept as pets. Their prey includes scorpions, lizards, birds (sad, but true, they do like baby birds), fish, frogs, snakes, and rodents. They use camouflage to ambush their prey. In fact, I first learned about the predatory habits of the mantis when I spotted one on a vine on my bedroom patio where small birds liked to build their nests. This particular Praying Mantis was a mix of brown and green camo colors and blended right in with Texas!

Baby praying mantis in Rio Rancho, New Mexico.

My young neighbor was visiting my house in Kingsland, Texas that day. I stepped onto my patio to fetch something when I noticed the mantis. I ran to fetch my camera and tell her about the fascinating bug. She shook her head and told me they were "vicious killers!" At first, I thought she was kidding, then she explained that she had just finished watching a video about their eating habits in her science class at school. I photographed the mantis, then moved it closer to the creek, away from the baby birds.

A few months later I was in nearby Marble Falls, Texas when I noticed a very tiny, baby blue creature on a plant. I was fascinated by its beauty and ran for my camera. Something told me not to try and pick it up--strange bugs can sometimes leave strange bites! When I downloaded the photos I was suddenly grateful for the wisdom not to touch the creature--it had a large hook, called a probiscus, protruding from its chin! I contacted many of my usual resources trying to identify the creature, to no avail. This morning, however, I received an email from mantispets.com--they had a name for my baby blue mystery bug! This beautiful little creature is called a Wheelbug, and it's in a class of bugs called--get ready for this one--the ASSASSINS! That's right! That cute little blue baby is a fierce and deadly killer!

Wheel Bug nymph in Marble Falls, Texas. 

According to my morning email from mantispets.com, the Wheelbug is the largest species of assassin bugs in North America. They said the one I photographed was a half-grown nymph--still pretty small and without its adult wings. They also said newly hatched young are bright red, which would be equally interesting to see! The spike, or probiscus, is used to pierce the armor of other insects. They then inject the insect with digestive juices to suck out the contents of their prey. (Remind me to stop reading my email during breakfast!)

Wheel Bug nymph turning around to get a better look at me.

"They are the only type of animal/insect that will prey on such nuisance species as squash bugs, mexican bean beetles, tomato/tobacco hornworms, and other pests that birds and such won't eat," I was told. "They are generally pretty gentle, but if they should happen to mistake your finger for prey, they will pierce it and can cause a nasty wound by injecting those juices. If you are allergic to bee stings, it could cause a life-threatening reaction." They are currently attempting to breed these creatures at mantispets.com to offer them as beneficial insects for gardeners.

Wheel Bug nymph creeping away...

The behavior of the Wheelbug reminds me of the Orb Weavers I saw in great abundance in my Texas gardens and occasionally found in my Colorado gardens, as well. Orb Weavers weave lovely, spiral or wheel-shaped webs, huge webs, sometimes double webs connecting trees and shrubs. The Golden Orb Weaver is highly prized for the thick, durable silk it emits from its body. In fact, there is a tapestry made from the silk of the Golden Silk Orb Weaver on display at the American Museum of Natural History in New York City. The females can be as large as my hand and the males so small they are difficult to see. The males, of course, are eaten by the females, so they sometimes sneak up on the female and impregnate her while she is busy eating. I actually saw this happen once.

Miss Alice the Orb Weaver who lived near my patio in Texas. 

In 2010 a huge Orb Weaver that I named Miss Alice built her web outside my bedroom patio. The web was so huge I had to duck when I walked through the doorway. I made videos and took photos of her the entire summer and often watched her eating process. They tend to be mostly nocturnal, so she posed quite nicely for me during the daylight. They are not at all aggressive toward humans. In fact, Charlotte in the children's novel by E.B. White, Charlotte's Web, was an Orb Weaver.

Miss Alice the Orb Weaver wrapping up her prey.

Orb Weavers do bite if they feel threatened, so it's recommended that you do not try to handle them, though I have had one on my body before, and I've learned they can be very stubborn. Once, an Orb Weaver tried to build its web across the middle of my garden where I was building a pond. It was a great place to catch those bugs that attacked my flowers, but the web was so large that I was unable to work around it, so my husband moved the spider to a nearby bush. A few minutes later the spider was back, spinning its web. This time I moved it. I thought I was free to start working on my pond. On my hands and knees, I started to dig through the soil with a hand shovel. I felt a tickle on my neck. I thought, "No, it's not possible. I'm imagining this," and continued to work. Another tickle on the neck, then the shoulder. I slowly turned my head. Sure enough, the giant Orb Weaver was sitting on my shoulder, staring at me. THAT was Miss Alice! This time, I moved her to the ivy surrounding my bedroom patio. She seemed to like this better, though when the temperatures reached 110, she moved her web to the north side of the house. The life of Miss Alice is documented in earlier posts on this blog.

Miss Alice the Orb Weaver--notice the design on her web. 

As soon as she finished wrapping her prey she rebuilt her web.

The Orb Weaver, of course, catches its meal in its web. As the web begins to bounce from the struggle, the Orb Weaver is alerted and quickly pounces on the prey before it can escape--I have, by the way, seen butterflies and bees manage to escape before the spider arrived. The Orb Weaver eats its prey in a similar fashion to the assassins. First, it gives the prey a quick bite and injects it with toxin, then it spins its silk around its victim and waits for the victim to die. One source I read said the insides of the prey turns to liquid. However, according Iowa State University's bugguide.net, " the spider will literally vomit digestive fluid over the prey. Then the prey is chewed with the "jaws" (chelicerae), and the fluid is sucked back into the mouth together with some liquefied "meat" from the prey. The spider repeats this process as often as necessary to digest, and ingest, all but the inedible hard parts. What is discarded afterwards is a small ball of residue." Hmm, yummy.

Miss Alice still wrapping her prey.

I have observed spiders become victims of other creatures, too, though not the big Orb Weavers. Mud Daubers eat spiders, and in an interesting manner.(Okay, I know, this is a matter of opinion). We had an infestation of Mud Daubers at our house in Texas. In fact, when we moved to New Mexico and unpacked those boxes that were stored in the garage during the selling process, we found Mud Dauber nests in every single box attached to books, clothes, knick knacks--they are busy little critters! I believe these were black and yellow Mud Daubers. They didn't bother us, and we didn't seem to bother them, so they stayed busy in our garage and I would sometimes watch them as I walked through on my way to the garden.

Mud Dauber, photo by Alvesgaspar.

The Mud Dauber will catch its prey, generally spiders, and sting it once, which paralyzes the creature. The Mud Dauber then carries the spider back to its nest with its legs, which is really wild to watch! The Mud Dauber nest consists of one or more cylinders made of dried mud with a tiny hole for the front door. The Mud Dauber will slowly stuff the spider through the hole--yes, it's gross. It deposits a single egg on the spider, then seals the hole of the nest with more mud. Sometimes more than one spider is inserted into the same hole. I watched a Mud Dauber stuff four spiders into one nest once. The Mud Dauber does not return to the nest. The hatchlings eat the prey and leave their home to deal with their abandonment issues on their own, poor little orphans.

A Mud Dauber nest inside of a box that held books while we were moving. Many of our belongings were in storage for nearly a year during the moving process from Texas to New Mexico and when I unpacked them they were filled with Mud Dauber nests and sunflower seed shells. We have no idea where the shells came from. 

I have to admit I'm a bit excited to finally have a name for the baby blue bug, though Wheelbug isn't exactly a heart-pounding name for such a creature. Now that I understand its eating habits, I think I would have named it "Spiky Blue Beast" or "Powder Blue Terminator." Something along those lines. And now that you know the eating habits of my favorite bugs, I'm sure you've built up quite an appetite. Put down the computer and go get some lunch. If the kitchen is empty, I'm sure you'll find something to eat in the backyard!

Edgo Levine: Eulogy for a Friend

Edgo was always smiling, and he had such a beautiful smile!

There are friends who come and go in your life, and then there are friends who leave their paw marks on your heart forever. Edgo was such a friend. We knew each other for many years. He was a sweet, energetic, protective Aussie who started with my children's other mother, but spent most of his life with my daughter and her family. He died on June 5, 2012, but lives on in great memories we all share of this wonderful dog.

My grandchildren saying goodbye to Edgo.

I first met Edgo as a puppy. He was full of energy and...fur! Edgo was the fuzziest, furriest dog I have ever known. I know Australian Shepherds are supposed to make great sheep dogs, but he actually resembled the sheep! He had the typical herding instincts as a puppy, nuzzling the children in the family, moving them from place to place, but he also had protective instincts that sometimes astounded me.

I have a rare form of arthritis that can sometimes be very severe. One afternoon, as I carried groceries into my daughters house from the car, my knees suddenly gave out from beneath me. The grocery sacks fell onto the counter, and I fell to the floor. Edgo ran into the kitchen and stood over my body, two legs on each side of my chest, his chin straight, eyes forward. I told him I was okay and he briefly lowered his head to lick me on the nose, then returned to his protective stance, waiting until my son-in-law found me and helped me up from the floor.

Edgo, always smiling!

When my daughter was pregnant with her oldest child, Edgo started sleeping beside her bed. This may not have been the best situation for my daughter as she was often kept awake by his scratching and snoring, but Edgo felt it was his job to protect her. No one instructed him to do this, but he knew something was different about my daughter. In his mind, he believed she was in a fragile state and needed to be protected, and that was his job. Night after night he followed her into the bedroom, curled up next to her side of the bed and stayed there until morning. From that time on, Edgo decided his place was by her side. During the day, he played with the children, followed my son-in-law around the yard as he did his chores, and cuddled with me when I stayed at their house for visits, but most of the time, he was by my daughter's side, protecting.

My granddaughter hugging Edgo.

Edgo was attacked by a large dog when he was a puppy and he did not get along with other dogs. He adored cats, and even played with them, but not dogs. It saddened me to think of the joy he could have had in his life if he had not been attacked as a puppy. With his energy and playful attitude, he would have made great friends at the dog park or a wonderful addition to a pack.

And oh my goodness did he have a playful attitude! Edgo loved to play with my grandchildren and watched over them as if they were his own children. He also loved to chase tennis balls. When I came for a visit, my grandchildren often put on plays or fashion shows and while I watched and took pictures I always had to keep one hand free to throw the ball to Edgo. He chased that ball for hours!

I still remember the first time I threw the ball and he didn't chase. Instead, he slowly walked over to my side and lay down at my feet. It was such a shock to me to recognize that he was growing old. In my mind, he was always a puppy. In my mind, he is still a puppy.

Edgo getting ready to crawl beneath the couch.

My daughter's home has a short set of stairs leading from the kitchen to the den. As he grew older, Edgo preferred to sleep in the living room beneath the lounger where it was cool, but if the kids and I got rowdy--and we always get rowdy--he would walk over to the top of the stairs to check on us. When I saw him looking down at us I stood at the bottom of the stairs and did my own version of the Temptation's song, "Papa was a Rolling Stone." I clapped my hands and rocked back and forth on my feet, singing, "Edgo was a rolling stone. Wherever he laid his paw was his home, and when he moved all he left us was a doggy bone..." As I sang my song, Edgo stepped from side to side, mimicking my movements, and howled as if he was singing. "Hey Momma!" I continued, and he hopped from foot to foot as if he was still a silly pup. "I heard Edgo was a dog of all trades! Chasing the tennis balls and begging to play! Momma I'm depending on you to tell us the truth!" I sang, and Edgo followed right along, rocking back and forth with that beautiful, captivating smile on his face.

When my grandchildren were younger, I often slept on the couch in the den so they could find me if they woke up in the middle of the night, even though my son-in-law built a bedroom for me in their home. Edgo liked to fall asleep by my side. Eventually, of course, he would trot up the stairs to check on my daughter and finish the evening snoring away beside her bed, but he liked to fall asleep by me, I think because he liked the never-ending petting that I'd grown used to having two labs--I have so many animals now that I often wake up in the middle of the night and find my hand moving on its own, petting whatever animal has crawled up onto my chest.

I am also a certified Reiki therapist and Edgo was a Reiki hound! He loved Reiki! If I sat down on the floor he ran to my side, roll onto his back and waited for the energy. If I had a child in my arms, he stayed on his back. He was patient. He would wait for his turn. If I scratched his belly or rubbed his head, he was fine with that, too, but what he really loved was Reiki. I did this often in his older years. We had something in common--arthritis--and I knew it helped him feel better. Most of the time, it put him to sleep, and he always slept with that sweet smile on his face.

That sweet Edgo smile!

Oh yes, dogs do smile. Edgo smiled often, especially when he was playing with the children. He also gave hugs. When I came into the house, he would run to my side then roll around on the floor waiting for his hug. I got down on my knees and wrapped my arms around him and lay my head on his chest. He wrapped his paws around my back, just like he was giving me a hug, and he always smiled. I believe animals have rights--not certain rights, but all rights, as humans have rights. The right to shelter, food, safety. I believe respect, compassion, and kindness is a right that all animals have simply because God created them. And most of all, I believe they have the right to be loved, and I love Edgo with all of my heart.

I planned my last visit because I knew it was getting close to Edgo's time to leave us and I wanted to say goodbye. I wanted to tell him how much I love him and how much his friendship and protection of my family meant to me.

Once I arrived, though, I realized I wasn't ready to say goodbye. I started searching the internet for alternative medicinal treatments and filled my daughter's refrigerator with pills with strange names and bottles of cod liver oil. My son-in-law stood silently by, shaking his head, but as man who served twice in Iraq, I think he understood this was part of the grieving process. He knew that I knew it was Edgo's time to go, and for the rest of the family the grieving process had already begun, but I was just beginning the denial, prayers, begging God to stop this from happening.

Eventually, I knew it was his time. I had to say goodbye, to hold him in my arms, hug him, rock him, sing to him, and tell him how much I loved him. So I did. Night after night, until I finally left for New Mexico, I held him in my arms and told him how much I loved him.

My granddaughter saying goodbye to Edgo.

When the phone call came from my son-in-law, I was standing in the desert with my chocolate labs, chihuahua, and Baby the Desert Dog, watching them run and play on a sandy road and watching the Sandia Mountains turn bright red as the sun slowly disappeared on the horizon. I looked at the buzzing phone. At first, I refused to answer. Then, as I watched my dogs running through the sagebrush, barking and playing, I realized how appropriate the moment was, with the sky blazing with color, the dogs behaving like little puppies, a cool breeze moving through my hair. Edgo would have loved this moment, I thought, and I realized he was with me. I knew who was on the phone, and I knew why he was calling.

I returned Aaron's call. "We spent a long time saying goodbye to Edgo before I took him to the vet," he told me. "I held him in my arms and it was very peaceful," my son-in-law said, but I knew this already, because Edgo was always at peace. He was well-loved, and he loved deeply in return.

Edgo has crossed over the Rainbow Bridge. He is no longer afraid of other dogs. Now he plays with them, chasing the yellow tennis balls through grassy meadows, barking to his heart's content, running like a puppy in the cool breeze at sunset. He is a young again, strong, vigorous, full of energy, compassion, and love. Oh, so much love. Yes, Edgo is happy, because he knows that some day he will see his family again. Until that time, we have our memories, and they are all good. 

Lost Dog in the Desert

Nearly two weeks ago, I was driving to the sandy hilltop to walk the dogs when I suddenly had the oddest feeling that I was going to see, well, a dog! The feeling was so strong that I slowed down my car when we reached the road leading to the hilltop and scanned the fields of sagebrush. Nothing. The feeling grew stronger as we approached our favorite spot and I started to panic, thinking that perhaps this was an instinctive warning that we were going to encounter a coyote.

The place where I walk my dogs, the sagebrush where Baby was hiding.

The feeling grew so strong that I decided to turn around and go somewhere else. As I started to back up my truck, a young brindle male shepherd mix crept out of the sagebrush and sat in front of my bumper. To say I was surprised is an understatement. He was thin, scraggly, and clearly asking for help.

Baby when he first crawled out of the sagebrush. 

I got out of the truck with our water bottle and dish and offered him some water, which he eagerly accepted. I then tried to pet him--he rolled over onto his back and let me scratch his belly. I decided to let Buddy--my friendly meter--out of the truck to see what would happen. Holly and Chewy escaped out the side door. Buddy and the new dog were instant friends. Holly and Chewy strangely ignored the new dog. They acknowledged that he was there, but acted as if he belonged there, as if he had always been there.

When Baby first met my husband he followed my husband everywhere, 

sitting at his feet with his head bowed down. I'm not sure what that meant. 

He is still very attached to my husband. 

It was a bit touchy for a few minutes. When Buddy would get too rowdy the new dog would run back into the sagebrush, then his head would pop up like the coyotes do and he would peek at us for a few minutes before rejoining us. I began to wonder how long he had been roaming the desert to learn this habit.

Buddy and the new dog ran up the road just as another car came down. I ran after them and told the man Buddy was my dog. "Is the other dog yours?" I asked. He hadn't seen another dog. We looked at the sagebrush on the side of the road and there he was, his little brown head peeking up over the top of the bushes. The young man had two labs in his truck and I had three dogs in mine, so we were in a bit of a pickle. He called the Humane Society, though, and they told us they would meet us at a local intersection...if we could convince the dog to come with us. The dog allowed us to clip Buddy's leash around his neck and the young man tried to drive with his arm out his car window as the dog ran alongside. It took quite a while as the leash kept slipping. We were concerned about lifting the dog into my truck bed in case he tried to bite, and had the same concern for putting him in one of the vehicles. We finally made it to the street corner and waited until 10 at night--no Humane Society.

I decided to take the dog home since I didn't have to work the next day. The dog readily accept everyone, even my husband, who was not eager to accept the dog. I started calling the dog Baby--it seemed to fit. He's very young. Baby spent the evening sitting at my husband's feet, staring up at him. I could feel his ribs, so I fed him slowly and he acted as if he was starving, and very grateful. He was wary of Chewy the chihuahua at first, but perfectly comfortable with the labs, (but who isn't?) That night, when I got up for water, I discovered Baby snuggled between the two labs, sleeping. I knew then that I would have trouble leaving the dog at the Humane Society.

I was right, I had trouble. Baby allowed me to put a collar on him and the leash and walked by my side as if he had been trained. He was very trusting and loving. At the Humane Society, they told me he was under a year old and a shepherd mix. He was a little undernourished, but otherwise healthy. They took our information and told me I had a week to find his owner, then I would either have to surrender him or he would legally be mine. If I surrendered him, they had five days to find an owner before he would be "put down." The kennel was full of lost and abandoned dogs. I took Baby with me, along with information on low cost shots and neutering clinics.

Baby and my husband walking in the desert. 

Baby is now a part of the family. He has a love/hate relationship with the cat, but the cat likes to smack him around, which isn't very nice. It took two years for Chewy to get used to having his forehead smacked! He lifted his leg a few times in the house, but no longer. He eats three times a day as opposed to the twice a day the older dogs eat, but he is more active and much younger, and still a bit skinny.

Baby chews on pieces of wood all the time--and he always sticks his butt up in the air. 

I finally bought Kongs for all of the dogs and he plays with his Kong all day long. 

He also sits, gives me paw, understands no, already knows his name, walks on a leash even when the other dogs are running circles around us in the desert, sleeps with the big dogs, loves to have his belly scratched, cuddles me, and smothers my face with kisses if I try to take a nap. I am going to try to teach him tricks--he is one of the smartest dogs I've seen. He gets a bit anxious when there is too much commotion, but we now have four dogs and a cat, so that's understandable. I rearranged the areas around the door to lessen traffic jams and moved the dog food so I no longer have four dogs hovering around me at feeding time. I also feed him outside and the other dogs inside. I am working on removing his food then giving it back to lessen food anxiety. He has no problems with looking me in the eyes or shyness of any kind. Last night, he had his first bath, and handled it beautifully.

Baby walking on a leash with my husband while the chocolate labs follow along.

When we first adopted him we kept him on a leash until he learn to stay with the pack.

Now, I walk him on a leash in the neighborhood every day so he gets continuous exercise

as he tends to get a bit chubby (he has a peanut butter addiction.) 

We are now at our limit for animals--in this area, the limit is five. I never imagined I would have this many animals in this small house, and when the grandchildren come, it will be a challenge--there will definitely be increased noise and activity, so the dogs will most likely be spending their time outside. The week has passed and he is now "our dog." Next week, he meets the vet for his shots. I believe things happen for a reason. I don't know why Baby came into our lives, but it is obvious to me he was meant to be here. He adores us, and we love him, too. My husband still grumbles about "all these dogs," but as I watch him walking Baby down the dusty trails at sunset, I know in my heart that he would never give one of them up.

Sleeping Dogs...

There's something so sweet about watching a dog sleep, the way they curl up tight and rest their heads on their paws. My dogs are very picky about their sleeping habits. The chocolate lab twins have padded beds, three of them, because Buddy is a very large dog. I line the beds up at night next to the couch--Holly likes to rest her back against the couch. The beds are covered with old sheets and blankets that I wash once a week because they love the smell of clean sheets. Who doesn't?

In the summertime, the blankets cover the beds and when it's time to sleep at night, I tuck the dogs in with the sheets. In the wintertime the sheets cover the beds and the dogs are tucked in with their blankets. Buddy likes to have his head covered and Holly likes to have the sheet tucked in tight around her back.

Buddy and Holly. That's Buddy you see with his head sticking up beneath the blanket. 

I'm not sure when this happened, my husband and I originally agreed that no animals would be allowed in our bed, but we now share our bed with two--Niblet the giant black cat and Chewy the chihuahua. Chewy is a fair weather friend. If I'm taking too long to get ready for bed, he slides up next to my husband, wiggles his way beneath my husband's arm and closes his eyes. Most of the time, though, he waits for me then wiggles his way beneath the blanket. He curls into a ball with his back against my stomach.

Chewy refusing to get out of bed. 

The cat used to wait for everyone to settle, then he would make himself comfortable somewhere around my husband's legs, trapping my husband so he could not move. Niblet is now 15 years old, though, and seems to be having trouble getting up onto our tall bed, so my husband moved a chair next to the bed. At first, Niblet used the chair to climb into bed, but he's now decided he prefers to curl up on the seat of the chair to sleep. This makes it difficult for Chewy who frequently wakes up in the middle of the night to get a drink of water--I keep a bowl on the floor of the master bath. Chewy has no problem jumping down, he just leaps over the cat and the chair, but he can't jump back up! The cat is on the chair, the chair blocks most of my side of the bed, and my husband stretches out along his side of the bed, so I am often awakened in the middle of the night to a soft "yip," letting me know that Chewy needs a helping hand to get back onto the bed.

Why does Chewy wake up so often in the middle of the night? Chewy has frequent dog-mares. Chewy was abandoned near our property in Texas--five acres of forest land surrounded by vast acres of the same. He appeared at our home during a thunderstorm. We were later told that he had tried to seek help at the home of many of our neighbors who chased him away. No offense to my neighbors, but he was a tiny, helpless pup at the time and I cannot imagine turning my back on an animal begging for help, but that's the story we were told.

Chewy

I don't know how long Chewy was roaming the forests looking for a home, but it may have been days, perhaps weeks. He is now solid muscle with a shiny, healthy coat, but when he appeared in our driveway, he was tiny, thin, and his coat was dirty. I can only imagine what happened to him before he arrived at our house, and I do not imagine his life in the forest was easy.

Our other animals have dreams, too. The chocolate twins were attacked by a pack of coyotes once and suffered severe injuries. Holly was bit three times on the stomach by something--the vet believed it was a brown recluse spider, but the local university vet clinic thought it was baby rattlesnakes. We had 35 acres on the Colorado prairies at the time so either one is a possibility. She was so sick the vet sent her home to die. Her belly was black from her chin to her tail. I was desperate and determined to keep her alive, and my daughter was helping me. She eventually found a natural treatment on the internet, a "draw" using flaxseed meal, lavender oil and activated charcoal. I used a paint brush to paint her chest with the mix every 15 minutes for three days before pink started to show around the edges of her stomach. I did not sleep for three days, holding her head on my lap, gently washing her chest, then repainting it with a fresh batch of charcoal. After seven days, only a small circle of black remained. She now has three small scars, and our vet sells activated charcoal in her office.

Buddy sleeping.

Holly Sleeping

Buddy was hit by our truck. He saw my husband coming home from work and took off running down the hill. He darted out from between two trees just as my husband turned into our driveway. The truck hit him softly, but sent him sprawling across the pavement, which scraped the skin from his belly. He was bedridden in serious pain for two weeks. I am assuming these are the sources of my dog's dog-mares, but to be honest, I don't know. They don't speak English.

Our cat has cat-mares. He was abandoned in a dumpster as a kitten and rescued by my daughter's friends, but he was so young! Is it possible he still fears abandonment and dreams of that hot, dark, metal box? I don't know. He used to sneak out of the house (I only have indoor cats) and tease the neighbor's dog by prancing back and forth on the fence when he was a kitten. He is a Maine Coon and has a long, thick, fluffy tail. The dog must have nabbed the tail because he came into the house without any fur on the last half of the tail. His fur grew back, and he stopped sneaking out of the house, but is it possible he still dreams of the near-loss of his tail?

The FYI section in the February 2012 issue of Popular Science attempts to answer the question "Do Animals Dream?." According to the author, Kaitlin Miller, dogs actually go through the same sleep stages as humans, "only faster." Miller refers to research by Stanley Coren, psychology professor at the University of British Columbia and author of The Intelligence of Dogs.

Research has shown that dogs enter REM sleep, or dream sleep, within 20 minutes. I have seen this in my chocolate labs when they lie down at my feet, their limbs and chins draped across each other's bodies looking comfortable and peaceful, then suddenly one of them will start twitching and softly "woofing" as if he or she is "chasing bunnies" as we call it. My chocolate labs are very large dogs, even for labs. They are not overweight, but tall, and each weighs nearly 90 pounds. According to Coren's research, large dogs dream longer, though he does not understand why.

Coren also states that the dreams of little dogs come faster, and they dream more frequently. My chihuahua sleeps on my bed, on my lap, or beside me on the couch, so I have the opportunity to observe his sleep habits more often. When we first rescued him, as I said before, he had been abandoned in the forests of Texas. When he was young, I noticed that he often appeared to be dreaming that he was being chased. I had to wake him carefully because he often woke up frightened. Now, two years later, his dreams are sometimes more peaceful, but he still has those moments when he whimpers or cries in his sleep.

Coren's research also showed that infants of all species dream more often than adults, and I wonder why? One would think they would dream less as they would have less experiences to recall, or perhaps there is an answer to a mystery in this discovery, as well. What do infants dream about? If, as some psychologists claim, dreams are metaphorical, a way that we work out our day to day problems, then why do infants dream?

Another interesting aspect of Coren's research shows that insects and fish do not experience REM sleep, but some birds do, and all mammals. Finches, Coren claims, dream about the melodies of their songs, which is a lovely thought, in my opinion. Rats often replay the mazes they have run through during tests. Again, this piques my interests--how did Coren figure that out?

Coren suggested the possibility that reptiles might experience REM sleep because many scientists believe human dream processes might be "a holdover form our reptilian brains." Of course, this also draws on the question of whether or not one believes in evolution or creationism.

For the most part, animal dreams, like human dreams, remain a mystery, but there is something about a whimpering, sleeping dog that tugs at my heart. I do not know if he or she is dreaming of a fun romp through the woods or being chased by coyotes and I would rather gently wake the dog up than take the chance that he or she is reliving a bad experience.

Buddy and Holly Cuddling

Devil's Backbone and Coyote Ridge in Larimer County, Colorado

I just returned from a vacation in Colorado with my grandchildren. We hiked the Devil's Backbone and Coyote Ridge in Loveland and searched for robins in the park, which was easy to do since all of the robins in the country seem to be flocking to Colorado right now!

My grandchildren hiking with me at Coyote Ridge.

Devil's Backbone is about two miles west of town. It is part of Larimer County's Open Space project and available for family hikers, bicyclists, horseback riders--you can even bring your dogs! There are bridges, picnic tables, rest areas, and displays to explain the geological details of the area. There are many trails and a few are more than appropriate for little children. My two oldest grandchildren are six and four and we easily made it to the top. Much of the hike is flat trail, but the views are awesome! There is also a mated pair of red tailed hawks that returns every year and since this is nesting time, they put on quite a show for hikers while we were there.

It is also butterfly and bug time. Of course, everyone knows it's best not to hike with scented hair products, soaps, or perfumes on your body, but the bugs really aren't that bad. We had fun watching an army of red ants working on their home--a few feet downhill. Didn't want to get too close! We also made friends with dozens of butterflies that seemed to follow us along the trail.

The Devil's Backbone refers to a series of rock formations along the mountain top that really do resemble a backbone. The focal point is supposedly the rock formation the features the "keyhole," which you can see to the right, but honestly, I think they're all beautiful.

Devil's Backbone. Photo by Darla Sue Dollman.

To find Devil's Backbone, travel two miles west of the intersection of Wilson and Eisenhower in Loveland. You can see the Devil's Backbone from many areas in town and it's so popular that there is a sign instructing residents how to find other open space areas if the parking lot is full--if the lot is full, the area is full to capacity. However, we have visited dozens of times in all seasons, all times of day, and although it is always busy, it is never full to capacity.

The children were not quite ready to call it quits, so we moved on to Coyote Ridge, another one of their favorite hiking spots. Coyote Ridge is a natural area available for public use in Larimer County and a bit more rustic. It is next to Taft Hill and popular with bicyclists. It is filled with wildlife and great for hiking and biking.

Prairie Dog at Coyote Ridge. Photo by Darla Sue Dollman.

We've never made it into the hills. We walk the flat trail to the prairie dog village and listen to the prairie dogs chatter. Scientists now know prairie dogs have a unique language. They even have different sounds used to warn that a man is coming and that a man is coming with a gun! (I will explain this in another post as prairie dogs are one of my favorite rodents.)

Once, as we stood listening, a cottontail rabbit suddenly darted from beside my granddaughter's foot. Rabbits will do this at times. They hold so still you think they are rocks until they finally dart away.

Cutest bunny ever! Photo by Darla Sue Dollman.

Coyote Ridge has so much wildlife that it is particularly important not to bring food of any kind as they can smell the food! In addition to the butterflies, dragonflies, rabbits and prairie dogs that we enjoy, there are also red foxes, deer, elk, hawks, owls, eagles, bears, and of course, coyotes, which we are well-familiar with now! There are maps available at the entrance along with informational pamphlets describing the various inhabitants of the area and how to avoid dangerous encounters.

I highly recommend both of these recreational areas. Remember to take plenty of water--we took a full bottle for each of us and an extra. We also had hiking sticks for each of us. I then instructed the children to stay beside me at all times, never run ahead or around a turn where they cannot see me. Even though there are no slow times at these areas, it is best to be safe!

Coyote Mystery

My dogs and I have had some strange adventures lately. Every night, wind, rain, or snow, since November of last year, my three dogs and I have enjoyed the peace and solitude of our walks on the desert sandy hills west of town. We would arrive anywhere from early afternoon to dusk, sometimes watching the sunset together, or the black-tailed jacks race through the sage brush. Sometimes my husband would join us, but most of the time we would go alone. Chewy the chihuahua would chase after the chocolate labs for a bit then jump back into the truck, never traveling more than twenty feet ahead of me. Holly liked to explore a bit further, but her brother, Buddy, usually stayed nearby.

About two weeks ago, early in the afternoon, we were driving down a paved road near town when we noticed two coyotes standing in the middle of the street. They turned and looked at me. It was an odd moment. I felt as if they were staring into my eyes. I raised my camera to take a picture through the windshield--I didn't feel comfortable leaving the truck. They looked for a few minutes longer, then ran into the brush. After they disappeared into the sage brush, I opened the door of my truck and looked into the field. They had simply disappeared, as if the sage had swallowed them up. Then, as I climbed back into the truck, I glanced out the passenger side window and noticed a third coyote, her head raised slightly above the brush, watching me.

I had a strange sense of foreboding. I wasn't sure what to think. We were so close to town, and it wasn't even dusk! My apprehension grew the next night when we drove down a dirt road and saw two coyotes crossing in front of us. They made me wait as they slowly crossed the road, watching me all the while. I drove to the end of the road, turned around and drove back to the top of the hill, quite a distance from the two. I climbed out of the truck and Chewy ran across a ditch then stopped about twenty feet ahead of me. Holly and Buddy were still beside me. Chewy seemed to be looking at something. A white truck pulled up near the end of the road and a man waved to me. I waved back, assuming he was just saying hello. I started after Chewy.

Suddenly, a coyote stepped out from the sage brush and I realized why the man was waving. He started chasing Chewy. In one swift movement I screamed to the labs to get "up" into the truck, which they did, then I screamed to Chewy to run as I ran to the ditch. Chewy reached the ditch and seemed to fly across it. The coyote reached the ditch, saw me standing with a large stick in my hand and skidded to a stop, baring its teeth. I grabbed Chewy and ran backwards a few feet and the coyote moved forward into the ditch. I turned and ran to the truck and jumped inside just as the coyote cleared the ditch. When I started the truck, it turned and left.

The next night, I decided to take the dogs for a drive. We saw two more coyotes deep in the field, but I wasn't planning on staying. I took them closer to town and stopped on a dirt road in a quiet neighborhood. I parked in front of a house and left the truck with Chewy still in my arms, planning to carry him while I walked the labs a few feet down the road. I'd seen many people walking their dogs in this neighborhood. The labs were a few feet ahead of me and Chewy was still in my arms when three coyotes stepped out of the brush. I turned and tossed Chewy back inside the truck and Buddy jumped in behind him, but the coyotes circled around Holly. I grabbed my stick and swung it at them, but they ignored me, circling her fast, leading her to the sandy hilltop. By the time I got into my truck and chased after them they had her on the motocross track. I drove over the sage straight at the coyotes and laid on my horn just as one prepared to jump on Holly's back. Holly dodged the coyote and I jumped from the truck with my stick. Holly ran between two coyotes and jumped into the truck. I was stuck on the track for an hour trying to find my way out and the coyotes sat on the hill the entire time, watching, while Holly shivered with fear beside me.

I decided to take them to the hills above the high school instead, and decided I would go much earlier in the day. The first day, my husband went with me and all was well. On the second day, we stayed for half an hour, then I put Chewy and Buddy in the truck. I turned to look for Holly and she was gone. Then I heard the most hideous screeching sound I've ever heard. I think my heart stopped. I ran to the edge of the hill and saw a coyote chasing Holly. I have no idea what happened. Was it by the truck? Did it chase her down the hill? Did she wander off? I ran for Holly, waving my walking stick, screaming for her to run faster to me as the coyote came closer and closer. She reached the truck. I turned around and the coyote had disappeared.

The next two days I took the dogs for walks in empty fields in town, then took them for drives on the sandy hilltops around town. They stayed in the truck while I got out and took pictures of the mountains and sunset. The first night, I was photographing some crows when I noticed a gray spot in the corner of the view finder. I lowered the camera. It was a coyote, standing at the bottom of the hill, staring at me, baring its teeth. The second day I went to a different hill. I shot some great scenery pics and when I downloaded them onto my computer, once again I saw a gray spot in the corner. I cropped and enlarged it. Off in the distance yet another coyote was watching me, baring its teeth.

It's been four days now and we haven't seen one coyote. My husband has a week of day shifts so he's been with us on our walks. I don't know what to think about these coyote encounters. Were they after my dogs, or me? Why do they fail to appear when I'm with my husband? Why do they appear when I'm alone? It's a mystery.

The Little Rabbit

I took the dogs to the desert hilltop tonight to watch the sunset. As the sun lowered in the sky the clouds turned a bright, glowing pink. I positioned my camera so I could photograph a cholla cactus at the same time I was photographing the clouds when suddenly I heard a scream like a frightened baby. I turned to see my male chocolate lab, Buddy, with his head to the ground and I knew he had a rabbit.

By the time I reached the rabbit she was very still. The dogs were trying to get to her and I couldn't hold them all back at the same time, so I picked up the rabbit and held her against my chest. She was still alive. I could feel her heart pounding. I told her I loved her and whispered short prayers, trying to focus on making my hands warm so she could feel my warmth, knowing she was going into shock. She was the softest little creature I have ever held in my arms.

I could have been making it worse. I didn't know what to do. I led the dogs back to the truck. I knew she would not survive if I set her down, they would go after her again. I held her as gently as I could and as I carefully led the dogs back to the truck I felt her heart beat begin to slow down. Her tiny head fell limp against my chest. Her heart beat even slower. She made a faint choking sound, then her heart beat stopped. She had died in my arms.

I reached the truck and shut the dogs inside, then walked back to where I had found the rabbit to look for a hole. Mother rabbits tend to return to their babies at dusk, but if they sense a danger, they will move away from the nest to distract the predator and save the babies. I couldn't find a nest. I dug a hole in the sand with my free hand, but I couldn't bring myself to set her in it. For awhile, I could not admit to myself that she had actually died. She didn't appear to have any wounds. I pressed lightly against her chest trying to give her bunny CPR. I checked her eyes, and they did not glaze over. I placed my finger near her tiny nose, but I could not feel her take a breath.

It was dark. There was a full moon, but I knew if I stayed too much longer I would not be able to see well enough to find my way back to the truck. I had to say goodbye to her. I placed her in the hole and tried to cover her with sand, but I just couldn't do it! Her eyes were still open and I didn't want her to get sand in her eyes. If she was still alive, I wanted her to be able to see if another predator came near. I kept her head uncovered, then found some dried tall grass and draped this across her tiny head. I lifted it once more, just to make sure, but she hadn't moved. She was still warm. I scraped some of the sand off so that if she was still alive and in shock, when she calmed down she could crawl out, but in my heart, I know she was dead.

I keep replaying the scene in my mind, wondering if I could have helped her sooner. Did I hesitate? Did I respond at the first cry? Why was I taking pictures instead of watching the dogs? Should I have left her on the ground and tried to drag all three dogs back to the truck? I know that would never have worked, but this is what is going through my mind as I try to think of other things, and can't. One of God's precious little creatures has died a horrible death, a death of fear.

Fear is a horrible thing. I know. I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I have lived a life of fear for many years. It is incurable, but there are some treatments available. Still, I know what it means to be the frightened rabbit.

This is not the first time I've been through this experience. We bought Buddy and his sister, Holly, from a woman who was selling chocolate and black labs out of the back of a farm truck in a grocery store parking lot in Colorado. She told us their parents were hunting dogs, but two females were pregnant at once, both had eight puppies. As we walked through the parking lot with our groceries, Holly made eye contact with me. She placed both front paws on the truck's back gate and watched me pushing my cart. We placed the groceries in the truck and went back to take a look. She walked over to Buddy, who was the largest puppy in the truck, sprawled in the center like he owned the truck bed and watching us. "I think we have been chosen," my husband said. Sure enough, as the other puppies played, Buddy and Holly walked over to us, wagging their tails.

We lived on 35 acres of prairie land and hills in Wellington, Colorado. I ran with the dogs twice a day. We had great adventures, leaping over the eight foot bull snake who liked to lounge in the sun, chasing each other, watching the sunset. One morning, my husband went with us. Suddenly, he grabbed my arm and nodded toward Holly. She was pointing with her nose straight forward, one paw bent, her tail straight out. Buddy ran up behind her and started to dig. Then we heard the scream, the baby rabbit scream.

I ran to the nest and found one of the babies in Buddy's mouth. It was already dead. Steve took the dogs back to the house and buried the dead baby rabbit while I re-covered the nest then crossed it with sticks to make sure the mother returned. That evening, I checked the nest. The sticks were moved. She had returned. We watched over the nest carefully to make certain that the dogs did not try to dig it up again. A few months later, as we stood on the back balcony, we saw them playing with each other near the hole. Soon, we had the mother and four babies romping around our backyard, and we guarded them all carefully.

My garden quickly disappeared, and when winter came, the bark on the trees and all shrubs disappeared. We tried repeatedly to grow a garden and trees on the property, but something was eating them down to the ground.

The following spring we noticed more rabbits, then more rabbits. Soon, the property was over-run with rabbits. There were jackrabbits all over the hills, but the rabbits that lived near our house were cottontails. One bold mother built her nest beneath our bedroom window. Another built it in a runoff ditch and we had to rescue the babies in the middle of a midnight storm. When we decided to sell the house and move to Texas, there were so many rabbits on the property that when we drove down the driveway in the evening after work we could see six or seven sitting beneath the wagon, a few more in the front garden, five or six in the fruit tree arbor, even more bouncing around the backyard.

In Texas, I learned to watch my dogs carefully on walks and when Holly would point, and Buddy dig, I would run to the nest and pull them back. My husband made a few wire fence cages that we kept in the garage and when the dogs located a nest, we covered it with the cage. The mothers always returned for the babies and we only lost one other rabbit the entire time we lived in Texas.

I do not regret saving that first nest of rabbits in Colorado, even though they nearly ate the house. They were all blessed gifts from God, precious little creatures, soft and warm, gentle, loving. I wish they were not prey animals. I wish they had the boldness, the fierceness to protect and defend themselves as I often wish the same for me, but I also know that it is the soft and gentle creations of God that bring balance to this earth. My heart is broken, still, for that sweet little bunny that I covered with sand on the desert hilltop, but I know that now she is lying in the arms of God, her soft body pressed against His robes where she is safe and warm and no longer afraid.

Wild West Weather

It's been a wild weather month with everything from dust storms to roll clouds appearing in the skies and the little creatures have had to struggle to stay warm one day, cool the next.

Yesterday it was nearly 80 degrees in Rio Rancho and I sat on the back porch with my dogs for four hours, reading a great book on bird photography. This morning, it was 65 degrees with wind gusts of 65 to 70 mph and...blowing snow! Technically, it was called flurries. Nevertheless, I was surprised to see it. Generally, snow doesn't appear unless it is 40 degrees or lower...or so I thought. I did some research on the subject and discovered this depends on the temperature of the sky above, not the temperature on the ground. So, obviously, the fast moving clouds above were much cooler, and the snow melted as quickly as it fell.

Rio Rancho is very much a desert. We don't have dirt here, we have sand and sagebrush, which is fine with me. I love the desert landscape. However, when the winds kick up, we get sand in our eyes, ears, hair, nose--everywhere. The trucks were covered with sand. Thankfully, my husband left for work early before the storm winds picked up, and arrived home when they were dying down.

The setting sun through the thin clouds of dust created what is called iridescence. I took some photographs and posted them to the right. Iridescence is caused when sunlight passes through thin clouds, and these moments of iridescence appeared as the sun was getting ready to set behind thin clouds of dust.

As the storm began to die down, it also created roll clouds. Three of them. I've never seen anything like it. I've seen one before, but never three. One of them was huge, with wisps at one end to mark the movement of the cloud.

Roll clouds occur when a storm is coming to an end. Roll clouds are long, low tubes of cloud extending horizontally from horizon to horizon. They are actually moving, rotating as they move. They can move as fast as 35 mph. As I mentioned above, in some of the pictures I took today I could see the sweeps marking the movement of the cloud. The roll cloud rotates against its direction of travel. Sometimes it is a very smooth tube, sometimes a bit raggedy. Today, I saw three roll clouds coming off the mountains, one by one, as the dust storm began to die down.

The dogs and I have started a routine of driving to the hilltop that overlooks the valley and watching the sunset each night. Well, I watch the sunset while they sniff the sagebrush and look for jackrabbits to chase. Sometimes they actually find a jackrabbit, which is always amusing. The rabbit will run the dogs in circles for a bit, kindly giving them some exercise, then kick it into high gear and disappear in a cloud of dust while the dogs turn in circles, asking each other, "Which way did he go?"

New Mexico is such a magical, spiritual place, truly a gift from God, and I am thankful for every day I spend here.

Walking Along the Rio Grande

It was an interesting day today, starting with an early morning balloon launch. The balloons took off from a park down the street. At one point, it appeared as if they were being blasted by some strong gusts of wind, which would make sense as we had a fierce storm move in later in the afternoon. I counted nine balloons, but a few were already on their way north toward Corrales before I noticed them outside.

The little birds ate ferociously this morning. They always do when a storm is coming. They are mini barometers. I go through twice as much bird seed when storms are moving in. Then, they fluff their feathers so they look like little feather balls.

As the storm moved in this afternoon, we took a walk along the Rio Grande. We came to a farm with some funny looking birds. They look like a cross between a pheasant and a chicken, but they have clown faces. I counted 29 of them sitting on the wooden fences, watching us walk by.

There was also a beautiful black horse in the field. He walked over to the fence and let me pet his face. He was gentle and sweet, and when I took his picture, I would swear he was smiling.

The Rio Grande was stunning. It seems to be running a bit low. I watched the ducks and geese as they swam through the water, but occasionally, one would stop and stand up--a fairly good indication that water levels are low. After awhile, though, it started to rain, which is always a good sign. I'm surprised by how many dead trees I'm seeing in this area, though. I'm not sure if it's due to last year's drought or a pine disease. Either way, it's very sad.

Prayer for the Horses

Dear Heavenly Father,

Thank you for hearing our prayer.

We acknowledge that our horses are constantly embraced and protected by Your Divine Love.

As You have given us dominion over our thoughts, we pray that our thoughts are in line with Your Thoughts, that all of mankind see our horses the way You see them, as a unique expression of Your Creation, living purely, freely, in safety and abundance, and in perfect Peace and Harmony with all that surrounds them.

We praise You and thank You, our Good and Loving Father, and have faith that You are right here, right now, dwelling in the midst of us, governing all that is seen and unseen according to Your Divine Principle.

In Christ Jesus we pray.

Amen.

Prayer by Vivian, Tuesday's Horse, who reminds us that "we can easily substitute all our animals for horses. I was inspired to write this prayer, and did so for the horses, because they are who we happen to work on behalf of."

Yesterday's Newcomers--Yellow Birds

Yesterday, I noticed a little yellow bird on the side of the house. The bird seemed to be digging something out of the sand. It has a beautiful singing voice. I photographed the bird from over the fence and its body appeared to be yellow, then I walked around the outside of the house to the side of the wall and left some seed on the wall. It wasn't really interested on the seed, but not particularly intimidate by me. However, in the photographs from the front of the house, the bird appeared to be orange, or red.

Today, I realized the "newcomer" is actually two birds. The female is yellow, the male is a reddish/orange. I watched them for nearly an hour. I believe they are building a nest near or under the children's playhouse. They are digging in the sand for grubs and sticks and grass for the nest.

They only appear at sunset, and as they work, they pause and lift their faces to the sun and their bodies pick up the sunset colors, then they suddenly dart to the ground and pull a bug out of the ground. It's as if they sense the movement in the sand. Their nest must be either in the playhouse attic or underneath. I am hoping they build the nest in the attack. I have no doubt that this area has snakes, and ground nests are always more vulnerable. They are beautiful little birds, so delicate, with a sweet voice.

Early Morning Balloon Launch, Crows, and Romantic Birds

It was a warm, breezy morning and the skies over Rio Rancho were filled with wispy clouds, chattering birds, and hot air balloons. I counted forty, but there were quite a few moving north toward Corrales and hidden by the trees. The clouds seemed to be playing with the balloons, reaching out for them, whisking them from mountain top to mountain top, pushing them from one side of the sky to the other. Two of the balloons turned to the west, then headed south again, landing somewhere in our neighborhood.

While I watched the balloons, I noticed a crow flying overhead. Crows are very noisy when they fly through the neighborhood. You can hear them from a long way off and the sound tells you if they're coming toward you or moving further away, but this one was flying in circles through the neighborhood. The crows like to sit in the tall evergreens on the opposite side of the arroyo that runs behind our house. They also like to sit on the lamp post where the hawks sometimes land. They have a better view of the neighborhood this way.

Crows are opportunistic eaters, like Road Runners. They will eat anything they can find. I put some seed out on the wall near the road where they like to fly, but the crow caught something instead. It appeared to be a mouse. I don't like watching animals eat live food, but it's part of nature, and so much better than seeing creatures hit by cars--it's the circle of life. The crow actually carried its prey to the top of the lamp post to eat it.

As I watched the balloons, I also photographed the birds behind me. They are more comfortable with me now and allow me to stand much closer. It's been an interesting bird-watching week. Each day, I have spotted a new species of bird. This morning's new bird appears to be a type of finch. It has a silver beak and tangerine stripes on its head. It likes the swinging bird feeder. There was a female finch sitting in the bird feeder and the male with the striped head kept hopping comfortably around her so it's possible they're a mated pair. It's that time of year--romance is in the air, even in the swinging bird feeders!

Beautiful Little Birds

My garden is filled with birds--sparrows, finches, thrashes, white winged doves, dark-eyed juncos, crows and robins. Sometimes I see boat-tailed grackles in the trees. A few days ago, a Swainson's Hawk flew overhead, circling and watching.

The robins appear late in the afternoon. They start on the garden wall. They don't visit the seed dishes, they sit on the wall and watch me as I photograph the mountains, then they hop down into the arroyo and dig in the sand for worms and bugs. I would think it would be a bit early for bugs, but I photographed one yesterday, so I know they are available!

There are three dark-eyed juncos, mysteriously dark gray birds that quietly appear on the wall by my side when I'm looking in another direction. When I realize they are nearby, I slowly turn to face them, but they do not leave. They hold very still, staring off toward the mountains as if they do not see me. Sometimes in the afternoon I see them hopping beneath the patio table, picking up seeds that the doves have knocked to the ground.

The doves are rather bold. They will flock to the table and watch me through the window as I work in the kitchen. Sometimes they fly onto the wall when I open the door, and sometimes they fly to the roof of my grandchildren's playhouse or to the roof of the garden shed. They are noisy birds, chittering as they fly away as if chastising me for disturbing their meal.

I rarely see the crows. I hear them as they fly over the houses as I hear the Canadian geese, but I rarely see them. They land in the tall evergreens in my neighbor's yard and talk to me, sounding off to let me know they are there.

Mr. and Mrs. Thrasher, of course, are always in the shrub. I think it is Mrs. Thrasher who sits on the wall in the corner, watching me fill the seed dishes. Mr. Thrasher leaves sometimes, but later in the evening, he poses majestically at the top of the shrub, listening, watching.

The little birds, the finches and sparrows, are the ones that bring me the most joy. They are so tiny, delicate, and sweet, and they never stop singing. From the minute they wake up until they flock to the nearby trees for cover at sunset I can hear them singing in my yard. They are also kind and cooperative when it comes to my photography, primping and posing, waiting for me to focus. They are patient little birds, sitting in the shrub like Christmas tree bulbs, fluffing their feathers on cold days to create pockets of warm air that warm their bodies, fluttering to the seed dishes to stock up on seed. I am so blessed by my precious little friends.