The Vilisar Times

BLOGSITE SPACE LIMITATIONS; ON DOZERS, WATCHDOGS AND OTHER MATTERS
Thursday, 06 October 2005

Blogsite space limitations

I have just heard from our dear friend, Gwen, in Boston who hosts this website that the reason we have no archives and no photos at present is because she does not have enough space. We are working on this and hope to have a reasonable solution soon. Unfortunately, I am pretty ignorant about websites so it could be longer than I expect. Be patient and stay tuned.

On dozers, watchdogs and other matters

Things are still quiet here. There are so many people away that the main activities around here are getting the dozer ready to complete its (one hopes) controlled slide into the arroyo and working on the ranchhouse complex’s 12-volt electrical system. With the tranquillity I suddenly become aware of the wonderful scent of the yellow flowers now blanketing every hill. When the breeze comes up from the river valley, it wafts up this sweet perfume. In the quiet then you hear the wind blowing through the live oaks near the house and the buzzing of the bees in the meadows on the slope below us. Makes me want to take up beekeeping and honey-making. It is so quiet and somnolent in the afternoon that, should a vehicle approach either from over the pass from Rancho el Pescado to the north or on the road in from Yepachic on the other side of the river, we can hear the distance growling of 4-wheel-drive and walk out to check.

Bill and his son Joe have been working in the ravine to clear a path for the dozer to slide and propping it up so it doesn’t roll over and crush them when they use the chainsaw to cut both the logs underneath on which the machine is resting, albeit precariously and the tree against which the rear trailer-hitch on the dozer is hooked. Since axes and handsaws cannot be used on the final stage (can’t get them in under the machine) and the chainsaws cannot be used until gasoline and new spark plugs arrive from the outside world, work is at a halt for the moment. Bob is expected back tonight but predictions about arrivals from the outside are always tenuous. It might actually be another couple of days before he returns. Meanwhile, Bill and Joe work on the machinery and the electricals where they can.

Without Simon, Dutch and Alex gone and no other cowboys around there are no ranch animals around the corral either. Normally somebody is saddling up or returning from distant ranges or bringing in cattle or horses to cull them or handle them. Now, however, the corral is empty, the saddle horses and mules are somewhere out to pasture and we are left with chickens, the nanny goat, the lamb and, of course, a plethora of dogs.

The dogs are characters themselves. Except for Cody who is actually a herd dog, the rest are either pets (the two Chihuahuas, Sparkle and Moonface), watch dogs (Greta), or supernumeraries (ancient old Tank, the mastiff, and Phil, the, um, whatever). Any alarms are usually started by Greta. She is the most reliable guard. Immediately she starts, however, the rest also all start barking. The din is terrific if they are near the house. If we are inside the ranchhouse or guest house, we always go out to check if the racket continues for more than ten seconds. Somebody’s coming. If the pack is barking to the north a horseman is likely heading down into the last ravine before climbing up to the corral area. If the dogs are facing east, somebody is coming along the approach road from the ford. Strangers and Pima Indians nearly always stop at a gate and wait for a while for the dogs to calm and to be invited in. Cindy told me that Indians are terrified of dogs and especially of old Tank.

The big dogs usually settle down if they see us accept the approaching horsemen or hikers. The Chihuahuas, however, not only have a shrill, unpleasant, yappy-type of bark they are also still very young and have had no obedience training. They just go on and on yapping and running around and getting underfoot. Any conversation with the visitor has to be put off for a while till the dogs cool off. One thing you can say for them, though: they are not afraid of anything bigger than they are. Of course everything is bigger than they are! They self-importantly bark at Cody who likes to sneak into the house if he can do so undetected or Tank who lumbers slowly around in his blind senility. Or they will suddenly take off running and yapping after chickens if, in the dogs’ opinion, the birds are too close to the house. The chickens scrabble indignantly away, squawking and screeching, some flapping up onto the top bar of the corral. The Chihuahuas come prancing back feeling more important than ever. Last week they became very perturbed when a mule found its way into the area just around the ranchhouse to enjoy the sweet grass there. Sparkle and Moonface become apopletic. Off they dash, nipping and yapping at the mule’s rear hooves. Except for the occasional swish at them with a hind hoof, the mule largely ignores them and keeps grazing. At least the noise drives me out to close the little foot-gate into the breezeway where the feedbags are stacked. A few weeks ago that same mule got in there; no doubt he thought it was Christmas, Easter and his birthday all rolled into one until I shooed him out.

Sometimes at night the dogs will set up a real hullabaloo, barking and howling endlessly. When I get up to check, the bigger dogs (the Chihuahuas sleep in the ranchhouse) are out in the corral area, just sitting back on their haunches, their heads extended, and howling like wolves. They have heard coyotes calling and are joining in. The Call of the Wild, I guess.

I don’t know what else can be found around here that is wild. We hear the coyotes but don’t see them. And there are also javelinas (i.e. either native wild pigs but sometimes feral domestic pigs) and some sort of deer; we have seen does and fawns on occasion. Bill said his family has seen big cougar footprints near the ranchhouse; I wonder if these are really actually Tank’s paw-prints. In any case, what with chickens and pigs to attract the attention of predators (not to mention little yappy dogs), I am glad to have the hounds around. Now if we could only train the Chihuahuas to stop chasing the chickens!

If it stays warm this afternoon, I’m heading down to the river for a swim.

posted by rjb,
1:54 pm

<$BlogRSDURL$>

		News From Ron and Kathy Bird__
For more pictures of Ron and Kathy Bird and the Vilisar, see these beautiful photos by Albert Pang Click here to e-mail Ron Click here to e-mail Kathy Archives January 2004 September 2005 October 2005 November 2005 December 2005 January 2006 February 2006 March 2006 April 2006 May 2006 June 2006 July 2006 August 2006 September 2006 October 2006 November 2006 December 2006 February 2007 March 2007 Vilisar Translation Expert German-English translation available; business and finance our specialty. SachverstÃ¤ndige Deutsch-Englische Ãbersetzung; GeschÃ¤ft und Finanz unser Spezialgebiet.	Thursday, October 06, 2005 BLOGSITE SPACE LIMITATIONS; ON DOZERS, WATCHDOGS AND OTHER MATTERS Thursday, 06 October 2005 Blogsite space limitations I have just heard from our dear friend, Gwen, in Boston who hosts this website that the reason we have no archives and no photos at present is because she does not have enough space. We are working on this and hope to have a reasonable solution soon. Unfortunately, I am pretty ignorant about websites so it could be longer than I expect. Be patient and stay tuned. On dozers, watchdogs and other matters Things are still quiet here. There are so many people away that the main activities around here are getting the dozer ready to complete its (one hopes) controlled slide into the arroyo and working on the ranchhouse complex’s 12-volt electrical system. With the tranquillity I suddenly become aware of the wonderful scent of the yellow flowers now blanketing every hill. When the breeze comes up from the river valley, it wafts up this sweet perfume. In the quiet then you hear the wind blowing through the live oaks near the house and the buzzing of the bees in the meadows on the slope below us. Makes me want to take up beekeeping and honey-making. It is so quiet and somnolent in the afternoon that, should a vehicle approach either from over the pass from Rancho el Pescado to the north or on the road in from Yepachic on the other side of the river, we can hear the distance growling of 4-wheel-drive and walk out to check. Bill and his son Joe have been working in the ravine to clear a path for the dozer to slide and propping it up so it doesn’t roll over and crush them when they use the chainsaw to cut both the logs underneath on which the machine is resting, albeit precariously and the tree against which the rear trailer-hitch on the dozer is hooked. Since axes and handsaws cannot be used on the final stage (can’t get them in under the machine) and the chainsaws cannot be used until gasoline and new spark plugs arrive from the outside world, work is at a halt for the moment. Bob is expected back tonight but predictions about arrivals from the outside are always tenuous. It might actually be another couple of days before he returns. Meanwhile, Bill and Joe work on the machinery and the electricals where they can. Without Simon, Dutch and Alex gone and no other cowboys around there are no ranch animals around the corral either. Normally somebody is saddling up or returning from distant ranges or bringing in cattle or horses to cull them or handle them. Now, however, the corral is empty, the saddle horses and mules are somewhere out to pasture and we are left with chickens, the nanny goat, the lamb and, of course, a plethora of dogs. The dogs are characters themselves. Except for Cody who is actually a herd dog, the rest are either pets (the two Chihuahuas, Sparkle and Moonface), watch dogs (Greta), or supernumeraries (ancient old Tank, the mastiff, and Phil, the, um, whatever). Any alarms are usually started by Greta. She is the most reliable guard. Immediately she starts, however, the rest also all start barking. The din is terrific if they are near the house. If we are inside the ranchhouse or guest house, we always go out to check if the racket continues for more than ten seconds. Somebody’s coming. If the pack is barking to the north a horseman is likely heading down into the last ravine before climbing up to the corral area. If the dogs are facing east, somebody is coming along the approach road from the ford. Strangers and Pima Indians nearly always stop at a gate and wait for a while for the dogs to calm and to be invited in. Cindy told me that Indians are terrified of dogs and especially of old Tank. The big dogs usually settle down if they see us accept the approaching horsemen or hikers. The Chihuahuas, however, not only have a shrill, unpleasant, yappy-type of bark they are also still very young and have had no obedience training. They just go on and on yapping and running around and getting underfoot. Any conversation with the visitor has to be put off for a while till the dogs cool off. One thing you can say for them, though: they are not afraid of anything bigger than they are. Of course everything is bigger than they are! They self-importantly bark at Cody who likes to sneak into the house if he can do so undetected or Tank who lumbers slowly around in his blind senility. Or they will suddenly take off running and yapping after chickens if, in the dogs’ opinion, the birds are too close to the house. The chickens scrabble indignantly away, squawking and screeching, some flapping up onto the top bar of the corral. The Chihuahuas come prancing back feeling more important than ever. Last week they became very perturbed when a mule found its way into the area just around the ranchhouse to enjoy the sweet grass there. Sparkle and Moonface become apopletic. Off they dash, nipping and yapping at the mule’s rear hooves. Except for the occasional swish at them with a hind hoof, the mule largely ignores them and keeps grazing. At least the noise drives me out to close the little foot-gate into the breezeway where the feedbags are stacked. A few weeks ago that same mule got in there; no doubt he thought it was Christmas, Easter and his birthday all rolled into one until I shooed him out. Sometimes at night the dogs will set up a real hullabaloo, barking and howling endlessly. When I get up to check, the bigger dogs (the Chihuahuas sleep in the ranchhouse) are out in the corral area, just sitting back on their haunches, their heads extended, and howling like wolves. They have heard coyotes calling and are joining in. The Call of the Wild, I guess. I don’t know what else can be found around here that is wild. We hear the coyotes but don’t see them. And there are also javelinas (i.e. either native wild pigs but sometimes feral domestic pigs) and some sort of deer; we have seen does and fawns on occasion. Bill said his family has seen big cougar footprints near the ranchhouse; I wonder if these are really actually Tank’s paw-prints. In any case, what with chickens and pigs to attract the attention of predators (not to mention little yappy dogs), I am glad to have the hounds around. Now if we could only train the Chihuahuas to stop chasing the chickens! If it stays warm this afternoon, I’m heading down to the river for a swim. posted by *rjb,* *1:54 pm* Comments: Post a Comment
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Thursday, October 06, 2005