dreamranch

Rise and shine. Sore back delayed start, but grateful Cowboy is a herder and not a hunter. ⇓⇓⇓

Christine Baranski dilemma in “The Good Fight” got me thinking about retirement security, but I have no plans to move to south of France anyway. ⇓⇓⇓

Breakfast and lunch: New York hucksters on my plate. ⇓⇓⇓

Latest attempt to photograph red-tailed hawk (see spec upper left) with iPhone. I’m often closer; just not fast enough. ⇓⇓⇓

Calling it a day, except for goofy blogging. Venus and Cabezon represented in iPhone photo that’s as much about blue as anything. ⇓⇓⇓

And zero literary progress. I’m still blaming Trump, but realizing I can’t let him get the better of me.

Escape from Mar-a-Lago

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February 18, 2017

In newspapers and lawyers I trust.

On an evening walk.

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February 17, 2017

I am lucky man, even with a few clouds.

Y Volvere

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February 7, 2017

I think I’ll return to dream ranch one of these days. Since the election, I’ve been off searching for the meaning of life.

Meanwhile, Cowboy is healthy as a horse. I got a clear CT scan in December.

More later.

Check out the light show. And be assured that I am livelier than the members of this band.

Election season in semi-suburbia.

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October 29, 2016

I think I’ll skip the Trump event in Albuquerque. Ivanka called to invite me, but I’m afraid I might miss something out here in the semi-suburban wilds of Placitas.

Recorded Ivanka

Like my neighbor Suanne singlehandedly pinning down a meal-swollen rattlesnake with her garage door and then scooting the thing into an empty kitty litter can. She was sitting calmly on same, lid snapped shut, snake buzzing busily below, when I arrived for relocation services.

Suanne’s tight-lidded snake can

Or animal kindness consequences to the south, where another neighbor has to honk the horn of her SUV to clear a gaggle of free-roaming horses from the front of her garage. And SUV horn-honking in semi-suburbia apparently is like a dinner bell for hungry horses. No sooner had the garage band broken up than three gray strangers appeared on the ridge above.

Strangers on the ridge

The strangers quickly picked up the sight or scent of the stallion in a driveway two hundred yards away and the stallion just as quickly spotted them. He charged across the distance, through the very deep arroyo, to chase the intruders, who had already turned to run, two drainages away. And here he is, in my front yard, proudly returning to his little herd on the other side of the ‘hood.

El Jefe

So, I’ll stay out here, doubting that Trump has an answer to my most immediate question anyway: Where do you dump live rattlesnakes in an increasingly urban environment without being accused of endangering a neighbor?

It was easier when there were only a half-dozen or so homes out this way. Now, here or even over on the Sandia escarpment, I feel that I am under constant scrutiny from snake-wary residents or free-roaming mountain bikers.

But rest assured, dear neighbors: Yesterday’s relocation efforts were carried out on my own property, as anyone who saw an aging, not-so-agile looking guy heaving a medium-sized rattlesnake out of a blue-and-yellow kitty litter bucket the other afternoon could have concluded.

What’s this got to do with Trump?

Well, as I said, Ivanka called to invite me today. But, sorry, the Big Cheeto never got to first base with me. And I’ve already gone to the polls. I very deliberately inked in the little circle beside that Nasty Woman.

I’ve never been really keen on the Clintons — really smart and really sloppy — but the times are such I’ve been thinking “Nasty Woman” on my bicep might make a great first tattoo.

Cowboy lessons, from 2016

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October 28, 2016

I was sitting at the kitchen table, reading too late into the morning — but, in this case, a great Andrew Sullivan piece about “manic information addiction” — when this happened.

I got the message and we are heading out for a walk, Sullivan’s piece unfinished. http://nymag.com/selectall/2016/09/andrew-sullivan-technology-almost-killed-me.html?mid=twitter-share-selectall

Of course, the latest Hillary Clinton email story broke before I could shut down my laptop. You know. Then the NYT reported that the new email leads emerged from the Anthony Weiner sexting investigation. You know …

Cowboy life

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September 25, 2016

Back by popular demand, here are some recent Cowboy and sky photos for my social media-avoiding friends.

I’ve been posting photos of the new heeler puppy Cowboy on Facebook, but I have sisters and friends who won’t go to that spooky space. One sister won’t even go on the Internet. A couple of dogless friends just wanted more puppy pictures.

For a couple of months, I was too down in the dumps over the loss of Cooper and the intrusion of Trump — weary, too, from staying too long out in the high-noon glare of my own mortality — to visit my blog. But Cowboy seems to have recovered from the tick disease he came with and my own spirits are rising.

I haven’t had a puppy since 1990, adopting older dogs since then and enjoying the relative serenity of more mature companions. It’s a rodeo about 12 hours a day with Cowboy, but I gotta say that waking up with a warm puppy nearby — a sweet-smelling, soft-coated, smiling bundle of happiness, thinking no farther than breakfast –has helped my own perspective.

So, here you go, you non-Facebookers: More puppies and sky …

One thing about having a puppy around the house is that you can never be sure what they’re up to.

And they may feign innocence about a familiar puppy trick.

It takes a while to get them to this stage, but what an angel when he’s out.

Having friends like Merc and Sara helps a lot.

So does walking up the hill.

He’s not the poet that Cooper was, but he seems to enjoy sharing the outdoors with me just as much.

I’ve been trying to bring him up right. I tell him real cowboys sleep on the ground. But sometimes, I just let him do.

And, now, he’s tired of all this blogging stuff. Let the dinner bell ring!

And I have no photographic proof of this, but I lingered in the office after finishing here — until I heard the TV go on in the living room. My new dog had apparently turned it on with his nose to the satellite box, or whatever you call it. (I watched him turn it off the same way later). He was curled up in my fancy recliner, looking at “60 Minutes” on the screen. Now, I happen to find “60 Minutes,” kind of irritating, and I have an aversion to turning on the TV before dark, so I give this puppy a double credit for finding another way to get under my skin as well as mastering satellite television technology.

Simply August

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August 30, 2016

I believe this in my 67th summer: In New Mexico in August, white is whiter, blue is bluer and green is greener. That is all for now.

A comedian was born

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August 21, 2016

My mornings usually start pretty slow.

Things are a little different now that Cowboy is here.

I used to think putting on shoes was an easy task.

It’s a little more complicated now, even with help.

It’s like Heelernado around here sometimes.

But eventually we get lined out.

Out on the trail, you know he is a native, but he also stands out.

He enjoys having fun with neighbors Lori and Sara, just like Cooper did.

Every now and then, I find matching shoes in the same place.

He is inquisitive about all things, and who wouldn’t be about rain in New Mexico.

Trips to town wear us both out.

But, thanks to Dianne and Lori, this cowboy has lots of friends and a real comfy bunk.

Cowboy

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August 15, 2016

Blue sunset, I called it, August 11. Actually, it’s turquoise. My favorite. I still miss Cooper mucho, but decided to check out a pup at the vet.

Brought this guy home from the animal hospital Friday afternoon. He’s still getting used to things at dreamranch. It’s supposed to be foster care, but he’s a hoot.

First morning at dreamranch: Think I’ll call him Cowboy, even if he does play with whales. Yes, his tummy is shaved and he weighs only 20 pounds. But judging from my exhaustion, I’d say he’s about 200 percent recovered from the troubles that had him in the hospital.

It was a big weekend for the poke. He met Sara and Lori and Mike, Cameron, Maria, Mike, Frances and Hunter, hiked past Kate’s house and up over the mesa twice, figured out the dog door and ate as much as he was allowed. He was all in by Sunday night. I had to watch Inspector Lewis with a lap full of warm heeler and puppy toys.