Archive for June, 2010

DonkeyFest

June 30, 2010

Donkey Ho-tey: "Lean in close and I'll whisper my pain into your ear."

Last week I called the donkey’s foster parents and asked how he was.  They said that the vet had been there that very day, and that Mr. Donkey had received his vaccinations, had his teeth “floated”, and had been “cut”. 

“Cut”.  Sounds painful.

So on Monday, 6/28/10, Sugar picked me up at my lunch hour and we went to see Donnie.  He was moving rather slowly.  His doodads were sore.  The foster daddy said that the vet advised that the older the donkeys are when they are neutered, the slower the recovery.  Understatement. 

Mr. FosterDaddy said that one of the donkey’s lower teeth in the back of his mouth had grown so long that it was cutting into the gum above.  The vet also advised that he will come again when the farrier comes, because Donkey Ho-tey took a lot of anesthesia for the surgery, and that he definitely needs to be anesthetized for the farrier.  The vet said that a donkey’s hooves can get yeast infections and perhaps a yeast infection has traveled up his legs and made his hair fall out. 

When Donkey Ho-tey arrived at the new home, he went in with Mare the blind mare, with the hope that he could be her eyes.  He was not interested in her eyes.  He had other plans for a different body part, and tried to put some lovin’ on her, several times, causing her to run into the fence.  She was not interested in his continuous donkey love, so he was moved into another pasture with Jammer, a large male horse. 

Donkey: "Ow. That smarts. Oww. OwOwOw. My prize doodads."

Donkey: "Forget my teeth and hooves."

Three Sugars

Near the end of our visit, Donkey Ho-tey had wandered out into the middle of the meadow.  I tested out my super-duper whistle, the one that I learned in middle-school from Marietta B., and has been proven irresistable to animals and small children, and sure enough, the donkey walked straight back to where I stood at the fence.  We gave him a good-bye pat and a promise to come again.

Two sugars

Advertisements

All You Wrinkled Ladies

June 26, 2010

I am inspired by both these videos.

Gratuitous Donkey Pictures

June 23, 2010

Thank you to Leo, the Old Curmudgeon, who asks the following question: “I guess I don’t understand. Just what was it that the donkey got rescued from?”

Little donkey looked okay in the pictures, right?  Here’s more about the donkey situation.

He was living in a pasture that was approximately 50′ x 100′.  Donkeys need at least an acre of grazing property.  An acre and a half is better.  The pasture was shady, and had a limited grazing area.  He had a bale of hay when we met him.  It was the large rolled kind so it looked like it would last a while, but by the time we were there on Sunday past, it was all gone except for the leavings on the ground.  The first man that had him, Rabbit by name, had given him to Jesse, the collector.  Jesse’s the one with the dying chicken in his backyard.  He has various other animals, namely an assorted allotment of dogs and puppies that are not vaccinated, not on parasite prevention, not on heartworm prevention, not on flea prevention, and never get veterinary care.  I got Pluff from Jesse – he decided he didn’t want the Pluffy anymore – Pluff didn’t even have a name when he lived there.  I’ve lost count of the dogs that Jesse has gotten tired of and turned over to me and Sugar. 

Donkeys have a different coat from horses.  A donkey’s coat will hold water from a rainstorm, and will remain sodden.  Donkey Ho-tey had no shelter, inadequate food, and a poor water source.  It is against the law to contain an animal without shelter, food, and water.  However, in this particular county, a donkey’s welfare is not of high concern. 

Donkey Ho-tey had open sores on his legs from the biting flies that are so prevalent in this area, especially during the summer months.  His hooves were grown so long that they were chipped and splitting.  He had no recent brushing, no grooming, no veterinary care, no vaccinations, no Coggins, and no farrier’s care. 

About two months ago, Rabbit, the party of the first part, decided that he was going to train the donkey, even though he had turned the donkey over the Jesse the collector.  They chained him to the back of a four-wheeler and dragged him up and down the dirt road.  There was a huge commotion, people were gathering to watch, a school bus full of school children stopped to watch, and Richard was getting distressed over it.  Rabbit told Richard that if Richard called the authorities, then he’d better never come out of his house.  (Some people carry guns and know how to use them.)

Chipped hooves and open sores.

The left front hoof is splitting. This is the leg with the most sores.

This shot shows the difference in his coat. The area on his rump is slick and flat, which is how it should be during the summer months. That fluffy stuff needs to be brushed out.

 

Jesse had mentioned that Mr. Donkey would be headed for the dog food factory.  Jesse doesn’t have a job, and the donkey was now becoming a liability and a drain on his financial resources.  I suppose you could say that Donkey Ho-tey was rescued from ignorance.

Good question, curmudgeon.  Thanks for asking.

The Great Donkey Rescue of 2010

June 23, 2010

When I was in third grade, our teacher would have music time if it was raining outside during recess.  One of the songs was “Sweetly Sings the Donkey.”  Imagine 30 third graders starting the song with their sweet, angelic voices, and then ripping into the chorus at full bellow.

“Sweetly sings the donkey,

At the break of day.

If you do not feed him,

This is what he’ll say,

(Rousing chorus)

Hee Haw!  Hee Haw!

Heehaw!  Heehaw!  Heehaw!

**********

Sometimes a plan just comes together.

Mr. Donkey Ho-tey is a biter.  At least, we thought he was because he always attempted to bite us, operative word being attempted.  We had a potential home for him at an exclusive, gated, equine community with horse barns and luxury homes.  But.  They changed their mind when they were told that Mr. Donkey might bite.  It was too exclusive a community with doctors and lawyers who just didn’t want their little darlings getting bitten.

Suddenly, one day, all the pieces fell into place.  A foster home was found, transportation was arranged, and a deal was struck with the collectors.  On Father’s Day, the Sugar and I met up with the new foster family who towed a horse trailer behind their minivan, and we set out to rescue Donkey Ho-tey.

When we arrived, the dog from across the road strolled over to watch the action.  He ambled over to the collector’s front yard and sent a pee-mail message.

Mongo mails a message.

We all got out of our vehicles and surveyed the scene.  The collector’s wife came to the door, baby on hip, and said she’d “go git Jesse”, and she disappeared into the house. 

It looked like we were not going to be able to back up the trailer to get right to the donkey, because the gate to his pasture was on the far side of the back yard which was surrounded by chain link.  The collector and his wife appeared in the back yard.  The guys decided that they would ask Mr. Donkey to just walk right out across the back yard and get in the horse trailer, so we headed across the back yard, dodging the chickens and the foul smell.  A dying chicken lay by the back steps.  I stared at it, its legs up in the air, and debated whether to take a picture. 

I had the trusty camera, but did not take pictures of Sugar and Richard leading the donkey from the gate to the horse trailer.  I was more interested in closing the deal with the collector.  I had a donkey “bill of sale” that I wanted him to sign so that I could hand over the money.  The last thing I wanted was for the collector to say, “Hmm, I don’t like this.  I’m not signing.  No deal.”

Signed bill of sale in hand, I headed to the trailer where Mr. Donkey was putting up a struggle.  With some encouragement in the form of a rope on his halter leading him forward and a rope around his behind pulling him forward, he went into the trailer and munched some hay. 

In the trailer! Fly spray being applied.

We headed to the donkey’s new foster home, where he would share a pasture with a blind horse.  We made a raggedy little caravan, the van full of people towing a trailer with one donkey, and Sugar and I in Ole Yeller.

Heading across town.

Through the windshield of Ole Yeller.

Going over the speed bump in front of the post office.

We're here!

In the trailer on arrival at his new home.

His roommate, Mare the blind horse, waits for him.

He slid backwards out of the trailer with some difficulty, like a newborn breech baby.

Donkey Ho-tey meets Mare thru the fence.

Donkey Ho-tey: "Wait, darlin', come back!"

What's this green growing stuff?

Inside the pasture now.

Handsomest donkey ever.

The two boys next door eye their competition. The two cows, Angus and T-Bone, hide behind the horses.

Sugar gives an apple chunk to a road-weary donkey.

Mare plays hard to get.

He can't forget her face, and he calls out to her, "My beloved, wait! Come back!"

Sweetly sings the donkey.

White horse: "We'll return to our story after this word from our sponsors."

Sweetly sings the donkey.  Awesome day.

*****

(Fast forward 1 week: DonkeyFest)

The Marsh Tacky of South Carolina

June 19, 2010

When I was a little girl I read the book “Misty of Chincoteague”, the story of a horse from the islands of North Carolina.  Before that, in first grade I spent most of recess galloping around the playground, snorting and whinnying and tossing my beautiful mane.  (No comments on that, please.)

I am pleased to learn that I can scan magazine articles and post them on the internet, and the scanning police do not visit me.  At least, not yet.  So once again I will trot out (pardon the pun) another magazine article for you to enjoy.

Click on the image to enlarge.

So Shoe Me

June 19, 2010

BigBroBob is a genius.  No, really he is.

It’s just hard to tell sometimes.  He’s a late-blooming genius. 

Here’s a little offering of his geniusity.  Click on the image to enlarge and enjoy.

Henry Burden + BigBroBob = Geniuses

 

Georgia: "Hmmm. I wonder if they make a little open-toed slide with a kitten heel??"

Pluff Doggie

June 17, 2010

Pluff

What do you name a fluffy puppy?  Pluff, of course.  There is also a term here for the marsh muck.  It’s called Pluff Mud.  It’s not like quicksand, but if you stray off course in the marsh on foot, you can get stuck in the pluff mud.  It will hold you fast and you’d better have a cell phone so you can call for help.  So stay on the path.

Our Pluff went to the spay/neuter clinic yesterday, and now he is a free man.  He will never be named in a paternity suit. 

Daydreaming about female dogs.

 

Sylvia: "Since when did this become a dog site? It's about cats, CATS, I tell you!"

 

Ball forgotten.

 

After the parvo incident, Pluff got kennel cough.  Then he got a yeast infection in his left ear, and then a hot spot below the same ear.  After a round of antibiotics and some ear meds, he’s good to go.  And go he should.  Two weeks ago, a client had to have her dog euthanized.  When checking out, she said, “In a few months, I’ll be ready to go to the shelter and adopt another black fluffy dog.”  My head snapped around, and I said, “I’ve got just the black fluffy dog for you!”  She said, “But is he big?  I want a big one.  It’s so hard for them to get a home.”  Ohmygoodness, yes. 

There’s a phenomenon called the “BBD”.  That stands for Big Black Dog.  Shelters are full of them.  They are hard to adopt out.  “It’s another black dog.”  “They’re too big.”  “There’s nothing special about that one.” 

So the Pluff will probably be spared the insult of being referred to as just another “Big Black Dog.”

Rawls Family Reunion 1895

June 16, 2010

I am shamed.  I have no idea who sent this copy of a newspaper clipping to me years ago.  I cannot give credit where credit is due.  I will blame old age.  Anyway…

(Edited here on 8/25/10 to give credit for the newspaper clipping to COUSIN John Rawls.  Read the comments!)

Here we have the family of “Chate” Rawls, whose given name was really Washington Lafayette.  My father remembered hearing about Uncle Chate, but couldn’t give a specific memory.  Chate and my father’s great-grandfather Isaac Rawls were brothers, two boys in a family of 12 children. 

Click on the image to enlarge and enjoy.

Mistletoe Grove

June 14, 2010

Mistletoe Grove, the old Tison place.

During the summer of 2008, Sugar and I found the old Tison place, Mistletoe Grove, by Sugar’s clever sleuthing.  He found an old map in an old book and figured it out.  We went there a couple of times that summer.  The first was to check it out, and the second was to lead the way for a Tison descendant who was in search of her family history.  There is nothing better than to watch someone discover their roots. 

This house is on the property of the Webb Wildlife Center.  This post is basically pictures of the house.  The house was locked but I used my patented method, patent pending, of photography by pressing the camera lens to the window and snapping away.  I’ve gotten some interesting shots of things using this method.  It works well when the window is too high or in an awkward location.  Sometimes Sugar gives me a boost, and after seeing that rear-end shot of myself yesterday, I understand why he can’t lift me very high.  Pilates, coming soon to a fatty near you.

Front right

Outbuilding shown in the photo previous to this one.

Let’s go under the house.  Watch out for spiders.

The underside of the front steps.

Thru the window.

The van so often seen lurking in the background.

It was unbelievably hot that day.  Hot like an oven.  I get really cranky when the back of my neck gets hot and sweaty, and I was waaaayy cranky that day.  It’s hot like that here today.  It’s so hot you can’t get your breath easily.  How did our ancestors exist in this kind of heat?  Nonetheless, it was a good day, and we felt like explorers finding something that no one had seen for centuries, and we stood in awe of it.  There was a tree behind the house that bore some kind of mealy little pears. 

And I snagged a canna lily.  It needed to be rescued.

(Many thanks to Mr. Lawton for supplying the pictures!)

The Webb Wildlife Center

June 13, 2010

I have discovered that I need to include the name “Lawton” in every post.  When I have a LawtonFest, my stats go way up.  Thanks, Leo and all the lovers of LawtonStuff.  Lawton, Lawton, Lawton.

This little post today links to “The Plantation Broker”. Lawton.

Sugar “Lawton” and I went to the Webb Wildlife Center that was mentioned in “The Plantation Broker” article. Nothing would do after getting the article at the LibraryFest in Columbia, SC, except that we would go. We had been there before, visiting Hamilton Ridge, an old homeplace, owned by some Lawtons or some relative of some Lawtons, and the Mistletoe Grove Plantation House, an antique homeplace of the Tisons. (All of these families are mentioned in the article, link provided above. Lawton.) We went a different path this time, hoping to actually get to the Savannah River. Nope. But I got some interesting photos this time before the stinkin’ batteries died in the camera. Had a chance to get a picture of a peckerwood, and the BATTERIES DIED. Ah, fate.

An observation deck to one of the waterways that leads to the Savannah River. Awesome tree pictures coming soon.

 

Cypress or Tupelo? Class? Any answers?

 

Cypress knees. My new phrase for approval will now be "It's the tree's knees." Not bee's knees. Didyougedit?

 

More water and trees. There was green floaty stuff on the water. Pollen? Algae? Pixie Dust?

 

View from the end of the observation deck.

 

Heavily cropped picture of me. When I saw how big my butt was, I removed the visual. Starting Pilates soon.

 

Cropped. That is all.

 

Overhead cloud action. The sky is Carolina Blue. If you went to the University of North Carolina, you would know that.

 

(Insert picture of peckerwood here.  Lawton.)

The day was full of insect sounds and frogs thunking into the water when we got too close.  It was outrageously hot but not humid.  You know what they say, “It’s not the heat, it’s the stupidity.”  

So y’all should go to the Webb Wildlife Center.  If Lawton will send me some pictures of Mistletoe Grove that I lost in a computer meltdown in 2008, I’ll post those, too.

Thank you for viewing.  Lawton.