WordPlay

Yup, this post is here for one reason and one reason alone. It’s not particularly cute or clever and it can’t even pretend it’s not promotional.

Backlist eBooks has had a holiday sale in play since the 23rd of December–a collection of 99c “Try Me” opportunities from the authors at Backlist eBooks. When January 8th rolls past, so does the sale.

Clickie => Backlist eBooks

Backlist eBooks has over a hundred veteran authors and nearly 700 out-of-print books now reborn–even in the past week, we’ve welcomed new authors into the fold. Meanwhile, the books that aren’t on Try Me status are still priced for convenience, making them publisher books at indie prices.

So, y’know…come on by, take a look around! If you’re not in the mood for a new read, sign up for our newsletter and we’ll let you know about the next sale.

Last week was all about Connery’s MACH2 triumph.

ConneryBeagle: THAT IS RIGHT!  BAWH!

Well, we haven’t talked so much about the increasing headsplosions, or the way the compounded meds look like they’re interacting with his critical immunosuppressant drug, giving him nights of illness while I look for a solution.  Or the way he comes to me when headsplosions strike him out of the blue, and stands beside my writing chair so I can rest my hand on his back , or sometimes the way he just lays his head on my foot in a weary way, not even getting up to manage the latest attack.

Well, it’s always been a balancing act. And he’s still greeting every sign of agility and tracking with glee, so we’re still playing.

Beagley Focus

But I hear a clock ticking.

So it’s TOTALLY GREAT to see the Heart of Dog sales and donations climbing up toward the goal.  Nearly halfway now!

And since so many of you have helped over these past months–by giving the book a chance, by spreading the word, by offering on-line companionship and support–it’s time to take a moment and say thank you.

So far, the book has funded: An endoscopic procedure, blood tests, Valley Fever test, post-procedural meds, emergency vet visit due to post-procedural issues, immunologist consult, internist consult and new meds.  Because of those tests, we know what isn’t wrong.  And we know what’s next–the CT scan.  With that, the vet specialist can see changes within the sinuses–from disease, from injury–and pinpoint areas of possible concern: scar tissue to remove, lurking infection, or embedded foreign objects (such as a foxtail seed).

And then we’ll know for sure what to do for the headsplosions…or if anything can be done at all.

Why the tick-tick-tick of the clock? Because the longer most of these things go without treatment, the harder they are to treat at all.

ConneryBeagle: I am not LISTENING.

So YES!  That means it is TOTALLY BAWHSOME that the sales & donations are making that climb toward 1000 copies.  And it means I’m setting a goal of August to see this through with Connery.

Optimistic?  Yes. But I’m going go for it.

(Wanna help? It’s as easy as spreading the word.  There’s a Tell a Friend button down there…there’s FaceBook, where Connery has his own page, and there’s twitter, and there’s even *gasp* REAL LIFE!)

Sixteen stories, award-winning authors, and help for a sick dog…

Award-winning author Doranna Durgin has over 30 published novels and another 19 short pieces. Now her dog-themed stories are collected in THE HEART OF DOG, along with those by other award-winning authors:

Jeffrey Carver, Julie Czerneda, Tanya Huff, John Mierau, Fiona Patton, Jennifer Roberson, Kristine Kathryn Rusch, & John Zakour.

$3.99 eformats
Smashwords — DRM-Free, all formats
Kindle
Nook
Set Your Own Price Donation

This extra little post comes to you courtesy of Daily Cheap Reads, where THE HEART OF DOG is featured today.

The happy little blip in Connery’s CT scan funding (over there, at the top of the right-hand column) comes courtesy of Daily Cheap Reads, too.

(For that matter, so do a significant number of the “Try-Me Authors” on my Nook…)

Call me gratitudinal!

(Want to help?  Hit that “tell a friend” button down there!)

Dog joy, that is.

One of the things about training a performance dog is how deeply it drives this point home.  One of the things about training a performance Beagle is how it shoves this right in your face.

Did you see the photo of Connery last Monday? Oh, look, I’ll put the important part up again.

Connery: I am BAWHSOME!

Connery: I am TOTALLY BAWHSOME!

And he was, too! That was the fastest run he’s ever clocked.   A week later, there’s still a lingering high.

But it wouldn’t have happened without the JOY.

Thanks to Connery’s attack history (we’re not talking dog interaction gone bad, we’re talking targeted giant breed charge-and-attack) and his subsequent worries about the world, it’s my job to reassure him and instill the JOY.

I do this in agility and rally by instilling anticipation via routine, by liberal use of cookies, and by the timely appearance of the vaunted treat bottle.

This is what, you ask?

1. Take one Ensure bottle
2. Hold nose, drink liquid
3. Wash thoroughly, remove label.
4. Add a pinch of kibble
5. Gorilla Glue the lid closed.
6. Seriously.  GLUE THE LID CLOSED.

It shakes.  It rattles.  It rolls.

IT PLAYS BEAGLE FETCH.

I trained him to the bottle from puppyhood, associating with treats.

Connery: BAWH!  BAWH!  THROW IT!  THROW IT NOW!  GIVE IT!  LET ME TOUCH IT!  I KNOW I CAN OPEN IT!

The necessity of joy is why in the obedience ring, we raised eyebrows because we cavorted between exercises instead of behaving with quiet dignity.    (It’s also why Connery’s novice obedience legs ran second, first, first, first.  That last being an insurance leg, as it only takes three.)

You want a Beagle?  Give up on the dignity. If you don’t, they will wring it out of you anyway.

Every once in a while, I get a reminder of the necessity of joy.  This fall, for instance.

Connery loves tracking.

LOVES it.

But.

This late fall he’s struggled with an illness that I haven’t, frankly, figured out yet.  I think it’s been one of his stealth sinus infections, presenting oddly and then lingering extensively.

He is, after all, a dog of underlying brittleness: all full of exuberance one day, felled by some inexplicable ailment the next.  (That there are subtle autoimmune issues in play here is of no doubt.  That he’s lucky to be alive many times over, ditto.)

Anyway, it started to get to him.

Connery: Don’t feel so good.  Well, I can fake it!  Look, the bottle!

Connery: Don’t feel so good.  Well, I can fake it.  Look the bottle.

Connery: Look the bottle.

It doesn’t do to stop training during this time, because paradoxically, it’s one of the things that keeps him going.  But seeing him like that makes my heart sink in a way that completely justifies the existence of cliche.

Now here’s the tricky part. Connery starts to feel better, but his MOM is all wrapped up in, “Oh crap, am I going to be able to fix it this time, and what if I can’t, and–and–!”

Connery: Where’s my joy?  Don’t wave that bottle at me.  I DON’T BELIEVE YOU.  I suddenly don’t believe I know how to track anymore.  AT ALL.

So my past two weeks have been spent recapturing the joy, And seeing the difference it makes to this new tracking discipline of ours, and slapping myself upside the head and going D’OH.

Reality check.

So suddenly, there’s a dog in the harness again.

Connery: BAWH YES WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?

Sorry.  He really does do that all-caps thing.

BAWH!

By Patty Wilber       

News bits first:        

Longshot:  Here is what his foot with the contracted tendons looked like on day 3 of his life.  It was so curled that he was walking on the front of his pastern (the joint that seems analogous to our ankle, but is really more related to elongated toe bones)       

     After 2 treatments of Tetracycline and multiple splints, here is what the left front looks like at 2 weeks of age:       

     He is walking on it well, with occasional (fewer everyday) trips that cause him to curl it under for a few steps.  Then he rights it.  So far so good!  Yippee! He will go home 10/14.      

Snaffle bits (from a Western rather than English perspecive) and things to use on green (just getting started) horses.      

Rope hackamore.  This allows the horse to get comfortable with the rider and not have to also deal with a bit.       

The thin flexible rope and the knots both provide "bite" that allows the rider to have a lot more control than it might first appear.

  I just have never quite gotten along  with the bosal (BOWS all).  It is a rawhide loop.  Like the rope halter, there are  points that put pressure on the horse’s nose, providing control.  The really nice ones are beautiful works of art and I think they look really attractive on a horse.  This one is a cheapy.      

Hey--can you spot Longshot in the background?

Snaffle bits allow direct pressure on the sides of the horse’s mouth, only.  This means there is not much information for the horse to process making snaffles a nice bit to start with.  Horses often get dull  (lack of response), to snaffles pretty easily.  I say this is a training issue…to which  I am not immune.  I have horses get dull when I start teaching more complicated movements–too much “instruction” and not enough release and lightness.   

There are many articles about progressing horses from the snaffle up to western style curb bits (bits with long shanks and less flexible mouth pieces).    

The 2 dollar ring snaffle with bit guards (purchased the same year–1977?!), is the bit I try first on  most horses. It is a medium size mouth-piece made of sweet iron.  It will rust if left unused, but it seems to taste good to a lot of horses. I think it was Bob Avila, ( not sure), who said all trainers have a favorite bit, but really we should pick bits the horses like!     

2 dollar sweet iron ring snaffle bit, with bit guards. Bought it when I was 16, over 30 years ago!

  This bit has a similar sized mouth piece as the 2 dollar snaffle, but there is copper inlay and the rings are much heavier. The copper promotes saliva flow and helps keep the horse’s mouth moist and soft. I have worked with some trainers that really like this style of bit, but Winston is the only horse I have had that seems to prefer it.  The chinstrap attached is just to keep the bit from pulling through the horse’s mouth and out the other side in case of an emergency.   

Weighted snaffe with copper inlay

This snaffle has a very thin mouth piece.  Thus, it is severe if used harshly, but light in the horses mouth if not used with a heavy hand.  Risa is sensitive (yet kinda pig headed–she can lope off from a stand still with ease, but helicopters her tail constantly just to prove she doesn’t really Have to Do Anything at All).  This is the snaffle she likes the best. The chinstrap on this one is plain leather.    

Thin mouth piece

   The flatter portion of the ring decreases movement through the horses mouth.  The mouth piece on the bit is solid copper. I used this bit on Tabooli, but he was pretty easy and didn’t show any strong preferences.

 

Copper mouth and the rings are fixed. This is a more English type.

This bit has D rings (shaped like the letter D) and the mouth piece is more contoured, plus it has the barrel in the middle that decreases the hinge-like movement of this bit.  This puts more pressure on the tongue and the bars (gums) of the mouth.  Since this bit has more pressure points, some horses will respond to it more readily than a plain snaffle (after they have some training).  I used this bit on Penny, but she is on vacation right now, so there are no reins on this bridle.   

 

D-rings and modified mouth

If you have any questions about snaffles or these bits in particular, let me know!    

By Patty Wilber

  Just as we (4 of us) were saddled up and ready to go, the cows busted out of the holding pen.  Apparently, they were unsatisfied with the accomodations.  Grass too short? Water too cold?  Too shallow?    

It was unclear, but Penny must have had the same thoughts, because she escaped in the middle of the night, driving the  2 horses near the tack room where I was “sleeping” to stomp around and call to her.  Did I get out of my sleeping bag?  No.  I could tell those 2 were stll in.  My sleep deprived brain didn’t quite make the leap to “something  might be amiss”. Penny woke up David, and Peter kindly brought my wayward filly and his mare  (to keep Penny company) to the trailer at some wee hour.  I didn’t register that either…    

The cows are out! The pen is visible to the right. The eastern gate is beyond the hill in the back of the photo.

But back to the cows.  Since they were out, we might as well get them moving.  Easier said than done.  Mooove? As a group, with a purpose?  Nope.  Meander meander meander.  We had to push them from behind and  from the side. These cows had been moseying around all summer, eating lots of luscious grass, so they were not  into the whole concept of  Forced March. A purposeless herd is kind of like a big blobby ameba, and pieces (cows) kept oozing off.  

 Not only that, but calf 17 was bloated and really couldn’t be expected to walk the 18 miles out.  It  took a bit of time to for David to push her back to the trailers and load her up. We held the herd at the eastern gate until he returned. That sounds dramatic, huh?  But really the cows just ate and we hung around on our horses.    

We got them off the ranch and started downhill.  The cows picked up speed.  David’s horse was still feeling pretty fresh and Penny panicked when the energy levels went up and Alameda (Peter’s horse) disappeared from sight.  Bucking (on a down hill slope with cows streaming by) ensued.  Truthfully, Penny is a lame bronc, so staying on is not an issue.  She recovered quickly, too.   

David (L) and Lee (R). The group is heading downhill.

 The morning was warming up and our Not Into It cows were heating up.  They started going for shade and water whenever possible.  Keeping them on track is doable,  if one is preemptive enough.   

We weren’t.  Thus, we spent a bit of time rousting cows out of dense spruce  thickets (the needles collect in your saddle pads; glad Penny isn’t super tall!), pasting the herd back together (all 45 of ‘em) and coercing forward movement.  Calf 21 should’ve joined 17.  He was not feeling well, and spent the entire day at the back of the pack, where we all took turns making him keep up.   

After the river, we rested the cows (and some people) at several more areas with water.    

Lee really didn't feel great (he barely ate dinner--a sure sign of illness in a teenager), but he hung in and rested when he could.

Mostly it was just Git Along Little Dogies.  Unlike the old westerns, there was zero danger of stampede.  Our bunch was just Hot and Tired.  The horses had to double back and forth at a trot to convince the cattle to move along at a paceabove an amble.  Except when we came to other herds. 

Our path to the pens crossed other ranches, with cows.  So, one rider had to scout ahead to make sure any new cows were well away from our line of travel.  When any strange cattle were anywhere close to path, our cows (and especially the bull!) perked up and wanted to join the new group.

 Penny had no trouble leaving her horsie buds at this point, and riding off the front of the herd to scout the terrain ahead WAS as romantic as it sounds.  

It was open and undulating grassland with a stream down the center of a wide valley.  Aspens (my favorite!) and spruce formed dense stands along the distant edges.  The wind was under my hat (but it stayed on) and on my cheeks; my horse was smooth under me as we loped out.  The best! 

I had to take a  “break”, so we loped up a hillside into some aspens.  There was a ridge of gray rock (perfect cover), and I wondered what it would be like to have to worry about who might be lurking there to swoop down and steal our herd! 

The last stretch was LONG and hot and dusty and down the  road lined by that fence.  Close to the end, three cows and a calf piled on to the fence and Penny and I attempted to peel them off.  A calf put his head through the wire…and his body followed…drat. (That was the second calf I put through…but I wasn’t fired.) It was a pretty decent fence, too, so there was no good spot to push him back over. He followed along.  Sam (Peter’s son) had walked up from the pens and at last, he found a place that could be opened up, and he got the little wanderer back into the herd.   

We watered them one last time in the creek near the corrals (where upon 3 strayed up stream under the fence and 2 went downstream).  Gathered those up penned them all, and fed the horses. Ahhh.   Job well done! 

End of the day and all are penned.

The Cow Boss finishing up with the feeding

 Sunday morning, Penny and I worked in the pens to sort cows (everyone else was on foot). 

The guys loaded the cows  into trailers.  Ernie and his wife Ruth came with an extra trailer, and I took all 4 horses in my 3 horse trailer (just didn’t use the dividers), but even still, all the cows did not fit!  

Calls were made, cows were unloaded.  Three loads (2 of cows and me with the horses) and one smaller empty trailer left.  About 45 mnutes down the road, we met a new trailer.  Muscial Trucks.  Three way switcheroo!  The cows and horses headed south and the empty (bigger) trailer went back to the pens.  

I made it home with Penny about 7 pm  but Peter and David didn’t get the last cow moved down and unloaded until nearly 11.  

Never a dull moment!   

I’d go back in a heart beat!

I had to BORROW  a horse! I own 4 rideable animals, plus Zeke  in training (Mouse was sold to a lovely home!) and I had nobody to ride in the Pecos for Labor Day! I needed to pack Risa, Penny caught a lethargy inducing virus (= tanked show last weekend).  Cometa got it too.  Zeke is a bit wired to be a lead horse and Winston is just not ready–I don’t think he has  been ridden much and apparently not out of an arena (stepping off dirt onto grass worries him!) thus, streams, hobbling, and mud could all be problematic.   There is hope for him! It just might take a while…..   

 The purpose of this Back Country Horsemen project was to repair the latrine roof and repair the horse corrals at Beatty’s Cabin.    

 Arrived at Jack’s Creek and packed up pellets on Risa, the pellet-carrying queen.  I got to use my box hitch!  Love my box hitch!  However, the lash rope with my (also borrowed) pack saddle  is only 30 feet long.  It needs to be about 40 as  I run out of rope at the end of my hitch and have a hard time securing my loads! We packed wood for the outhouse roof on several animals, and top packed personal gear.    

The sun  left summer behind, even if the calendar has not quite hit fall. The sky has become intensely blue and the light has mellowed to a golder hue that angles across the landscape rather than searing whitely down.  The aspens gave their tender green to the spring and the leaves have darkened, about to burst into intense yellow with the coming of the frost.    

Along the trail, the annual plants look worn.  Leaves are pocked with insect bites;  flowers sag a a bit; seed heads are coming undone, sending their goods sprawling.   Autumn is pushing in.    

I feel a little melancholy. This has been a wonderful summer,  full to the brim!  I don’t relish the darkening of winter.  I don’t want to clean the pack saddle and hang it in the basement until spring.  I want endless summer!    

 Upon arrival at Beatty’s Cabin, the first order of business, after caring for the stock, was to take down the snag threatening the latrine.    

The top snag (dead tree) on the right has got to go!

Richard cutting the snag.

  If you look closely, you can see Richard’s saw. He secured the top snag to the dead tree underneath. Then we put a rope around the upper part of the snag and tensioned it to pull it away from the latrine as it fell.  Next, we roped the remaining bottom half, looped our rope around another tree for leverage and pulled our target snag away from the latrine danger zone!    

Peter establishing the leverage rope? Or just tree hugging? I'd have photo-shopped a bunny in here if only I knew how!

The snag fell clear! You can also see the poor condition of the outhouse roof.

 Peter spent most of Sunday tearing out the old roof and doing the detail work of rebuilding the roof supports.  I cut stuff–angled stuff.  I even drew angles and then cut them.  Some turned out nice.  Others…not so much.  All our work was done with hand tools, due the fact we were in a federal Wilderness area. 

Richard and Peter re- roofed.  See the pale trim?  I cut that!   

Almost done with the new roof!

Cheryl, Amber, Richard and Richard also cut and replaced a good number of poles in the  corral and rebuilt a couple of gates. I wrapped the poles with wire to dissuade certain equine beavers from enjoying the rails during  periodic snack attacks.  They seem to like the green and the aspen poles the best.  

Corrals in need of repair

New poles; me wrapping them in wire. Overnight they HAD been munched a bit.

 Late Monday, we packed up, and headed out in the slanting afternoon light.  My (borrowed) horse was in a mood to get home.  He fidgetted, he jigged, he tossed his head.  I was ponying Risa so I didn’t have use of both hands, and while I could manage him,  I couldn’t convince him to settle under me.  

We had a little top pack un-balance problem, so stopped to correct that and let some of the party go on.  I figured Borrowed Boy would like to lead out and this would help him relax.  Um. No.  So… 

I sang to him.  All the songs I could think of that had a nice walking rythym.  Desperado (my favorite song of all time), Red River Valley, Streets of Laredo, Oh Susanna, Home Home on the Range.  Unfortunately, my lyric recall ability is a bit lacking so I sang verses that I made up, verses out of order, the same verses over and over.  I was really enjoying myself, partly because I figured no one could actually hear me (Um. Wrong.) and partly because it reminded me of when I used to walk on the beach and sing–the waves crashing are effective at concealing sound (because I really do not sing well).   

The idea behind singing was to create a regular breathing and sound pattern that hopefully the horse would emulate.  This worked to some extent, but the edge was still under his skin.  Finally, I put him behind Cinco, and giving up all  standards of good trail manners, let him run his nose up her tail.  This annoyed her some but allowed him to ratchet down.  

Back at the trailer, dusk was settling, but the air was still warm.  We unloaded and I talked to the guy running the cattle in the area.  Found out his camp is out on Hamilton Mesa, and got an invite to come visit.  He will likely be there next year, too, so thinking I might just take him up on it!  

That could be something to blog about!

…Friday

It’s a Write Horse day!  And oh, the fun of fashion!

This week, Patty is again posting through the magic that is WordPress scheduling, while she has MORE TRAIL RIDING/PACKING FUN than the rest of us earth-bound mortals feel is AT ALL FAIR. So I’m babysitting again, and she’s looking forward to chatting when she gets back!

DuncanHorse and I will be working transitions today, admiring our TWO little Indian Paintbrush (treasures!) and seeing if the penstemon have gone to seed yet…

…Wednesday

Beyond the Rules! I’ll head off on the right foot this time and mention right away that this book, along with the first in the series, is now widely available as an ebook. Hooray!

RULE #1: FAMILY COMES FIRST

RULE #2: IF YOU BELONG TO KIMMER REED’S FAMILY, IGNORE RULE #1

She’d never planned to see her so-called family again. But that didn’t help Hunter Agency operative Kimmer Reed when her brother showed up on her doorstep, men with guns just minutes behind. Seemed he’d gotten in over his head and had decided to give his former mob “business partners” a new target: Kimmer.

Not so fast. Because Kimmer is no longer a scared teen–she’s a highly trained covert agent wth things worth fighting for. A job she loves. A house that’s truly a home. A sexy man who loves her and believes that family is sacred…uh-oh. It’s time for…

RULE #3: WHEN YOUR LIFE, LOVE, AND MANGY BROTHER ARE AT STAKE, THERE ARE NO RULES…
—————-

This cover? I got a huge kick out of it. They took the scene right out of the story, which is unusual for Silhouette–they go more for representational covers. But with Bombshell, they never really did figure out how to market them, and the various cover styles were part of that.

The best (ahem) thing about this cover is the car. In the book, it’s a clearly identified maroon Malibu. On the cover it’s…it’s…well, I asked a car afficianado friend of mine and he said (paraphrased!), “Hee! Hee hee hee! It’s a…hee! Frankencar!”

I suppose I should feel lucky it wasn’t a horse gone wrong. (I’ve yet to see a horse gone right on a category cover, I am sad and amused to say.)

From somewhere in the first chapter…

===============

Another glance showed Kimmer that the idiot had stayed with her, bouncing along the rough roads on spongy shocks–if anything, closing the distance between them. “He’s persistent enough. This isn’t casual.”

Rio glanced behind them. Kimmer knew that quiet tension in his body, the tall rangy strength he hid so well in his amiable nature. “The question is, is this about you or is this about me?”

“Your turf was overseas.” The Miata slewed back out onto the main road, a two-lane state route between Watkins Glen and Rock Stream. “And you’re ex-CIA.”

“Hey,” he said, wounded. “I’m good ex-CIA. I might have made an enemy or two. And it doesn’t make sense for it to be you–you don’t exactly work on your home turf.”

“Not if I can help it,” she grumbled, not bothering to point out the irony that she’d met him on a job she hadn’t wanted simply because it was too close to her childhood home.

Her long-buried, long-hated childhood.

She blew through a stop sign–not a significant risk on this particular stretch of road–with her eye on the upcoming turn, the one that started off with a decent paved road, turned abruptly to dirt, and even more abruptly came to an end, a service road made obsolete by underground utilities. She thumbed the switch to bring up the Miata’s barely open windows. “Check the glove box, will you?”

“God, is it safe?”Kimmer smiled. “Probably not.”

.

….Friday

I have a thing about saving water.

It comes from living with country wells–deep country, when there wasn’t any water to truck in (and where the outhouse got as much use as the toilet)–during a drought period. It comes from camping. It comes from now living in the desert. It comes from being a participant in the very first Earth Day, and my impressionable self being…

Well. Impressed.

Just a whole lotta experience where you don’t take water for granted, even when you’re not being charged by the gallon to use it.

Which doesn’t mean I don’t love and depend on my water, however it’s provided, or that I’m always truly prepared for an outage.

(At the moment, I’m on a community well system that serves fifty people and seems to be teetering on the brink of…something. Let’s just say my thoughts are drifting back toward “really being prepared.” A lesson rammed home as the water system went down in coldest winter the weekend after we moved, when we were, I can unequivocally say, not prepared in the least.)

Down the Drain!

Anyway. To the shower. Recently I became aware of a particular suggestion to save water. One flush per person per day…boy, does that add up fast.

Yeah. Use the shower.

I mean, you’re there, right? And it goes down the same pipes, right? And shoot, you don’t even have to mess with your pants.

No problem at all, I guess…if you haven’t spent all but the first couple years of your life being toilet-trained. (Or, for some of us who’ve been on too many trail rides, bush- and tree-trained. Now that I’m out here in the southwest, I’ve worked very hard to avoid being cactus-trained. For some reason.)

Maybe a decade from now, as conservation becomes more habitual for us all, this will be second nature. I think for now, I’ll just flush a little less often…