I spent the morning sewing yesterday ( at our home which is in town) and then the sun got all shiney and the Jumpy kid got all whiney and My Big Man was work'en on the house and gett'en all grimey (which gets me, cause he looks good that way, all focused, pencil above his ear and muscles working... oh sorry...
So Jumpy kid and I headed for The Ranch. My older bro called to say he and his boys would be out there too. Now Jumpy kid is about to pop with excitement. He loves those boys, they are his... they belong to him... he says so.
WARNING: this is a Photo-licious post. So if ranch life bores you or if you have Bovine-o-phobia, Half-a-Lizard-aphobia or fungophobia you might want to skip this one. Or I can keep making up fear-aphobias. Any hoo..
Thats my dad up there planting some cacti.
This is Jack... he's crazy and seriously lovable, but HE crazy! If you sneeze he jumps around in a circle 3 times. Once when my dad brought him down to our studio in town he let him out the back door. There was a cat and he chased this cat through a hole in the fence. Now every time he comes to the studio he sits and waits for someone to open the back door. As soon as you turn the handle he shoots like a rocket out the door over to the hole in the fence where the cat was... that one time... months ago. Now he turns around, comes back in and waits for you to open the door again (which you could do 20 times in a row and he'd still do it). He scared the crap out of the UPS guy once when he open the door and this big black and white fur ball shot out.
He won't look at me because I'm using a ridiculously long lens on a tripod and he thinks it's a gun.
Me and my brother and sister and kids pitched in and bought Jack for my Dad for christmas. We knew he would NEVER get a dog on his own and we thought he needed some company out on the ranch all day. He grumbled and groaned about hav'en a damn-pain-in-the-ass dog to worry about. He complained about the stupid-good-for-noth'en mutt getting in the way of the tractor, crazy chasing any and all shadows. and spinning in circles everytime he sneezes. Now the pain-in-the-ass dog goes everywhere with him and he loves him, although he'll never admit it.
You never know what you will find on a ranch. While taking this photo of barbed wire...
I discovered this... poor dude. I stood staring at it for a good while trying to decide the possibilities of how he ended up with such a fate. Did he get caught there and some other creature said "cool, shishkabob!... and eat what they could. Did one of my nephews find his already half eaten self on the ground and think "cool, shishkabob! and put him on the skewer? ( I warned you if your squeamish..run now)
I love cows. There I said it. There's nothing wrong with that. Is there? Actually I love baby cows (yes I now what they're really called but baby cow sounds cuter) The big ones are more stand-off-ish. The three punks are my pals. When I walk up with my big ole camera they don't run. Some would say that's because cows are stupid. I choose to think they just know I won't hurt'em. They're just thinking "hey there's our girl with that big funny black thing that she looks through while we just stand here looking at her wondering if she knows how stupid she looks talking to us." The three punks were babies when shot them here. Now they are teenagers and they look like goofy punks all what's up we're cool.
I love them
I don't want them to get big and ugly and not follow me anymore.
I think I need to watch Charlottes Web again. I can't keep the cows but there will be more babies.
See this one? He doesn't get me like the punks do.
Have you ever taken a picture of somebody doing something they really didn't want caught on camera
and then they give you a look like this?
Doesn't this one look like it should be the fifth member of the band Kiss?
You're starting to love the punks too aren't you?
I thought so.
Random mushroom along the way.
Older bro came down from the barns. Probably wondering why I am staring at barbed wire and talking to cows. Quick story about Older Bro... I have always wondered why I am the only one in my immediate family that loves spicy food. The hotter the better. Then the other day I thought about the time I was 10 and Older bro came into the room with his buddy (they were 17) and very thoughtfully they brought me a "melted Blue (my favorite) Otter Pop" on a tablespoon. I should have known the way they hovered over me with their giggle faced boy selves and watched as I gulped the tablespoon full of Blue food coloring & TABASCO SAUCE! I think I had my taste buds burned to where I am no longer sensitive to heat unlike the rest of my fam.
That's all for now.