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Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Getting Down and Dirty

Above, the undershot bitch enjoying life.

This morning, for the second time in 17 years of being welcome at this farm at the bottom of the world, I buried the bucket (see "Talking Dirty" if that needs elaboration). The first time, a young boy I care for asked me to and he's someone I can seldom refuse. This time, it needed doing and I was free. It was also a matter of not just talking the talk. The young boy turned young man dug a hole when I asked and the rest was up to me. It was an unpleasant five minutes with a little retching (I'm such a girly wimp sometimes) but the outhouse is much more pleasant now. Mission accomplished.

Other unpleasant tasks need doing. As often happens when you're the last house on a country road, cats get dumped, reproduce and start killing bunnies and birds. The bunnies, tho cute, do their own damage so killing them is good, but we have our own cats for that. The fantails, gray warblers and other assorted birdlife we like, and our cats have been taught to leave them alone. While grubbing horehound and thistles some days past, I heard crunching of bones and investigated to find cute wee kittens chowing down on a bunny carcass. We're discussing who gets to kill them, with none of us truly wanting the karmic debt (yes Matt, I believe in karma, but will happily eat the pig you shoot on my behalf). Kittens anyone?

There's another kitten that turned up a few weeks back and might get to stay. He has a name, which is a good sign. I'm trying to get an answer on his future so I know whether to take him to the vet or not. Sorry dude, I realize having your testicles cut off probably isn't a lot of fun, but the option is a bullet.

Meanwhile, the undershot bitch sent in error by a breeder who forgot to actually look at her still has a stay of execution, and there is talk of a possible home. She's also very cute but I'm trying not to allow her to bond with me too much. Pups make poor global travel companions. As someone who endured braces as a child myself, it seems unfair that an overbite should equal a bullet.

Out back, one of the acceptable bitches has had her first litter. Squirming bundles that sound like geese (I stole that description). Himself came in from inspecting them the other night to announce, "Seven fucking bitches." In a litter of eight, in a world where females are less valued, that's apparently a bad thing. Herself and I almost rolled around laughing. I think they're safe.

I love my life, shit, pups, loud American friends and all! And tomorrow is a special day, which I look forward to spending with some very special people.

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