Consanguinity

A few photos of the young Rocky:

~5 months old

about 8 months old

A few photos of Rocky the Younger the neighbor's dog's pup

~ 1 month?

I am no biologist, although I've been playing one for a few years. And I am certainly no philosopher. 

But I think what we have here is a real life moral dilemma.

Let us first state the uncontested circumstances. Rocky is a male mammal. Sweetheart, the pup's mom, a female. Neither has been neutered. 

If memory serves, when the neighbor kids first introduced me to their new dog last year, her appearance indicated that she'd recently had pups.

At their initial meeting-- separated by a fence-- Rocky was certainly a virgin. We cannot say the same for Sweetheart. (I place this in the uncontested category not because of biology, but of life experience.)

Let us now consider the circumstantial circumstances. Rocky is off-leash in the fenced-in pastures, and around the house. He is closely supervised around the house, less so in the pastures. He did go walk-about to visit Sweetheart once, but that was early spring. (So unless Sweetheart stores sperm... .)

Thanks to little neighbor Caroline, the fence separating sweetheart from Rocky is not perfectly perfect. Are the small gaps big enough for Rocky to slip though? No. Sweetheart? Questionable. In any case, we are in the pasture. 

Now to the errant data.

The neighbors have a gaggle of cats and kittens. They breed cyclically. I assume most die accordingly. Point is, when I turn the dogs out, they run to get a good whiff of the cats &  kittens across the fence line. 

While they aren't always side-by-side, Rocky & Missy stay pretty close to one another in the pasture. There have been a few times recently when I've moved along, called, called, Missy came and Rocky delayed. I have no idea what Rocky was up to during the delay.

So is it possible that pup that looks remarkably like Rocky is Rocky's pup? Sure. I do not think a fence really stands in the way of Mother Nature's Call. 

You may be thinking that this is the Moral Dilemma. Should we take responsibility for Rocky's apparent offspring? Of Course. I'll be emailing the Bartman shortly.

But that's not the real moral problem we have right now. 

We are separated from our neighbor by several football fields. And tonight, Sweetheart was on the patio, licking up crumbs. Her ribs were showing. She's underfed, to say the least. And she's still nursing three pups. 

As soon as we opened the door, she skedatled. We put a bowl of food out, in the event she comes round again.

And here is where I confront the real dilemma.  

"Sorry, Missy, I wasn't paying attention. What's that you said?"

"What's to be done about poor little Sweetheart? She's not a member of our family and you always say, 'Live and let live'."

"Ruff!"

"I don't know. Missy. I just don't know what's to be done about Sweetheart's state of affairs. But one thing I do know-- and pay attention to this you two-- 'Live and let live' does not mean there's no such thing as right and wrong. Got it?"

"Yes, Ma'am!"

"Ruff."

Rocky's Famous!

The conversation just now:

"Rocky! Did you see Aggie blogged about you?"

"Ruff."

"How thoughtful of her!"

"Ruff."

"Lots and lots of people read Aggie's blog. You're famous!"

"Ruff!"

"I see I am mentioned only as 'his cohort'."

"Now, now Missy. You're missing the point. If Aggie had named a raccoon after you, Rocky would have been 'her cohort'. Right Rocky?"

"Ruff, ruff."

"Just to be clear, you haven't connived to make the trip to Aggie's down on the coast, have you?"

"Ruff."

"I can't make any promises. I mean, look at the situation from my point of view. 'Rocky, Rocky, Rocky.' That's all I hear around here. And now this! Rocky gets blogged about-- by name-- and what do I get? Maybe a little vacation would do me good. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know."

"Oh Missy. We all love you. But not everything can be about you. Don't you think Rocky deserves to be blogged about by someone other than I?"

"Ruff!"

"I'm not saying everything should be about me. But for crying out loud! Much as I love him, have you heard him speak? He has a vocabulary of literally one word!"

"Ruff."

"I, on the other hand, am anything but prosaic. I am scrupulous in making sure my words communicate the exact shades of my meaning. I don't like to flaunt it, but ... "

"Ruff! Ruff ruff!!"

"Excuse me. Rocky hears something. I gotta go. We can continue this conver... ."

"RUFF! RUFF RUFF!!"

"I heard you the first time. I'm coming! Ruff ruff!!"

Fast Forward

and you'll find us all in the Den, resting comfortably. Well, most of us. Missy missed most of the excitement of the day and still has some residual energy. Poor Missy.

Here's The Story. It was Game Day. But there was no Official Tail Gate. So Mr. Big Food & I both planned ahead. Mr. Big Food made some homemade salami (a four-day process) and baked some bread and made a nice little bean salad, and we bought some Camembert cheese and some decent beer at K-Roger on Friday.  I took the dogs on a Big Run in the pasture this morning to really wear them out so they wouldn't mind being cooped up (haha) while we were at the game.

The plan was for us to park at Daughter C's new place in Starkvegas-- hang out and then head to the game. And then she called and asked us to bring Rocky.

Rocky naps while Matt & Mr. Big Food enjoy a cigar.

Rocky is awakened by Pushkin.

All went according to the revised plan. Matt drove us onto campus-- Thank You!-- and we took what was left of our decent beer, and our salami & little salad, et cetera and left Rocky with Daughter C & friends to be reunited after the game.

And then I looked up and saw

Autonomy

The current definition. I haven't looked at my crappy old dictionary entries.

The autonomy of the individual.

Let's see here, what individuals do we have? 

"Pssst."

"Marica?"

"Yes, Missy?"

"Shhhh. You'll wake him up."

"Okay. What is it?"

"Marica. I've been doing some olfactory investigations and I fear that funky smell isn't just the moldy drywall in this room."

"What do you think it is in addition, Missy?"

"Well... . I hesitate to say but I think it may be... . Oh! This pains me so to say because I love him so. But I think it might be... Rocky."

"RUFF!!???"

"Now. Now. Calm down, Old Friend. Nothing personal."

"RUFF! Ruff ruff ruffffff. RufffffffFFFFF!!"

"Now, now, Rocky. No need to go all ad hominem on Missy."

"Oh! Why I never!! You have cut me to the bone, My Friend."

"Ruff. Ruff."

"Me? A big silly sissy?? Is that what you are calling me? Because I enjoyed my bath and you cut yours short with clear maloderiforous consequences?"

"Ruff?"

"Yeah. I don't think that's a word either, Rocky."

"Well! Be that as it may, I aim to please. And if I enjoyed the bath Miss M gave me, and if I smell good as a consequence, so be it. YOU STINK, My Dear Friend. And come to think of it... . Well."

"Alright. Alright. Rocky. It's true you don't smell all that good, even after your half-bath."

"Ruff."

"I know. You are a self-sufficient dog and you think you can keep yourself clean. Perhaps it's a matter of standards."

"ruff."

"And Missy isn't a silly sissy. You know that."

"Indeed I am not! I scared the sh.. "

"RUFF!"

"Oh. Sorry. ... I scared the living daylights out of that fellow who came to the door the other day."

"Ruff!"

"Thank you, Friend. I am quite intimidating when I bark in my low voice and jump up, aren't I?"

"Ruuuufffff... ruffff! Ruuuuufffff!"

"Okay. Okay. Enough. You know, Rocky, Daughter C will be back on the Farm soon. Maybe you would allow her to give you a decent bath."

"RUFF!! RUFF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"What? Sister C is coming home!!???"

"Yes. For a little while."

"Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness!! We have so much upon which to catch up on! Hey! Rocky! Want to come into my box and snuggle and chat? Gosh! I wonder if she'll take us to the pasture?"

"R.u.f.f."

"G'night, y'all."

"Oh! Of course. Good night, Marica. Oh! Rocky!! C'mon, boy!"

"Ruff." 

Just a Reminder

Shutdown or not, life goes on.

A. Leland brought this couple to my attention the other day. I have never seen this particular bug, and believe it or not, I do not have a field guide to bugs. My guess is the smaller of the two (the one on the bottom-- oh, please! grow up!) is the male. They hung around for quite some time and then the smaller of the two went on its way-- no doubt to die.

In other critter news from the Farm... . 

We watched a male grasshopper die on the patio. Took a while. Nasty.

I'm seeing a number of wooly caterpillers running around. Not a good sign.

And Missy wants Bambi to be her playmate. If she could only get Bambi to understand this, they'd all three have a wonderful time in the dog/deer park. As it is, Bambi's not too keen on making friends with predators, despite Missy's high pitched invitations.
~~

Missy, Rocky & Bambi really are a sight to behold! Today, I saw Bambi, Missy and Rocky running this way and that way. And then Bambi jumped the fence. 

Bambi still has his spots. And he is fast. I noted a bit of co-operation between Missy and Rocky.  Bambi is a shifty character, but Missy & Rocky converged .



Is it cruel to take the dogs to the pasture where Bambi lives? Absolutely not. It is kind. 

This was Bambi on August 23rd. Rocky almost stepped on him!

I kept the dogs out of the over-grown pasture while Bambi was growing up. And it wasn't until the end of September that the dogs saw Bambi.

If Bambi is to survive and reach reproductive maturity and procreate-- I have no idea what sex Bambi is-- learning how to evade Missy & Rocky in the pasture gives Bambi a clear advantage among his/her peers.

Missy & Rocky are not a real threat. They play in the over-grown pasture. This is to Bambi's advantage.

My walk with Rocky

This will be brief, and there will be no photo.

Rocky was bored with the Pond Pasture and asked to go somewhere different today. That's easy! To the North Pasture!

Setting aside that we had to hopscotch around the fire ant hills, it began quite nicely. There was scat for Rocky to examine, and I checked the progress of the dewberries up by the leaning tree. (They are setting fruit and coming along nicely.)

An old photo. The leaning tree is on the left.

We made the right turn at the top of the west path and could really hear Mr. Cotton Farmer at work down below. We paused a few moments at the summit and then continued on, turning right onto the east path of the North Pasture.

I do not believe I have given any history of the Farm-- which is quite interesting, but long. For now let me just say this. The former owner had some kids who Sue at State Farm described as "hellions." To say that they had little respect for property is an understatement. We continue to find crap (and I mean that in a bad way) all over the property. Earlier this spring, I found a broken bicycle in the Pond Pasture. Rocky has dug up cat food cans in places he's allowed to dig near the patio. I'm digging up the front "flower beds" (scoff) now and have unearthed several spoons. (Who just tosses a spoon in a "flower bed?") 

As Rocky & I began walking down the east path, I looked ahead and saw a rather large piece of inter-tube right in the middle of the path. Nothing surprises me. There's even a broken down bush-hog near the pile of railroad ties.

There is no photo of today's walk because just as soon as Rocky bent his little head down to sniff the inter-tube, it slithered away, I screamed, and Rocky jumped pretty darned fast.

It would have made a good photograph. "Black snake sunning."

I think we will avoid taking any walks through Copperhead Crossing.

And now, to dig up some more spoons.

Nonsense and Sensibilitiy

Welcome to Tagxedo, word cloud with styles

Rocky. Rocky. Rocky. 

I don't want to offend Rocky's sensibilities by having his name in a smaller font size than Miss that other dog's.

Rocky. Rocky. Rocky.

CORRECTED: Chris & Rocky weigh 228 pounds

Chris (one of our guests for Independence Day) and Missy weigh 256 pounds. Chris weighs 179 pounds.

Alix (another guest) kept the official record and she & Mr. Big Food did the math.

Before Chris fetched the bathroom scale, we all wrote down our guesses for what each dog weighed (we didn't guess on Chris' weight). The "winner" in out little Guess the Dogs' Weight contest-- which was after supper but before Apple Pie and Vanilla Ice Cream-- was the person whose guesses summed, was closest to the dogs' combined weight. 

Drawing to a Close

The nearly week-long Independence Day weekend is drawing to a close.  We ate ate well, as usual. I've posted all of the recipes except those for Sunday Supper-- which was planned to be Saturday Supper, but we had so much danged good Seafood Gumbo Friday that we had Friday Supper for Saturday Supper, too. Recipes for (planned) Saturday/(actual) Sunday Supper's pork roast with vegan beer BBQ sauce and baked turnips to follow.

This has been (for C-- present perfect tense: begun in the past, completed in the present) the quietest Independence Day we've celebrated (past perfect? begun in the past, completed in the past?) in a very long time. No one traveled hundreds of miles to celebrate with us. 

These folks have a right to privacy.

We did not do our traditional Independence Day 50-gun salute to the 50 Sovereign States. 

Too bad.

We did carry on our tradition of reading the Declaration. Miss M printed copies and we had the text as presented in some crappy old books. She also printed out copies of the Bill of Rights, for reference.

Quiet

And of course, we had a fire-works show

starring Daughter C as Max.

~~

I have long attributed the fact that no one has been seriously injured or died during our several years of raucous Independence Day Celebrations (see gun photo, above) to the fact that folks followed the Rules-- not in a blind sense, but in the sense they understood that The Rules allowed maximal personal Freedom for all.

Here are the Original Rules, from our Independence Day 2007 Celebration, when folks traveled miles to celebrate with us. BTW. As I recall, everyone had to sign a copy of The Rules. The Rules were a Social Contract. Ha.

~~

As I said, it's been the quietest Independence Day in a long time. I thought it might be, but on the morning of the 4th, ...

Rocky suffered an injury.

You know what the alternative is? UPDATED

The alternative is you go get in your box.

I would never have dreamed that I'd have to command Rocky to get up on the bed with Mr. Big Food. But that's just what I had to do. 

A Degree in Den Management

Mr. Big Food and I used to call our room the "Master Suite" because that's what it was-- a master bedroom sufficiently large enough to accommodate typical bedroom furniture plus my desk that looks out on the shooting range, and a couple of other odds and ends pieces of furniture including the couch and chair my mom & dad bought some time around the time I was born. The couch is in dreadful shape, but I cleaned it up as best I could. 

A bi-laterally asymmetrical mutt

We mammals are all bi-laterally asymmetrical, each in our own special way.

Rocky is no different than the rest of us. His right eyelashes are black; his left, white. When you look at Rocky's face in this and other photos, do you have a tendency to look more at one than the other eye? Is it the background? What if the brindle more or less surrounded his left eye?

~~

I regret that I did not begin to measure Rocky as soon as he joined our family. By measuring his ear-to-tail length over time, I would have been better able to predict his final size. Under near-optimal conditions, the trajectory of mammalian growth can be described and predicted. If I'd measured him, I'd know where he is in time (now) on his little trajectory. 

Night without parole

Rocky did something so terrible this evening that I sent him to his box for the rest of the night (until C gets home). 

Parts of a paperback book

I accept partial responsibility. He'd been very good all evening, even while we were cooking a very nice fall supper-- baked porkchops, and some casserole made out of winter squash, an egg, some milk and melted butter, sugar, cinnamon and vanilla. But I lost track of him when we went back into the kitchen to clean up, put things away, and so on. I'm sorry I did. 

But Rocky has to take responsibility for his actions, too. Since I make the rules, I ruled that chewing up books was a very bad thing. And so Rocky is behind bars.

C will be home soon. She will break him out.

He is not pouting. He is contrite. I left C a note.

Note to C regarding Rocky's misbehavior

Other than this episode, Rocky had a good day. He almost caught a butterfly!

Suzy

As Readers Who Are Family may have noticed, I have talked (blogged) very little about Suzy, our Walker Hound who will turn 17½ years old in just a couple of days. I'm not superstitious, but I thought the less I tempted fate, the better.

That's silly!

Mr. Big Food and I were just chatting about how Rocky and Missy have affected Suzy's life. It's all good.

One of my motivations for getting a dog-- now known as Missy-- was ultimately Suzy. 

Mr. Big Food and I had a dog plan. When Suzy passed over, I would get a German Shepherd mutt, and he would get a hound dog. But then, Rocky came to live with us. 

Rocky's first day on the Farm

Suzy's a great old girl, and thanks to Rocky, she learned how to bark again. 

Now That's More Like It!

Top to bottom: Rocky, Missy

You should have seen Missy last evening when Rocky walked into the house! And you should have seen Rocky this morning when Missy surprised him in the Pasture!

Rocky is a good influence on Missy. She was a mess in his absence. All told, I'm down one pair of glasses, one pair of slippers, and many pencils. And I had no idea one dog could eat that many pine cones. 

Miss M. and I tried our best to keep her in line but you know, we aren't dogs! Rocky is a dog. A good-dog influence.

Rocky as a Work in Progress

I have written about Rocky's growth and development.

Rocky is becoming a very good dog. He is not an excellent dog, yet. He is training for excellence.

This is a non-trivial claim about this dog.

Mr. Big Food and I were talking about this dog this evening. Rocky is smart. He's still a bit needy-- he's at my feet right now when he could be in bed-- but he's developing nicely. He barks nonthreateningly to strangers.

He's made great advances. He travels.

And most importantly, he doesn't piss Mama off.

My garden helper

Rocky's a digger!

It's important that the gardens be tilled up at the end of the growing season. Our tiller is in the shop, so Rocky is doing his part.

We do a fairly deep tilling in the fall. Although the garden soil is much improved after two years of adding compost and rotted manure, and mulching with straw, it still benefits from tilling up the deeper clay layer. Over winter, the rain and wind will erode the complex structure of the clay clods.

I've talked to a lot of folks who've told me they'd like to grow veggies but can't on account of the Mississippi clay. What poppycock. That excuse does not hold water. Clay does. That's why the roots of the tomato that Rocky was busy digging out went down so far-- to the clay layer. When we till, we're trying to incorporate more of that clay layer into the top 6-8" of soil.

Our Mississippi soil is naturally on the acidic side. Simply growing crops lowers the pH even more. So before we till, I'll throw some lime down. And although I don't use inorganic fertilizer often, I will also throw out some "triple 13" (13-13-13, N-P-K). Some of the nitrogen will leach out over winter, but that's okay.

I'll be glad we did all of this next Spring. Well worth the effort.

Thanks Rocky!

"One Nation Under Dog"

I do so wish my computer was working. I've taken a photo-- good thing, too, because Rocky just got up-- and will post it as soon as I am able. They were laying on the kitchen floor. Rocky was pointed this way <-- and Missy that --> ; his hip was tucked in her belly. They are being very quiet this morning. They got their dose of flea & tick repellent Monday evening, which means they can't go in the water until Thursday. It can be something of a struggle managing them if they don't get enough exercise, which they may not have yesterday as we were in the Delta. Despite that, this morning they are very calm. (I know, I know. Just wait until this evening!)

We talk from time to time about the dogs' lives-- even Suzy's, rest her soul-- here at the Farm. As you may recall, Daughter C. rescued Rocky from a life tied to a tree in West Point, Mississippi, a town that's had its share of human-promoted dog fights. Missy spent most of her first five months at the shelter in West Point and had I or someone else not come along... .

I was reminded of their backgrounds while reading Althouse's comments on the HBO documentary, "One Nation Under Dog." 

No favorites

I posted a video of Miss Missy getting some exercise yesterday. And because I have no favorite dog, except of course for Suzy, I shot a short video of Rocky this morning, and thought I might find a few minutes today to post it. He is a real powerhouse, with a smile like a acre of sunshine. (I stole that acre of sunshine line. I can't remember where it's from.)

Unfortunately, I continue to have video upload problems. If I had 30 uninterrupted minutes I could probably figure things out (it's a google thing) and upload a 29 second video of Rocky responding to my command, "C'mer Boy!" But I rarely have 30 uninterrupted minutes. And when I do, uploading videos is not at the top of my "what to do with 30 uninterrupted minutes" list of things to do. 

So I'll just post a few recently taken still photographs of Rocky.

That dog can run!

And he looks so Happy!