the western side
Siberian Huskies are utter failures at being dependable farm hands. This is always forgiven because while they stink at chores—they are a force in front of the dog sled. I can't wait for the first real snow. I'll be out in lantern light whipping around these roads and we're not the only dog team around either. My neighbors Allen and Suzanne have five Sibes and mush as well. Sometimes I feel Sandgate was always waiting here for me. It's something I never forget to be grateful for.
I pulled the truck up through the notch* tonight and smiled. I live on the western side of the mountain, and every time I clear the pass I realized I just gain another hour of daylight. The sun sets below my mountain and the golden light seems to hide behind the hill. Every time I pull through and notice the new light I'm surprised and then profoundly glad. I watched a young doe race up the hill by Rupert Road and then turn around to look back at me in my loud Ford. The deer are all grayish now. Their summer coats look like they've been dancing in our woodsmoke. They now sport thick bristly mottled coats for the cold weather. They look like does in a badger fashion show. I wonder if the people at Project Runway know about me?
I kid. I'm a kidder.
So it has been decided: Chuck Klosterman gets the axe. Had I been on the fence at all tonight's episode in the coop would have put me in the stock pot camp for certain. Chuck flew across the coop from a resting position to spur me as my back was turned to feed the young pullets and John. I spun around to scream something I will not repeat here, and Cyrus, my male goose, screamed back at me for yelling in his monastery. (Which I think was both hypocritical and kind of bitchy). So I'm bleeding, Cyrus is wailing, Chuck is strutting around like an convict with a shiv, and I have yet to pick up one egg from the nest. I can't get to the eggs because Saro is laying again and sitting on a small clutch of her eggs as well as the chickens. If I get anywhere near her she hisses and Cyrus comes over to stand in my way.
Who knows? I might have a gosling on the farm soon? But this seems unlikely since Saro has approximately the same attention span for sitting on eggs as a Kool-Aid induced 4th grader would off her ADHD meds. Maybe when she's older...Toulouse geese live to be 40 so we're running out the clock on this one.
*The notch, for those new to the blog, is a 180-degree steep curve blasted through the mountain to get into West Sandgate. It's both loved and loathed by the locals and what makes a four-wheel drive car a necessity for anyone near my mailbox.