This Dog

This Dog! This dog turns 14 human years today.  In dog years she is over 70. Her age does not defies her. This dog is a mess, has always been a mess, and will for the next foreseeable future continue to be mess. Upon deciding all those years ago before actually having a dog, if and when we got a dog, there would be one simple guideline: We go, she goes.  If she can't go, we can't go. Therefore, this dog has always been a go dog.  From the very get go she has had the princess seat.  You know, the seat directly in the middle so she can see over the dash.  The seat directly in the middle so she lean on either human at her discretion.  The seat directly in the middle because it has the most room.

So yes, the princess seat.  Don't get me wrong, she has spent countless hours riding in the back of the truck.  Most of this time came, much to her complaints, because of the Kid.  It is socially acceptable to place a dog in the back of the truck, although much preferred if there are strapped in for safety.  It is not socially acceptable to place a kid in the back of the truck even if they were strapped to their car seats.  As the kid grew out of his car seat and into the booster seat, this dog reappeared more and more in the front seat.  Never having fully regained the princess seat as the truck is single cab, she is still in the front and not in the back where lesser dogs ride.

The best rearrangement to the seating was when the beep-beep was purchased in 2014.  This allowed everyone to have their own seat.  Hot dog.  What an amazing change that made.  Of course, anytime the front seat was evicted, this dog was jump from the back to the front for her place at the throne.  When made to move back to her seat, the mover was given Dog Eyeballs.  Having started out as a simple stare down, Dog Eyeballs have been perfected over the years and are now refined to a stilted eye stare down over a lowered snout with ears tucked down.

Having to make some adjustments since the Kid, this dog pretty much goes where she wants, when she wants, and how she wants.  And this is not limited to the human mode of transportation either.  If is possible to squeeze her big dumb head into whatever space she desires, she goes.  Over the years, sticking her head into undesirable spaces has gotten her into trouble.

Not once, but three times. In her younger days, this dog loved holes in the ground.  No wait, she still loves holes in the ground.  Luckily for her, now the holes have benign gophers not 5 foot (or bigger) rattlesnakes.  Within a years time, this dog lived out the Skunk Hole Song:

She stuck her head
Into a little snake hole,
and the little snake said,
"Well bless my soul!,
"Take it out, Take it out,
"Take it out, Remove it!"

Oh, She didn't take it out
And the little snake said"If you don't take it out,You'll wish you had,Take it out! Take it out!"Yozers! She removed it


This dog did not remove it and got struck on the snout three times.  The first go around dammed near killed her.  In fact, the ER vet told me to take her home and just be with her because she wouldn't make until the morning.  That was the summer of 2009. The remaining two strikes, a year later and within a months time of each other non the less, were more just a nuisance and a mess.

All dogs are pack dogs. Her pack is the three of us, much to her dismay, as she still only just tolerates the Kid. Her pack mentality is so strong she just can't stand to be left out.  Ever.  With age, this pack mentality had increased tenfold for every year she aged.  If you are going, she is going.

This dog follows when you cut the grass, clean the chicken coop, walk the kid to the bus stop.  She follows from one room to the other. She follows from the inside the Rainstream to the attached deck. She follows from one box to the other and back again.

This dog even follows from one end of the box to the other.  Upon opening to the Work Box in the am, this dog follows up the stairs and immediately lies down in either door way so as the person leaving has to step over her or she lies directly under the chair in which you are sitting.  As soon as she hears/feels the back doors being opened she ambles down the distance of the SAME room to greet you at the door.  Upon enough head room of space, with the love of her head in holes, she sticks her head out and demands attention.  It is as if she is saying to you: I walked my crunchy self down this 40' length of box the least you could do is love me.  Love me when the first door opens.  Love me when the second door opens.  Just love me.

This dog follows you like a monkey on a leash.  Hell, like a dog on a leash.  Except for the first time in her entire life she is not leashed.  With her age, she has less and less go and instead has more and more sleep.  She no longer wanders as wandering takes away from sleep.  Sleep is her primary goal for the day.  Sleep that must be done directly under your feet or at your side or as close as she physically can get. Spring may have sprung for this old lady dog but her pack mentality coils tighter everyday.  This need to stay within the pack is so strong, that being more than any distance other than directly under your feet is to far away. And once she feels left out, let the Dog Eyeballs commence.  As a mother, Dog Eyeballs are like water off a ducks back to me.  However, when the Dog Eyeballs fail her, she slips into her Austrian roots mode.  Yodeling.  With her yodeling, there are just no words...

Just No Words...

I guess this dog will spend her remaining years (one, or two or twenty) perplexing me and leaving me standing there with just no words.  Her latest: bone burying.  In the last few weeks she has decided to bury bones, something she has never done before.  And with everything else she does that makes little sense, she buries the bone in the one and only rock pile.  We live in a sand pit and she buries her bone in the rock pile left over from the last footing work.  Why?

Because This Dog, that is why.

Just One Inch

All I asked for was one inch of rain weekly for the next few weeks to two months.  Just one inch.  Rain received in the last two weeks has been close to just over a half of inch each week.  Not quite one inch, but beggars cannot be choosy.  Besides, how can I be choosy and ungrateful when nature shows its gratitude all around us.  Having said this more than once and knowing it will be said again more than once, I am going to say it again.  Nature does not give a damn.  I may be mourning the loss of yet another tree from the lack of rain and wishing it would rain more to save them but the wildflowers are blooming.  Blooming on less than one inch of total rain in two weeks time.  Amazing.

Lack of rain only really affects human emotions.  The trees don't care.  The birds and the bees don't care. The grass and understory growth don't care.  If it rains they grow.  If it does not rain, they die back and wait for the next rain.  If it continues to not rain, they die back altogether and lay dormit until nature says the time is right to regrow.  Trying to save trees is stressful and pointless.  This one of the many pushed over trees from Harvey. In an attempt to lift spirits in the aftermath, this large tree was pulled up and cabled to another tree in attempt to save it.  It was heavily watered and well cared for and yet it dies.

 Coming to accept that the trees could not be saved and not wanting a four foot hole in the ground to trap some passerby dog/cat/kid, the Planner covered up the hole and sealed the fate of the tree to nature.  Human intervention can only save what it can save and efforts above and beyond are just wanted energy.  There are plenty of other things that needs our time that will produce better results than attempted tree salvage.  Guess the one inch of rain was a little too late.

It's Always About the Water

Two years since Harvey has past and the trees are taking yet another hit.  After surviving the winds and the 25"-30" of rain during Hurricane Harvey in 2017, then the 28" of rain in one week during the summer of 2018, the trees may finally have meet their demise in 2019.  On average, the coastal bend receives about 30" of rain yearly with summer being dry.  This year at almost three-quarters of the way through the year, we have received less than half of our normal rain allotment.  Add the lack of rain to the higher than average heat and the damaged trees are suffering once again.

Having called the local Ag-Extension office, we have been informed it could be anything from lack of water, residual damage from Harvey, delayed shock from the excessive amounts of water two years in a row, to heat stress.  But what is not, thankfully, oak wilt.  Oak wilt is TERRIBLE and virtually untreatable.  Caused by the spread of a fungus that disables the water system within the tree, it affects all types of oak trees at all stages of age.  Oak wilt slowly kills the tree via dehydration.  There are areas within the coastal bend that have experienced oak wilt but currently it is not locally.  Yet.

What is baffling is the areas of affected dying trees is also affecting the native under-story.  Native brush that is almost impervious to drought conditions such as yaupon and American beauty berries. One clump of trees affected are the three large trees behind the water collection tanks.  Some of the largest trees on the property, they were some of the hardest hit wind wind damage. The fourth tree in the clump perished with Harvey had taken the brunt of the wind and fell over onto the other trees.  The remaining three trees have never rebound correctly and have always looked less full than others.  Another clump of trees are small, wispy and young in age, maybe twenty years in age or so.  Nevertheless, loosing trees is hard to accept when tress are so hard to come by.

 By the middle of August, I could not stand by to watch the trees die any further.  Water collected from the shower nightly had been spread amongst the trees.  Each day a different tree received three to four gallons of water.  However, with threes that are 36" in diameter and 30' tall, a few gallons once a week is not enough.  In attempts to stave off any further dehydration issues and not having water to spare in the collection tanks, the Planner decided to dig a hole to determine the ground water level.  If water was accessible, it could be collected and poured onto the trees.  Something had to be done.

Scoop after scoop and each bucket full was just a dry as the last.  Thirty minutes later and the dirt pouring out of the bucket was dry as dust.  What is normally wet moist sticky blue clay was hard chalky clumps lacking the moisture to stick to my fingers let alone form a small ball.  Close to four feet down in a hole and no water could be found.  If Plan473 cannot use mechanical advantage to dig a hole straight down into the earth's core, then shallow rooted oak trees are at a loss.

Another week gone by with not a drop of rain and the Planner was once again stressing the lack of water.  Monthly water level checks have become weekly.  At three thousand gallons per tank, each tank only holds about three months of water supply at our current usage.  The one tank is within a few hundred gallons of empty.  With the lack of rain, two to -three gallons of water is collected from the nightly AC drip.  This water is shared between the plants in buckets, the doggo, and the chickens.  Bucket plants are watered enough water to stave off death but not enough to allow for blossoms. Birds and bees are gonna have to find food elsewhere.  It is getting to be serious around here.

 And then after another week of dry, hot, humid days it rains!  Not a downpour and not by any means enough to fill the water collection tank or repair damaged trees, it was enough to settle the dust.  Lasting less than 30 minutes and not raining more than a inches worth, it was beautiful.  Chickens were clucking around happily, frogs were singing, and everything looked fresh and clean.  Amazing.

It was just enough water that it pooled in low spots such as chair seats but not enough to wash the road out.  If the random rain shower had been anything more than what it was, it would have been a mess causing the dried out driveways to turn into sticky mud pits.  But it didn't.  It was the perfect amount of rain for not having rained in over two months.  Now if it could just do that once a week or so for the next two months and things would straighten themselves out.  An inch of rain each week would be perfect.  An inch of rain each week would end our stress at our lack of water once again.  Not being connected to city water and not having access to unsalted ground well water can be stressful at times like this.  Luckily for us, those times have been few and far between.

And would you know, just two days after having rained, the city was seen installing a city water main down our cross street.  City water less than 200' away.  Almost three years to date since Plan473 entered the Great Water Debacle at having discovered our little piece of land lack drinkable well water and city water was a more than the cost of the land itself, it looked like we might finally be able to secure a city line tap.  Of course, a city tap would come at a cost outside our current budget.  But it is nice to know, that if in the future if needed, we can obtain a city tap.  Having lived on collected water for close to three years, I can honestly say, I enjoy our system much more than the chemically laid city water.  Now, if we just get it to rain one inch a week.  Not being greedy, just one inch a week for the next few weeks to two months.  That would be perfect.

Aah, Middle School

The Kid is going to middle school.  And after a long summers of "I'm bored", "its hot", and general complaining, I can't say that I am sad to see him go.  Middle school here is a major change from elementary school as I guess it is in most public school settings. I went to a elementary/middle school where there were two teachers for every grade and less than 50 kids per grade.  My middle school years had the same eight teachers, two of which were the same from years previous as they were the art/computer/music teacher and the PE coaches.  To say the least I went to school with the same 40 or so kids from Kinder - 8th grade.  The remaining 10 or so kids rotated in and out.

Last week was open house/student orientation.  Not required but recommended, this kid was all about it. Most students would groan, grumble, and complain at being dragged to orientation. Not reminding their parents daily and then pacing with anticipation the day of.  Crazy kid.

Yesterday, we had to run over to the next larger city and get shoes.  Had all other means for school supplies except the shoes.  No time like the present.  Look how big his shoes are.  They are a men's 5.5! This the kid who just out grew toddler waist shorts has a foot big enough to ski. Maybe this is a size of the things to come. Or he could just be one of those men with feet to large for his frame, like a family friend David N.  Yes, David N. as there are about a dozen Davids between family and family friends.  David must have been a popular name during my parents generation.  Anyhoo... David N. is over 5'5" and has a size 15.5 shoe.  Talk about skies.  The Kid could be one his way to personal skies at this rate.

This morning the Kid was ready for school with his power shirt (one his sailing Regatta shirts), two working watches to make sure he is not late, a quick one last new shoe smell, and he was out the door.  Of course, this was not before eating with his comforts: one toddler monkey blanket and his beloved Raffi.  Not quite a tween just yet.

This afternoon was altogether another story.  Treating the Kid to pizza for dinner, we sat at the table and read thru and signed each student/teacher and parent/student/teacher contract.  After the third teacher's warning against messy, ill kept binders, the Kid was done with schooling for the year.

Aah, a tween after all...

Laid Daily

On July 25, the Brown Leghorn (Ears, named for her bright white ears) laid her first egg.  It was so tiny it did not even seem real at the size and weight of an oval shaped ping pong ball. Despite all her issues with the other hens and Nurple the rooster, she consistently lays her little tiny eggs.  As in lays her eggs daily.  None of these chickens are daily egg producers, so this must be part of her transition into a hen.  You know, kinda of like trying on adulthood to see how what works best.  If she was a daily egg layer, her life span expectancy would be very short lived as it takes tremendous amounts of energy to lay an egg.

A couple of weeks into her egg production the eggs are still very small, comparatively speaking.  In the above picture, the brown egg is from the Barred Rock and the blue is from one of the three Ameraucana.  Both of these eggs are smaller than large white eggs from the grocery store.  So yes, her eggs are very small indeed.

Being new to egg production, all kinds of mishaps can occur.  The eggs can be all white with no yolk, double yolk, and paper,y spotted or irregular shaped shells to name a common few abnormalities.  Another example are too small or too large eggs.  In the case of the Brown Leghorn it was an excessively large egg.

Now, I figure having eggs is like having children and the body adjusts for large eggs as it does for large infants.  But if the human body has a limit on the size of an infant it can safely birth, then a hen must have a limit on the size of an egg she can produce.  With the strain of this large egg, you can just barely make out the wavy shell on the top of the egg, left hand side.  Wavy shells are stress indicators for hens.  Stress can be from weather being too hot or too cold, nesting box being too crowded, and from the natural age of hen to name a few reasons.  Continued stress during egg production can lead to early death.  

Hopefully the Brown Leghorn situates her egg production quickly.  In the past week, she has laid daily one tiny egg with today's large egg being the exception.  At this rate of egg production, she will be past her prime before her age.  Hens without eggs are then chickens in a pot.  Maybe not a pot with her.  Maybe she will have to be a Cornish hen.  Cornish hen with lots and lots of side dishes.

Barn Raising

Just like the words to a Willie song (with slight modifications of course)

"There's just a little old fashioned gathering coming down 
Just a little old fashioned barn raising going 'round
A little bit of sweating and a little bit of reaping
A little bit of laughing and a little bit of weeping
Just a little old fashioned barn raising going down"


Wikipedia states a barn raising as" a collective action of a community, in which a barn for one of the members is built or rebuilt collectively by members of the community. Barn raising was particularly common in 18th- and 19th-century rural North America." 

Apparently Wikipedia is not familiar with Plan473 and all of its family and friends.  Since before my time, this is has been how houses, barns, garages, sheds, hunting cabins, etc... have been built.  They are affairs filled with lots and lots and lots of family and friends and children of said family and friends.  They are affairs where blood, sweat, and tears will be shed while tales both tall and not will be retold yet again for the umpth time, and ample amounts of food and drinks will start and end the day. They are affairs were workers are glad to help and IOUs are not tallied up because every one of the workers present has been the recipient of a barn raising affair in their own right.  Plan473 is by no means an exception to this rule. So with that, Plan 473 traveled for a barn raising event.

The only thing different yet better about modern barn raising events is the usage of modern tools and equipment.  With years of family and friends comes the collection of a variety of tools.  And tools as we all know, make the job so much better.  Not always easier as some jobs are just difficult in nature such as welding backwards and upside down.  Standing on a rickety ladder is for chumps.  Baskets on tractors with umbrellas for shade in the South Texas summer heat.

Or baskets on skid steers for the higher to reach peak beams.  To add to the list there are also precut frames, welders instead of hammers and nails, and lots of ice cold beverages.  With ample family and friends and their supply of useful tools the barn frame structure was assembled and installed in less than a day.  Now the roof (being done professionally).

Plan473 has received more than its fair share of help from family and friends during its time.  It is only because of generous family and friend support that the majority of what has been accomplished has been made possible.  To date there have been tractors, tractor implements, mowers, welders, too many hand tools to name, trailers, and countless man hours.  Being able to help another family friend accomplish one of his goal completes the circle. And like circles, what goes around comes around.

One final note.  If you are not familiar with Willie as in Willie Nelson, then you need to.  He is Texas and A Little Old Fashion Karma is legendary.

New Toys, I Mean Tools

After months and months of indecision, the new toy, I mean new tool has finally arrived. Not a lawn mower, not a brush grinder, but a brush mower.  Designed to cut brush and woody weeds, the brush mower was chosen as Plan473 no longer has access to the shredder. Well I should say no longer has easy access as the shredder now resides with the Worrier about five hours away.  And with no trailer to haul the shredder on either, the brush mower really was the only decision.  Having needed to the mow the spray field over two months ago, the spray heads were now completely over grown with cord grass and they are over two feet in the air!  We really should have purchased this months ago.

No time like the present. Having read the list of the all the safety gear one needs to operate the brush mower, the Kid was prepared.  Instructions were read, brush mower was assembled, and the break-in routine was followed. Guess the Kid thought taking notes on the break in routine could be dangerous to the ears and eyes.  I asked if he has safety gear for his brain.  When asked why, I said his brain was likely to explode after not having used it all summer.  Ha, ha. Score was for me! He did not find my humor as funny as me.

With the break in routine complete, the Planner gave it a once around the property to test all variants of brush.  He cut a pass through the cord grass, across the coastal patch, around the water platform, back through the seven foot tall sunflower patch behind the trailer, and back through the cord grass in a narrow path instead of full width.  Not bad.  The mower did not like the coastal grass much but this is to be expected as it not a mower and does not contain a mower shoot.  Without a mower shoot, the coastal is too long, stringy, and thick to mulch easily.

Unable to mulch, the coastal bunches up and leaves windrows.  Another pass and they were gone.  But not before the doggo had her fun.  Uh, uh, uh, grumble, grumble, moan, moan.  She was loving the freshly cut grass.  Really going to have to video her doing her dog grass rolls.  She makes the craziest of grunts and groans.

With a quick lesson on how to operate and what to do if you panic, the Kid was off mowing the thinner cord grass on the perimeter.  As with all things currently, the Kid does not weigh enough to handle the mower in the thick grass. That was left for me.

When the Kid's arms finally gave out (hard to handle a mower with twigs for arms) I finally got my turn.  In case you did not know, I was born for manual labor.  Let no blade stand before me.  Except when it is home to a wolf spider and her egg sac.  This lovely specimen was one of several dozen I mowed around.  Some were in sacs and some were on backs.  I wouldn't even let the chickens see them.  Don't know if chickens would eat a spider the size of a soda can lid but this was not a chance I was willing to take. Man how I just love new toys.  I mean tools.

Repairs, Yet Again

Having spent the better part of the morning enjoying the beautiful summer day at the harbor wall, Plan473 had to return home to spend the afternoon repairing.  Again.  If major rust control did not happen soon, we will be living in piles of rust.

Some of the repairs are due to design flaws such as all of the window hatches.  The window hatches are made square tubing and conex paneling as seen more clearly in post What Light!  Hatches then fit tightly around the window openings to secure against hurricane winds.  Conex panels are corrugated.  Corrugated panels with square tubing makes for water pockets. Water pockets makes for rust pockets.  Rust pockets leads to rust holes.  Rust holes lead to unsecured hatches.  Unsecured hatches leads to hurricane damage.

To alleviate the water pockets, small 1/8" holes were drilled in the panels to allow for drainage.  The Planner is confident these small holes will not affect the integrity of the hatch covers during a hurricane.  Hopefully, this theory will not be tested anytime in the next near future.

Once drilled, the rust and scale were sandblasted off and red primer was applied.  The Kid's Box only has three windows so his box repairs were easily completed.  The Work Box on the other hand....

My box, the Work Box was not in the best condition when purchased last March.  There was already come major scale concerns and lots of areas that needed to be stripped and repainted.  Well, that was last March and time at the Salt Capitol City of the World has lead to even more scale and more rusty areas.

A sand blaster was used to quickly remove the rusty areas with ease.  Many tools could have been used, but with rust in rusty environments, it is critical to remove corrosive rust before repainting otherwise the rusty spot will continue to rust under the fresh coat of paint. So with pitted rust, such as the Work Box contained, a sand blaster was the tool of choice.

Besides being quick, it does a better job than any hand sander and is easier too.  Easy is better as there is lots and lots to do.  Working around the door was easy as there were not areas of thick scale.  The sides of the box, where yet again the panel meets the tubing frame, was all together a different story.

Scale.  Lots and lots of thick corrosive, detrimental to box lifespan, scale. To save on sand media for the blaster, the Planner used a scaler to remove the scale.  No imaginative thought for that tool name.  Scalers, are a pneumatic tool with a bunch of tiny rods that vibrate back and forth and about a thousand RPM a second.  Very effective.  Better than a chip and hammer.  Trust me, we tried that before the scaler.  Maybe if I had all the time in the world and no electricity.  Maybe.  So with the scaler in hand, the Planner went off to remove scale.  Went off to create more work as it turns out.

Full disclosure, this thick scale was the reason repairs were started. There was just now way scale this thick had not worked its way down into the core of the frame work.  Holes to be repaired are work but water in the frame work is bad. Bad. Bad bad.

After scaling was complete, I came behind the Planner and cleaned the metal down to almost white clean with the sand blaster.  From the picture above, you can see how pitted the corrugated panel is from the deep level of scale removed.  Guess we should have descaled the Work Box last summer.  Can't image what the Shop Box frame work looks like as they have been up over two years already.  Ugh.

Upon cleaning, the Planner attempted to patch weld the tiny hole in the frame work. Big mistake.  Big.  What was once a small hole the size of an eraser is now a hole the size of a nickel.  Spot welding is not gonna work.  Gonna have to modify a piece of sheet steel to fit within the space and weld around its perimeter.

After many cardboard template cutouts, the perfect patch piece was aligned, welded, and red primer painted.  Be as it is with all Plan473 projects, time was not on our side and the project was abandoned for another day.

 Of course, we had time to stop and play with the neighbors' cat, Loca (Spanish for crazy) ...

and her two kittens Beans and Frank.  Loca was already named but is the most appropriate name for a cat if ever there was.  Beans and Frank are the Kids creation.  Originally he had something boring like Bob and Frank but after explaining about Beans and Weenies i.e. Beans and Franks, he decided Beans and Frank were better.  Unlike their mother, Beans and Frank were timid and very cautious.  Loca, not so much so.  She gave into the wind and its notion.  Which is probably how Beans and Frank came to be.  Oh, how Plan473 would love to have kitties.  Kitties to go with the goat.  But alas, we are on a NO MORE pet policy.  Chickens excluded from this rules as they are not pets.

All in all, morning slack time and late evening slack time aside, it was a very productive day at Plan473.