Ridin' Mules

   

    In July I was fortunate enough to attend a photography workshop led by  John and Barb Gerlach. We spent six days in the mountains of Montana. Yellowstone Mountain Guides  provided the saddle horses, pack mules, wranglers, and a cook for our expedition of twelve people.
    All guests and the workshop leaders rode horses. The guide staff rode mules or horses according to personal preference. Tents, food, and personal belongings were packed in by seven mules.
    The mules can carry over 200 lbs apiece. Some mules work solely as pack mules and can't be ridden under saddle. Other mules can be ridden under saddle and these are called ridin' mules. Guides often argue about which ones are which.
    One night we discovered that we were short one horse due to a lost shoe. Well aware of the discussion among the guides as to which mules can or can't be ridden, I volunteered to ride a mule the following day if one was available. All agreed that Banjo was a ridin' mule and that after a day in the saddle on this mule I would never want to trail ride on a horse again.

Banjo

    The morning of the ride arrived cool and clear with low humidity. The camp cook informed me that the way to Banjo's heart was through his stomach and that I should feed him his favorite treat, Tree Top All Natural Fruit Snacks. I walked over to where he stood tied and tore open a package of the Gummi bear-like snacks.  At the sound of the wrapper he perked up his gigantic ears. He relished the bribe and I left him licking his lips, certain that he was now very fond of me.
    The ride began well. Banjo had a smooth comfortable walk and he picked his way carefully over rocks, logs, and creeks. This ride was a cakewalk for him compared to his usual job carrying heavy packs up steep mountains. I did notice that he constantly swished his tail, a behavior that I blamed on insects that must be badgering him.
    We reached a beautiful green mountain meadow after an hour's ride. We were to have our pictures taken one by one with the mountain as a backdrop. All the animals who weren't presently being photographed were allowed to relax and feast on the tender green grass. While waiting our turn I slipped my feet out of the stirrups to stretch my achy knees.
    The rodeo was on!
    Banjo realized almost immediately that I was in a vulnerable position without my feet in the stirrups. He stopped grazing and bucked once. I grabbed the saddle horn tightly with my right hand, suspecting that I was in trouble. He bucked a second time. My feet flew up in the air as if controlled by some maniacal puppeteer and I became totally convinced that I was in peril. He bucked a third time. I sensed several inches of air between the seat of my pants and the saddle. I became airborne. Banjo took just one more step to regain his balance and calmly put his head back down to resume eating.
    Fortunately for me I was not hurt. I hurled some choice expletives at Banjo at the top of my lungs. Remorseless, he bent his head to ask for a rub.
    At least we answered the question "Is Banjo a ridin' mule?" The answer is a resounding "NO!"

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How Lucky Was That?

    Sunday morning I went out very early with my camera. Each time I step into the woods I remind myself that I never know what I might see. This might be the day I photograph a four hundred pound bear or a fourteen pound bobcat. Either of those would be a big "first" for me.

    I settled down with my back against a tree and waited patiently, trying not to fall asleep. Soon I heard a dog barking in the distance. A small herd of deer came crashing by. They were in passing gear and the only photo I took was too blurred to show anyone.

    Fifteen minutes later the dog came by, panting heavily and laboring to climb a hill. She was in 4-wheel drive low and clearly posed no threat to the deer. I thought about getting up from my hiding place to take her picture just for fun, but you might think that was silly.

    The woods settled back down and so did I. In the woods, if you are quiet and still a squirrel may let down his guard and come within camera range. Last year a squirrel leaned so far out from his branch high above that he fell to the ground at my feet with a thump. He nearly gave me a heart attack. 

    On this Sunday morning a little male squirrel scampered through the leaves to check me out. I took his picture, but you have seen plenty of squirrels and I didn't think you would want to see another.

    It was almost nine o'clock and beginning to look like another day in the woods with nothing to show for it. Grand Baby and his mother were coming for coffee and I did not want to be late. I began working my way slowly back to the house while checking the ground carefully. I hoped to see a fawn that might have been left sleeping under a tree while his mom went in search of her breakfast.

    I was almost home when I discovered a blackberry bush growing wild. What a great find! Every wild animal loves to eat blackberries. I stopped for a few minutes to look through my camera lens and think about how I could exploit this new location on my next trip into the woods. A movement to my left caught my eye and so I swung my lens around to catch something I have never seen before. It was a little hummingbird collecting white fluffy material from the weeds to add to her nest.

The average hummingbird weighs eleven grams or less than the weight of five pennies. So this is a very small "first" for me.

The Sailor Man

    The grand baby came to visit today. He has Popeye arms.

Cheese!

    Meet Winston. Winston has a reputation for being the Ferris Bueller of the dog world. I think he is just smarter than most dogs.
    For instance, Winston always does what he is asked. If he wants to. When I was making his portrait he had a wonderful time sitting and being rewarded with crackers. But when he was done he was done and no amount of coaxing, cajoling or crackers could change his mind. He wasn't ugly about it. As a matter of fact he looked quite cheerful as his rear end disappeared around the corner of the house.
    Winston loves his owner, tennis balls, and paper products. He is constantly on the look out for paper towels and toilet paper. House guests quickly learn to keep bathroom doors shut and paper napkins well away from the edge of the table.
    Winston lives in a home with loving discipline. He tries not to notice.
    He is never fed from the table. So it is hard to understand why it is that if you really want Winston's attention all you have to say is "Cheese!"
 

Scenes from the County Fair

 Hungry Clowns

Painted Faces

Talking Camels

Speeding Pigs

Dangerous Neighborhood

    This cute little fuzzy guy will grow up to be an Eastern Tent Moth. He is a docile caterpillar who allowed me to pick him up and move him several times in order to get this photograph.

    He is also responsible for an untold number of deaths.

    In the spring of 2001 race horse breeders and their veterinarians began reporting that pregnant mares were losing their unborn foals at an alarming rate. In Kentucky alone approximately 2600 unborn foals were lost. The value of the lost foals was estimated to be from 350 to 500 million dollars.

    After a lot of hard work researchers were able to establish that the pregnant mares had eaten Eastern Tent Moth Caterpillars. Those little fuzzy hairs? Under an electron microscope investigators saw barbs on them. Like a rose stem with thorns. When a mare ate a caterpillar the hairs penetrated the lining of her digestive tract and entered her bloodstream. The hairs had bacteria on them. As they traveled around in the blood some of them entered the unborn foal's body and caused a fatal bacterial infection followed by abortion.

    My apologies to any naturalists that may view my blog. These caterpillars like cherry and apple trees. I took this little fellow from his tree and put him on a flower in order to get a more attractive photo. 

    While fetching him from his tree I noticed a very small movement directly to my right. When I looked more closely I recognized an old acquaintance shown in a previous blog. They were one half inch longWheel Bugs. Mama Wheel Bug knew what she was doing when she laid her eggs nearby because Wheel Bugs eat caterpillars. These young Wheel Bugs were only 1/2 inch long, including their antennae.

    Eastern Tent Moth Caterpillars are interesting to read about. They make nests that are comfortable in a variety of temperatures and when they find food they create scent trails for their housemates to follow. If you would like to read more click on this link.

    If you would like to see an electron micrograph of a barbed hair click here. And just to add a small "ick" factor, there are medical reports of people getting these in their eyes.

Excuse Me

    A raccoon has recently decided to use the hayloft in my horse barn for a potty. This is called a "raccoon latrine." I Googled raccoon latrine and got 17,900 hits in 0.15 seconds. This is obviously a much bigger problem than I realized.
    I chose to follow the advice of a county public health site on the web. "We are the government. We are here to help." Right?
    I followed their instructions to the letter and cleaned up my latrine exactly as they advised. I had to wear protective gear and take multiple precautions as some raccoon feces may carry a deadly parasite.
    Following all this effort the obvious next step was to place something in the hayloft that would prevent the raccoon from returning. The government recommends either mothballs or coyote urine. Wouldn't you know it?  I was completely out of coyote urine! So it would have to be mothballs.
     I spent quite a lot of time placing mothballs all over the hayloft. This is not as easy as it might seem. My hayloft is not tall enough to allow an adult to stand upright. And the only 4 ft tall child I know was busy Sunday. So I stooped over for hours on this job.
    The theory is that the mothballs smell so bad (true) that the raccoon would not return (false.)
    After all my hard work I wanted to see how things were going.  I parked my car outside of the barn and was greeted by the overwhelming odor of mothballs baking in the warm spring air. Confident that this unnatural scent would repel any wild animal I climbed up to the hayloft. There, before my eyes, were at least six little raccoon piles. All of them deposited within inches of my carefully applied mothballs.
    I resolved that none of this would be in vain. I would get a photo! So I set up my trusty deer-cam and got the little guy's picture on the second try.