Today was one of those times when I really wish I could look into the brain of this dog and understand what the heck he’s thinking. Or, rather, IF he’s thinking!

Gunny has gone for several days sans accidents. Then, he’ll have a woops or two and go back to being good. I figure that’s not bad, overall.

An hour ago, Rachel was sitting on Rich’s recliner and Gunny decided she needed to be attacked. He pounced on top and gave her kisses all over her face. Very sweet – if you ignore the way he snitches out of the cat box.

When Rachel got up to do something else, Gunny got back up onto the recliner and peed! Fortunately, there was a blanket on the seat that got hit, not the cushion. Still!

There was an incident about a month ago that really makes me wonder. If Gunny had been asking to go out, no one heard him. Instead, he went to the door, found Richard’s shoe, straddled it and filled that size 13 halfway up! This dog can pee like a race horse. I really shouldn’t have laughed, but how can you help it?

Rich is convinced the dog meant it personally for him. As smart as this puppy is, he may be right. I don’t know. All I know is that if Gunny continues to target Rich’s clothing or furniture, that dog’s days on this earth may be numbered.

Gunny - attitude adjustment wanted

YNP fire 1988 - used by permission

The summers of 1986 and ’87 were uncommonly wet. The following spring of 1988 sent more rain than usual into the Yellowstone ecosystem. Plants lapped it up and grew beautifully. Then came the drought. All that new plant growth slid to a halt and dried out. Plentiful dry fuels, hot temperatures, summer lightening storms set up a deadly combination.

The park service had adopted a “natural suppression” policy (a.k.a. “let burn”) in 1972. Overall, for the next several years it seemed to work. Fires were typically small and extinguished themselves when they ran out of fuel or other conditions prevented them from burning. Then, in 1988, 20 early fires had started and only 11 of them had put themselves out. By July, a few were still burning and had reached up to 99k acres within the park. The “natural suppression” policy was pushed aside in favor of intervention. Unfortunately, some of the fire fighting methods they used backfired. Prescribed burns intended to rob the uncontrolled blazes of fuel got out of control themselves and only exacerbated the problem.

The fires were getting out of hand and the worst was yet to come. Winds in August blew flames into 150,000 acres in a single day – the worst fire day of the season. Fire fighters were at a loss. It wasn’t until the snow started falling in September that they finally began to make headway. By the time it was over, more than 1.2 million acres were burned, 1/3 of it outside the park boundaries. Almost 800,000 acres, thirty-six percent of the park was charred.

We know that fire is a natural part of wildlife. It’s necessary, it’s beneficial (within reason, of course). The fire releases new life, especially in the trees. Seeds from tree species like spruce, lodgepole and others burst into germination. The soil was enriched with new nutrients all brought in the ash.

More recent (?) fire damage

Today, some 22 years later, the regrowth is nothing short of phenomenal.

22 y.o. growth after burn

Trees grow thick where once was just scorched earth. Intermingled are black and gray spikes – skeletons of the dead, ever-present reminders of what used to be there. Still, these are being slowly swallowed up in the green velvet of the new forests.

There are groves of young trees in some areas that are so thick as to make you wonder how on earth they can be thinned out enough to allow healthy growth of only a few. In some instances, forest service personnel will come in with chain saws when the trees are older and selectively thin them out, allowing the healthiest to grow properly. Other than that, I couldn’t say. Perhaps they do some of that on their own. These seem to have done well enough without a lot of help.

Not all stands are regrowing as quickly. One section of Douglas

This stand of Douglas Fir was almost completely consumed.

Fir was virtually wiped out and is still rather barren. Usually the thick bark of the Doug Fir protects it from fire. But these fires raged so incredibly hot that even these trees weren’t safe. Their regrowth has been painfully slow.

Interpretive Sign explaining damage to the forest.

There is no easy solution to the threat of wildfire. Man has interfered for so long the forest can no longer manage itself. As with so many things we have manipulated, we have likely gone so far that we have no option to turn it around. Our hands are in the mix. All we can do now is try not to make any more of a mess.

Source: National Park Service – www.nps.gov

From Bozeman, the nearest entrance to the park is the North entrance by Gardiner. So, of course, we headed south to West Yellowstone and the West entrance. I’m so glad we did! For some reason that we can only guess at, the bison cows were on the move. They may have been migrating, they may have been asked to move by the rangers. Who knows? But move they did – by the hundreds! In the dark of night, a miles-long stretch of cows and calves made their way across roads and past the lake. I don’t know where they had come from or where they were heading. All I know is we saw more drop calves (none more than a week old and many probably less than that) with their mamas in one night than we’ll likely ever see again in our lives.

Taking pictures of bison calves in the dark while in a pickup is not easy! Most cows stayed between their babies and the lines of cars. This is about the best I could do.

Young bison calf at night

We didn’t see too many cows and calves any other time through the weekend. There were several scattered bulls, some alone, some with one or two others, but rarely any more little ones.  Single bulls quite frequently, in fact, decided that they needed the road to get where they were going as well. After all, the roads were built for them. (If you disagree, DON’T try to convince the bison of this! They don’t generally lose an arguement.) Of course, traffic backs up even more when people think that one bull in the road or off to the side is the only one they’ll see through out their entire trip. We saw countless clusters of half a dozen cars all parked to take pictures of some obscure bull bison 1/4 mile out in a field. Guess I’m just a bit pickier about my subjects. Not much, but a bit.

Bull bison sharing the road. Photo by Jeff Linehan.

These things weigh upwards of 2,000 lbs. I’m not sure my car weighs that much! One time when Rich and I were first married and I was driving truck with him, we went through Custer Nat’l Park in SD. As usual, there were a few bison outside of the boundaries. (like the beasties really care!) Rich pulled the Freightliner over so he could “go see it.”

Say what??

He actually got out and went right up to the thing. And this bull was HUGE! Probably closer to 3,000 lbs.  Now all over the parks out here are signs warning idiot tourists (like us) to stay away from the bison, that they are wild and unpredictable. So, of course Rich walked right up to it and around the other side. All I could see of my new husband was the top of his head and his waving arms. (Rich stands 6’7″, so that gives a bit of an idea how massive this creature was.) I’m thinking, “Does our life insurance cover acts of lunacy?”

Fortunately, the bison really couldn’t have cared less who was standing where. He was just mosying his way along the side of the road and wasn’t about to give Rich the time of day…thank heavens!

We saw more elk than any bow hunter ever should out of season. The bulls were in velvet – some with nubs, some with more.

Bull elk in velvet

No calves that I could see.  A little disappointing. Elk calves are tall, leggy and very awkward when they’re new. Beautiful! Also didn’t see any moose. That would have been fun.

Rich kept hoping to see some grizzley or wolves. There had been numerous grizzley sightings, at least in the eastern part of the park. But we never saw any. Did see one young black bear, probably about two years old. He was just sitting up on a hillside, minding his own business. Didn’t pay any attention to the throngs of visitors snapping photos of him.

We also saw some pretty impressive grizzley tracks in the snow. Not something I’d be too inclined to follow.

There were a few other animals – numerous herons and raptors, crows by the hundreds! I don’t know rodents that well, but there was some fat, furry thing that looked like a squirrel ate a volleyball. It was living in the geyser area near Old Faithful. Someone called it a rock chuck. I don’t think it looked that much like them, but who knows?

For those who remember the massive fires in 1988, I’ll post photos of the regrowth on another blog entry. It is looking really good! There have been more recent fires, of course, and they are barely starting to grow in. You’ll see the contrast.

Rachel played and sang John Denver's "Leaving on a Jet Plane". (photo by sofamonkez)

Lately I’ve been hearing “Leavin’ on a Jet Plane” in my dreams. No, I’m not reminiscing about the Rocky Mountain Boy (John Denver, for those of you under 40). Rachel has been practicing this song on the guitar for the past several weeks, preparing for the upcoming school talent show. Considering she only picked up the guitar for the first time at the start of this semester, she did really well. During her performance, Rachel’s voice was a little quaky at first, but grew stronger as she went on – especially after recovering from forgetting the third verse. (oops)

Truth be told, I was very pleasantly surprised with the level of talent shown today. While most were visibly scared to death, there were some really lovely singing voices, some outstanding pianists (we won’t name names, Josh), and an incredible tap dancer. In addition to the music and dancing, there was a skit that unfortunately was drowned out so I couldn’t really hear – but the one boy’s costume (pink dress, heels and, um, soccer balls for a bosom) made up for it. For one act, a couple boys did a “marshmallow trick”. Basically, that was one boy tossing throwing mini-marshmallows at the other, who tried to catch them in his mouth. Actually, he did pretty well – missing a few, but catching some really tough shots. Silly, but a nice break for a few minutes.

Of course, there were a couple vocalists who might have benefited from voice lessons, but they had great courage to stand before some 300+ of their peers and put it all out there. In all this, there was one moment that showed more about the people in this school, and by connection, their families, than any other. About 2/3 through, a girl came to the mike to sing. She looked like nothing extraordinary – in fact, for all outward appearances, she might be the one left out of games, sitting on the sidelines of anything fun or social. Still, the kids in the audience cheered for her start as enthusiastically as any other. Her music cd started and she fumbled over a few words. The girl’s discomfort was palpable as she stumbled, hesitated, and finally apologized, turning away to leave. From across the gym, a girl yelled, “You can do it!” Everyone – and I mean EVERYONE cheered for her to return and start again.

Because there is one deaf girl in the school, an asl interpreter was signing the songs, generally using written lyrics to go by. The girl who was trying to sing came back and told the interpreter she had forgotten the words. (little wonder with all the pressure these kids feel!) The interpreter passed the music stand with the lyrics over so they could both look on, then the music resumed, and the girl tried again.

While this girl was singing – quiet, not really on key, but following through to the end – I looked around the gym. Virtually every eye was on her. Kids leaned forward, willing her to succeed. There were a few smaller fumbles, but nothing too noticeable, and she saw it through to the finish. She may have been no Taylor Swift, but her reception as she finished was every bit as wild and enthusiastic.

To a person, everyone I’ve ever talked to in the eight years we’ve lived here has told me how warm and welcoming the people here were. We certainly found that when we moved in. Today truly bore witness to me that this warmth is not merely superficial. Sure, kids squabble. In my last entry is a great example of some of the conflicts kids encounter – here and everywhere. No place I know is immune. But the level of support – universal support – for one who isn’t in the “popular” crowd showed something here far more significant. In this day of bullies, troubled teens and general identity confusion, there’s something redeeming about teens reaching out to another who needs them, claiming her for their own and helping her stand.

“Wherefore be faithful…succor the weak, lift up the hands which hang down, an strengthen the feeble knees.” D&C 81:5

Rachel

I wasn’t expecting Rachel to come running into the house this afternoon in  tears. Especially with Jeff right behind her fighting to hold his back as well.

Jeff

All four kids were agitated. Rachel was nearly hysterical. When I finally got her to speak coherently, she told me she was in a fight on the school bus. Turns out, it wasn’t really anything I could qualify as a fight, per se, but it was the first real conflict with one of two regular trouble-makers that involved physical contact.

Let’s see – how do we leave names out? Okay, there’s Girl A and Girl B. We’ll call Girl B the usual bully, but she wasn’t on the bus today. Her sidekick, Girl A, was.  Jeff was sitting with Rachel. Girl A challenged Jeff to his seat (temporary replacement bus while the regular one was in the shop – no seating arrangement, no on-board camera). Jeff told her she needed to say “please”. Girl A grabbed Jeff by the shirt and hauled him out of the seat. He lost his balance and about fell back onto Rachel, who immediately was up and in Girl A’s face about treating her brother like that. Girl A was right back in Rachel’s face, then turned around. Rachel swatted the girl’s shoulder, and Girl A gave a very weak backhand to Rachel’s face.

Of course, the bus driver saw none of this.  Amazing, n’est-ce pas?

There was more yelling, and Girl A got off the bus at her stop.

Okay, I don’t know about other mothers out there, but when someone messes with my kids, Mama Grizzly comes barreling out of her den ready to take on the world. Of course, I had to rein that tendency in.

What I was able to do was to call the bus barn and talk to the driver, making sure that he wasn’t going to just let this slide. Both Girls A and B have been problems throughout the school year. This was the final straw – for A, at least. Girl B was fortunately absent.

Long story short, Girl A admitted to what she did. I have to give her credit for that. She didn’t try  to hide from it. She volunteered to stay off the bus for the last few weeks, her dad driving her from now on.  We’ll just have to see how this all plays out at school and in the neighborhood.

Recognizing that not all kids are as lucky as some of us who go through our entire lives never having a single fight, Rich and I took the opportunity of Family Home Evening to teach a little self-defense. (Not your typical FHE, to say the least!) Ground rules were laid, e.g. You do NOT strike first, you do NOT go for the throat, etc. We even started off by referring to Chief Captain Moroni in Alma who did not delight in bloodshed, but was very protective of his people and their right to live, worship, etc as they chose. He never caused the first offense – not even the second. But when the safety of his people was threatened, he did whatever it took to protect them, offering his enemy the chance to withdraw in peace as often as he could. When they didn’t, he cleaned their clocks.

Rich has had more experience with this than I have. Okay, that’s not hard – I’ve never fought! He grew up with his brothers and he forming something of a small gang. When another “clan” threatened or beat on his family, they all stepped in. It wasn’t like they went looking for it, either. All the brothers are tall – 6′ 3″ (Ronnie) to 6′ 7″(Rich).  The others are all in between there. Growing up in Santee, CA, if there were any trouble-makers looking to prove themselves, they picked out the biggest guy in the room – that usually happened to be one of the Linehan boys. As long as it was one on one, no problem. But it rarely was. There were occasions when one brother would come home pretty ragged, having been cold-cocked by three or four rivals, and Ron – that SgtMaj Linehan, thank you! – ordered the other three to go find the culprits and take care of it. They did.

How is it that guys can pound the daylights out of each other, then share a six-pack afterward? I’ve never quite gotten that one.

We’re not going to do that whole “track them down and take care of it” thing with our kids. We don’t have that kind of problem here. Just the one or two who get a little to pushy and need to be put in their place. I expect this may be the end of the problem. If so, great. If not, I guess they’re going to learn really quickly to take care of themselves.  Could be a rough couple years while they figure that one out.

Then we moved to Yukon South, also known as Montana.

Now, before anyone makes any snide comments about our lack of seasons here, we definitely have seasons. Two of ‘em. Winter and summer. Seriously, we actually get into the 90′s in summer. Night doesn’t fall until around 10:00 in June/July. Pretty awesome, actually. But that only lasts a couple months. Winter starts in late September and runs through April. I’d love to say that’s an exaggeration, but we’re currently in the middle of another “winter storm warning” and it’s May. Lovely.

We did have spring this year. It was a couple weeks ago. Then another blizzard hit, and I’m not talking about Dairy Queen.

I was in the MSU library in March when I overheard a girl complaining about the snow. “It  wasn’t supposed to snow!” she had whined. “I just put all my stuff away!”  We just shook our heads, “Newcomer to Montana!”  Around here, you don’t “put your stuff away” until July – and then only for a week! Gardens don’t get planted until Memorial weekend, at the soonest. On a warm year I’ll try to push that by a week, maybe, but that’s only after a careful check with weather.com. Even so, you have to keep plastic handy to throw over the tomatoes, etc, for those last ditch frosts.

Tomatoes are another joy. The only kind that stand a chance are the Early Girls and anything properly started inside six to eight weeks before last frost. Wait any longer and they won’t ripen before first freeze in September. I lost about 40 heirloom plants one year because of that! They just take too long.

This year, though, I’m doing it right! My garden is going to be gorgeous – and productive! A friend disked up over 1200 sq ft of rocks. We (read: Rich and the kids) added several pickup loads of horse poop and shavings. We’ll till that in soon and plant ON Memorial weekend. This garden is going to feed our family for a full year or more!

Okay, so I planned to do it right. Remember, the name of this blog is “Of Mice and Moms”. This is where the “best laid plans” part comes in.

I had this wonderful little starter box filled with 70 or so beautiful little seedlings, all growing faster than I could possibly hope to keep up with. I never knew how fast pumpkin plants grow! Honestly, if they had survived, there’s no way they could have waited until the end of May. They would have been eight feet long!

I had also gone by MSU’s greenhouse sale and picked up a couple tomato plants and a basil plant for my herb garden (planter!). I was “hardening” them by sitting them out on the deck for a few hours every day to enjoy the sunshine. That was during the week when we had spring. The problem came when I forgot to bring them back inside one night. That was the night it started to freeze again.

Of course, that wasn’t enough. For those seedlings that foolishly thought they had managed to survive the cold, I set the box on a chair in front of my sliding glass door. It was just a little too close. I know – you can see this one coming. Door opens (yes, I did that) and knocks off the box.  Upside down on the floor.

If you swear in another language, is it still swearing?

Now, we’re a little closer to the end of May, and I’ve replanted the starter box. Things are starting to sprout again. They sit in front of the sliding glass door – only a few inches further back. I make sure of that every time I go look! Since even the daytime temps are in the 30′s and 40′s, these little guys aren’t going outside for a while.

Hey, at least my pumpkins will only be four feet long when they get transplanted!

Kinda grows on you. But then, so does athlete’s foot.

Actually, Britches, as he came to be called, turned out to be a rather nice looking animal with a definite sense of entitlement. My lap was no longer my own. Nor was my computer keyboard. Nor was anything else that was potential for getting attention. Not that he wanted to be picked up. He didn’t like that. Only to be snuggled on his terms – and that means NOW!

Ten years of this included the occasional scare. Once, Britches came home with several puncture marks on his head and throat and a nice abscess. Some dog must have gotten hold of his head and darn near killed him. I’ve never seen Rich ready to kill a dog over a cat, but if he had known the culprit I really think he would have.

On another occasion, Britches tangled with another cat. Looked like he got caught as he was running out. There were some scratches and small punctures on his hind end. We cleaned them up and applied medicine. Didn’t think anything of it. The next day we came home to find Britches holed up in my bedroom and looking very ill. His mouth was foamy and discolored, his posture was all wrong – like he was in pain internally. Bekah took one look at him and thought he was dying. We weren’t so sure she was wrong. Honestly, I was thinking rabies.

We kept everyone out of the room and called Sue Geske, our mobile vet. Sue came over and examined Britches thoroughly.

Thank heavens, no rabies. All that was wrong was a bad tummy ache from licking the medicine (BluKote) off his wounds. Stupid us! We never thought to read the label which clearly stated “Do Not Use on Cats”. The foam was his nausea – colored purple. A day later he was just fine. Oops.
A few days ago, Bekah came home from school and said she couldn’t find Britches. He had “helped” her doing her sit-ups in the morning, but Rich hadn’t seen him when he left for work a few hours later. No one saw him all that afternoon.

This cat has spent the last couple years staking out the foot of my king-sized bed as his own. He would leave for two reasons – food going in and food coming out. That’s it. Other than that, he was curled up in my comforter snoozing. This cat could make Garfield look athletic! So, to have him missing was, to say the least, rather disconcerting.

I tried to comfort Bekah, telling her that this was the first beautiful spring day after a typically long Montana winter and Britches was probably out exploring, searching for voles, birds, prairie dogs (locally called “gophers”), etc. I said he would be in for dinner and don’t worry.

In the mean time, I worried. On my way to run some errands, I stopped and asked neighbors, scanned the fields for hunting cats, and scanned the roads and ditches for bad news.

Nothing. So, I came back home and kept silent.

When my own cat, an 18 y.o. Persian named Blue, died, I was in the navy living in another country. My mother wrote that most difficult of letters telling me that he had died in his sleep. I had known it was coming. While sad, I could accept it without terrible grief. But this would be different. Britches was only 10 and Bekah hadn’t ever experienced the death of a beloved pet. We had lost two dogs – one to a car and one to theft. But she was very young and barely remembers them. I was not looking forward to finding out that Britches had met a car or a dog he couldn’t outrun.

The good thing was, we didn’t have to. That evening, just as I had optimistically predicted, Britches leaped up onto the living room windowsill and allowed himself back into the house, quite unaware of the drama he had caused. The question of “where have you been?” was answered pretty clearly when I tried to pick him up. The last time I saw a belly that full and round was on a python. I think it had eaten a small deer. Wherever Britches had gone, the gophers had been plentiful and seasonably slow. He was one happy cat!

Somehow, the continuous, impatient, entitled demands seemed just a little sweeter that night. And today, he has been back on my bed, curled up, dreaming of mice.

Welcome home, warrior-kitty.

Britches

What it also means is finding out that simply passing driver’s ed doesn’t mean the kid can drive! Actually, she’s pretty good skill-wise. It’s her perception that has me wondering a bit. Right-of-way is probably our greatest challenge right now. Despite several months of “Go, it’s your turn…That means NOW!…Before they get tired of waiting and go themselves!…Oh, forget it! Now, just wait until it’s clear.” Somehow, the idea of first come, first served just isn’t sinking in. She knows there’s something about “the guy on the right – or left – or whatever”, but beyond that it’s sheer confusion.

At least she had the guts to admit that she didn’t often move when I told her to because she wasn’t sure if I meant it – or if I knew what I was talking about. That’s just great. And perfectly reasonable! I mean, why should she just assume that 35 years of driving would teach me anything?

The car she drives is my 1984 Citation. It was owned for many years by a kind old lady who only used it to visit her husband in a nursing home. Problem was, every time she would go to visit him, she’d get hit. She gave it to another who gave it to us. It runs pretty darn well considering its age and history. And if my daughter doesn’t figure out right-of-way soon, at least the car won’t notice the difference!