Years ago I watched a movie Red Rock West with Nick Cage. I don't recall a thing about the plot, but I remember that he kept trying to leave this town, and would end up having to circle back to the town of Red Rock once again. Today feels a lot like that.
Today we're moving, damnit!
It's Monday, so the tag office is open. Quantum runs off to get a replacement tag, to the hefty expenditure of $7. Whew! At least something is going right. For the second time in a row we load the critters into the trucks and head for the storage unit.
At this point I'm barefoot, my sneakers (already half destroyed by Zen's shoe fetish) having pretty much fallen apart during the chase after Squeaky. And of course, any other shoes I own are already packed and inaccessible somewhere in the trailer.
It's maybe 11am by the time we reach there, and everything should go smooth, right? After all we did a dry run yesterday. (Oh yeah, and they managed to take the tire and get it fixed while I was trying to find Squeaks.) Except today something's broken with the jack on the front of the big trailer, and CK can't get it to raise high enough to slip it onto the pickup's tow ball. While we're contemplating this, Steve, Jesse and Steve's kid show up and save the day by taking over the problem and fixing it.
Quantum goes off to buy me some shoes, since I can't even walk into a store barefoot. He's got a friend who owns a dance store and sells very inexpensive (and comfortable) dance sneakers. Unfortunately when he returns, he's bought a half-size too small. So I find a pair of sandals (that I can barely walk in, and had given me giant blisters a few days back) and go exchange them for a pair that fit. By the time I get back, both trailers are hooked up, and we're almost ready to go. 1pm Monday afternoon we finally set off.
We're in the wind! We head up the 408, Quantum in the lead, me and Zen next, in the T-Bird, and CK following up. Fortunately Zen is very good in the car, and he's having a great time alternating between sticking his nose out the window and doing all he can to sit in my lap.
Unfortunately, somebody seems to have moved the entrance to the turnpike. No, I'm really not kidding. The highway department has been working on the roads and changing them around for years, and I've connected to the turnpike from the 408 before, but now we can't find it. And even if I could get WiFi on my laptop, for some reason the darn thing isn't working off the battery. So we get off the road to ask directions. But the place we get off not only says "no re-entry northbound" but there's not a sign of civilization in sight. No gas stations, nothing but roads going every which way into nowhere. Twenty minutes later we see a sign, "Winter Park 14 miles." I almost cried. We'd been driving for 3 hours and we were only 14 miles from our old home.
We get off the road somewhere in Apopka, find a gas station, ask directions and buy a map. The place looks like crackhead central. Very scary people hanging around nearby. Sadly I'm not in on the conversation, since I'm walking the puppy. If I had been, I would have known that driving through Mt. Dora was a way bad idea.
We're also having two other problems. First, CK is reporting trouble with the pickup and telling us it sounds like it's going to blow up, trying to tow the huge trailer (30 foot and heavily packed). I'm pretty upset with this idea, since we've just poured our lungs into the damn thing, getting a rebuilt motor and such. The second problem is that in the chaos of moving Quantum and CK can't find the walkie talkies. We'd bought two sets so we could keep communication. So I have the cell phone, CK has his cell phone. Quantum has nothing. Over this and the successive days, this will begin to drive us into madness.
So we head up through Mt. Dora to find the turnpike. Florida is basically flat, and Mt. Dora is, I think, the highest elevation in the state. It's all up and down hills. Quantum stops and asks directions again, because the map isn't meshing with what we're seeing of road signs. Some idiot sends us right INTO the town of Mt. Dora proper (once again, if I'd understood that's where we were going, I'd have stopped us. I've been here before for art fairs, and I know that not only is the town even MORE of a mess of hills and valleys, but that the road deadends at a lake. This is NOT the way to the turnpike. We drive through the tiny artsy town. CK's brakes are squealing, trying to stop at the multiple red lights and stop signs. To help, it's started to drizzle. We get to the dead end by the lake and contemplate the horror of trying to get back up the hill and through all those stops.
We make it back up and stop at the police/fire station for directions. Once again our caravan is on the road. We finally find the turnpike! YAY! It's late now and we're exhausted. We decide we'll stop at the rest area and spend the night there. We make a last pit stop, grab gas and beer, and Quantum says we'll get food at the rest stop. All the rest areas have restaurants, don't they? Umm, no they don't.
Meanwhile, CK, who has been whining about being able to make comfortable turns with his rig, decides he's not going to follow us to make a turnaround to get back on the turnpike. Now I can't blame him for being concerned about this. What I can blame him for is being a whiny baby about it. Throughout the entire trip he is constantly crying about how hard we're making things on him. So he finds a way across without following us, gets on the road ahead of us and doesn't bother to inform us of this. We get up the ramp onto the turnpike, going slow, hugging the shoulder and looking in our rearviews for CK. After about a mile, Quantum pulls over and I follow. No sign of CK. Quantum gets out - at night, in the dark, with semi's roaring past only inches away, and makes his way to me. I call CK's cell and wouldn't you know, the bastard is way up the road ahead of us. I later tell him that if he ever puts my husband's life in danger like that I will cut off certain parts of his anatomy and stuff them down his throat. "What was I supposed to do? Not make the easy turn?" "No, idiot, you were supposed to wait for us on the on-ramp, or at least tell us what you were doing."
Despite Quantum's prediction, there are no restaurants at the rest stop. We get back on the road and head for Ocala. According to Google Maps, this is supposed to be a 2 hour 6 minute journey at most. We left at 1pm, it's now 11:30 at night. We find a place to park behind a hotel, where some other trucks and RVs are set up, and I go off for McDisgustings. $18 later, everyone's too tired to be hungry, even the puppy. CK doesn't want to bother coming out of his trailer and across the grass to get his food. I'm barefoot, because my new shoes aren't broken in yet and my feet hurt. Quantum has reported fire ants in the area and has a welt to prove it. So I tell CK I'll let the raccoons have it, and leave it on his bumper. Quantum and I crawl into bed in the back of the trailer and go to sleep to the sound of crickets and trucks whizzing by on the turnpike. It's humid, hot and uncomfortable, and the puppy, unaccustomed to sleeping alone is upset that we've barricaded him out of the bedroom area, so that the cat can be safe. He starts barking and doesn't stop for an hour or more. About 3am we wake up and each choke down a cheeseburger. The rest of the food ends up going bad in the fridge (which of course doesn't have power).
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Squeaky's Great Adventure - The Move Odyssey: Day -1
If you couldn't guess, by now we're all pretty tired and grumbly. For me that means I'm being an absolute bitch (as opposed to the semi-bitch I've been before). By some miracle of circumstance we FINALLY have the trucks loaded and the garbage carted off and now we're going to hook the trailers off and drive away,
We arrive at the storage place where we've been keeping our trailers fairly early, and of course nothing goes right,
It's me, Quantum, CK the Roomie, Steve and the ubiquitous J who somehow seems to manage to worm his way into everything and thwart every plan. Also Steve's stepson (nice kid, btw) is there to provide moral support and a ride home for Steve but...not entirely sure why he's hanging out, mostly he's sitting in the car enjoying the AC and probably laughing at the antics.
Okay, maybe I'm not being fair to J. J seems like a nice enough person, and purports to wish to help. But he's like a seething bundle of chaos and laziness conjoined and he manages to translate that energy to everyone around him. And by now (grr) we are expected to pay/tip him for his time too. How can I explain the man and be fair to both him and everyone else? He is admittedly on Lithium. He is admittedly on other doctor prescribed drugs that he is presently lapsing in. Part of me likes him - he does try so hard to be liked - or at least feels sorry for him. Part of me wants to tape his mouth down with duct tape just so we can continue.
At this point we're all ready to move and we're planning on leaving from here. CK has his 3 cats in cat crates the pickup front seat. We have Squeaky (my and Quantum's cat) in a crate in the back of the Blazer and Zen (our dog) in the T-Bird. All five animals are of course losing their minds thanks to the heat and unaccustomed locations. Squeaky has it worst since the AC in the Blazer isn't working,
Through a combination of brute force and curses, we get the pickup hitched to our trailer. We all look at how low the pickup is riding and J makes various dire predictions regarding the trailer hitch. Quantum goes to look for the temporary tag for the trailers and finds only one. Just that morning we'd seen the other on the computer table, but then someone removed it and put it somewhere SAFE. Quantum takes the dog and the T-bird and runs back to the condo to look for it. No luck. He returns and starts tearing apart the cars and trailers to find it.
Meanwhile CK, Steve and J go to hitch up CK's trailer and pull that out of its space.
J notices that the tire on CK's trailer is flat and also dry-rotted. WTF? I could swear I told CK to handle that at least 2 months ago. They start jacking it up. It's about 3pm and sweltering hot in the storage place. The sun is reflecting off asphalt and cement and Squeaky is in the back of the Blazer, panting like mad. I make everyone stop jacking up the trailer and unhitch it from the Blazer (we've just discovered that the back hatch won't open while the trailer is hitched up and in the way) so that I can put Squeaky in the AC'd pickup with CK's cats. I take Squeaky out of the larger hand-built travel crate and put him in a smaller carrier crate to move him into the truck. Now the door on this thing has had a history of being finicky and hard to secure. As I carry him towards the pickup, CK says, "why don't you put him in the T-Bird and we'll drive over to the pickup?" (which is several hundred yards away). Since this will require making space in the car, changing the seat configuration and such, I'm too hot and irritated to go for that. I'll just walk. Stupid move.
Suddenly the door busts open on the carrier, and Squeaky leaps out. Hot, confused and startled, he races for the fence and runs into the swamp alongside the storage place. I try to catch up to him, but not a chance. He slips through the fence just as I reach it. I try calling him from the fence, but not a chance he's coming to me right now.
I scream at CK to grab the car and drive me around, outside of the storage place and to the other side of the fence and tell him to go get Quantum. Wearing sneakers and a thin skirt I plunge into the forest/swamp. It's a tangle of cabbage palms, sharp thorny vines and tree thickets. To the west there's a deep stream, which at least means that Squeaky can only travel north or south. Unless he gets eaten by an alligator. The going is thick and precarious. In most places there are fallen branches disguising holes and drop offs. Within minutes my arms and legs are stinging from numerous cuts. I'm calling to the cat, but no answer. I finally make it back to where I'd dropped the carrier, the approximate location where he'd gone in. I scream to CK and Steve to get me cat treats or something to let me call the cat with. All they can find is a bag of energy chews in a foil bag (it at least makes the same noise as a treat bag) and an old bag of catnip. I'm calling the cat and crying.
The past year and a half since we got the puppy has been hard on Squeaky, Zen is a boisterous little monster, and although he's sweet and only wants to play, he's not aware of his strength, and we've been afraid he'll hurt one of the cats by being too rough. So poor Squeaks has been pretty much confined to the bedroom, only getting to socialize with me at night. The plan for the new house is lots of cat-accessible space where the dog won't be able to go, and an outdoor cat-run so they can even enjoy being outside while safe from raptors. But will Squeaky ever make it there, now that it's finally in reach? Does he even want to come back to me?
Since it's a Florida afternoon, a thunderstorm starts up. I yell to the group to get Quantum (not sure WHERE he is, probably still digging for the trailer tag) and to get me a machete/sword (with exact detail where I put it) so I can hack through the underbrush and the pants to my gi (the only pair of pants I own). After several trial attempts they find a Bowie knife and my pants. Wet, covered with sand and mud, I manage to cram myself into the pants - backwards somehow. I struggle back out of them and put them on the right way. Having given up on the cat being in the same place, I plunge northward, At least I can move now without getting cut too much.
This length of the storage place is maybe a half-mile long. I wonder what's beyond it and what I'll do if I reach the end with no Squeaky in sight. I'm thinking about gators and cottonmouths and water moccasins and trying to traverse this mess without falling into the stream or breaking my leg in a pitfall. And when I reach the end of the fence, what sort of swamp mess is beyond it?
I know that if I don't find my boy, I'm going to be spending the night here. I'll tell Quantum to get me a blanket and some cigarettes and a few beers and I'll wait here until I find my little guy. Will Quantum be willing to let me do it without giving me a world of grief? Can I send him and CK onwards, and then drive the T-Bird to Atlanta and put myself on a plane the rest of the way?
Oh kitty, I'm so sorry. Life is supposed to be so much better for us in Colorado. Please, where are you?
Eventually I'm in sight of the end of the fence and storage facilities. No Squeaky. Could he still be back where he left me? Did he go towards the road and is now dodging cars? O please Goddess, give me a miracle.
I'll...damn, I know the gods don't bargain, so I know it's silly to make a list of improvements I'll make in my life if you bring him back to me. But please, just help me find my kitty.
The thunderstorm stops. Back to the south of me, I hear birds calling. The strident sort of sound they make when disturbed. I head back down along the fence. "Squeaky? Here kitty! Where are you?"
Steve finds me from the interior side of the fence. I press him to get me a cigarette. And a beer. Gods know I need one, and I won't be driving anywhere tonight, that's for sure. And the cat treats, after I describe once again where to find them. I can tell Steve thinks I'll never see my kitty again and I should let him go.
I take a few moments to smoke and drink and cry.
Jesse comes along the inside of the fence. Like an idiot he's shaking the chain link and yelling "here kitty" and making enough racket that it would drive Squeaky away in terror. Is he trying to help? Is he just trying to be funny? Thank gods for the fence, I might have killed him if I could have reached him at that moment.
I chase him away finally and make my way back south. More bird calls. Please let it be a sign. I make my way back to where I originally lost Squeaky, my heart in despair, thinking of all the wrongs I did to this poor good faithful kitty. Can he survive in the swamp? Will he make his way to civilization and be herded up by Animal Control only after I've given up? Will he go feral? Is he even now gasping as the poison of a water moccasin surges through his body? Why isn't he coming to my call?
Again, I reach the area where I'd last seen him. I sink to my knees in dirt and let out a mournful "meow". Maybe he'll hear and react to that?
And suddenly I think I hear his own meow. Is it possible? I meow again, call his name. And then trapsing through the swamp and tree trunks I see a tiny moving black shape.
No, it's got to be my imagination. In the past...hour? three? I've seen numerous dark objects that turned out to be roots or shadows. And yet here he is, casually weaving toward me.
I don't want to startle him, so I shake out a couple cat treats and offer them to him. He comes close enough to pet, but just barely out of grasping range. I say furious "thank yous" to the Goddess and try to entice him just a hair closer.
At that moment I hear the roar of the T-Bird's engine. Quantum pulls up across the fence from me, parks, opens the door. Zen is inside the car and starts barking.
Squeaky bolts for a thicket. Oh gods no! I scream at Quantum to get the heck out of there. Shut off the car. Close the door. Take the puppy away! "I almost had him."
"You found him?" Quantum says, shocked,
"And now he's gone again."
But after Quantum backs off, Squeaky returns. I entice him with treats, call to him, eventually pounce on his furry little butt. I manage to get him to the fence and push him under and Quantum gets him in a box,
I make my way back to the road and push through the tangle towards the entrance to the storage place. I'm filthy, covered in sand and my own blood, carrying a Bowie knife. Shivering with relief and terror. A car honks at me as I walk past. No doubt he thinks I'm the weirdest, scariest bag lady he's ever seen.
We go back to the condo, me crying all over again. It takes me two shower attempts to get all the sand and dirt off. But my Squeaky is going to Colorado!
We arrive at the storage place where we've been keeping our trailers fairly early, and of course nothing goes right,
It's me, Quantum, CK the Roomie, Steve and the ubiquitous J who somehow seems to manage to worm his way into everything and thwart every plan. Also Steve's stepson (nice kid, btw) is there to provide moral support and a ride home for Steve but...not entirely sure why he's hanging out, mostly he's sitting in the car enjoying the AC and probably laughing at the antics.
Okay, maybe I'm not being fair to J. J seems like a nice enough person, and purports to wish to help. But he's like a seething bundle of chaos and laziness conjoined and he manages to translate that energy to everyone around him. And by now (grr) we are expected to pay/tip him for his time too. How can I explain the man and be fair to both him and everyone else? He is admittedly on Lithium. He is admittedly on other doctor prescribed drugs that he is presently lapsing in. Part of me likes him - he does try so hard to be liked - or at least feels sorry for him. Part of me wants to tape his mouth down with duct tape just so we can continue.
At this point we're all ready to move and we're planning on leaving from here. CK has his 3 cats in cat crates the pickup front seat. We have Squeaky (my and Quantum's cat) in a crate in the back of the Blazer and Zen (our dog) in the T-Bird. All five animals are of course losing their minds thanks to the heat and unaccustomed locations. Squeaky has it worst since the AC in the Blazer isn't working,
Through a combination of brute force and curses, we get the pickup hitched to our trailer. We all look at how low the pickup is riding and J makes various dire predictions regarding the trailer hitch. Quantum goes to look for the temporary tag for the trailers and finds only one. Just that morning we'd seen the other on the computer table, but then someone removed it and put it somewhere SAFE. Quantum takes the dog and the T-bird and runs back to the condo to look for it. No luck. He returns and starts tearing apart the cars and trailers to find it.
Meanwhile CK, Steve and J go to hitch up CK's trailer and pull that out of its space.
J notices that the tire on CK's trailer is flat and also dry-rotted. WTF? I could swear I told CK to handle that at least 2 months ago. They start jacking it up. It's about 3pm and sweltering hot in the storage place. The sun is reflecting off asphalt and cement and Squeaky is in the back of the Blazer, panting like mad. I make everyone stop jacking up the trailer and unhitch it from the Blazer (we've just discovered that the back hatch won't open while the trailer is hitched up and in the way) so that I can put Squeaky in the AC'd pickup with CK's cats. I take Squeaky out of the larger hand-built travel crate and put him in a smaller carrier crate to move him into the truck. Now the door on this thing has had a history of being finicky and hard to secure. As I carry him towards the pickup, CK says, "why don't you put him in the T-Bird and we'll drive over to the pickup?" (which is several hundred yards away). Since this will require making space in the car, changing the seat configuration and such, I'm too hot and irritated to go for that. I'll just walk. Stupid move.
Suddenly the door busts open on the carrier, and Squeaky leaps out. Hot, confused and startled, he races for the fence and runs into the swamp alongside the storage place. I try to catch up to him, but not a chance. He slips through the fence just as I reach it. I try calling him from the fence, but not a chance he's coming to me right now.
I scream at CK to grab the car and drive me around, outside of the storage place and to the other side of the fence and tell him to go get Quantum. Wearing sneakers and a thin skirt I plunge into the forest/swamp. It's a tangle of cabbage palms, sharp thorny vines and tree thickets. To the west there's a deep stream, which at least means that Squeaky can only travel north or south. Unless he gets eaten by an alligator. The going is thick and precarious. In most places there are fallen branches disguising holes and drop offs. Within minutes my arms and legs are stinging from numerous cuts. I'm calling to the cat, but no answer. I finally make it back to where I'd dropped the carrier, the approximate location where he'd gone in. I scream to CK and Steve to get me cat treats or something to let me call the cat with. All they can find is a bag of energy chews in a foil bag (it at least makes the same noise as a treat bag) and an old bag of catnip. I'm calling the cat and crying.
The past year and a half since we got the puppy has been hard on Squeaky, Zen is a boisterous little monster, and although he's sweet and only wants to play, he's not aware of his strength, and we've been afraid he'll hurt one of the cats by being too rough. So poor Squeaks has been pretty much confined to the bedroom, only getting to socialize with me at night. The plan for the new house is lots of cat-accessible space where the dog won't be able to go, and an outdoor cat-run so they can even enjoy being outside while safe from raptors. But will Squeaky ever make it there, now that it's finally in reach? Does he even want to come back to me?
Since it's a Florida afternoon, a thunderstorm starts up. I yell to the group to get Quantum (not sure WHERE he is, probably still digging for the trailer tag) and to get me a machete/sword (with exact detail where I put it) so I can hack through the underbrush and the pants to my gi (the only pair of pants I own). After several trial attempts they find a Bowie knife and my pants. Wet, covered with sand and mud, I manage to cram myself into the pants - backwards somehow. I struggle back out of them and put them on the right way. Having given up on the cat being in the same place, I plunge northward, At least I can move now without getting cut too much.
This length of the storage place is maybe a half-mile long. I wonder what's beyond it and what I'll do if I reach the end with no Squeaky in sight. I'm thinking about gators and cottonmouths and water moccasins and trying to traverse this mess without falling into the stream or breaking my leg in a pitfall. And when I reach the end of the fence, what sort of swamp mess is beyond it?
I know that if I don't find my boy, I'm going to be spending the night here. I'll tell Quantum to get me a blanket and some cigarettes and a few beers and I'll wait here until I find my little guy. Will Quantum be willing to let me do it without giving me a world of grief? Can I send him and CK onwards, and then drive the T-Bird to Atlanta and put myself on a plane the rest of the way?
Oh kitty, I'm so sorry. Life is supposed to be so much better for us in Colorado. Please, where are you?
Eventually I'm in sight of the end of the fence and storage facilities. No Squeaky. Could he still be back where he left me? Did he go towards the road and is now dodging cars? O please Goddess, give me a miracle.
I'll...damn, I know the gods don't bargain, so I know it's silly to make a list of improvements I'll make in my life if you bring him back to me. But please, just help me find my kitty.
The thunderstorm stops. Back to the south of me, I hear birds calling. The strident sort of sound they make when disturbed. I head back down along the fence. "Squeaky? Here kitty! Where are you?"
Steve finds me from the interior side of the fence. I press him to get me a cigarette. And a beer. Gods know I need one, and I won't be driving anywhere tonight, that's for sure. And the cat treats, after I describe once again where to find them. I can tell Steve thinks I'll never see my kitty again and I should let him go.
I take a few moments to smoke and drink and cry.
Jesse comes along the inside of the fence. Like an idiot he's shaking the chain link and yelling "here kitty" and making enough racket that it would drive Squeaky away in terror. Is he trying to help? Is he just trying to be funny? Thank gods for the fence, I might have killed him if I could have reached him at that moment.
I chase him away finally and make my way back south. More bird calls. Please let it be a sign. I make my way back to where I originally lost Squeaky, my heart in despair, thinking of all the wrongs I did to this poor good faithful kitty. Can he survive in the swamp? Will he make his way to civilization and be herded up by Animal Control only after I've given up? Will he go feral? Is he even now gasping as the poison of a water moccasin surges through his body? Why isn't he coming to my call?
Again, I reach the area where I'd last seen him. I sink to my knees in dirt and let out a mournful "meow". Maybe he'll hear and react to that?
And suddenly I think I hear his own meow. Is it possible? I meow again, call his name. And then trapsing through the swamp and tree trunks I see a tiny moving black shape.
No, it's got to be my imagination. In the past...hour? three? I've seen numerous dark objects that turned out to be roots or shadows. And yet here he is, casually weaving toward me.
I don't want to startle him, so I shake out a couple cat treats and offer them to him. He comes close enough to pet, but just barely out of grasping range. I say furious "thank yous" to the Goddess and try to entice him just a hair closer.
At that moment I hear the roar of the T-Bird's engine. Quantum pulls up across the fence from me, parks, opens the door. Zen is inside the car and starts barking.
Squeaky bolts for a thicket. Oh gods no! I scream at Quantum to get the heck out of there. Shut off the car. Close the door. Take the puppy away! "I almost had him."
"You found him?" Quantum says, shocked,
"And now he's gone again."
But after Quantum backs off, Squeaky returns. I entice him with treats, call to him, eventually pounce on his furry little butt. I manage to get him to the fence and push him under and Quantum gets him in a box,
I make my way back to the road and push through the tangle towards the entrance to the storage place. I'm filthy, covered in sand and my own blood, carrying a Bowie knife. Shivering with relief and terror. A car honks at me as I walk past. No doubt he thinks I'm the weirdest, scariest bag lady he's ever seen.
We go back to the condo, me crying all over again. It takes me two shower attempts to get all the sand and dirt off. But my Squeaky is going to Colorado!
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
The Cooler War - The Move Odyssey: Day -2
We wake up at the crack of Dawn's Butt (which for my hubby means about 8am) and stir up some freeze-dried coffee. We're really going to make it out of here today. Still completely unreasonable. Still way too much going on and needing to pack to actually leave.
Now I absolutely adore our buddy Steve, who was kind enough to show up early and help us load the trucks. Unfortunately he also brings along his other buddy J. J is a...nice guy who specializes in drinking beer, sitting on crates, cracking jokes, and being just useful enough...lifting a box when absolutely pressed to do so, that he comes off as helpful and worthy. Plus he IS okay with the dogs and can help corral them when needed. (The dogs being our Zen and Steve's Crab, boundless friends, and of course we wouldn't expect Steve to come help unless his boy was there and safe,)
But today, surprise surprise, is the day of the Cooler War. If only I'd have known I would have baked cupcakes!
I send stuff down to be packed into the back of the pickup. Quantum, despite the fact that he is having massive leg pains, is doing pretty much all he can do to pack, and send things to be stuffed into the back of the pickup,
CK, our roomie, is wandering around looking lost. He's terrified to do ANYTHING WRONG because I'm in a foul, freaked out mood and he's afraid he'll be blamed. So instead he's completely ineffectual. Pretty much as usual. (Okay granted, I'm in Pure Bitch Mode atm, so I probably WILL jump down his throat if I can find an excuse, My usual excuse is that he refuses to get off his butt to do ANYTHING, and I'm having my point proven.)
So I go downstairs - we've got a pile of stuff that needs to go into the trucks. I make a small pile of these things - last minute first-aid type meds, dog food, cat food, people food. The kind of stuff I'd like to have near at hand if we have an emergency, or if we merely want to make diner on the road. Okay folks, haul ass, put everything else in the truck and put these 5 or 6 boxes in last.
An hour later hubby and I look out the window. Pretty much nothing has moved. It's just been stirred around a bit. We finally go to investigate. The major contention is that we made a cooler of two tuperware-type crates, one inside the other and packed them with ice. But according to J we MUST leave this cooler accessible to add more ice (which has already melted) or all our food will go bad. Therefore we can't DARE pack more stuff in the truck.
"That's fine," I say, "Just pack the rest of the crap and we'll deal with ice later.
Quantum says, "well, we can make it to Ocala tonight."
An hour later we go down again. Same story. Meanwhile we're too busy packing and cleaning. Another hour. J is sitting on a box, dispensing wisdom from his packing crate soapbox. Little has moved. The cooler is STILL not in the truck. The generator has been pulled out of the pickup and been replaced back into the pickup in a slightly different configuration at least three times.
Another hour. Quantum and I are upstairs doing last minute stuff. We look out the window and our roomie CK, Steve and J have repositioned the generator again. The cooler still isn't in the truck. Quantum goes down to insist that someone put the damn thing in the truck.
The usual Florida afternoon storms are starting to pull in. Once again we give up. Driving through a Florida storm is nasty, and we still don't have the trailers hooked up yet, We finally give up the dream of getting out of there once again, and return to our bare but still messy condo for the night and order pizza.
Now I absolutely adore our buddy Steve, who was kind enough to show up early and help us load the trucks. Unfortunately he also brings along his other buddy J. J is a...nice guy who specializes in drinking beer, sitting on crates, cracking jokes, and being just useful enough...lifting a box when absolutely pressed to do so, that he comes off as helpful and worthy. Plus he IS okay with the dogs and can help corral them when needed. (The dogs being our Zen and Steve's Crab, boundless friends, and of course we wouldn't expect Steve to come help unless his boy was there and safe,)
But today, surprise surprise, is the day of the Cooler War. If only I'd have known I would have baked cupcakes!
I send stuff down to be packed into the back of the pickup. Quantum, despite the fact that he is having massive leg pains, is doing pretty much all he can do to pack, and send things to be stuffed into the back of the pickup,
CK, our roomie, is wandering around looking lost. He's terrified to do ANYTHING WRONG because I'm in a foul, freaked out mood and he's afraid he'll be blamed. So instead he's completely ineffectual. Pretty much as usual. (Okay granted, I'm in Pure Bitch Mode atm, so I probably WILL jump down his throat if I can find an excuse, My usual excuse is that he refuses to get off his butt to do ANYTHING, and I'm having my point proven.)
So I go downstairs - we've got a pile of stuff that needs to go into the trucks. I make a small pile of these things - last minute first-aid type meds, dog food, cat food, people food. The kind of stuff I'd like to have near at hand if we have an emergency, or if we merely want to make diner on the road. Okay folks, haul ass, put everything else in the truck and put these 5 or 6 boxes in last.
An hour later hubby and I look out the window. Pretty much nothing has moved. It's just been stirred around a bit. We finally go to investigate. The major contention is that we made a cooler of two tuperware-type crates, one inside the other and packed them with ice. But according to J we MUST leave this cooler accessible to add more ice (which has already melted) or all our food will go bad. Therefore we can't DARE pack more stuff in the truck.
"That's fine," I say, "Just pack the rest of the crap and we'll deal with ice later.
Quantum says, "well, we can make it to Ocala tonight."
An hour later we go down again. Same story. Meanwhile we're too busy packing and cleaning. Another hour. J is sitting on a box, dispensing wisdom from his packing crate soapbox. Little has moved. The cooler is STILL not in the truck. The generator has been pulled out of the pickup and been replaced back into the pickup in a slightly different configuration at least three times.
Another hour. Quantum and I are upstairs doing last minute stuff. We look out the window and our roomie CK, Steve and J have repositioned the generator again. The cooler still isn't in the truck. Quantum goes down to insist that someone put the damn thing in the truck.
The usual Florida afternoon storms are starting to pull in. Once again we give up. Driving through a Florida storm is nasty, and we still don't have the trailers hooked up yet, We finally give up the dream of getting out of there once again, and return to our bare but still messy condo for the night and order pizza.
Are We Gone Yet? - The Move Odyssey: Day -3
Friday we finally had our stuff together enough to have the fantasy that we're leaving today. Quantum runs down to the tag agency to get the trailers registered. Wee! We're now committed to being in CO within 10 days.
Oh and by the way, the day we actually GET the tags counts as one of those 10 days. Motor Vehicle of Florida doesn't have 24 hour days, no matter when you FINALLY get through their cluster of paperwork, just DATE days, Gotta love it.
Well of course, Quantum returns from the tag office with the news that...even though we've contacted them at least 3 times in the past several months (including just two days ago) there's some problem with some clerk at the office who doesn't understand how this all is supposed to work, and no she won't give us a temp tag.
So Quantum runs off to the NEXT local tag agency (the good news about living in a metropolis is there's usually several of these, unlike when I lived in Bofuck NY). They issue him a set of tags for each trailer and we should be good to go.
Except going isn't happening. By now its mid-afternoon, we still have a ton of shit that needs to be packed and/or thrown out. Most of the as-of-yet un-thrown out stuff is due to the fact that Quantum and I don't seem to be communicating well over this. I've given up waiting on him to pack things that I see as his personal items. He has some fantasy that he's not taking it with him or that maybe it's going to be packed fast...or maybe that its going to pack ITSELF, I suppose. So down to the wire, and with no direction from him other than "I'll deal with it," I'm packing everything of his that might possibly be something he wants to keep, plus a few last minute things of my own and the rest of the compter and/or kitchen things we couldn't live without till now.
Our buddy Steve is here, trying to help us wrangle the very confused and upset puppy, while also helping us evacuate all the unwanted crap from the condo. Chairs, coffee table, whatever, over the railing and CRASH on the ground below, hopefully splintering itself into easier to carry shreds. The furniture was nice when it was new, but now its so roached out and dog-eaten that even Goodwill would refuse it. Eventually we realize there's still too much to do and we call it a night.
Oh and by the way, the day we actually GET the tags counts as one of those 10 days. Motor Vehicle of Florida doesn't have 24 hour days, no matter when you FINALLY get through their cluster of paperwork, just DATE days, Gotta love it.
Well of course, Quantum returns from the tag office with the news that...even though we've contacted them at least 3 times in the past several months (including just two days ago) there's some problem with some clerk at the office who doesn't understand how this all is supposed to work, and no she won't give us a temp tag.
So Quantum runs off to the NEXT local tag agency (the good news about living in a metropolis is there's usually several of these, unlike when I lived in Bofuck NY). They issue him a set of tags for each trailer and we should be good to go.
Except going isn't happening. By now its mid-afternoon, we still have a ton of shit that needs to be packed and/or thrown out. Most of the as-of-yet un-thrown out stuff is due to the fact that Quantum and I don't seem to be communicating well over this. I've given up waiting on him to pack things that I see as his personal items. He has some fantasy that he's not taking it with him or that maybe it's going to be packed fast...or maybe that its going to pack ITSELF, I suppose. So down to the wire, and with no direction from him other than "I'll deal with it," I'm packing everything of his that might possibly be something he wants to keep, plus a few last minute things of my own and the rest of the compter and/or kitchen things we couldn't live without till now.
Our buddy Steve is here, trying to help us wrangle the very confused and upset puppy, while also helping us evacuate all the unwanted crap from the condo. Chairs, coffee table, whatever, over the railing and CRASH on the ground below, hopefully splintering itself into easier to carry shreds. The furniture was nice when it was new, but now its so roached out and dog-eaten that even Goodwill would refuse it. Eventually we realize there's still too much to do and we call it a night.
The Move Odyssey: The Little Plan That Could
More than 4 months past our original move date and we're finally almost ready to move to Colorado. I'll leave the reasons for why it took us so long for another post. When I get over how ticked I am...someday. For now lets just say that it has to do with a scumbag neighbor who sold us a truck that blew up.
We bought a pair of old travel trailers and refurbished them, and packed every ounce of our stuff that we're taking into them. They're jammed full with barely enough room to move, let alone sleep.
The idea is that our roommate CK will drive the Dodge pickup with our heavier, larger trailer and Quantum will drive the Blazer with CK's smaller lighter trailer.
We're giving our T-Bird to my niece, and thanks to confusion and procrastination on our parts and possibly my brother's also, my brother still hasn't picked up the car and gotten it up to GA. And since the tags run out at the end of the month and we're concerned it'll get towed, we've decided that I'll drive it to Atlanta. And of course in the packing chaos the title got mislaid and we had to replace that to the tune of $85 that we can't really afford to be spending. Ugh.
Quantum has put together an itinerary with detailed mileage, elevation and rest-stops. It should take us about 6 days of driving at a slow pace that will allow us to remain energized and give us lots of time to walk the puppy.
So it's me and Quantum, our cat Squeaky, our 1 1/2 year old puppy Zen in our cars, CK and his three cats in the pickup. CK has laboriously built three large travel crates for the cats, made of PVC and plastic webbing. Nice and roomy for the kitties to travel in. Naturally these never end up being used.
The next part of the plan came about due to Florida's wacky motor vehicle laws. Since both trailers were built before titles were necessary for them, neither trailer has a title, all we have are hand scribbled bills of sale. Since the FL government wants to rape their citizens for every penny possible, we're supposed to go in and get a temporary tag, bring it to a weigh station somewhere, have it inspected and then based on that, they'll decide how much they can nail us for a permanent registration. Now since the temporary tag is good for 10 days, we figure that's enough time to get to our land in CO. After all, the idea is to live in these till we can build a house. We don't ever intend to drive them again. So why actually spend the bucks to register them?
When we FIRST planned to leave, back in April and the truck blew up, we were right in the middle of Mercury Retrograde. For those who aren't familiar with astrology, it's a time when things like travel and communication tend to screw up. We'll guess what...just as we're getting ready to leave, Mercury goes into retrograde once again (it happens about 2-3 times a year). Oh the fun.
That's the plan. And you know what they say about the best laid plans....
We bought a pair of old travel trailers and refurbished them, and packed every ounce of our stuff that we're taking into them. They're jammed full with barely enough room to move, let alone sleep.
The idea is that our roommate CK will drive the Dodge pickup with our heavier, larger trailer and Quantum will drive the Blazer with CK's smaller lighter trailer.
We're giving our T-Bird to my niece, and thanks to confusion and procrastination on our parts and possibly my brother's also, my brother still hasn't picked up the car and gotten it up to GA. And since the tags run out at the end of the month and we're concerned it'll get towed, we've decided that I'll drive it to Atlanta. And of course in the packing chaos the title got mislaid and we had to replace that to the tune of $85 that we can't really afford to be spending. Ugh.
Quantum has put together an itinerary with detailed mileage, elevation and rest-stops. It should take us about 6 days of driving at a slow pace that will allow us to remain energized and give us lots of time to walk the puppy.
So it's me and Quantum, our cat Squeaky, our 1 1/2 year old puppy Zen in our cars, CK and his three cats in the pickup. CK has laboriously built three large travel crates for the cats, made of PVC and plastic webbing. Nice and roomy for the kitties to travel in. Naturally these never end up being used.
The next part of the plan came about due to Florida's wacky motor vehicle laws. Since both trailers were built before titles were necessary for them, neither trailer has a title, all we have are hand scribbled bills of sale. Since the FL government wants to rape their citizens for every penny possible, we're supposed to go in and get a temporary tag, bring it to a weigh station somewhere, have it inspected and then based on that, they'll decide how much they can nail us for a permanent registration. Now since the temporary tag is good for 10 days, we figure that's enough time to get to our land in CO. After all, the idea is to live in these till we can build a house. We don't ever intend to drive them again. So why actually spend the bucks to register them?
When we FIRST planned to leave, back in April and the truck blew up, we were right in the middle of Mercury Retrograde. For those who aren't familiar with astrology, it's a time when things like travel and communication tend to screw up. We'll guess what...just as we're getting ready to leave, Mercury goes into retrograde once again (it happens about 2-3 times a year). Oh the fun.
That's the plan. And you know what they say about the best laid plans....
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
The Scent of Baking Bread
I've always loved to bake bread. There's something wonderfully satisfying and homey about the process. You pour mix the yeast into water, add a tiny bit of sugar or honey and the yeast comes ALIVE! It wakes up, foams in the bowl and immediately begins dispersing delicious scents around the kitchen. The process of kneading dough is satisfying too. Great exercise for the arms and hands (probably just as good as any fancy exercise program at firming arms, armpits and bust) and you can get out your aggressions by thumping the dough around. I usually find myself so much calmer after I've spent a good session kneading dough. And of course the best part comes when the house fills up with the perfume of baking and you pull the warm crusty bread out of the oven. I can barely wait for it to cool before I rip a hunk off and slather it with butter.
The cotton that they sell in the local stores just doesn't compare with real homemade bread. Especially down here in Florida, where the bakery section of the local supermarket produces something with a soft, boring crust, dough with the consistency of a marshmallow and virtually no flavor. Is it the water down here? The air? Or just a really lousy baking process at commercial bakeries?
I remember when I was a kid growing up in New York, you could walk into the local bakery and find something a lot closer to what I can produce at home. How I miss the wonderful hard rolls from the bakery on Richmond Terrace. I used to pocket my bus money and walk to school instead. I'd stop at the bakery and get a poppy-seed hard roll with a fried egg, and eat it while I walked the couple more miles to school. Crusty, dripping with butter and soft yolk, the nutty flavor of the poppy seeds. It was glorious. It almost made going to school worthwhile.
So if I adore baking bread so much, why the heck, in my fifteen years of living down here in Florida, and in my six years in this condo, have I baked bread all of perhaps four or five times until recently? Well, baking is--or at least used to be--an all day affair. In the tiny kitchen I have here, just setting up places to knead the dough is nearly impossible. First, we have storage problems. Our roommate has a penchant for buying as much food as he can stuff into the kitchen whether or not we need it. So the tiny counters are cluttered with cans and jars and boxes. No matter how fast I try stuffing them into the pantry, it's a growing pile. Which means that any cooking project must first be a clearing project. Then there's the fact that I rarely have a full day to devote to kneading bread and watching it rise. And maybe it's the humid air, but getting dough to the right consistency is nigh impossible. You set up the yeast and wait for it to rise, then you mix in the flour and spend an hour or two kneading and pounding the dough into the right consistency. It should feel like an earlobe when you're done. I could swear that in the past it's only taken 15 or 20 minutes of kneading. Maybe it's the humid Florida air, but I can never get the dough correct with less than an hour's work.
But this last Christmas my wonderful husband, Quantum gave me a miracle gift. A KitchenAid Professional 600 Series 6-Quart Stand Mixer
I've been drooling over the ones they have on Iron Chef and all the other Food Network programs. Now I actually OWN one! Okay, I don't get to knead the bread by hand. (But at an hour or more per loaf of bread, I'm NOT complaining!) Even though I desperately wanted one, I'd been putting off the purchase, telling myself that other purchases were more important. I'd been content to think that SOMEDAY once we moved, we'd get one. Quantum, however, thought "someday" wasn't soon enough. Mine is onyx black. It comes in other colors--the Iron Chefs have a red one--but I've always been partial to black appliances, silly goth chick that I am.
Here's what's so cool - this baby does all the work! I put the yeast and water in the bowl, let it rise, go check my email. Fifteen minutes later I go back and add in the flour, attatch the dough hook (ah! the wonder that is a dough hook!) turn the speed on 2 (funny, I've never really needed any other speed except for whipping eggs or cream) and let the divine machine do its work. While I pack boxes for my move, or read my favorite forum, the mixer kneads the dough to perfect consistency. Ten or fifteen minutes later, I turn the dough into an oiled bowl, let it rise for an hour or so (while I again go back to other work) then shape the dough on a flat cookie tin, pop it into my preheated oven and voila! the house fills with the scent of baking dough and soon thereafter we have warm crusty goodness to spread butter or honey butter on, or top with roasted peppers and chopped pine nuts or something equally decadent.
Since my mixer has its own place on the counter, I no longer have to clear a space for my work. Although I am no longer getting the exercise benefit of kneading dough in this miserable damp climate, the fact that we have yummy bread any time we want, certainly makes up for that. And I'm probably saving money too. After all, a 5lb bag of flour costs about the same as a loaf of bread, and makes about 4-6 more times as much bread. Good bread, not that nasty cotton I can buy at the store. Meanwhile, cleanup is a dream. It takes about two minutes tops to wash the stainless bowl and the dough hook. The mixer does most of the work by scraping the bowl clean in the kneading process. That, contrasted to my previous 20 minutes to clear a space, then another half hour or more to clean up the flour dust left from kneading. In the four months since Quantum got me the mixer, I've made bread more times than I have during the rest of my entire life!
Its fabulous for other baking stuff too. The other day I made some delicious Zucchini Bread, and as soon as I've got my garden started, I'll be making Zucchini Bread all during growing season, no doubt. We also bought an Ice Cream Maker Attachment
(yum!) and a Food Grinder Attachment
and Sausage Stuffer Kit
and I'll tell you about our experiments with those in another post sometime soon.
Honey Sage Butter:
1/2 lb (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
1 bunch fresh sage leaves
several tablespoons honey, to taste
a pinch of salt
Leave the butter out of the fridge to soften slightly. Mince the sage and very lightly sautee with a tiny bit of the butter, until slightly toasted and fragrant. Put all the items into your mixer, use the whisk attatchment and run on Speed 2 for a minute or two. Pack the butter into a bowl, or wrap it in plastic wrap like a sausage. Return it to the fridge and let it harden (it will be a bit softer than normal butter) and use as desired. Use it to slather across your fresh, warm homemade bread, on toast, or dot it onto a chicken and roast.
Check out the KitchenAid Professional 600 Series 6-Quart Stand Mixers
Coffee Press
The cotton that they sell in the local stores just doesn't compare with real homemade bread. Especially down here in Florida, where the bakery section of the local supermarket produces something with a soft, boring crust, dough with the consistency of a marshmallow and virtually no flavor. Is it the water down here? The air? Or just a really lousy baking process at commercial bakeries?
I remember when I was a kid growing up in New York, you could walk into the local bakery and find something a lot closer to what I can produce at home. How I miss the wonderful hard rolls from the bakery on Richmond Terrace. I used to pocket my bus money and walk to school instead. I'd stop at the bakery and get a poppy-seed hard roll with a fried egg, and eat it while I walked the couple more miles to school. Crusty, dripping with butter and soft yolk, the nutty flavor of the poppy seeds. It was glorious. It almost made going to school worthwhile.
So if I adore baking bread so much, why the heck, in my fifteen years of living down here in Florida, and in my six years in this condo, have I baked bread all of perhaps four or five times until recently? Well, baking is--or at least used to be--an all day affair. In the tiny kitchen I have here, just setting up places to knead the dough is nearly impossible. First, we have storage problems. Our roommate has a penchant for buying as much food as he can stuff into the kitchen whether or not we need it. So the tiny counters are cluttered with cans and jars and boxes. No matter how fast I try stuffing them into the pantry, it's a growing pile. Which means that any cooking project must first be a clearing project. Then there's the fact that I rarely have a full day to devote to kneading bread and watching it rise. And maybe it's the humid air, but getting dough to the right consistency is nigh impossible. You set up the yeast and wait for it to rise, then you mix in the flour and spend an hour or two kneading and pounding the dough into the right consistency. It should feel like an earlobe when you're done. I could swear that in the past it's only taken 15 or 20 minutes of kneading. Maybe it's the humid Florida air, but I can never get the dough correct with less than an hour's work.
But this last Christmas my wonderful husband, Quantum gave me a miracle gift. A KitchenAid Professional 600 Series 6-Quart Stand Mixer
I've been drooling over the ones they have on Iron Chef and all the other Food Network programs. Now I actually OWN one! Okay, I don't get to knead the bread by hand. (But at an hour or more per loaf of bread, I'm NOT complaining!) Even though I desperately wanted one, I'd been putting off the purchase, telling myself that other purchases were more important. I'd been content to think that SOMEDAY once we moved, we'd get one. Quantum, however, thought "someday" wasn't soon enough. Mine is onyx black. It comes in other colors--the Iron Chefs have a red one--but I've always been partial to black appliances, silly goth chick that I am.
Here's what's so cool - this baby does all the work! I put the yeast and water in the bowl, let it rise, go check my email. Fifteen minutes later I go back and add in the flour, attatch the dough hook (ah! the wonder that is a dough hook!) turn the speed on 2 (funny, I've never really needed any other speed except for whipping eggs or cream) and let the divine machine do its work. While I pack boxes for my move, or read my favorite forum, the mixer kneads the dough to perfect consistency. Ten or fifteen minutes later, I turn the dough into an oiled bowl, let it rise for an hour or so (while I again go back to other work) then shape the dough on a flat cookie tin, pop it into my preheated oven and voila! the house fills with the scent of baking dough and soon thereafter we have warm crusty goodness to spread butter or honey butter on, or top with roasted peppers and chopped pine nuts or something equally decadent.
Since my mixer has its own place on the counter, I no longer have to clear a space for my work. Although I am no longer getting the exercise benefit of kneading dough in this miserable damp climate, the fact that we have yummy bread any time we want, certainly makes up for that. And I'm probably saving money too. After all, a 5lb bag of flour costs about the same as a loaf of bread, and makes about 4-6 more times as much bread. Good bread, not that nasty cotton I can buy at the store. Meanwhile, cleanup is a dream. It takes about two minutes tops to wash the stainless bowl and the dough hook. The mixer does most of the work by scraping the bowl clean in the kneading process. That, contrasted to my previous 20 minutes to clear a space, then another half hour or more to clean up the flour dust left from kneading. In the four months since Quantum got me the mixer, I've made bread more times than I have during the rest of my entire life!
Its fabulous for other baking stuff too. The other day I made some delicious Zucchini Bread, and as soon as I've got my garden started, I'll be making Zucchini Bread all during growing season, no doubt. We also bought an Ice Cream Maker Attachment
(yum!) and a Food Grinder Attachment and Sausage Stuffer Kit and I'll tell you about our experiments with those in another post sometime soon.Honey Sage Butter:
1/2 lb (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
1 bunch fresh sage leaves
several tablespoons honey, to taste
a pinch of salt
Leave the butter out of the fridge to soften slightly. Mince the sage and very lightly sautee with a tiny bit of the butter, until slightly toasted and fragrant. Put all the items into your mixer, use the whisk attatchment and run on Speed 2 for a minute or two. Pack the butter into a bowl, or wrap it in plastic wrap like a sausage. Return it to the fridge and let it harden (it will be a bit softer than normal butter) and use as desired. Use it to slather across your fresh, warm homemade bread, on toast, or dot it onto a chicken and roast.
Check out the KitchenAid Professional 600 Series 6-Quart Stand Mixers
Coffee Press
Its a ...Dri! (Girl)
Yesterday we got the call we'd been looking forward to and dreading. Looking forward, because we're thrilled to have our yaks. Dreading because we're still scrambling to get packed, fix up our two trailers and trucks and get the heck out to our land. We were hoping to already be in Colorado by the time she was born.
HCC Yeti-Starr was born around noon (Colorado time) on April 12th. She's completely adorable. Black with a little white star on her forehead. The sellers were kind enough to send us some photos.
Here's Yonkers with Yeti-Starr. Isn't Yonkers a beauty! Regal and motherly. You can just barely see the star that gave little Yeti the second half of her name. (The sellers had already named a previous calf Yeti, so we had to either add to her name or change it, for registry reasons - yes there really is a yak registry. I'll see if I can locate it at some point and add the link.)
Here's another picture of Yonkers and Yeti-Starr. Isn't she adorable with her wobbly legs and her too little white rear hooves? These pics were taken yesterday, so she's only a few hours old here. I can't wait to pet her and play with her! Of course that's going to mean making friends with Yonkers, since yak mommies are very protective. I'm thinking a generous supply of carrots and apples.
And here's Yeti's big sister, Yazoo. She's about a year old now. What a pretty young lady! Her star reminds me of a state map - is it Texas, New York, Nevada? Or maybe just the state of bliss I'm in, contemplating the additions to our family.
Hopefully mommy won't be as protective of her now that she has the baby to worry about. We don't know if Yonkers will be tame-able enough to milk, but we're hoping Yazoo will, by the time she's old enough to have her own babies (probably next year or so). Meanwhile I'm going to work on making good friends with this big girl, so that she's happy being touched.
HCC Yeti-Starr was born around noon (Colorado time) on April 12th. She's completely adorable. Black with a little white star on her forehead. The sellers were kind enough to send us some photos.
Hopefully mommy won't be as protective of her now that she has the baby to worry about. We don't know if Yonkers will be tame-able enough to milk, but we're hoping Yazoo will, by the time she's old enough to have her own babies (probably next year or so). Meanwhile I'm going to work on making good friends with this big girl, so that she's happy being touched.
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