All Creatures Great And Small

If I could have bottled yesterday’s weather, I would have. Cool and crisp, it begged you to come outside and play.

I first feed my mules each day at 2 a.m., religiously, in all seasons and weather. They each get a large bowl of chopped carrots, apples and celery with a garnish of dry roasted peanuts.

It breaks up their night, fills their bellies just enough, and let’s me check on them to see how they are faring, the way a parent may crack open a bedroom door at night to check on their children.

I come inside and feed my dogs, because all animals have an innate sense of fairness, and therefore, if you do for one you must do for all. So I do.

Around 4 am I go out front to the Jack The Spruce Grotto and feed my feral cats, Smokey and Mittens. Mittens is growing into a formidable Tom, so I may need to change his name down the road.

Now real westerners, farmers and ranchers will tell you just how silly this is. I own that. Silliness is my strong suit. But this is who I am and how I interact with creatures, great and small. I will put their needs before my own, the way I did for my children growing up. That’s just how I was raised by my extended Irish Clan back in Riverdale. My parents and grandparents put my needs, and those of my siblings, before their own. They also treated all of their pets as part of the family. The fur members were excluded from nothing.

Now, despite their two am feeding, as soon as the sun starts to peek over the eastern horizon, Claire and Honey are at the side gate waiting to be freed to roam the full extent of Casa Claire. They also want their real breakfast. If I’m not out there on time, Claire will start to kick at the gate with increasing force until I either appear through my back door or the gate gives way.

Since I really hate having to constantly repair the gate, I try to get out there on time. Sometimes, especially when I am lost in my writing, even my blogs, I lose my sense of time, and the next thing I know I am torn from my imaginary reverie by that loud clanging of hoof on metal (think of a sledge hammer on the side of a ship) and the rise of a sudden panic from my realization that my neighbors are also hearing it. They must love us.

So off I race to grab some carrots and head out to the back yard breakfast table.

Yesterday morning was one of the reactive days, but when I flew through my back door, the side gate was flung wide open but the mules were no where to be seen. So I breathed a sigh of relief and headed to the breakfast table where I tossed out the five pound bag of carrots.

Then I heard that familiar Claire snort and looked up over the retaining wall to see Claire and Honey staring down at me. I’ve been late to an inordinate number of events in my life, so I recognize tempered disappointment when I see it.

So I offered my apologies and raced to get the food presented. As I headed back into the house, feeling properly contrite, I heard Claire stage whispering to Honey as they descended the Giant’s Causeway to the table, “Forgive him sweetie, he’s always been a dreamer.”

This is so true. And I won’t apologize for that. My dreams have sustained me when reality has disappointed.

So, once the day was off to its regular start, with all of the fur family’s belly full, I decided to take Lisa for breakfast at the Alley Cat Cafe in Ft. Collins.

Alley cats hold a special place in my heart.

The bohemian-college vibe there was delightfully refreshing, and I got a chance to quickly chat with the young writer (and singer) Lou Duran. I expect great things from this young scribe.

My entire set of books are still missing from the bookshelf, so I hope that means they are circulating, and not stolen.

And during a pitstop just before leaving, I was thrilled that someone in the gender-neutral bathroom had finally broken the code of the pictograms on the walls in the bathroom.

Only a female has that level of mental acuity and ability to multitask. Also, the angle and level of the transcription suggests a smaller stature.

Then it was off for a brief walk through Fickel Park in Old Town Berthoud, where we stopped to acknowledge the indomitable spirit of Harley the Chihuahua.

https://www.facebook.com/harleyfreighttraintaylor/

I would trade all of my book sales in exchange for those same readers adopting rescues, especially the old or physically imperfect ones. And while I know there are many reputable and caring breeders out there, I would happily provide a Bronx goodbye to the heinous few who abuse and torture their charges.

Then it was back home where I needed to clean out the front trough and get the heater situated. Claire and Blue supervised my efforts from beneath a nearby whirligig.

Honey was down by the back door, trying to save a spot for the afternoon snack.

And just when I thought my day’s interaction with non-human friends was done for the afternoon, my favorite murder of crow cousins came by to serenade me just off my back deck.

So, my yesterday was filled with magical interactions with my local creatures great and small, and I couldn’t have had a more enjoyable time.

But here we are again, back at Monday.

So you fine, five readers get that caffeine injected, and let’s go out there and show the world we mean business.

First, I’m going to stop for a quick kitty cuddle and my rounds.

But let’s all of us make today a great one.

One final word, one of my Collins’ Clan sisters, Maureen, lost her husband Dan Ghent on Friday. My prayers are with Maureen and her extended and wonderful family.

Shit, is that Claire banging . . . .