Laddie

When I was 7 or 8 years old, my Dad brought home a puppy. He was a yellow Mountain Cur, which he got from one of his fellow workers at the hardwood flooring mill. I was a huge Lassie fan at the time, but you can't name a male dog - Lassie (little did I know back then). Instead, we named him Laddie.

Laddie's first night at our house wasn't the greatest. He was missing his mother and litter mates. His howls echoed in the Oaks and Hickories of our yard and adjoining woods. The little dog house with the leather hinges on the door wasn't where he wanted to be. And Mom's NO DOGS IN THE HOUSE rule wasn't about to be broken. I talked to him through the rough cut lumber until he settled down and we both went to sleep. Dad picked me up and carried me back to bed.

Laddie was the best friend the only boy in the neighborhood could have. While sisters were doing their thing, Laddie and I kept all the squirrels and rabbits nervous. That first summer as we both grew up and in devotion to each other was the greatest. The next year, Dad went to work in the meat department of Lentz Cee Bee. Laddie was one lucky dog... Bones to chew on and "out of date" packaged meats as his evening meal. When Dad drove up, Laddie knew there was something special waiting for him.

Laddie had one bad habit - he loved to chase cars, especially those that headed west on the dirt road in front of the house. When he heard a car round the curve at the Charles Creek Cemetery, Laddie would make his way to the corner of the house. When the car was at our driveway, off he would sprint. He wore a path through the weeds and grass parallel to the road and then down the bank to the red clay and limestone gravel.

"Sic'em Laddie" was all I had to say to get him running into the Woods on the east side of the house. He wouldn't return until he found the tree where a squirrel had taken refuge. He took to his nature of hunting, even though we hunted with him only occasionally. Any wild animal was his prey and game.

Skunks are everywhere in Middle Tennessee. Drive very far at night and the unmistakable scent of an unhappy skunk will quickly fill the interior. The earlier 70's were also the time of a great Rabies epidemic. Skunks and foxes were the main carriers and news reports told of various domestic animals being attacked.

One afternoon, as I walked out of the back door, Laddie got between me and the tire swing that hung from the huge Oak by the clothes line. He wouldn't let me pass. As I moved to the right, a small black and white figure jumped out of the tall grass at the edge of the yard. It hissed and started toward us. Laddie grabbed it and slung it back out of the yard and gave chase. I could hear the yelps of pain as the sharp teeth tore into Laddie's flesh. I ran into the house and called Uncle James (Mom and Dad worked late on Friday evenings). He arrived in just a few minutes. His .22 rifle in hand, the told me to stay in the house and he followed the sounds down in the Clay Gullies. Moments later, two shots rang out. The skunk was no more and Laddie limped home behind Uncle James.

When Mom and Dad got home, Laddie was still licking his wounded legs. I told Dad how Laddie had protected me and kept me from walking right into the skunk's path. Dad said, "Son, you should be proud of Laddie. He did what he was suppose to do. But there is something I've got to do now." Dad explained that even though Laddie had his Rabies Shot, they weren't as effective as they are today and Laddie was suffering from injuries.

Dad retrieved the Mossburg from his closet and Laddie, even in his pain, jumped to his feet and was ready to hunt as Dad stepped on the back porch. They walked together to the Clay Gullies. A single shot ripped through the night and my heart.

Forty years later, I still fondly remember the smell of the yellow fuzz ball that rode home in the front seat of a Skyblue Chevy. I can wait to see ya at the Rainbow Bridge!

Metro Monday

Terapin Relocation Program - Round Two



We were fishing on Saturday and Sarah caught NOT A CATFISH!



So again, Metro and I took a Terapin to the Beaver Pond.

Metro Monday

T.R.P.


Terrapin Relocation Program

There are turtles in the Fish Pond... WE DON'T WANT TURTLES IN THE FISH POND!!!

We rode the golf cart to the Beaver Pond after church Sunday evening to fill the bird feeders. As we neared the one of the dam at the Fish Pond, we spotted the Terrapin crawling to the water. We loaded him (or her) into the one of the buckets that we use to transport our bounty of Bluegills. Onward to the Beaver Pond...

Metro is not sure of what is inside the bucket, "It doesn't smell like fishes?!?"

"I toldja, it doesn't smell like fishes!"

Going...

Going...

Gone

Beaver Pond Dam

Friday afternoon, we walked to the Beaver Pond to see the level of the water. Sarah had told me on Thursday, the water was within two inches of the top of the Beaver Stump. With just over 1.5" of rain on Saturday, we were sure that the Stump would be completely covered today. Well, guess again.

So I walked over to the Beaver Dam... I hear water flowing!!!


The pressure of the increased water on the earthen plug made by the beaver caused a collapse sometime in the past 36 hours.

And it most likely happened last night... The ice seen above shows a pattern of quickly receding water. The temperature overnight was 19.2° F.


I wasn't the only one investigating the damage, the tracks of a VERY LARGE beaver were near the flowing water.

Barn De-Construction

The Bee McCranie Barn... It stood on the hill, about a quarter mile up the road from our driveway. It stood there for, we think, for over 100 years. Stood, past tense, because it has been disassembled.

Thanksgiving weekend, Buddy (our brother-in-law) asked Mr. Breedlove, "Whatcha got planned for the old barn?"

Mr. B: "Nothing"

Buddy: "Could I have it to tear down?"

Mr. B: "As long as you don't leave a mess. Just put all you don't want in a pile so it can be burned."

The roof was the first thing to come off, Buddy hired a few men to remove the rusting tin.

The Friday after Christmas, we took over with hammers, pry bars, crowbars and a sledge hammer. Each board was carefully removed from where it had been for over 10 decades. Each nail was pulled, some so rusty that it took extra effort to extract it from the heart pine lumber.

And what lumber...

Full dimension boards, not of the 1 1/2" x 3 1/2" lumber that calls itself a two-by-four!!!

The floors of the barn and the loft were 2" x 8" x 20'

The siding boards were 1 1/4" x 20' x various widths (some as wide as 15")

The floor joist were 2" x 10" x 20'

The beams supporting the floor joist were 6" x 10" X 20'

Six trailer loads were removed, sorted and stack at Pond. With plans to build a "cook house" at the pond, when the lot was totally clean.

The unusable, rotten and broken wood was piled in preparation for a blazing end. We started this process last Saturday afternoon. With one flick of a lighter, a bundle of old hay was thrown into a burn pit. That same fire was still smothering this morning when I started my commute to work. Sarah and her brother worked all day yesterday, tossing the odd post and board onto the bonfire.

As we loaded the last of the salvagable lumber onto my truck, I spotted a LARGE furry brown mass and a much smaller grey one.

He was still sitting beside the scrap piece of lumber when I return from town with our dinner (yummmm, PIZZA).

In an IM to me this morning, Sarah wrote:

"I am going to check on it when I get going...you may be a father when you get home"

The Tortoise and the Hare

We so enjoy our afternoon rides/walks to the Beaver Pond and we never know what we might see.

Our Bird Watching Blog usually record the photos we take. Today we took pictures of a couple of famous fable characters.

The tortoise seemed to be ahead. But I would imagine that depends on where the finish line actually is.

Runny Babbit

Sarah was cutting grass Thursday afternoon... I get a call on my cell phone, "Uh, what do you feed a baby rabbit?"

He (it was a boy) ran out of the pine straw around the trio Crape Myrtles. He scurried about five feet and stop. Sarah got the catfish net from the storage building. But she didn't really need it, he was still sitting in the same spot. Max(imum Speed) was put in the small cage that contained Mason and Morgan, when they came to live with us.




We took several photos and placed him on the ground beside the crape myrtles. He ran over to the old plough that we hope will some day be covered with a Trumpet Vine.


From here, he realized that his freedom was regained. "He ran real fast" toward the cedar trees. Yesterday, Mama Rabbit was seen hopping around nearby.

Brrrr-rrrummmp

Three summers ago, Brooke went fishing with Johnny (her Daddy/bio-grandfather) at Lake Sinclair. Besides catching fish and sun rays, Brooke also caught a little fellow. She brought him (or her) home with her and released him (or her) in the Kio pond. As a tapole, he (she) would swim about the pond. The first year the morphing into a frog was a very slow process. Rear legs were the first to appear, then the front legs. The next year, weight gain and tail loss. This year the vocal cords are being heard.

It has been very hard to get a photo of the bullfrog of the pond. Only by sneaking a shot through the window was I able to shoot the Rana catesbeiana. I think she is most likely a girl frog. I think her name is Rosie...

Rosie the Ribbeter