Death Rides a Tractor.

I often find myself in discussions about how wonderful it must be to live on a farm. And yet, I routinely bite my tongue, make some half-hearted agreeing response, and put on a fake smile. They have no earthly idea how well acquainted I am with death and the inexplicable black cloud that has followed me for six years now. Having a farm is the hardest thing I've ever done as an adult, and I tolerate my existence most days.

The reaper practically has a seat at my dinner table.

In the past four years, all five of my barn cats have either mysteriously disappeared or died under suspicious circumstances. Four of them were brothers -- Scrapper, Nomad, Smudge, and Splash. They were sweet, hand-raised, and loved attention. They didn't bother anyone. They didn't prowl on other people's property. They were neutered while kittens and couldn't contribute to a wildly out-of-control pet population (of which their mother Karen, a very sweet gal totally abandoned by one of our neighbors WHILE PREGNANT, is another barn cat that CHOSE US to care for her). We invested time, resources, money, and most importantly love into those four brothers. Splash was the last one left... but he's also missing now and I fear the worst. A precedent has been set. My gut tells me he's not coming back.

The other missing cat is Kiki, who was an absolute sweetheart that melted the ice around my heart for cats. For the longest while, I was heavily adverse to cats because I'm allergic to them. Kiki changed me in a way that cannot be explained; she made me a cat person. I get cats and I think they get me... and I owe that to Kiki.

I'd chalk one loss up to an accident. Sure, accidents happen and I accept that. Or, perhaps one could have been killed by a wild animal. That's a possibility, though I doubt it because we have two very large Great Pyrenees that patrol this property and have successfully kept even the coyotes at bay since their arrival. We owe Nibbler and Sherlock a lot for their dutiful protection.

Two cats go missing? Okay, that's atypical but could still be marked up to chance.

Three?
Four?
FIVE CATS?!

No, something is going on. Someone around our farm is either kidnapping or outright murdering our barn cats. Kiki, Smudge, Nomad, and Splash simply vanished without a trace. We found Scrapper dead in the floor of our barn, with no explanation as to how or why he passed away. He had no physical trauma. It just doesn't make any sense. There are holes in my heart and I don't have any answers. Resolution isn't something I can have.

Pile on top of that two very beloved dogs that passed away in their old age in 2020 and 2021 -- Mellow and Echo are still with me in spirit and they're on my mind every day. Along with them are two of our dear goats that passed from absolute one-in-a-million situations; Clover had an inexplicable THIRTEEN knots in her bowels from severe intestinal torsion and Mozzarella got one of the rarest forms of cancer an animal can get (the local university vet hospital had never even seen it before). Add to that the number of stillborn baby goats that I've lost count of. Even the death of some of our ducks has hit us. The loss just never seems to end.

I have (and still do) loved every one of these animals. They mean the world to me. Not being able to protect them has beat me down in ways that I never thought possible. Most days I run through the motions, trying to find ways to distract myself from the crushing nature of my reality. It's been hard (and I mean HARD), and I've not talked about it except with my closest loved ones. If not for the love and care that my family has provided, I don't know if I'd still be here today writing this.

So no, having a farm isn't all sunflowers and watermelons; it's a lot of heartbreak and disappointment, tears and blood. With death, I am undesirably comfortable. His skeletal visage seems to rear his head every few months to remind me of my own mortality.

Hug your furry loved ones tonight. Tell them you love them.

REAL-TIME EDIT: As I was about to publish this blog, one of my outdoor security cameras triggered. There was Splash, meandering behind my house. I can tell he's a bit skittish and somewhat afraid of everything at the moment, which adds credence to my theory that SOMETHING is going on around here to my animals. Maybe Splash hadn't used up all of his nine lives yet, though. Thank goodness he came back.

Even in the darkest of days, the bright eyes of a cat sit glowing in the distance as two small specks of hope.

My Dog Mellow Does Not Allow Hugging!

I was originally going to write about some boring political topic this evening.

Screw that. This is way funnier.

Mellow is every bit the goofy dog he looks to be.

A few moments ago, Crystal hopped in my lap for a comfy, couch-straddling hug. It's something she does fairly often. We're fairly fond of the snuggles and hugs.

So sue me. I like snuggling. No, you can't have my man card. Anyway...

As he's often prone to do, my dog Mellow began to grumble the moment she got in my lap. For some reason, he's very "sensitive" about her and I touching each other. Kissing, hugging... you name it. Mellow doesn't particularly care for intimate human contact in his presence.

Now, this particular go round, the grumbling and growling continued to grow and become all the more hilarious as it went along. By the end of his barking spell, Mellow would even express his displeasure if we so much as laughed at his paranoid behavior. Also in the video is my other dog Echo. She's much smarter than Mellow and pretty much slept through the whole barking spell (until he woke her up in utter disgust).

Thankfully, it's all on tape.

(Tape? Who says tape anymore? You're getting old, Jared.)

For your viewing pleasure, here's Mellow (for nearly five minutes) telling us just how much he doesn't like Crystal and I hugging each other.

I Was Nearly Attacked By Trashy Disc Golfers.

Crystal and I took a routine walk just a few moments ago with our dogs, Mellow and Echo. We normally walk every day through Burlington-Springwood Park, which is right next door to our community. Today would have been just like any other day, except...

I nearly got attacked by a pack of frisbee-throwing, white trash jocks.

As we're passing through the entrance to the park, I noticed a group of guys were playing frisbee... excuse me... disc golf. A rather poorly designed course was installed in the park last year, much to my dismay. Just as a few of the guys are wrapping up their tosses at a nearby basket, I noticed one of them staring extremely hard at Crystal, following her with his eyes. It was extremely creepy and very obvious. He then proceeded to stare at me. We were walking in front of him, no more than ten feet away. As I passed by, he locked eyes with me, following my path as I walked.

Enough was enough.

I asked him if there was anything I could do for him. He gave me a puzzled look, to which I replied "Because you're staring pretty hard at us." Of course, Mr. White Trash Frisbee Chucker wants to get in my face. The way he approached me, he must have figured I'd either throw a punch or run away. I did neither, not moving an inch. He proceeded to toss a string of curse words and insults at me, which I promptly told him to step away from my person that instant or I'd be on the phone with the cops. Thankfully, he backed off after I said that, but not before he called me (and please excuse my language folks) a "fat fuck."

My reply :"Oh yeah... good insult. I haven't heard THAT one before."

Seriously, I heard that insult more times than I can count in middle and high school. When you're a big guy with red hair, you get picked on extensively. It doesn't phase me at all; I'm numb to it. It just goes to show that morons will resort to the lowest common denominator of insult.

As Crystal and I walked ahead, his 'bros' of course wanted to get in on the action. They shouted and cursed at me, but it was to no avail. They didn't get to kick my ass. Nor did the creep get to stare without someone calling him out on his behavior.

Crystal isn't mad at me, but she said I shouldn't instigate matters by saying something. Tell me, what do you think? Say something when someone is being a creep, or don't say anything? I'd like to hear your thoughts.

Hanging In There.

Just a small update before I turn in for the night. Mellow is hanging in there, but he's in quite a bit of pain. He has spent most of his time resting on a fluffy bed with ice packs to alleviate the swelling. He's in good spirits, but I can tell he's feeling pretty down and depressed at times. Mellow is not one to spend a lot of time laying down. Seeing the poor man hobble to use the bathroom is upsetting to say the least. Either way, Mellow is getting all the support he can. Even Echo has shown some concern over his condition. Let's hope tomorrow brings more improvement.

Man's Best Friend.

Mellow saw the vet today. Thankfully, he doesn't have any broken bones. From what we can gather, he must have severely twisted or jammed his leg. This is good news, but he's going to be out of commission for a few weeks. Looks like Mellow's age is finally catching up with him.

I must be frank, though. This reminder of my fluffy friend's mortality is not pleasant. The thought of Mellow not being with me for a lifetime is unsettling at best. Canine he may be, Mellow is family. I hold him in the same regard as a child. For those of us that welcome dogs into our lives... this is the weight we must bear. Our dogs can't stay with us forever. We must contend with the burden of burying our friends; we must shoulder the grief that comes with losing a member of the family. With my other dog Echo pulling through mammary cancer earlier in the year, it's been a wild ride of emotions when it comes to my dogs.

Mellow (left) and Echo (right)

All dogs descend from the gray wolf. Their evolution from wolf to dog dates as late as nearly 38,000 years ago. Skeletal dog remains have been discovered with humans at nearly all major archaeological dig sites of ancient civiliations around the globe - Siberia, China, Persia and so on. The dog has been with us for as long as we've been human. When folks state that the dog is man's best friend, it's quite literally a true statement. Without the dog by our side, mankind surely wouldn't have flourished quite as proficiently. Whether in the role of guardian, hunter or friend, dogs have walked the same path out the prehistoric caves of antiquity as humanity has. We collectively owe a great deal to the dog.

And to think... all dogs want in return is a little bit of love.*

*Maybe some table scraps every once in a while wouldn't hurt, either.