Farmer Rick

This is my Cornish Rex, Ricky, helping me mow Bo's pasture. Before the drought hit us here in eastern PA, we were mowing the horse pastures every week--thank goodness for the enclosed cab complete with air-conditioning and radio. Now the grass isn't growing, so mowing pastures has temporarily ceased.

Mowing grass is only one of the reasons why I haven't been writing on my blog. I had neck surgery to fuse two vertebrae, probably off-set on one of my five falls from my horse, The Bo-ster. The surgery set me back on a lot of yard work and my over-bearing garden, so when I finally recovered, I had to make up for lost time. Luckily, Farmer Rick was there to assist me.

Ricky truly is a weird cat--loves riding in my golf cart, rides at the front of the tractor cab, and is always up for adventures. In this picture he is wearing his summer collar, the transmitter that allows me to track him to the exact bush or mat of poison ivy where he is stalking a butterfly or shrew. Just a bit of information for pet lovers out there: www.petlocator.com sells tracking devices for pets, including cats. It's a handy tool when you can't find your dog or cat and can't spend a whole day searching every nook and cranny. I've been using my locator for years and can't be without it. It'll track an animal that has wandered about half a mile away, on average. It saves me a lot of time and, most of all, worry.

In addition to the surgery and catching up with chores that seems to be getting larger as we are getting older, Edgar and I drove up to Boston to walk the last two miles with Luke Robinson and his two Great Pyrenees, Hudson and Murphy. A trip to Cape Cod found us at Race Point Beach. Loads of sunbathers had gathered sand-side to soak up sun and balmy breezes, but only one crazed person was actually in the fifty-degree ocean: me. Yep, me--the only one bobbing, cringing with cold, in the waves. Edgar dutifully tried to accompany me into the sea. but when he got in up to his knees, he screamed bloody murder and yelled, "I can't stand it! I'm getting out!" And he raced back to the blanket. But I hadn't suffered a six hour drive not to enjoy my favorite summertime treat: jumping in the waves. So, I grit my teeth and went it--for at least a half hour. I provided entertainment for all the sane people lounging on the beach.

So, now that the yard work is caught up, I can be more faithful to my blog. Thanks for bearing with me and my tribulations.

Suzy the warthog--Part I

Pig people stick together. They sniff each other out, are simpy hog-wild for the company of other pig persons.

I am one of those people. I seek out others who appreciate porcine personality, porkish passion, and pig perspicacity.

We pig enthusiasts belong to a cult that admires flat noses resembling electrical outlets, sympathetic tendencies, and gourmands.

In my search for piggish people like myself, I have met and become friends with a wonderful, creative, fun pig person named Carol Eiswald of The Tusk and Bristle Farm in New York state. But Carol doesn't simply devote her energy to the more simple pet pig such as the pot-belly. She's a hard-core pig fanatic. She has as companions at least one bearded Borneo pig and--Ta-Ta-a-a!--a true, blue warthog named Suzy.

Suzy enjoys living outside when it's warm, and she is able to dig holes in the yard with her ample snout. In cold weather, however Suzy lives indoors with Carol. While she has her own quarters within Carol's home, she prefers to spend her afternoon snoozing between the sheets in Carol's bed.

I've received numerous emails over the past year from Carol--all describing stories about Suzy. Suzy the warthog can be a love-bug, a busy-body, a brute, a comedianne, and a perpetrator of naughty deeds.

My readers deserve to learn and see a bit of what one animal, a domesticated wild animal has up her tusk. So, with Carol's permission, I am posting pictures of Miss Suzy, Warthog of the Year.