Fyfe Characters

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Trying to take pictures with good old Casey a few years ago

I got to thinking about our crazy animal companions the other day and I didn’t get melancholy over the losses that have seemed never ending the past year & a half.

I could have easily slipped into a dark sadness but I started remembering how absolutely goofy some of them were, and some of the silly situations they got themselves into and I started smiling. And laughing. And I thought it would be fun to share some of the stories about pets who are still here and pets who are gone and hopefully you will get a chuckle out of them, too.

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Bonjour. Did you call for me?

Like Jacques. Our black-eyed white ferret.

Ferrets like to hide and they can disappear into tiny spaces and crevices just about anywhere. If they can fit their head into or under something then they can generally get their bodies in. And they can climb, too, the little acrobats.

We would lose Jacques for hours, calling & calling for him. He often would appear from our bedroom but we couldn’t find out where he was hiding.

Until, for some reason, I pulled out a drawer beneath shelves in my closet.

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How Jacques slept amongst the sequins, spandex and fish nets!

He had to climb straight up to get himself into a large bin where the duds of my day as a figure skater/show girl now reside. Fishnet stockings, sequins, bangles, beads, wrap-around skirts and show costumes and there’s little Jacques curled up within it all. Sometimes he was buried and other times he was just chillaxin’. In the spandex.

After that we affectionately called him Jacques Brian Boitano Fyfe.

And where does one begin with Casey’s stories?

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Casey always was up for a snuggle, preferably on your lap.

My vet school friend drove him from Saskatoon down to Bismarck when he had finished his PT after his year of being rebuilt at our vet school. Theresa had kindly fostered him for us and happily came for a visit. Minutes before they reached the US border Casey puked all over her. That was too bad given the fact the border guard apparently was pretty hot and Theresa was single back then.

Good old Casey.

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One of many, many body parts Casey dragged home over the years.

Casey loved Montana. (Who am I kidding? Casey loved EVERYthing!)

Our back yard borders USFS so there are miles and miles of forest. The dogs all treated it as their own little kingdom.

One time, early on, Casey & Harry didn’t come back from a hike they had joined me on. We called and called into the trees and Harry eventually did return. We called all of our new neighbors, the restaurant that used to be here, the pet shelter in town… nothing.

Until a few hours later when a Subaru (go figure) pulls up the driveway with Casey sitting in the back seat.

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Do you want to share, Mummy?????

There is a back road into town that runs through the forest behind our house and this lady and her son were out for a drive when they saw the boys. They said they really had to coax Casey into the car, that he looked kind of scared and that he kept looking back towards the trees… right, that’s because he probably heard us calling him and he’d never been in a car before. Trucks only.

Casey’s big adventures.

(Along those lines, when you see dogs in the middle of nowhere, they are probably closer to their home/farm than you think.)

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Oh, Muldy!

Our ginger ragamuffin Special Agent Fox Mulder Fyfe sometimes would disappear in Bismarck. We figured he had a poker game and dancing girls going on down the then-dirt road leading to the farm.

One time he came back I let him inside and was instantly overpowered by the smell…

“Hon, I think he’s been right by some fireworks! He’s all smoky!” I thought…

“That’s not smoke, Tan. He’s been skunked!” (Alistair and I have very different senses of smell but he was right and Muldy spent a few days in the garage.) Bathing cats isn’t a lot of fun, either.

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HRH Sport Fyfe

Then there is our stuck-up Siamese, Sport. He’s declawed and hoity toity, therefore he’s never been a hunter. He has tried to learn the ropes, though, often following Mulder around inside and out.

One day Whitney was looking out our kitchen window and asked me what the heck Sport was doing… running around the entire (big) house at least three times with something in his mouth.

He’d caught a mouse!

Only… it was a dead mouse… Mulder had caught it that morning. I watched him toy with it and then leave it beneath the camper where Sport had been investigating. Atta boy, Sporto.

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Harry in his element.

Then there was Harry who may have had some wolf in him. Our loyal, handsome, somewhat-quirky boy used to come to elementary school or daycare talks I would do because he was so unique looking and just plain cool!

But he never really learned normal dog behaviors (which is fine on the Fyfe Farm. Just donate your reproductive organs and get along).

So when the daycare kids left the door open to their soccer fields in downtown Bismarck one summer, Harry decided show and tell was over. Outside is better than inside when you’re a wolf-dog, right?

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Harry and Alistair had a very special bond.

I probably would have been fine on my own but when the kids realized the situation they all decided to “help”.

Imagine about 40 little kids chasing behind me waving their chubby little arms in the air squealing, “HARRRRRRRRRYYYYYY”. Harry glanced back and picked up the pace. Again. And again until finally one of the teachers got the kids to hold back.

2 hours.

I spent 2 hours sitting in a nearby neighborhood waiting for Harry to cross the street from underneath the tree he’d found to hide under.

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Quite the creature.

What brought a lot of this up in my mind was Loki’s latest adventure a couple of mornings ago.

In the space of 3 minutes she disappeared on me. I let the 3 dogs out every morning and then go let the barn kitties out and quickly feed UB and Cleo. 3 minutes. I swear.

No Loki.

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Here I am, Step Gammy!

I looked everywhere. Our front yard is a big, wide open area. I can see all over the place. I started calling and calling… that awful feeling in the pit of your stomach where something is very wrong….

Then  I heard her little bark (it was actually her pissy bark, to be honest so I knew Little Miss Independence needed some help).

There she was standing in the middle of the creek. The snow banks are still 2 feet high, which is why I couldn’t see her. Thank goodness the water level and flow aren’t too high right now!

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Loki needs her beauty sleep… especially after such a harrowing morning!

She was “chibbering” away but we warmed up by the woodstove and all is back to normal.

Which isn’t very normal at all around this place.

I could go on about Cleo and the UPS man or Casey knocking Dad over after knee surgery or Oscar bringing home bats, bunnies, & endangered birds or the ferrets vs the guinea pigs or UB vs the elk, UB vs the grizzly bear, UB vs the mama bear with 3 cubs, UB vs the bobcat and UB vs Georgia Woo Fang (who, thanks to that altercation is now just Georgia Woo) or discovering, as a veterinarian, that Phillipe was Phillipa or Dash not knowing how to pasture breed the 8 mares with their 8 foals or Casey splitting his head open on the snow plow blade or Gampy forgetting Loki when he was getting hay or Boomer getting locked in our closet when we went to Disneyland or Oscar & Cooper trying to have sex or UB piddling all over my clinic or a piddled-upon stove burner (aka Why Cartman Became a Barn Cat) or Jinxie going for a ride with the Schwan’s man, Whitney & Daddy when she accidentally moved to Montana ahead of schedule…. its endless mayhem and silliness.

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“You can’t leave me, Matt! I love you!”

Well, future tales for many have, indeed ended.

I could choose to let that wash over me but I’m choosing instead to have a bit of a laugh yet again. As zany as many of our animal companions have been I would do it all again in a heartbeat. Without question or hesitation I would bring each and every one of them into the house and share our worlds on the prairies or in the mountains.

And we will love on those who remain with the biggest of hearts and all of the great food and meds-when-needed that we can provide.

And we will provide the kindest, most humane goodbyes when its time for that, too.

Thanks for coming along, Friends. This has been fun!

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Alistair and his favorite redhead, Marmalade.

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UB, always with the worried expression, looking slick in his new rain slicker a few years ago!

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Our Trio of Trouble, Phillipa, Calypso & Luigi a couple of months ago

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Alistair with Mouse & Jockey last winter

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Oscar and Mummy many moons ago. He’s the reason I started this blog! xo

Summertime, Montana-style

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Beautiful Montana

There is no denying that we live in one of the most beautiful, incredibly scenic parts of the world.

Big sky.

Rocky Mountains.

Crystal blue rushing waters that beckon to fly-fishermen and women everywhere with their plump, shiny trout.

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Enjoying some ah-time on Upsata Lake

Or tranquil, peaceful sapphire lakes that lull you into a coma-like state of relaxation while your husband tries, (again) to catch supper.

Montana is elk, bison, antelope and bears.

It is poetry, songs, stories and deep thoughts.

And we are so lucky to have found our tucked-away piece of Paradise in the middle of nowhere.

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Close to home, late last summer

But the country that has inspired former Presidents and adventurers doesn’t give up her splendor that easily.

There are certain responsibilities and risks that go along with enjoying summertime in Montana.

Like wildfires.

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Not what I wanted to see when walking the dogs Friday evening.

A wicked electrical storm had moved through the area bringing bolts of lightning and gusts of wind.

That’s a bad combination after a dry spring and summer in timber country.

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Aerial view of the same fire complex yesterday that is 6 miles from town. (Not my photo.)

We had our first town meeting on these fires and although they look frightening, other than the smoke-filled skies, they shouldn’t pose much of a threat.

They are 3 separate fires burning in the same general area.

A few roads and trails are closed but for now we should be alright.

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From our meadow a couple of years ago.

Until the next storm and the next lightning strike.

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From a couple of summers ago; fire camp was along our back driveway for this fire.

We all plan ahead and we all fall into a routine of watching every nearby mountain closely for plumes of smoke, especially after a storm.

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Storm moving in two nights ago on the farm.

We bring up all of the pet crates from the basement and keep them by the ferrets and in the garage so we can put our hands on them in a moment’s notice.

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No joke. Just took this picture.

We call our friends who live across the valley from us because the billowing smoke rising from their neck of the woods wasn’t there a few hours prior.

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Fire across the meadow last week just outside of Ovando. All evacuees are back home and things are good. Thank-you, fire crews!

We pay attention to weather reports and we make sure the horse trailer is hooked up to the truck just in case we have to move in a hurry.

And we breathe the smoky air and try not to exercise much in it and we watch the weather reports and we curse the wind and long for rain and make sure the InciWeb site is listed as a Favorite.

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Dipping into nearby Clearwater Lakes a couple of years ago.

There are often little reminders to be aware because it isn’t always lightning that creates the problem.

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Last summer, along our driveway- brush fire out of control.

When I saw the flashing lights and smoke up the driveway last year it was a humble reminder that it could just have easily been us whose brush fire got out of control.

There is no time to plan when you’re talking about forest fires- the planning has to be done ahead of time.

Because you aren’t going to be able to stop Mother Nature if she wants to hurl another storm your direction. And the fires only take off and get out of control because the beautiful treed forests we love to hike in and explore are on gorgeous Montana steep slopes and peaks, making them a challenge to get to if needed.

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Storm rapidly moving in the other night.

Fires aren’t the only hazard we have to respect and watch out for this time of year in this enormous state.

Bordering US Forest Service land brings some fascinating neighbors.

Like Grizzly Bears!

We had the amazing opportunity to help Fish & Wildlife workers track a female Grizzly whose collar had stopped moving.

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Bob and Alistair tracking Fen.

We used our trusty Ranger, “Steve” to get into the woods behind our house and then set out on foot with Bob and Mike to find Fen.

Fen is an important sow who FWP have studied for 8 years.

She’s had several cubs in that time and has never been a Nuisance Bear- the information they gather from her is purely for science.

You can imagine how relieved we all were to find out why the collar had stopped moving.

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Thankfully, it was just the collar that wasn’t moving anymore.

Bob and Mike used their tracking devices and we hiked through thick brush, over and under fences, through creeks and up and down slopes.

Bob told us about Fen and how he really hoped she had merely slipped the collar as opposed to the alternative.

None of us wanted to find Fen.

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The creek where the collar was found, discussing the possibilities. Maybe Fen took a bath and rubbed up against the tree just off to my right.

We are thankful that it doesn’t appear she was shot because the $5000 collar was intact.

So we hope Fen is out there living the life of a Montana Grizzly Bear, doing Grizzly Bear things and maybe leading us to her again in the future so we can re-collar her and learn some more.

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Fen’s collar… these things are pretty skookum!

It wasn’t her first slipped collar, Bob told us, but it was her most expensive one.

Summers around this place can be pretty amazing.

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Me, Mike and Alistair after a successful tracking expedition!

With ranching in Montana comes yet another summertime responsibility.

When you have livestock and animals who depend on you, even if they are more pets than anything, you have to be prepared to do the right thing.

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APHA Dash With Gusto, our ranch stallion

We plan for forest fires and we also plan for the winter.

If you have aging animals who won’t survive the winter you have to do something about it when you can.

Especially when they are over 1000 lbs.

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Dash a couple of winters ago

It sadly fits right in with the year of attrition that’s been going on around these parts.

The good thing, if there is one, is that I’m a veterinarian and can do these things right at home.

The bad thing, is that I’m a veterinarian who is their Mummy and its just a shitty situation, even though it was absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt, the right thing to do.

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Dash, our noble stallion, a couple of winters ago

One of the kindest, sweetest stallions I have ever known needed us to step in.

We have raised horses and hay for many years and have the tools and equipment and land to handle these things.

The details and specifics were taken care of.

The rocky soil was dug with the backhoe.

The meds were drawn up.

We laid Dash with sweet little Cooper-cat last Sunday.

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Handsome Dash, flirting with Maggie 2 summers ago

Its summer in Montana. Life on the farm. Fyfe Life.

Whatever you want to call it you still have to get through it however you can, breathing the smoky air when its there, carrying the bear spray on every hike and maybe with a tear or two in your eye.

My eyes are sore right now from the memory and the smoke outside.

And yet I love it here.

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Dash in a late snowstorm last year

I love the distinct seasons and the challenges each one brings.

Everything I do and have done helps me face the next day or the next challenge, whether its a smoke plume or a pink fluid in a couple of large syringes.

Montana is hard work, sweat, humility and fear.

It is strength. Courage. Determination.Compassion.

And love.

If you have never been to Montana you should come visit.

Maybe call ahead first, though.

We might be out tracking Grizzly Bears.

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Bear trackers!

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A few winters ago, Dash peeking through the fence.

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Sticking close by when I went to dig a hole in his frozen creek.

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A sunny day behaving as a sofa, goofing around with Alistair. Dash was a sweetheart and we will always remember him with love and a smile.

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A piece of our beautiful big boy. xo

 

Running to Stand Still

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Gee, I wonder what I’ll be doing today?

The title is a line from an old U2 song.

Its an obscure song with a bit of a dark, haunted sound to it but I absolutely love it. Not that I really know what they’re talking about with some of the imagery but I get the point of running to stand still.

I’ve done this so many times in my life its not even funny. In fact, I kind of live that way.

I work my ass off doing a million-billion things (all with a perfectionist’s attitude, of course) all day or all week or all month long so that I can have that ‘ahhhh’ moment somewhere down the road.

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Enjoying that ‘ahhhh’ moment at our wintery ranch

I sometimes find it difficult to completely relax when there are things that need to be done.

When you live on a ranch in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of animals there are a lot of things that aren’t negotiable.

It doesn’t matter that the snow is up to my mid-thigh this afternoon and that they are calling for another foot or 2 through tomorrow.

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Winter is here!

It doesn’t matter that I shoveled the deck yesterday and that my shoulders are a bit sore because the snow that’s laying on our already-bowed decks is heavy and it needs to come off.

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I swear, I shoveled this baby bare yesterday.

It doesn’t matter that Big Red is buried and that the controls for the blade are getting a bit finicky and that the wipers keep getting iced up and I have to stop to de-ice them and the door isn’t shutting very well and I’m only plowing today to make plowing easier for ltomorrow.

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Big Red. My 1996 companion who saves my ass every winter.

I love that truck.

He got all pimped out a few years ago with a cd-player, stereo and seat covers, the blade and a fix to the power steering.

Sometimes I tune in to Jack Johnson while I plow using Big Red… just for the irony of it all.

Lately, though, its Coldplay and Mylo Xyloto.

Para… para… paradise…

Because this is Paradise.

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One of the peaks of the Swan range just north of us.

And if I want to stand still and take some time to enjoy it, I have to work my ass off now.

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Our annual friend, The Icicle as he is forming. He goes through many adaptations each winter and he’s got a good start already this year.

There is wood to split, wood to haul, fires to keep lit, roads to plow, decks to shovel, roof tops to rake, snow from the roof to shovel, paths to carve out for little blind dogs, paths to carve out to feed horses, and ice to break open so the horses can drink fresh water.

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The path to re-make through the stallion pen to open up the water

Horses don’t get enough water from licking snow. Yes, there are old ranchers who think that’s acceptable but our stallion, Dash is getting older and he gave us a colic scare this year already so I’d like to make sure he has ample access to water.

Or even just a little bit.

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Dash, surveying my work as I take a selfie break from hacking away at the ice and snow.

I’m sure Dash appreciates my effort.

Trudging through the thigh-deep snow with a shovel and a huge mallet in my hands.

Heaving that damned mallet up in the air only to slam it back down again over and over, hoping the entire time that the ice I’m standing on doesn’t give way.

Shoveling an area for him and taking it down bit by bit so that he can actually reach the bubbling, gurgling, fresh open water.

And then feeding him about 20 shovels full of water because he still didn’t want to go to the creek.

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“I think you can take some more of this snow down….”

Its just stuff that needs to be done.

Like the hay in the summer.

All these things must be done and nobody else is going to do it if I don’t.

Unless Alistair is here- he gets a LOT done around this place.

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Alistair likes using the big boy toys!

But he is in Bismarck treating the 100s of sick folks who flock to the Walk-In clinic sneezing and coughing in his face for 14 days straight.

His own version of running to stand still.

He works his own butt off so we can continue to have the wonderful life we have.

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Its the good life!

So we can enjoy the Paradise we call home as well as our other favorite Paradise half-way across the Pacific Ocean now and then.

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November on Hawaii Island

I even feel a teensy bit guilty right now taking time to write this blog when I could be splitting wood.

I have worked on that guilt. I’m sure many writers have it.

I’ve worked on believing that what I write has meaning and that its my contribution to things right now.

Along with plowing, shoveling and clearing piddle zones for blind companions.

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Loki, checking out today’s freshly cleared paths

Don’t get me wrong- I’m not complaining one bit. I love the exercise and being outdoors and the fact that I truly am contributing to our greater good.

And we laugh and joke when we work outside together and I let the big dogs out and they romp and play in the snow and everything gets done and my meal tastes better and my sleep is often deeper because of the hard work.

Because I’ve been running.

Or shoveling, as it were.

To stand still.

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Cleo and Harry helping me shovel.

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“You missed a spot over in the corner, Mummy.”