Crossed Fingers

My 14-year-old daughter, Abby, and I might hear the mews of barn kittens, but we rarely see the actual kittens.

So loud, insistent cries coming from under an old horse trailer piqued our curiosity.  

Four pairs of blue eyes gazed out from under the trailer.

One pair wriggled toward us.

I wondered how such an adamant cacophony could come from that tiny fur ball.

Her broken hind leg and crooked foot explained a lot.

Abby and I talked about what to do.

We have plenty of barn cats and they keep reproducing.

Kittens do best when their mothers raise them.

A splint wouldn’t fix this kitten’s leg.

A sling might.

Or might not.

Abby is busy with volleyball practice and I am pushing to get the ranch ready for winter.

The kitten would probably die without help.

We are in the business of giving animals the best life we can while they are here.

Would our well-intentioned efforts hurt or help?

Could we do enough?

The kitty’s vocal contributions to the discussion influenced our decision.

We had to try.

Princess Peanut and her crooked foot now reside in a box in the living room.

Our visitors this week take turns feeding her.

My fingers are crossed that we will figure out a plan for next week, when visitors are gone and Abby starts school.

My fingers remain crossed as I walk through my pasture.

We received about 2 inches of rain last week.

The crispy brown grass came back to life, offering a green tinge that contrasts with the gray, smoky haze.

But as I walk across the pasture, I can see where water ran across bare ground between plants.

In a different pasture, where I feed hay in the winter, spots of bare ground are much smaller and the water soaked right in.

Is it enough to improve the grass on just part of the ranch?

Good grass on just part of the ranch won’t get me through the next drought.

Worrying about how to help the grass when it is already crispy and brown is not enough, either.

Drought mitigating strategies take a long time.

Obviously, I need to feed hay across more of the ranch.

I’ve been working on feeding in more areas, but my 2-wheel-drive tractor is slow and steep hills on the way to far-away pastures limit access in snow and ice.

A 4-wheel drive pickup with a bale feeder would solve both of those problems.

I resist buying another motor because I have trust issues with motors.

Motors tend to quit me.

I’m torn between catering to my comfort level and finding a tool that will help me do enough to grow more grass and be ready for the next drought.

So I can uncross my fingers.

Meanwhile, I watch my haystack.

Is it big enough?

I have enough hay to feed all of my animals every day if winter comes in December and leaves by the end of April.

If winter shows up in September, as it has a few times, and stays until June, as it has a few times, I will have to sell some animals to someone else who can feed them.

Selling animals is hardly unusual around here, but I would rather time my sales so my trailer doesn’t get stuck in a snowbank.

I cross my fingers for a wet winter that comes when I expect winter to come and leaves when I expect it to leave.

Cartoons used to depict ranchers as wiry, bow-legged characters, riding a trusty steed from dawn until dusk.

Now you can identify us by our fingers, perpetually crooked from all of that crossing.