Reasons For Raising Rabbits

Rabbit Ranching

Reasons For Raising Rabbits

Raising rabbits can be a rewarding and worthwhile endeavor for many reasons. Firstly, rabbits are a good source of protein, as their meat is lean and easy to digest. Additionally, their manure contains high levels of nitrogen and phosphorus, making it an excellent source of fertilizer for gardens and crops.

Rabbits are also relatively low-maintenance pets that can be kept in small spaces, making them an ideal choice for urban environments or homes with limited outdoor space. Finally, for those interested in sustainable living, raising rabbits can be a way to reduce reliance on store-bought meat and fertilizer, and promote self-sufficiency.

Raising rabbits can have many benefits, both for personal and commercial reasons. Rabbits are relatively easy to care for and can be raised for their meat or fur. They are also popular as pets, as they are social animals that can be trained to use a litter box.

Additionally, rabbit manure is a great source of fertilizer for gardens. Overall, raising rabbits can be a rewarding and sustainable practice.

Facilities Needed For Rabbit Ranching

Facilities needed for rabbit ranching include proper shelter and housing for the rabbits, feed and water systems, medical supplies for sick or injured rabbits, and equipment for breeding and raising offspring.

Additionally, it's important to have a secure perimeter fence to keep predators out and prevent the rabbits from escaping. These facilities are crucial for ensuring the health and safety of the rabbits, as well as maximizing the productivity and profitability of the rabbitry.

Raising rabbits for commercial purposes requires specific facilities to ensure the comfort, health, and productivity of the animals. These facilities should include well-ventilated and appropriately sized cages or hutches that protect the rabbits from extreme weather and predators.

Additionally, an area for food storage, cleaning equipment, and medical supplies should be available. An efficient drainage and waste management system is also necessary to maintain hygienic conditions.

Lastly, there should be a dedicated area for breeding and raising young rabbits, as well as a separate space for sick or injured animals.

Choosing Rabbit Breeds

Choosing rabbit breeds requires careful consideration of several factors. You must think about the purpose of acquiring the rabbit, whether it's for pets, meat production, or breeding. You should also consider the breed's temperament, grooming requirements, and space requirements.

Choosing a rabbit breed can be a fun and exciting experience. There are many different breeds to choose from, each with its own unique characteristics and traits. Some breeds are best suited for families with children, while others are better suited for experienced rabbit owners.

Factors to consider when choosing a rabbit breed include temperament, size, grooming requirements, and activity level. By doing some research and considering your lifestyle and preferences, you can find the perfect rabbit breed for you.

Some popular breeds for pets include the Netherland Dwarf, Holland Lop, and Rex, while breeds such as the New Zealand and Californian are popular for meat production. It's essential to research and choose the right breed that suits your needs and lifestyle.

Feeding Rabbits

Feeding rabbits is an important aspect of rabbit ranching. It is essential to provide them with a balanced diet that includes hay, fresh vegetables, and fruits, as well as pellets that are specifically formulated for rabbits.

Rabbits also require a constant supply of fresh, clean water. It is important to monitor their weight and adjust their diet accordingly to prevent obesity or undernourishment. Additionally, it is important to provide them with a clean and comfortable living environment to maintain their health and well-being.

Feeding rabbits is an important aspect of rabbit ranching. Rabbits require a balanced and nutritious diet to maintain good health and growth. The diet should consist of fresh hay, vegetables, and a small amount of pellets.

It is important to provide clean water and ensure that the rabbits have access to it at all times. Overfeeding or giving the wrong kind of food can lead to health problems for the rabbits, so it is important to be mindful and provide the appropriate diet for these animals.

Watering Rabbits

Watering rabbits is an important aspect of rabbit ranching. Providing rabbits with clean and fresh water is essential for their health and well-being. It is recommended to use watering systems that are easy to clean and maintain, such as automatic watering nipples or water bowls.

Regularly checking the watering system and ensuring that the rabbits have access to water at all times is crucial in rabbit ranching. In addition, providing clean and fresh water can also help prevent the spread of diseases among rabbits.

Watering rabbits is an important task when it comes to rabbit ranching. Rabbits need access to clean water at all times, so it's important to regularly check their water sources and refill them as needed.

In addition to keeping your rabbits healthy, providing them with clean water can also improve the overall quality of their meat or fur. When watering your rabbits, be sure to use clean containers and change the water frequently to prevent the build-up of bacteria or other harmful substances.

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News Trend Ranger Lately|Actual

creature comforts

With Joy And Wild Abandon?

Not gonna lie. He is getting up there in years. And his health is not what it used to be.

But his days are a sweet succession of

long, lazy naps,

patrols around the backyard,

delicious drinks of cold, refreshing water,

more long, lazy naps, and

a handful of dog treats, as made available by the humans for good behavior.

As usual, his routine builds to the predictable late-afternoon crescendo: walk time.

You may recall that years ago, Ranger and I fell into the habit of taking our daily exercise at 4:20 p.m. Somehow, this clever boy set his internal alarm clock to this hour, and I've been living with the consequences ever since.

Just yesterday afternoon, for example, we were both dozing on the couch as I pretended to watch TV. All was peace and quiet, except for the rain pitter-pattering on the windows, the lolling thrum of the dryer in the next room, and my dog's gentle snores.

Suddenly, without ceremony, Ranger popped open his eyes, climbed down off the neighboring sofa cushion, turned around to face me, and began to whine.

When Ranger whines, there is no ignoring him. He's a regular mosquito in your bedroom at night.

I peeped one eye open to glance at the clock.

4:19 p.m.

Mhmm. He's that good.

So off we went into the wet wilderness, and for the next 45 minutes, my dog wagged happily as he hunted up and down suburban sidewalks, greeted the other neighborhood dogs with glee, heeled smartly as we crossed streets, and generally behaved like an all-out gem.

Soaked and satisfied, we headed home, where I whipped up his deluxe dinner. We raised him on simple dry kibble but lately have come round to treating him to a variety of pricey dog foods, stirred together into a scrumptious stew.

Ranger ate every bite with relish, stepped outside for a long drink of cold water, then curled up in a delectable if damp ball on the couch. Though he kept a close eye on me, following along as I moved from room to room, Ranger slept like an angel for the rest of the evening.

In fact, he's snoring at my feet right now.

* * * * *

I don't know how much life is left for Ranger. But then, none of us know for sure, do we.

However, I am completely certain of one thing - Ranger is making the most out of every sweet moment of his life.

* * * * *

I have written literally dozens of stories about my boy, Ranger - here are a few of my favorites:

Road Trip Day 10: Howell, MI | a sweet visit with my mom

Sleeping Beauty | creature comforts

With Joy And Wild Abandon | a dog on the beach

Camping: It's All About The Memories | oh, but that photo is one of my favorites

Adventures In The Woods |  a muddy dog is a happy dog

My Homemade Macaroni And Cheese | in which Ranger is forced to wait

News Trend Vast And Beautiful Mysteries Of Life|Actual

Just moments ago, Ranger and I stomped in the front door on return from our daily walk, and we have quite an adventure to share.

We were late getting started today. I was out running errands until after five, so Ranger was more than ready to go when I returned. I dropped my groceries on the counter, changed my shoes, and off we went.

In other nature news from my house today, my amaryllis burst forth in bloom.

It's only fair to say that Ranger waited patiently for me. My fourth-born, who was napping on the couch with our boy while I was gone, did mention that at one point in the afternoon, Ranger got up, looked at her, and offered a lukewarm whine. She hushed him and he obediently lay back down. Then she checked the time. 4:31 p.M. Not bad.

Darkness was settling in as we crossed the foot bridge through the ravine behind the school and came upon my secret place.

Well, yes. My original plan was for this phenomenon to take place in time for Christmas. So like a month ago. But really. Who's counting.

Okay, so it's really not that secret. The foot bridge leads to an administrative outpost for the adjacent high school. Tucked into the woods, this rectangular, out-of-sight office building is surrounded by a paved lane that wraps around three sides - short, long short, and then leads back out to the main school campus. By late Friday afternoon, this secluded area is always deserted and quiet.

Today, Ranger and I hopped off the foot bridge, same as always, and began our journey around the back of the building.

As usual, Ranger was working the full extent of his fifty-foot lead, wandering back and forth across the lane, sniffing the landscaping around the secret building on our left, or the wild perimeter of the woods to our right.

I suddenly noticed two unfamiliar women up ahead, standing in the lane on the long side of the building, about ten paces ahead of us. They turned round to face us and spoke in greatly exaggerated but utterly undiscernable whispers.

I had no idea what they were trying to say.

Instinctively, I began to coil Ranger's rope, slowly increasing my control over him in an uncertain situation, and he hunted obliviously on.

As I moved a few steps closer, the women repeated their message and with a burst of adrenaline, I understood.

"There's an owl up here in the lawn."

Oh, good gracious.

In my book, there is no bad time for nature to burst forth in glory and knock my beauty-seeking socks off. This profound mystery took place before my very eyes today, and I'm grateful indeed.

For years, in the wee-est hours of the night, I've listened with my heart beating out of my chest to the majestic calls of an unseen owl in my back woods. But never have I seen one of these noble predators. And knowing how elusive these nocturnal hunters can be, it never even occurred to me to dream of seeing one.

The long, back length of the secret building is not lit, which was good news for the owl but bad news for us, as we strained our eyes to make him out. But one of my new companions noticed a movement.

"Oh, he just flew up into that tree!"

Turning this way and that, we strained to see the bird's silhouette as he perched in the branches of the fifteen-foot tree planted right up against the building, but I still couldn't make him out.

We quietly stepped along the dark lane, hoping to find an angle that would allow us to catch sight of him.

I think what I noticed first was the quiet shudder of the tree as the feathered beast pushed off against it.

What I saw sent chills over every inch of my body.

An enormous, ghostly white specter passed almost directly over our heads.

An utterly silent flap, flap of powerful wings swiftly propelled the bird over the lane and into the waiting woods.

And, expertly maneuvering its wings just so, the owl landed with speedy but soundless perfection on a tall tree branch, just beyond our line of sight.

My impromptu companions and I gasped with delight.

We stood for a long moment, reminding each other of what we had just seen, as if none of us could believe it herself.

Then we parted company, strangers no more.

Ranger, for his part, had not noticed a thing. And the owl had not seemed to care one bit about him.

We finished our walk, Ranger happily sniffing as usual, and me contemplating the vast and beautiful mysteries of life.

* * * * *

For more stories about my owl, read these:

Burung Hantu

The Third Time

This Powerful Gift

News Trend Burung Hantu|Actual

In the Malay language, the word "owl" is spoken asburung hantu.

Directly translated, the words mean, "ghost bird."

In this dimly-lit, late-afternoon photo of the secret building,

my owl's favorite tree is the one on the left.

I saw my owl again.

On our usual walk today, Ranger and I headed across the foot bridge toward the secret building where we saw him the first time, at pretty much the same hour of twilight..

We rounded the back corner of the building, and I strained my eyes in the falling light to see if I could make him out on the lawn where we found him on Friday.

Nope. No owl in sight.

Sigh. I've been hoping all week to encounter him again but you know what they say about lightning striking twice in the same place.

It rarely happens.

So I let Ranger continue to lead me around the curve of the lane, trying to be not disappointed.

Just to be sure, though, my eyes scanned the tree - actually three narrow trees, planted side by side by side against the back of the building - where the owl had alighted on our first meeting.

And there he was.

A pale shadow in the deepening darkness.

Just a few meters off the ground.

Utterly and perfectly motionless.

I gasped inwardly and stared.

While I could not make out his face - and he certainly gave me no hints - I am pretty sure that owl stared at me as I slowly and carefully tiptoed past his perch, my oblivious red dog trailing happily behind me.

When we cleared what I perceived to be his air space, I turned back to take another long look at my owl. Honestly, I was hoping against hope that he would fly again, moving swiftly and silently into the nearby woods.

But he didn't. He just sat stone till, enjoying, I presume, the emerging darkness that brings him fully to life.

And I couldn't help but think, as the Malay do, that my white owl looked just like a pale phantom in the night sky..

Burung hantu. Ghost bird.

The very idea sent delicious shivers down my spine.

And I hope very much that I will see my owl again soon.

* * * * *

For more stories about my owl, read these:

Vast and Beautiful Mysteries Of Life

The Third Time

This Powerful Gift

News Trend The Third Time|Actual

This is the back side of the secret building where Ranger and I walk every day.

We first come round at the far end, down by the street light,

and stomp along the lane that runs the full length of the back side of the building.

Barely visible in the shadows are the three slim trees that grow against the building;

the four large windows against the darker grey siding help highlight their location.

Yet another encounter with my owl today.

That's three times in one week. But this time was different than the others.

* * * * *

On our usual walk, with darkness gathering round, Ranger and I cornered our secret building. As soon as the back lawn came into view, my eyes immediately began searching for a white shape among the trees against the building.

I didn't see anything.

And honestly, I suddenly began to doubt that I had ever seen anything. Every day for the past week, I wanted so badly to see that owl, but how did I know for sure that my brain wasn't fooling my eyes into some sort of illusion or trick?

That was entirely possible.

My eyes continued to scan the bare branches of the trees against the building as my brain counseled caution and my feet marched along.

Then.

Suddenly.

Two things happened at once.

* * * * *

Someone inside the building switched on a light. One of the windows directly behind the trees lit up in a flash, and the trees' silhouette now stood out visibly before my eyes.

And in that silhouette, I saw something that was most decidedly not a bare branch.

Near the top of the illuminated window, I saw the outline of something solid, with rounded lobes. Clearly, this was the lower tip of something that extended up into the darkness above the window. Something that looked almost like the tip of a bird's wing.

A big bird's wing.

Adrenalin shot through my body.

My skeptical brain quickly offered up an explanation. This was no owl. This was a small cluster of dead leaves that still clung to the tree, as winter leaves often do.

Well. That would make sense.

But at the same time, my mind's eye clearly recalled that every single inch of those limbs was bare.

Now my skin began to prickle and my hair stood up.

* * * * *

In the same split second, Ranger made a bold move.

Though he had been happily prancing along with me in the center of the paved lane, he suddenly veered toward the lawn, in a direct line toward the base of the trees. He didn't bark or make any overt sign of aggression, but my keenly attuned hunting dog moved with clear motives of instinct and intent.

* * * * *

Then a third thing happened.

It's hard to describe because I didn't actually hear or see anything. But beyond the power of my human senses, I felt a bolt of energy hit me like a surge of electricity.

Chills swept over me.

My body trembled, inside and out.

My brain scrambled to try to make sense of what was happening.

Then I saw it.

Majestic, powerful, enormous bird.

Wings outstretched against the dark sky.

Swiftly, silently, rising up and away from the building.

When my owl was directly over Ranger's agitated red head, the bird abruptly altered his course. I watched as he executed a sharp ninety-degree turn, now traveling directly away from me and my dog, and quickly disappeared into the shadows of the wood.

No part of me felt fear, but I experienced all these things with an almost unbearable tension.

Our third encounter now complete, Ranger and I walked on in the darkness and all I could think was I couldn't wait to see my owl again;

* * * * *

I'm still not sure why this bird has such a profound effect on me.

And I realize that this sounds rather dramatic and extreme.

But after these experiences, I can honestly say that when I see my owl, I feel as though I am staring into the very face of God.

* * * * *

For more stories about my owl, read these:

Vast and Beautiful Mysteries Of Life

Burung Hantu

This Powerful Gift

News Trend A Little Golden Tale|Actual

?Be thou comforted, little dog, Thou too in Resurrection shall have a little golden tail?

- Martin Luther

The season of Lent is here.

Now is the time to put away the last traces of the Christmas glitz and glamour - oh, yes, I do still have my garlands up and lights a-blazing - and settle down into the certainty of the pre-Easter season, which is this:

We are mortal. Just as surely as we were born, we will one day die.

But we need not fear death, because God promises us something more.

I know. At first, that feels like an unbearably heavy message, doesn't it.

But if we can receive those words with faith, then joy of Easter and the promise of heaven will undoubtedly follow.

* * * * *

In other news, I took Ranger to the vet this week.

He has, I am sorry to say, a huge tumor on his back end. It's not cancerous, thank goodness, but it is a nasty, inoperable thing, and there is no way to stop it from growing. I am being challenged to settle down into the certainty of his doctor's words, which were this:

Take your dog home. Give him the best life you possibly can

And when his suffering becomes too much, let him go.

Ouch. At first, that felt like an unbearably heavy message for me.

But I have to remind myself that Ranger is just as mortal as anyone else. And just as surely as he was born, his little doggy life has been long, and the day that he will die draws near.And God promises more to him - oh yes, dogs most certainly do go to heaven - and so I am working to receive Dr. Bennett's words with faith, and live out Ranger's life in joy.

And now please excuse me, as it's time to take my good dog for a walk.

News Trend Sassy|Actual

This sassy Mexican blanket entered my life last Christmas.

A gift from my second-born.

Seductively soft, nappy textured cotton.

Bohemian bits of fringe.

Traditional bold black and white pattern.

Brilliant stripes of orange and pink.

I love every saucy inch.

But until today, I have not been exactly sure where to put it.

Turns out that my living room, with its current blend of neutral and natural decor, is the perfect backdrop for a textile with attitude. This room is begging for a bit of sass which my Mexican blanket is only too happy to provide.

Welcome home, blanket.

In the meantime, a certain someone slept nearby.

Don't let that handsome profile and distinguished silver muzzle lull you into complacency.

This is a cheeky Irishman on a mission.

Somehow, Ranger's internal clock was way off today. We had more than an hour to go before walk time. But that did not deter my headstrong dog.

As soon as Ranger realized my attention had shifted from the blanket to his very own self, he put his full persuasive efforts into overdrive.

He flopped down to a prone position, buried his head adorably in the rug, locked his eyes onto mine, and began to cry.

When I say cry, what I mean is that what started first as a gentle whimper and then a subtle whine soon evolved into a wrenching scream that likely made the howler monkeys at the zoo cover their ears and wince in pain.

To be honest, Ranger's display of attitude was so outrageous that I couldn't help myself. I sat down next to him on the floor and just plain laughed myself silly..

He stopped his fuss to listen to me.

Then I explained that walk time was still over an hour away.

He calmed down a bit more, but still he lasered those big brown eyes onto mine, shooting me with electric bolts of cleverness and clearly hoping to change my mind.

And that's when I realized that my Mexican blanket was no longer the sassiest thing in the room.

News Trend Buried Treasure|Actual

Tonight's twlight, as seen during my walk with Ranger. Little did I know what plans were taking shape in his head as I innocently strolled along.

Before dawn this morning, I was greeted by the sound of my dog standing at the side of my bed and whimpering for my attention.

Not my favorite way to start the day.

Cmon boy, Jump up. I patted the bed in what I hoped was an enticing manner. At five a.m, I'm never entirely sure what I'm doing.

He jumped up and settled down. But a few snatches of sleep later, he was back at the side of the bed, crying plaintively, swatting at anything in sight in his most desperate attempt to get me to do what he wants.

But I had no idea what the heck he wanted.

Cmon boy. Jump up.

We went back and forth like this for hours. Finally, around eight, after Ranger had switched up his strategy and stomped out into the hall to bark while standing at the top of the stairs, I gave in. Wrapping myself up in the comforter against the damp and dreary morning chill, I put my feet on the floor and forced myself to follow my now-delighted dog down the stairs and, presumably, over to the back door.

We were halfway down the stairs when I opened my eyes far enough to notice. My dog had an extra spring in his step, a sassy bounce, an elevated sense of swag. Suddenly I realized why.

Ranger was prancing along with a chew bone in his mouth.

Yes. That chew bone. The one he had taken outside over two weeks ago and buried in the back yard. The one that was now covered in dirt and trailing bits of bark as my besotted dog carried it down the stairs.

Suddenly it all made sense.

On his early morning bathroom break, Ranger had dug up his bone. My husband later confirmed that indeed, Ranger had shown up at the back door around 4:45 a.M., ready to come back in, with his precious possession held between his little white teeth. My husband took mercy on him, and uncharacteristically let the little red gentleman march his filthy treasure up the stairs and into my bed.

Yes, the well-aged chew treat had been IN my bed. Further inspection turned up a layer of unspeakable debris strewn through the layers of my bed covers, as Ranger had undoubtedly attempted to bury his bone in my bed. Unsatisfied with his efforts, Ranger had been after me all morning to take him back downstairs and out into the yard where he could return his treasure to a suitably safe spot.

Oh good lord.

So finally, finally, I let my dog out into the misty morning, and he soon returned with an empty mouth and a dirty little nose, a sure sign that he had well and properly buried his bone. And I trusted that he would leave it alone for a good long time, while he thought up some new indoor hiding places.

But on that count, I was completely wrong.

Because when I went up to my room tonight and turned down the covers, what do you think I found?

Yes. Ranger's dirty chew treat. Buried once again in my bed.

News Trend An Ordinary Day|Actual

Ranger much prefers to work the natural underbrush at the edge of a forest clearing,

but in a pinch, he'll settle for a few manicured neighborhood shrubs.

Today was an ordinary day.

Today was a momentous day.

For the first time since last Sunday, Ranger went for his daily walk.

* * * * *

We were still in the outbound leg of our ritual adventure when Ranger was attacked by another dog.

The dog was playing off-leash on a soccer field adjacent to our path.

He first encountered Ranger through the chain link fence. They sniffed each other without incident.

Then, ignoring his owner's commands, the dog ran to the exit, passed through the gate and doubled back to meet Ranger face-to-face on our side of the fence.

Without warning or cause, the larger dog jumped up and knocked Ranger to the ground.

He bit at Ranger's rear end many times.

His owner continued to call to him, but he did not obey.

The sounds of this chaos, including my own shouts and screams, were indescribable.

It was a horrible, violent scene.

After what seemed like hours, the owner hauled his dog off.

Ranger jumped up and ran a few paces away.

The man began to apologize to me, but then looked over my shoulder in horror.

Ranger was bleeding profusely.

My first fear was that a major artery had been cut.

But then I remembered his tumor.

Ranger's surgeon has explained to me that the large tumor growing on Ranger's back end is essentially a ball of blood, and if opened up, can result in uncontrollable blood loss and a quick death.

That's why he deemed Ranger's tumor inoperable.

In a flash, I realized that Ranger's tumor had been nicked in the attack and was now pulsing blood at a shocking rate - his back end was already drenched and he stood in a growing puddle of red.

Ranger's eyes met mine in a moment of shared horror. And then I flew into action.

I ripped off my trusty orange fleece jacket and commanded the stunned owner to put pressure on Ranger's rump.

I bent my knee and wedged my leg underneath my poor dog, who was clearly in shock, to hold him upright. He sagged against me. With one calming hand, I petted and soothed him, while my other trembling hand dialed my husband.

Come immediately. I said, strangely calm. This is an emergency. Ranger has been attacked and he is bleeding very badly.

Ranger laid limply across my lap during the drive as I kept pressure on his wounds. I did not expect him to survive.

At the emergency vet clinic, capable women strapped him to a transport board and whisked him away.

Then we waited.

* * * * *

An hour later, a doctor explained the damage. The injuries from the attack are not too bad, she said. But he has a big tumor, she said, which will inevitably lead to his demise.

Yes, I know all about his tumor, I said.

"One option is to euthanize him tonight," she said.

No, I said. Not tonight. We will give him a chance to recover.

"Fair enough," she said. "Then we need to keep him overnight to observe him."

No, I said. He's coming home tonight.

"If that's what you prefer," she said. "Give us a few hours to get him stitched and cleaned up."

* * * * *

So, Sunday evening around ten p.M., we brought Ranger home.

He was weak, wobbly and exhausted. I laid on the floor next to him all night long as his tumor wounds slowly bled into the towels wrapped around his back half.

Things did not look good for Ranger.

But by the next morning, we noticed a change.

Ranger was still sore and spent, but the Irish twinkle in his eye still shined.

I noticed the hint of a spring in his step as he took his rounds in the back yard.

I watched as he quietly monitored the couch traffic, and cautiously made his move up to a coveted cushion when a spot opened up

I took in the familiar perk of his ears at the offer of a treat.

The bleeding eventually subsided.

Over the next few days, his strength and spirit have continued to gradually increase.

* * * * *

I've taken a hundred pictures of Ranger lying on the front lawn after a walk.

And today, I'm thrilled to make it a hundred and one.

Today has been the kind of warm February day that stirs hope in the hearts of winter people everywhere. I'm particularly susceptible to this form of spring fever and this afternoon, I threw open the windows, washed an avalanche of bloodied towels, and vacuumed up the messy rooms where Ranger has been nursed.

In that heady spirit of renewal and rebirth, I came to a certain conclusion. Ranger needs a walk, I decided, even if it's nothing more than a slow sniff around the front yard on the end of his short leash. My fourth born offered to accompany him, and the adventure went so well that they ambled down the street a bit, and came back to lounge a few moments in the sunny front yard.

And while it is hardly up to the standard of our typical afternoon outing, that ten-minute stroll is momentous in its own way.

Because after the events of this week, I am delighted to find that Ranger is having anything that remotely resembles an ordinary day..

News Trend Beauty's Where You Find It|Actual

Beauty has been on my mind lately.

* * * * *

I know of two women who died this week.

Both were considered beautiful by cultural standards - wide eyes, big smiles and slim stature - both were still young and at the height of their physical power.

One was cut down in a moment - she died an accidental death with her beauty intact.

The other wasted away at the hands of cancer, and was worn to a mere thread of her former glory by the time she blessedly passed.

And while it may seem natural to pity the woman who suffered before she died, I can't help but believe that her illness brought out a kind of beauty that runs far deeper than symmetrical facial features and silky hair. I've seen a few photos of her last days and rather than being repulsed by her sunken eyes, bald head and skeletal frame, I see a deeper, transcendent beauty in her eyes that expands my definition of what it means to be beautiful.

* * * * *

I was raised by a woman who never spoke of beauty.

To the best of my memory, my mother didn't talk about my looks. She might have mentioned that my dress looked nice or she liked my new haircut. But she never told me that I was cute or pretty or beautiful, even though I'm sure she thought I was. So I grew up assuming there was something wrong with the way I looked. Maybe I wasn't straight-up ugly but certainly I must be unattractive or at least plain.

Once I survived the turbulence of adolescence and got myself settled into young adulthood, I realized my looks were fine. But it wasn't until I hit my late twenties that I pieced together the reasons for my mom's inability to compliment me..

My mom never thought of herself as beautiful. She hated the way she looked.

And her mother before her carried the same shame.

I was born to a line of women who could not see their own beauty and could not speak of the beauty of their own flesh and blood. Feeling sadness and pity for their pain, I decided that I would be the generation to break that chain. I choose to see beauty in myself and my daughters, as well as my mother and grandmother.

* * * * *

Here in the Pacific Northwest, spring is quietly tiptoeing in. Though I always look forward to the dazzling cherry trees of mid-April and the exuberant peony season of late May, these early days of the new season are dearest to my heart.

One bold daffodil pushing up out of the earth.

Small bumps of leaf buds swelling the tips of tree branches.

Fresh rain that falls not with the icy chill of winter but the sweet promise of warmer days to come.

There is beauty not just in the lush celebration of spring but also first hints of new life.

* * * * *

Ranger's been feeling much better this week. After his attack and some serious injuries to his unfortunate tumors, his heart also needed some time to mend. Quiet and withdrawn for the first few days, he has bounced back nicely. Once again, with twinkly eyes and sassy stomping feet, he began reminding me of our daily walk time just like always. My handsome Irishman seemed to be back on track.

Until I put him into the car. Nine days after the attack, I took Ranger out to the garage. I opened the side door of the van and he readily hopped up. But instead of settling into the middle seat as he has done all his life - and where he sat on that horrible ride to the emergency clinic - he took an odd detour to the far back seat. And within a heartbeat, he let loose with the most unholy noise I've ever heard him make.

My fourth-born described it as a screaming seal. I recognized it as pure primal distress.

Ranger let out a series of maybe ten such yelps before I could get my hands on him to pet and soothe. Once I stroked him for a few seconds, he seemed calmer so I turned around to settle myself into the middle seat. The cries started up again, just as heart-wrenching as before.

This time, I used one hand to rub the closest fluffy red ear while I pulled on his leash to guide him off the back seat, up to the middle seat, and onto my lap. My trembling boy climbed up willingly and settled himself across my legs where he stayed, quiet and calm, for the rest of our drive.

My guess is that sitting inside the car reminded Ranger of his harrowing trip to the emergency vet. Maybe he was actually remembering my anxiety rather than his own pain but there's no doubt that Ranger experienced an ugly recollection when he found himself back in that car. And nothing but my physical contact could soothe his anguish and restore his peace.

The ugly scars on my dog's body are slowly healing. And likewise, I see that in the hurt places of his soul, a beautiful new trust in me has grown to fill in the wounds.

* * * * *

My final word on beauty goes to Madonna.

Two months after my first daughter was born, at a time when my postpartum self felt dreamily happy but not particularly beautiful, I danced before an audience for the first and only time (so far) in my life. The song was Madonna's Vogue and for our performance, the six of us were encouraged to go all out with dramatic hair and make-up. Holding nothing back, I smoldered my eyes in smoky shadow, lengthened my lashes with impossible layers of mascara, and let loose my usual pony-tailed hair into a long curly mane.

I was transformed.

I danced with wild abandon.

And I felt insanely beautiful.

To this day, every time I hear that song, the lyrics speak truth into my soul once again.

Beauty's where you find it.

News Trend Lions And Lambs|Actual

March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb.

This old adage sums up the changeable weather of late winter and early spring. During my childhood years in Michigan, I remember the cold, still-snowing lion days mixing back and forth with the fresh blue skies of the warm lamb weather, and often we would seesaw back and forth between the seasons several times over the course of the month.

But here in the Pacific Northwest, things are a bit different.

Here, the varying weather does not alternate from week to week or even day to day.

Winter and spring mix themselves seamlessly together. The heavy, dark clouds roll by overhead, full of chilly rain and tossed about by icy breezes while the cherry trees and forsythia burst forth below in fragile, pastel blossoms.

This mixed-up, in-between season will likely carry on for the rest of the month, and we PNWers can only smile at the incongruity as we brush the morning frost off our blooming daffodils and run for cover when the hail beats down on the hyacinth.

March may come in like a lion and leave like a lamb in some climates, but here in my little corner of the world, this is the month when the lion and the lamb lie down together.

The lion-hearted temperatures may have been about 45 F/ 7 C during our walk yesterday,

but my fully recuperated lamb, Ranger enjoyed himself all the same.

News Trend The Sweetest Songs|Actual

Luna (left) and Sirius wait with me while Ranger takes his long post-walk drink from the front yard birdbath. Cedric had already gone inside for his dinner.

My daily walk with Ranger is more than a two-part harmony.

Our three kittens often join in to make our ritual a full-on symphony.

When we return, Ranger and I are often greeted as welcoming heroes. As we turn into our neighborhood and cross the last quiet street before stepping into our yard, our friendly little cats turn out to meet us and greet us, each in their own way.

Today was a perfect example.

Sirius, the tuxedo cat, chose to wait in the bushes along the neighbor's yard. As we strolled down the sidewalk, Sirius pranced along with us, safely sticking to the protected side of the shrubs until we all three reached the corner at the same time. Then he cautiously stepped out to cross the street with us, purring his greetings as he accompanied us all the way to the front door.

Luna, the black cat, typically prefers a more dramatic entrance. He lurked in the bushes in the far front corner of our yard until the instant that we stepped onto the grass. Like a bullet, he shot out in front of us, galloped across the wide open space, and flew up to the door where he sat down on the welcome mat to watch us approach, casually licking a paw in silent satisfaction.

Cedric, the grey tabby, elected energy-saver mode. He was found sleeping on the front porch love seat, and raised his head as we approached. Tail flicking a friendly hello, and his outrageous purring motor set to high, clearly it was our job to greet him rather than the other way round.

* * * * *

My cats are not inside cats. Nor are they pure outside cats. These fellows have the best of both worlds; we let them in and out as they desire, often a half-dozen times a day.

Territorial beasts that they are, my boys don't go far. Mostly, they sun themselves in our enclosed backyard, in any one of a dozen coveted sleeping spots, and when they are ready for a bit of sport, climb about on the fences to stir up the neighbors' dogs and do a bit of exploring. Thankfully, we live on a quiet street filled with pet-friendly people. My cats are even playmates with the other neighborhood cats - we often find a little gang of them romping together in our backyard. And whenever we humans open the door and call to our boys, they almost always come obediently running.

Yes, we do worry sometimes. On hot summer nights, the cats often choose to sleep outside and we hold our breath until they greet us at the door the next morning. On wet and wild stormy days like today, I pray that their shelters are dry and snug, and that they will remember to duck their little kitten heads when the branches go sailing by.

But pets are like children. As much as we want them always to be safe, we can't wrap them up in bubble wrap and stash them in the closet. To live full, happy, well-rounded lives, my cats simply must be allowed to play outside. Just as we do for our human children, we parents of pets must take as many precautions as is reasonable, then open the door and say, "Good luck out there. Keep your head on straight and come back safe."

And though we worry about our furry babies, the moments when they safely return are the sweetest songs of all.

News Trend Me And My Lucky Charm|Actual

On this St. Paddy's day, here's an old Gaelic blessing from my sweet full-blooded Irishman to you.

May the road rise up to meet you.

May the wind be always at your back.

May the sun shine warm upon your face;

the rains fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again,

may God hold you in the palm of his hand.

Oh, and that's from me as well. I may not have much Irish blood but I've got plenty of blarney

News Trend Feeling Good And Sassy|Actual

Ranger has always been allowed to sleep on our bed, with certain caveats.

No pillow sharing. Ranger's place is at the foot of the bed, and he's fine with that.

No monopolizing the blankets. In fact, Ranger doesn't like our fuzzy comforter so he lies only on this sheet that I so generously provided for his comfort.

All in all, Ranger is a very agreeable bedfellow and has warmed my toes on many a chilly night. On days when I must get up early, though, he is a terrible influence and has often caused me to be late.

In the three weeks since he was attacked and injured by another dog, Ranger's life has gone right back to normal.

Oh, well, certainly the first few days were a bit rough, but since then:

His cheerful and bouncy disposition is back in full force.

His wounds have healed far better than the vets predicted.

And after going silent for most of that first post-accident week, his automatic time-for-my-walk! Alarm system is fully functioning once again.

For the most part, Ranger has returned smack dab to his old schedule, and much to our amusement, refuses to recognize a few needed changes to his routine.

Case in point: for the last decade, Ranger has taken two pills at bedtime, rolled up into balls of cheddar cheese. His clever nose demands that we create a third, empty cheese ball as a decoy; rather than give him time to sniff round the first two and possibly pick out the pills (which he did a dozen times before we got wise), we hold that blank ball out for last so he will gulp down the medicine-filled cheese balls in his hurry to get them all.

Since the accident, we've been giving him two extra pills at bedtime - a dose of antibiotics that was first prescribed to ward off infection from the dog bites but now seems to be keeping his skin healed and healthy.

Which means that Ranger now gets five - five! - cheese balls at bedtime each night.

However, creature of habit that he is, he often turns and walks out of the kitchen after three cheese balls, oblivious to the two remaining tidbits awaiting him on the counter. Takes a fair amount of prompting to coax him back in to finish the party.

Once he remembers the drill, Ranger is more than happy to eat the last two treats.

The simple face is that he is used to three cheese balls. Not five. And the old habit is still firm in his sweet red noggin.

* * * * *

But just as he refuses to adapt to some changes to his regime, my boy has learned some new tricks all on his own.

Here's the one that's really got me up in arms.

Ranger no longer tolerates my late-night work sessions.

Before the accident, he would stay downstairs with me and snooze nearby as I typed and scrolled till two or three a.M., moving from the couch to the floor under my desk and back again. Always patiently did he wait for me to finish up, and when I turned off the lights and called to him, he would groggily rise to his feet and clamber up the stairs to the bedroom where he slept all night long.

But no more.

Now, around midnight, when the rest of the family migrates up the stairs toward bed, Ranger comes in to find me at the computer and begins a barrage of barking and whining noises calibrated to wake the dead. Utterly inconsolable, he pauses for nothing but the occasional drink of water until he gets what he wants.

And what he wants is for me to snap off the lights, close down the computer, and head upstairs.

Honestly, my best guess is that he wants to fall into his deep sleep for the night without having to worry about my movements.

But the bottom line is that my ornery dog is now telling me when to go to bed.

Not exactly sure how I feel about his headstrong ways. But it's nice to know that my boy, Ranger, is feeling good and sassy again.

News Trend A Good Sunday Evening|Actual

As I sit down to write tonight, a half-dozen ideas are ping-pinging around in my head:

I could tell you a story about the art I made this weekend.

Or the excitement in my cats' lives as I dragged their favorite old broken-down wicker chair back out to a sunny corner of the patio.

I've got some pretty pictures of fresh flowers on my camera roll that would be perfect for sharing.

Plus I had an interesting adventure to watch the U.S. Women's Hockey team practice for the upcoming world championships. They're working out in my backyard, so to speak, at the Everett Events Cebter and you can go watch them for free any night this week.

But honestly, I don't really feel like talking about any of that.

I'd much rather drink in the last peaceful minutes of this good Sunday evening and wish you a blessedly normal and happy new week ahead.

News Trend How To Style Bookshelves* |Actual

* In Real Life

* * * * *

Today, I tackled the job of dusting and restyling my library bookshelves.

Whoa now. You know I didn't just run a fiber cloth across the whole arrangement, and call it a day.

No, no, no. Bookcases demand much more effort and intention than that.

What we need, here in the new millennium, are bookshelves that are arranged - nay, curated - to showcase artsy collections of carefully layered items of decor in prescribed and complicated ways.

There are innumerable articles and videos threatening to tip over the internet that purport to teach us exactly how to perfect this. And while I'm always open to new ideas, I find that many of the styling tips I read online do not jive with reality.

So allow me to offer my own bookshelf styling hints and tips, starting with the best that the design world has to offer but adapted to work my very own real life.

Step 1: Organize your books

Start by emptying your shelves. Dust them thoroughly and then carefully add back only your favorite and most cherished volumes.

First off, do not - repeat do not! - empty your bookshelves. The teetering piles of unshelved books will overwhelm your workspace and your motivation, and if you're like me, you will either give up and go watch the fifth season of Psych yet again, or risk death by avalanching books. That's a slippery slope we never want to face, Instead, just dust one small section at a time, scooting out a handful of books and wiping them down and the shelf underneath as best you can without ever actually taking them down off the shelf.

Now, at this phase it's important to be realistic about your inventory. In my case, I need to wrap my head around the fact that my bookcases are full of books. Sometimes, I wish I was working with nothing more than a half dozen sleek leather-bound volumes of poetry, or a stack of glossy photo essays on graphic design, but friends, that is simply not the case.

My shelves house approximately one billion sun-bleached, serious-slash-boring-looking books.

Most of this collection belongs to my husband and includes autobiographies of Washington, Jefferson, Robert E. Lee, Winston Churchill and Henry Kissinger. There are handfuls of books about military planes, famous generals and illustrated battles. We also happen to own a full set of the Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire. Not even kidding.

The simple truth is that my bookcases are probably always going to be jammed full of these no-nonsense books.

And while these are important books and useful books and books that I am perfectly proud to own, they are in no stretch of the imagination pretty books. So, in the spirit of compromise that marriage demands, I turn most of them around to hide their drab navy and maroon bindings, and work from there.

Step 2: Add artwork

Gather up a collection of framed artwork to be propped up in the empty spaces between the books, or layered in front of the books. These pieces will add visual interest and draw the eye to different depths along the shelves.

This is a lovely idea.

I can just imagine sweet watercolors and hand-drawn pen-and-ink sketches, tucked here and there among the volumes. Truthfully, I've optimistically experimented with this technique, to a single result.

Too cluttery.

Those aforementioned bazillion backwards books of mine go a long way in filling in my available bookshelf real estate, and any framed pieces that attempt to join the mix are simply trampled underfoot and end up as visual clutter.

No bueno.

So, what with necessity being the mother of invention and all, I've developed an alternative approach: I use strategically colored books to fill in the gaps.

I know, I know. Displaying books by color is so 2007, but I'm sold on this trick. Choosing a limited color palette, I drag myself through the thrift stores until I amass a substantial hoard, and then use these treasures to accomplish the same goal. The punctuation of the fresh colors - especially among the backwards books on my shelves - creates the desired visual interest and keeps the eye moving along, just as the framed art is meant to do.

Step 3: Mix it up!

Bring in an assortment of vases, bowls, sculpture, collections in a variety of shapes, materials and textures, to mix among the books and art on the shelves. Shop your house for interesting objects. Edit carefully to achieve a harmonious look.

This step is often a curse and a blessing for bookcase stylists. Because there are an infinite number of objects available in the universe for such purposes, and countless ways to arrange them.  Honestly, the whole process can become a labyrinth of options and on more than once occasion have I rearranged the same ten items over and over, desperately seeking but never quite managing to achieve styling nirvana.

So my mantra here is simple: don't take this part of the process too seriously. The shelves look fine.

Also, beware of the treacherous advice about shopping the house.

No, no, no, I say. This is a terrible idea. Because if I wander past the living room coffee table and lift a knick-knack to carry away to my library bookshelves, I am creating a new problem. The empty space on that coffee table is going to haunt me until I am driven to pull some other curio from my dining room cupboard, to be replaced by an ornament off the kitchen counter, to be filled in by something from some other room...

You see the problem.

Do not - repeat do not! - set off this chain of decor dominoes unless you fully intend to drive yourself mad, and turn every room in the house upside down in the process. Trust me, I have been there and I have done that. It's not pretty.

Honestly, when I find myself a bit short on trinkets for a styling project, I've learned that the wisest solution is to hop on over to Target or Urban Outfitters or Hobby Lobby or Value Village or wherever it is that I'm most likely to find choice tidbits, and drop a few dollars on something new.

My family, who has waited out many a late dinner because of my errant "shop the house" exploits, firmly supports this strategy. They will, on occasion, even drive me to the store and place objects in my hands, saying, Yes, buy it. Life will be so much simpler if you do.

* * * * *

So I made good progress on my shelves today. The basic books are dusted and tentatively arranged on the clean shelves. My arsenal of red-, yellow- and orange-covered volumes stand arrayed across the couch, and my heap of tchotchkes is ready and waiting.

Honestly, I got all the boring work done and was just about to start in on the fun stuff when this happened:

Today's work session was cut short by a red-haired gentleman who showed up at my door, expressing great certainty that walk time had arrived. He was right. I can't say no to that earnest little face.

But come tomorrow, I shall style the crap out of those bookshelves. Just you wait and see.