Cute Capers - a Trilogy

Whenever there is a gathering around these parts,

my camera lense is (naturally) drawn to the kids.

~~~

Sweet,

unselfconscious,

smiling,

sullen,

silly,

madcap,

darling.

~~~
Take the last two weekends.

It was horsey action all round - campdrafting and rodeo.

But really, the stars of the action were the ankle-biters.

I'll break it up into three parts...

Shall we check it out?

~~~

Cute Caper ONE - Toe to Top

Oh, how Cute are these Boots?

Snapped whilst their owner was banging the heels against the mesh of the grandstand.

Violet would ADORE these.

She already has purple elastic-sided boots though (pics to come)

so her Mum cannot justify adding these to the collection.
Speaking of my colourful daughter...

Nice red hat, dear!

And those very blonde plaits... hang on.

That headwear looks suspiciously like something out of our Christmas box in the store room... hmmmm. She is nothing if not ORIGINAL in her fashion sense!
~~~

Cute Caper TWO - Camera-less Cute-ness

Amid the craziness of a certain 24 hour period

(that involved almost 1000 km in driving time and checking out this chick)

I decided to leave the camera at home for one event.

Just one.

The night-time rodeo (at which our P&C were catering, so I figured I'd be busy).

I should have known that the MOMENT I put that Nikon down,

Cute (with a big C) would break out left, right and centre...

And it did.

I will attempt to describe events in my usual stacatto shorthand way.

Bear with me.

~~~

Kids were lined up, bug-eyed at the two metre high fence

watching grown-up cowboys showin' 'em how it's done.

Steer ridin'. Bull ridin'. Limbs flying everywhere.

Dirt bein' eaten.

(And 'g's being dropped all over the place).

Then as the riders dusted themselves off and geared up for the finals,

the announcer called for the littlest cowboys to line up outside the chutes.

I completely panicked when I heard Dash's name called out,

dropped the burger I was serving and galloped (okay, hobbled fast)

to find out what the heck was going on!

I found half of Dash's tiny school also lined up.

I listened, slightly terrified, to the challenge.

Their task?

To BE the best bucking bull they can be.

One by one, these little men got down in the dirt on all fours,

and bucked their little hearts out.

For eight seconds apiece, they were rearing and kicking up,

wheeling and snorting...

I cannot begin to tell you how funny it was...

I had tears running down my face.

I had that kind of painful silent laughter thing happening.

Then they had a buck off.

Because 80 seconds of kids-being-bulls is clearly not enough.

And again, there was furious writhing and heart-stopping hand-standing action.

More gasping giggles.

The judge stonewalled and the audience was given the final say...

And the winner was....

DASH!

(by a very dizzy head).

There IS footage somewhere.

I am hoping to get my hands on it...

~~~

Cute Caper THREE - Big Ben
And I have to finish with one of Dash's competitors in the campdraft (last weekend).

And the cute factor of THIS one?

Off the freaking scale, peoples.

You ready?

Brace yourself...

~~~

This little guy is three or four years old

in the camp yard with his Mum

(who rode out beside him but NOT leading him)

riding Ben the Clydesdale...

Oh Lord.

If you look closely that kid is so little he could walk right under that horse.

A pimple on a pumpkin, as Dad would say.

It made me all hormonal and a wee bit weepy for some reason.

So they shoo their cow to the front of the yard, called for the gate,

And off... the little cowboy and Big Ben bobbing along gently together.

After a somewhat bemused cow...

and around the first peg.

Oh, there was cheering.

It was loud and it was long.

Much, much more raucous than for winner of the major draft.

People were lined up two deep at the rails and yelling.

Who could possibly compete with THAT level of cute?

~~~
How you going?

Teeth fallen out from all the sweet cuteness yet?

Got a favourite kid yarn?

Please share in comments - links welcomed too...

Weather watch and a naughty old man

Can I please have a pat on the back?

I have FINALLY remembered to post Weather Watch Wednesday on...

wait for it...

a WEDNESDAY.

I know.

*curtsies*

Thankyou, thank you all.

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It's perfect weather here today - just 27 degrees Celsius (80 F) in my kitchen.

Looking out the (smudged)window to my part of the world, I see green grass.

I see ruffling leaves dancing in a strong breeze.

I see low grey clouds buffeting each other trying to cover up the small patches of blue.

I see the contented grazing of horses and cows, their bellies full and tails happily flicking at flies. It's the exact picture every person who lives with grazing animals EVER wants to see.

*sigh*

Granite Glen Forecast :

Temps: 18-28 C (64-82F)

Frost risk: NIL

(never fails to tickle me that this measure even makes it to our Summer/Autumn forecasts!)

Chance of rain: 90% of up to 100mm for this weekend

Actually a CYCLONE is allegedly headed this way.

~

So anyway, the second part of this post IS related to the first.

Even if it doesn't immediately seem that way.

Please meet Cattleman.

Cattleman is a horse.

But he is not just any horse.

He is a human in horse's clothing. (Or hide. Whatever.)

Cattleman is my father's steed and is an ex-campdraft horse.

He is not young - probably about 20 years old - and man, is he crafty.

He is an equine Walter Matthau. Or Jack Palance's character in City Slickers (Curly?)

Here he is, having let all the horses into the pool yard.
Yes, the horse can open gates.

These photos were taken after he had already opened THREE other gates (with varying catches) to completely mix up every horse we have here at the Granite Glen house.
And THAT was within the two hours he had been home, after being shifted in from a 'spelling' paddock which only has barbed wire gates (which I can barely manage and which he has yet to work out). And no, spelling doesn't mean where horses learn their ABC's.

It's where they get rested.

Or banished (when they are more trouble than help).

Mind you, this horse is so smart he can probably do algebra.

Can you notice that he is watching me while pretending to graze?

Want to know what he's thinking?

His thought bubbles should read like this:

"Right, we've been caught.

And she's about to chase us out from this luscious forbidden area.

How can I trick her into letting me stay?"

(And he totally had about three strategies planned out).

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And when I eventually got them all out into the paddock, he's thinking:

"Okay I shall now chase everyone away from the forbidden area,

to make it look like it was NOT my idea to be here in the first place."

"See? Butter WOULD NOT melt in my mouth.

Is my halo in place?"

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If he wasn't so naughty he'd be quite funny and cute.

But Cattleman doesn't do cute.

And he doesn't do 'cuddly' either.

Oh sure, he'll let you feed him and even rug him, but the moment you are done he has moved JUST beyond reach. Watching you. If he doesn't feel like being bridled and saddled, it can take you half an hour to outsmart him.

.

He's really the horse version of a cat.

Feed me.

Admire me.

Pat me if you must.

Even though he hasn't competed in a campdraft (basic description here for newcomers) for many years, he is agile and can hunt down a beast (steer) like an equine predator. And if his rider isn't ready for the sharp turn required to send the beast where Cattleman decides it needs to go... then HELLO ground! And you could find yourself looking up from the dirt, at a chestnut horse positively LAUGHING at you.

Not that I would know what that feels like. Much.

Mr Incredible would love to get Cattleman out of the Spelling Paddock (where he has once again been banished) to take him in a draft. The campdraft season, you see, is underway. Or it would be, if the rains would stop.

It's a dilemma for my hubby - welcome more rain and have yet another local campdraft cancelled (two have already been called off)? Or wish it away and watch another drought devour the gorgeous green from our hills?

Catch 22.

Whether the forecast comes to fruition for this weekend's local draft or not, all I know is that Cattleman the Cunning will be ready. As long as we can catch him.

And as long as he doesn't work out the gates.

Something other than canine...

Just for a change.

Just a pic.

NOT of a dog...

Just a pony.
Not just any pony though...
Rob (the Ratbag) Roy.

Playing docile during recent wet weather indoor pony club activities.

Butter wouldn't melt in his bloomin' mouth, would it?

Heh.

(For those not up to speed on his shenanigans, click here and here.

He has his good days of course - like here.)

...

Have a great weekend everyone!

And thanks for sharing my excitement for this photo.

You lot rock...

Compliments, busy-ness and bottoms

My son is such a little man. He is growing up so darned fast it makes my head spin. Wasn't it yesterday that I nervously watched him off on his first muster when he couldn't keep up with the mob? And the day before that when he was promoted from Rob Roy the Great (Shetland) to Lovely Lacey? And the day before that, I watched him FINALLY take his first steps sometime after his first birthday (and his early hurdles)?
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And now? Now he is a little man who rides a ripstick with the best of them, who eats like a HORSE (despite never appearing to put on any weight) and wears the title of musterer extraordinaire with beaming pride.

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I remember when I first started mustering on my own - I also remember the first day my Dad (Pagi) proudly told Mum I was 'as good as a man'. I very nearly busted. (I was about 11 years old and it was long before I had heard of women's lib - to this day I totally understand that he meant that my gender was not an issue while I was on a horse: I was as good as a man. And regardless of political correctness, his compliments just don't come any better than that.)

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I think of this as I watch my smiling, skinny seven-year-old son who now easily hoists himself onto that old chestnut mare and boots her into action.

Of course he sometimes completely forgets to arrange the reins/steering gear before he climbs aboard. Luckily Dad is around to sort out this minor dilemma for him. (Note how patiently Lacey is waiting - I think she may actually be catching a nap. She's old. She's allowed.)

Undeterred by his initial steering issues, Dash contemplates tactics as he prepares to move the cows and calves from the yards.

And into action...

(if anyone can see a human bottom in this photo, could they please point it out for me? I swear this kid inhales calories like there is no tomorrow, but where they go, no-one knows!)

"Walk up, walk up!"

He walks Lacey forward, sitting up straight as a rod, moving those cows and calves through the dust and back towards their home paddocks... I suspect there could have been some whistling going on at this point...

"Walk up girls!"

(I am never sure if the cows mind being called 'girls' - I am here to tell you, some of them are not exactly spring chickens, so I fancy they are quite flattered.)

And now is when Dash really gets active.

And Lacey wonders what the heck she has done to deserve a kid with ants in his pants.

Dashing off to one side...

Then darting back across the mob to keep those slower cows moving, moving, moooo-ving.

(Sorry. Cow pun. Couldn't help it.)

Across...

And back...

And again... and again.

Either this kid is hyperactive, or, as Mr Incredible says with pride:

"He's just tidying them up - like a good dog."

.

Compliments around here - you've really just got to know how to take them!

EYE- Max theatre

I adore equine eyes... do you?

I think horses have the most incredible 'windows to the soul' of all animals.

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There was a rare moment of stillness during our recent week of branding: the men (and kids) had taken some cows and calves back to their paddocks after I had helped mother up (match calf tags to cow tags for our records) and all was suddenly still and peaceful.
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I wandered over to Yvette (often my steed, but also mount to Dad and Salina when she is visiting) - she is a sook who always adores a cuddle and has the most wonderful warm, open eyes. The skies were intensely blue, and the shape of her prominent brown eyes made for an incredible warped mirror of our surroundings...

First I focussed in on her spiky red lashes... who says redheads need mascara?

And then realising how clearly the dark liquid surface of her iris was reflecting the scene around her, I drew closer.

I reached to touch her cheek...

Then tried again - can you see her shadow on the ground?

And the yard and shed behind me?

And how the white timber rail of the gate is whoopy, following the curve of her eye?

This angle is even better...

you can actually see me AND her shadow AND her neck and back reflected in her orb...

I might be wrong, but I reckon you would only ever see this in a prey animal. Animals whose eyes are set at this particular spot on the sides of their heads, so they can check behind them for predators and still see in front to escape.

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I love that she is so relaxed with me and stands patiently while I point the Nikon at point-blank range at here eye. Clearly I am not considered a predator!

Have YOU seen any freaky, fabulous reflections in your world lately?

I bet you have - if you disagree, look again!

(Think: rear-view mirrors, the still water of a lake or puddle, the tinted window of your car...)

If you are inspired to post a reflected image at your blog, I will put a link up here at the bottom of this post to share...

Come on...

Play with me!

...

Players...

Trace Elements

A Novel Woman

Farmer Gal

Kelly

Debby

Marilyn

Bull Rhino

Blue skies (smiling at me)

(A quick post today as I make the most of my weirdly quiet house, now that BOTH my darling offspring are officially at school. Excuse me if I write this with a slightly distacted air...)

We finally took back the last of the stud cattle to their paddocks on Saturday, after a long week of branding. It was a more relaxed day than normal (we had gone over schedule by half a day) and I had the luxury of actually thinking about taking some fun photos.

This little series were shot as I followed Dash and his cousin S in the Prado - they were tailing the mob north from the yards. Mr Incredible helped for a little way. (Lacey, Dash's wonderful old mare who is 30-something years old and not stupid, decided that after a week of hard yakka, she was NOT keen for a long walk and would very much like to stay at the yards, thanks all the same. She was eventually 'convinced' to shuffle off behind the cows.)

After seeing that our little man was headed in the right direction, a view to the east of the drivers' seat caught my eye. I don't know why - something about the streamers of white clouds fanning out from the gentle green hill and the deep cobalt backdrop.

As I took the shot Cherokee (Mr I's mustering gelding) poked his head in from the right.

He always looks slightly wild-eyed, even though he's really gentle as a lamb and loves a snuggle.

(I love this photo - it's my new favourite image and could well be featured on the next BB banner. What do you think?).

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Violet had been protesting her lack of a ride all week, and finally talked her way into a seat on the pommel of Dad's saddle for the half kilometre walk back to the yards.

Can anyone say: Glee!

Man I miss those dimples of my little Prep girl already - time to get me busy and distracted with a week's worth of folding!

Generations - and a giveaway or two!

There's been a heap going on behind the scenes here lately...
We are preparing for branding at the moment - one of our big annual tasks as cattle producers. Jeanie is coming over - with her mustering professional Salina ready and rearing to go. We managed a mini-getaway (photos still to come) to the beach, and the normal getting-ready-for-school events and packing-as-much-as-humanly-possible-into-holidays activites.

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So while I am juggling the myriad of events looming on my google calendars, I give you a sweet series of photos, shot just before Christmas. The set feature the three most important blokes in my life - my Dad, my husband and my son.

They were setting off from our house to muster in the cattle in the next paddock...

Sharing a special man-to-man moment together...

Savouring the anticipation of the muster ahead -

and trying not to stand on the madly cavorting dogs, all ready for action...

Mentally planning the strategy of gathering the cattle as they peruse the paddock.

Briefly soaking in the vibrant verde of the pasture, after a long dry spell, before...

Setting off to seriously address the task at hand...

And effortlessly handling the job as only men of experience can.

(Can a seven-year-old with six months mustering under his belt be considered a 'man of experience'? Ask Dash, he'll soon tell you!)
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But here's where you come in...

I wonder what is REALLY going on in photo number two?

If you've played my games before, you'll know I don't care about the truth.

(I can't HANDLE the truth!)

I shall give you the truth at the end of the game...

I want creativity and comedy.

You know I am just too lazy to provide it myself...
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So please, leave your guess in the comments section - the one that makes us laugh (and/or spit our coffee) the most will win a 8x12" BB print of their choice.

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I shall also do a random pick and give away this wonderful Australian movie to the lucky winner.

'The Castle' (remastered) DVD.

It's classic Aussie humour with some lines that have infiltrated the Australian vernacular -

'Tell him he's DREAMING, son!"

and

'Feel the serenity!".

Even the cover descriptions are taking the p***. I loved it's whackiness, Michael Caton as Darryl Kerrigan, the quintessential Aussie blue-collar battler - and a bonus is a young Eric Bana as 'Con Petropoulous... an accountant and amateur kickboxer'.

...

CONTEST OPEN UNTIL MONDAY 9PM (Queensland, Australia time)
Feel free to enter as many times as you like!

So... what are you waiting for, my friends?

The comments section awaits your guess (and so do I!).

+++CONTEST CLOSED+++

Jeanie has been designated official adjudicator (we are all putting our votes in though) and I shall run the random number generator shortly.

Thanks for playing, girls and boys!

Tussle of the Titans

If you are a regular reader here, you will already know that two of the major 'characters' in the Granite Glen story are not huge in physical size, but gigantors in personality. And you might also realise that Mr Incredible and I hope - despite the towering determination and stubborness of each of these two little dynamos - that they might make a terrific team someday.

Well, yesterday, that dream was tested out rather severely.
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It was the final pony club rally day of the year.

Hello Violet - our almost-five-year-old going on thirty-five-year-old daughter.

And hello Rob Roy - our six-year-old roly-poly, super-smart 'sheeky' Shetland.

Violet has been led on her little chestnut pony for a while now - she'd love to be off and riding on her own but has not mastered him yet. Yesterday, FINALLY she been getting mentally on top of her stubborn little steed. Rob Roy is a great little fellow, as long as he understands that HE is not the boss. And if he thinks there is the REMOTEST chance that he MIGHT be boss, he's a naughty little beggar. He stretches his fat little neck down as if to eat (his favourite position) and then grabs the bit and ambles in whatever direction takes his fancy (generally NOT the one his rider want to go in, and often wherever he last spied something edible).
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The two were going great guns despite his shenanigans - Violet had the technique of GRABBING one rein hard and hauling on it to pull him around and then flapping her little legs until he gave in and ambled reluctantly back to the correct position. There was lots of encouragment from her Dad, cheers from her instructor, and clapping and "good girl"'s from the sideline peanut gallery (me) as she had little win after little win on him. Her confidence grew by the minute (even as her little hands were getting raw from the effort of hauling him back into place - considering she is just 15kg and he is about ten times that!).

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Here she is guiding him over a small jump - not bad for a four-year-old.

Soon after the series of photos above was shot, Rob Roy tried his technique again.

He lowered his furry red head, grabbed the bit and snaked off towards the gate. Violet was pretty tired and her cousin was already at the entrace to the arena (some 50 metres away) and she let him go. We called to her to try harder and then Dash and Lacey tried to intervene and walk back to the group with her. Rob Roy sensed he was about to get into serious trouble and took off - the more Dash tried to help, the more darty and unresponsive he became, and the more Violet's cries for help escalated. As we all climbed into the arena to help her, he took off. She yelled, slid off the side and crashed into the gravel.

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Pandemonium reigned.

Violet was in tears, Mr Incredible was furious at the pony, and Rob Roy was very, very nervous. As well he should be. For his troubles, he got to have a rider MUCH closer to his own weight and FAR stronger. He was put firmly back in his place. Violet soon calmed down (she's a tough little cookie) and climbed back on, but remained on the lead for the rest of the session. Her back was grazed and red, and the confidence she had gained was fairly frayed around the edges.

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Nonetheless, after a sleep in the truck on the drive home, she woke refreshed. While still sore, she was upbeat about her day, and we focussed on how great her riding had been.

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One thing that DID manage to really put a smile back on her dial was THIS little fellow. A poddy.

It's a little bull calf whose Mum died a couple of days ago (she was pretty old) and who will now depend on us to raise it. (Kids are ecstatic, their Mother not quite so enthusiastic). Another mouth to feed. Great.

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Ah... but it'll be worth it, methinks.

The (unnamed) calf is not keen to suck from a bottle yet, but was happy enough to slobber and tug on Violet's floral shirt (much to her amusement). All injuries to body and pride were forgotten as she tried to get some formula milk into the little bovine. (He actually seemed keener on grain, but we are persevering).

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But the dimples were back and her dreams were sweet last night.

A typical day in the emotional rollercoaster that is a kid's life in the bush.

A big day for a little girl.

Shetland Sums

I have three little things I need to share today.

Three little things which add up to one little very round thing...

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- ONE -

It has been very, very dry around here lately

(I know, I have HARDLY whinged at all about the lack of rain, have I? *crickets*).

And most animals have shown signs of the bad season - losing some weight and constantly grazing to try and maintain energy levels. And while the working animals (like the mustering horses) have been supplemented to keep them fit, the fat gleam has gone off most four-legged resident of Granite Glen.

Except Rob Roy. He's as fat as a fool. Strange.

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- TWO -

We have a rotund little pony living here - Rob Roy...

have you met him yet?

He is quite gorgeous but incredibly, well, ROUND.

And just a little bit naughty.

Yes, I am aware this is quite normal for Shetlands - they are smart as whips and complete guts-aches. Not a good combo really. Actually rather dangerous.

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- THREE -

Mr Incredible and I and the kids all went away for a couple of days recently. And while we were gone, the small 1/4 full grain silo which we have to supplement mysteriously let go all the contents. It was quite a mess and we couldn't work out how the heck it had happened. After all it has a tricky slide bar stopper that you have to pull quite hard to open. Therefore the opening couldn't have been an accident with an animal simply bumping the handle.

And only our little bulls and a couple of horses live in that paddock.

Hmmm.

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Mystery solved today.

We were having coffee when Mr Incredible noticed some noises were eminating from down near the yards.

Kind of: bing-BANG... bing-BANG... bing-BANG!

Then silence.

Then a repeat...

So we headed down to find out what on earth was happening...

The noise stopped the moment we walked into sight of this pair near the silo.

They froze before slowly turning toward the camera...

Rob Roy and a henchman... yes you two... you are under surveillence!

So the chestnut pony gets all:

WHO ME?

Oh I DO beg your pardon, Rob Roy ...

I forgot... butter just wouldn't melt in your little mouth!

But then, his tummy must've rumbled - a siren song greater than any thought of avoiding capture by 'the enemy'...and he spins round and starts nudging violently at the silo.

Huh?

Then it all became clear... the silo still had some grain stuck to the walls...

And by rigorously opening and closing the stopper...

Little bits of the delicious fodder comes sprinkling down the chute...

And then he DIVES on it (like a seagull on a lump of fat) and gobbles it down.

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IF ONLY we could somehow harness that kind of brainpower

and use it for good instead of evil!