That’s a Lotta BULL!

(Jane—skip this first paragraph, ‘k?) Neighbor Ed told me on Friday night about the four-foot bull snake he killed this week on the ranch road that borders on my property. The weather this time of year is warm during the day (mid-80’s when its not overcast or raining) and bordering on cold overnight (mid to high 50’s). Only half of the day is weather the snakes like. Seems that this monster-sized bull snake was sunning on the flat ground of the ranch road when Ed and the dogs came across it. Sarah the dog walked right over it, then Ed noticed it and started giving it a few good whacks with the short cholla stick he carries for just such emergencies.

(…and this one, too, Jane) Ed had to get Neanderthal on the beast and started chucking rocks at it, when Norbert came across them and expressed his astonishment at the hugeness of the legless wonder. The snake didn’t have a chance and was wasted in the onslaught, at which time Ed chucked the carcass off into the wilds of the neighboring property so the crows could dine in peace.

(Jane: Nope! Though this one’s pretty amusing…) Seems I’ve been having concerns regarding snakes up here. Concerns I never knew I had. I know I have snakes slithering about, but I’ve never been bothered in the least by them. But then, I haven’t been around much this past week, so what do I know?

(…Jane: umm…no!) Bull snakes aren’t poisonous, but they give one hell of a nasty bite I’m told. Snakes, poisonous or not, pretty much go by my adage: Live and let live. This gigantanormous bull snake was out for some last-o-da-season sunning and got caught out in the open and too chilled to get hisself moving to a safe space. Paid dearly for it, too. I wasn’t too pleased to hear about the encounter and resulting end. I’m concerned with being confused by the karmic observers who may mistake me for Ed. But, I trust that Ed wouldn’t kill anything without good reason. Why, even I had my share of kills this week.


Coming home after dark is nothing I like doing living out here where there are no street lights and many creatures that have lived here longer than I ever will. One night coming home from dinner at friends’, I ran over two rabbits. It rends my soul when it happens, which is why I don’t like coming home after dark. It’s almost a given that more than one critter will die under my tires; its just how the odds play out up here. I know about the rabbits, but I’m not going to even attempt to count the little rodents that cast themselves under my tires and go unnoticed into oblivion with nary a bump in my travels. However, the dung beetles and grasshoppers don’t even bring an “I’m sorry” from me when I squash them.

On the upside—I’ve seen a pair of golden eagles hanging around a few miles down the road toward the flatlands. Friday morning brought me a birder’s thrill: The two goldens and seven hawks. It must’ve been the prime viewing time for the winged hunters in their search for brekky (British: breakfast). It was prime viewing for me. I almost turned around and went home I felt so privileged.

Rainbows have been splashing across the skies aplenty this week too; one a day nearly every day this week; three within an hour, one day. And, yes, there’s been rain. No high winds since a night full of them last week. They did make for an interactive night for watching a movie. I felt like I was right there in the action of the movie while The Tin Can pitched and rolled.

While I’m sure I would’ve paid an inflated price to experience that in a theatre, it was the last straw. The master suite is being built as fast as the crew’s mental state will allow them. The tub’s frame is built and cement board-ed. Tiles have been cut and patterns experimented with. An urgent run to Albuquerque for a faucet for the tub rendered me the faucet I’ve coveted for months now. I saw it as a lavatory (sink) faucet at Homo Depot, which I was trying to convince myself would serve me just fine. Ummm…no. Water flow issues. So I was directed to a wonderful specialty shop and got nearly exactly what I wanted; its not a copper finish, but no one will notice.



The crew’s getting edgy and short fused. I hope they take a break this weekend and discover yoga or sedatives. Or both.

The plumber has been dragging his ass and, while not exactly holding us up, he sure ain’t pushing forward towards the necessary housing of me inside four walls by the end of the month. He’s getting a call from me on Monday. Hunting and ‘plumbing emergencies’ during a slow building phase for him doesn’t mean that we aren’t sincere when we call and tell him that we’re ready for him to come make some connections.

I’m so tired of having things to bitch about. I’d like to be able to get back to recreational bitching; its so much more entertaining.


I’m resistantly taking in the current political developments, and only then because there’s no avoiding such pervasive idiocy. Neighbor Ed has the best name EVER for Sarah Palin: Caribou Barbie. Hysterical!

OK, so the house may still be under construction, but we’re at another slow phase. (You sensed that, eh?)

There’s only one thing that will keep me from becoming a guest of the State of New Mexico in one of its non-escape-proof prisons: Being ensconced in the master suite by sundown on the 30th.

The earthen tones of the interior mudding of the walls is lending a discernable sense of being inside a cavern. Mmmmmmm! This is going to be such a delicious location to be writing and creating some art.

Until the next installment of Blood on the Rocks ~or~ Coming to You From the Tub… manana y’all!