Wednesday, May 17, 2017

Luther



This morning while the kids were entertaining themselves, I found myself drawn back to my bed to finish waking up {the struggle is real} while I checked out the news and weather. My cat, Luther, was there on the bed. He is pretty much every morning. And night. And day. 

As I passed him, I reached out to pet him. My heart sank. He was bony skinny, and so suddenly. I swear two days ago he wasn't like that. His collar was loose, his vertebrae protruded and he was weak. The most troubling part, if you know my Luther, is that his meow was pathetic. 

Luther was born almost 13 1/2 years ago to my cat, Luna. I watched him be born in my bedroom. He was in a litter of 3. The other two were blah gray tabbies. But Luther was a dark, almost black tabby. He was huge compared to the other two. And he was LOUD. Right from the start. While the other tiny blind kittens gave pathetic "mews" Luther was alerting the neighborhood with his loud "WAAAH!!!" 

He still to this day has a loud, grumpy, whiny "WAAAH!!!!" 

Of the three kittens, I kept Luther. Gave him a fitting name, after the theologian, based on his temperament, and he's been a part of our family ever since. Never gave us a bit of trouble other than a bad attitude and demands for pets every morning. 


I called Justin and told him Luther was wasting away all of a sudden. Justin thought it was because he'd moved their food dispenser up to the counter in the basement laundry room so the dogs would stop raiding it. Maybe Luther hadn't been able to find it for a few days? Sounded reasonable enough. 

So Justin stopped home on his lunch break with fattening wet kitten food and Luther did eagerly eat some and I thought, well that's that! Poor guy was just really hungry and hasn't eaten a proper in a couple days. 

But as the day dragged on, I began to feel in my gut that something wasn't right. Calories weren't perking my Luther up. Feeling a little silly, I finally did the kids hair and loaded Lu up in his cat carrier and headed off to a new vet everyone has been recommending on Nextdoor. {Our regular wasn't returning my calls.}

I was pleased with the facility and that they take walk-ins. 

I won't beat around the bush. The vet asked the basic questions while he palpated Lu's tummy. He then told me he felt a mass in his belly about this {he held his hands up making a baseball sized circle} big and thought it'd be wise to x-ray. I agreed, x-ray away!

About 5 minutes later, the vet came back in the room and turned on the computer where an x-ray immediately filled the screen. 

"Well, first of all," the vet said. "The x-ray revealed a pellet in Luther's abdomen."

I tried to make sense of that right away, What's a pellet exactly? An owl pellet? What?

The vet went on to explain, they see this sadly too often. Luther had--at some point in his life, who knows when--been shot by a pellet gun. 

Sadness flooded me. I looked at my sweet cat, resting peacefully on the exam table. Who would do that kind of a thing to someone's pet??? Who treated "my boy" that way??? I was so sad. I started to cry. I'd never noticed any injuries on him. Luther knows how to use the dog door, but most of the time he stays inside, content to either eat or sleep on my bed. "Someone shot my cat?" "Yes, at some point. Who knows how long it has been there. Obviously it hasn't caused much trouble and is far enough away to seem unrelated to the mass, so I wouldn't worry about having it removed at this time."

But it got worse. 

The x-ray also revealed a decent sized mass in his abdomen. Near or in his small intestine. 

I mean, you have to assume cancer. Luther is around 70 years old in cat years. It was probably bound to happen some time, if he lived long enough. 

Justin showed up around this point, off of work now. We had to decide. 

Do we try and get a better idea of what it is with an ultrasound? But that was $500. 

Do we assume it is lymphoma and put him on trial drugs or see an oncologist for chemotherapy? But that is such a long shot and expensive and we don't even know exactly what the growth is, and he's 70, so how long will be really be extending his life and what quality will that life be on drugs?

We decided for the option that would give us the most answers. We felt we owed old Lu that much. He's been a part of our family since before our family was founded. Exploratory surgery tomorrow {Thursday}. It's twice the cost of the ultrasound, but still very inexpensive as this popular vet is well known for their low pricing. I've been Googling, and some people say their cat's exploratory surgery cost $3,500-$5,000! 

But we'll get more answers. The vet will either be calling me to say the growth was found and successfully removed and we could pick up Luther the next day and await biopsy results, or he'd be calling me before finishing the surgery to tell me it was impossible to remove. The latter would mean I'd be making a decision whether or not to wake Lu back up, or to let him rest in peace and avoid a drawn out death. Luther loves eating. And drawing out a death by cancer in the stomach would mean his life would be void of that one joy that is food. 

So I already know what my answer will be. 


And either way they will biopsy and test the growth so that we'll know for certain what it is. 

But still, we're praying that the vet will call after removing the growth, and that maybe Luther might still have a bit more time left to annoy me in the morning with his demands to be pet and have his chin scratched. 

I just want to leave this, though, with a thought about animal companions that has already been on my mind lately...

I was recently studying the life of David in the Bible. David was said to be a man after God's own heart. But David sinned when he took the beautiful Bathsheba for himself, and had her husband killed in battle by putting him on the front lines. 

David didn't really feel bad about this until he understood his sin through another man's loss. Just go with me on this:

2 Samuel 12:1 The Lord sent Nathan to David. When he came to him, he said, “There were two men in a certain town, one rich and the other poor.The rich man had a very large number of sheep and cattle, but the poor man had nothing except one little ewe lamb he had bought. He raised it, and it grew up with him and his children. It shared his food, drank from his cup and even slept in his arms. It was like a daughter to him.
“Now a traveler came to the rich man, but the rich man refrained from taking one of his own sheep or cattle to prepare a meal for the traveler who had come to him. Instead, he took the ewe lamb that belonged to the poor man and prepared it for the one who had come to him.”
David burned with anger against the man and said to Nathan, “As surely as the Lord lives, the man who did this must die! He must pay for that lamb four times over, because he did such a thing and had no pity.”

 Anyway, David saw what he'd done, that it was just like what the rich man had done to the poor man and he felt bad about that. But that's not my point. I somehow took comfort, in light of our recent mass animal losses, in reading this and seeing that the Word of God acknowledges our possible bonds to our pets. One might think, it's a sheep in a world of starving hurting people, who cares?

But David cared. And David, remember, was a man after God's own heart. So you can be sure, when you're grieving the loss of a pet, that even though it's just a pet and not a person, God cares. I take comfort in this, yes I do. The Bible does not mock that man when it says that ewe was like a daughter to him.

I believe He made companion animals for our benefit and joy. And I'm so thankful for Luther, that he has been my annoying morning companion for so many years.

He's at the hospital and I'm missing his presence on my bed. I'll miss him in the morning. I feel bad that I used to get annoyed at his head-butting me for attention in the morning. I hope he gets to head butt me again.


Heather


P.S. The rich man who took and killed the ewe = the person who shot my Lu with a pellet gun.



Sunday, May 14, 2017

Mother's Day 2017

Mother's Day 2017

I'm not one to make a big deal of "Hallmark Holidays" {thought up by gift industries to obligate us to spend money--and that's the truth, I saw a documentary about it} plus they're not personal like birthdays or anniversaries.

But I won't lie, today as we finished up a barbecue dinner on our back covered deck, I admired the view of my beautiful kids playing in our new yard so much that I ran for the camera and snapped some photos of them at play, while feeling completely blessed to be their mom. Even if they all had dinner on their shirts and dirty feet. Watching my kids enjoy childhood and their siblings is the greatest blessing on this day.

 Happy Mother's Day. 

Mother's Day 2017

Mother's Day 2017

Mother's Day 2017

Mother's Day 2017

Mother's Day 2017

Mother's Day 2017

Mother's Day 2017

Mother's Day 2017

I love these gorgeous girls and their baby brother to the moon and back a thousand times over.
God has been good to me.

Mother's Day 2017

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!
 {Even though it's a concocted ploy to get our monies and we should tell our moms we love them every day.}
Heather, the cynic

Tuesday, May 2, 2017

More Bad News



This hurts to write. I don't even really want to write it. I wish it were a disturbing bad dream, but no.

In my last post I detailed how a fox had taken advantage of our chicken coop not being locked down one night, after the chickens had pecked through a wire on their automatic closing coop door. We'd lost a buttercup, and Pearl was injured.

Sadly, the next morning Pearl was also found lifeless in a nesting box. The poor thing.

So there's two chickens down due to nasty Mr. Fox. Or, most likely, Mrs. Fox, and I'll explain that later.

This morning Justin woke me up with more sadness. This time it was a lot more devastating. Last week's loss was hard, but this was worse.

We're animal people. We love animals.

I know there's a lot of people out there who cannot have pets for various reasons (i.e. they rent, they have allergies, etc.) but every once in a while I'll meet a person who doesn't just not have pets, they disdain pets and animals. A "friend" actually once threatened to kick my cat because she hated cats. And dogs. That friend is no longer in my life.

People like that...I just don't trust them. Not because I want to be nasty, but because my gut tells me people who harbor contempt for animals are just off somehow. In their heart. When I meet these types, which isn't often, my gut tells me, Smile, and back away slowly.

I say that, but I'll also admit that this morning I've been fantasizing about waiting up all night on my back porch with a shotgun, and blowing a fox's head off if he dares to appear in my yard.

Last week after the fox incident, Justin fixed the coop door. Of course he did. He's also been going out every night to double check that the chickens were locked in and safe. Also, our young hatching chicks that we hatched ourselves this spring. They've been out in their own coop of sorts, the old rabbit hutch. Justin even made them a small temporary run so they've been enjoying going out in the sun during the day. Of course we locked them up at night as well. Of course we did.

In hindsight, however, we were fools to not see the vulnerabilities of the rabbit hutch coop. Our permanent cute yellow coop is raised off the ground, there's no digging into it even if a predator gets into the run {which they can, and do}. We designed the coop to be impenetrable to critters.

There's 6ft fence around the big yellow coop, and Sander dug the fence down several inches to discourage digging from both sides--including our dogs trying to dig into the chicken run and the rabbit, Peter, who lived with the chickens, from digging out. We've taken precautions, see.

But the rabbit hutch was not secured in that way. I'm sick with grief.

Simply put, last night a fox easily dug under the bottom of the rabbit hutch, and--we think--one by one took our young hatchlings. Justin got up to open up the coops and found there were no more young chickens left. Not a one.

To make our grief even worse, our rabbit Peter was also dead in the chicken coop run. He was still warm when he was found. Apparently he didn't go into the coop last night {rabbits don't do that on instinct, unlike chickens}. He was unharmed, just dead. We believe he was shocked to death, maybe chased by the evil Mrs. Fox. He'd been through so much. I've been spoiling him lately with lots of treats. I'm glad for that. I'm heartbroken he's gone.

I said no hatched chicks were found, but...

By some small miracle, Justin found one of our hatchlings--ONE!--hiding near our trash cans. How she got away and escaped the fox and her rabbit hutch coop unscathed we don't know. We're just glad one of our 9 hatching egg chicks survived this massacre.

We're pretty sure it's a hen. The kids named her Hei Hei {after the chicken from Moana}, but after this morning Justin has renamed her Lucky. We weren't sure if it was better to re-home her with the big chickens, who might bully her due to her size, or put her with the little Rainbow Dixie chicks we splurged on at the feed store a couple weeks back. They're in the garage, safe in a large dog kennel with a heat lamp. Lucky might pick on them...but there's 8 of them and we decided that was a safer place for her. Fortunately, she's not picking on the littles at all, but almost looks like their mamma hen. The chicks have all crowded around her and enjoy her feathered warmth.

Lucky and her new Rainbow Dixie babies


We got the Rainbow Dixie chicks because, honestly, chicken fatalities happen and I wanted to hedge our bets in case all our hatched chickens turned out to be roos. Now I'm glad we did, even if it felt a bit crazy at the time to bring another 8 chicks home. They were 50 cents each and when you bought 6, they threw in 2 more for free.

In the last week, we've officially lost 10 chickens. And one sweet rabbit.

That hurts to write. It's a hard pill to swallow. My emotions are still all over the place--from intense regret to anger to sadness.

Last week's loss was hard, but today's was worse. I've been crying.

A couple hours after Justin left for work, I saw my neighbor coming up our walk. I knew why she was coming. We'd gone out front to look for anymore escaped miracle chicks, but hadn't found any. My sweet neighbor was working on raking out her beautiful garden bed when she came accross a buried chicken. A bold fox to bury a chicken in broad daylight in a front yard, and the chicken hadn't stiffened with rigor mortis yet. It was my favorite, the first one to hatch. The lavender Orpington whose birth was witnessed on Facebook live. The fox had buried her for later. I'd already counted her as gone, but again this was incredibly hard to see that gorgeous friendly chicken destroyed like this.

So after Googling a bit I learned that this happens in spring. Foxes can take out whole flocks in one fell swoop this way. Most likely, it is a momma fox who has a den with kits nearby. They are emboldened during this time of life, when they have kits to feed, and are more likely to venture into danger to feed their young. Raccoons aren't known to bury kills for later, but foxes are. Who knows where else in the neighborhood my poor chickens are buried? I'm sick with grief. I feel achy.

I wish I could have reasoned with her. I wish I could have talked her into taking a duck or goose from the park, an animal no one would notice missing. I wish I could tell her that these chickens were very special to us. They were the 9 chicks that hatched from our first attempt to incubate eggs. I wish she could have understood that, like her kits, we'd been caring for them lovingly since they took their first breaths. This loss is especially hard because we hatched those chicks, and every one was a survivor, damn it.

Damn that fox.

And I've had violent thoughts about that fox all morning.

Then, I remember, she'd just doing what she was made to do. And if I blew her head off, those kits would suffer. Also, I don't have a shotgun. Yet.

We haven't told the kids yet. I'm avoiding it. It was hard enough last week when we thought we'd just lost one chicken. Eisley stamped her feet and got angry. Which I understood, because anger is a secondary emotion, usually caused by grief or fear or pain. She cursed predators and wished they didn't exist. Sensing a need to curb her inclination to be mad at God about it, I told her that her feelings were completely understandable and valid. But if God didn't allow predators to kill, we'd be overrun with mice and rodents and diseases. I hate spiders, I said, but if God hadn't made spiders we'd have no edible vegetables or fruits and wouldn't even be able to go outside for all the bugs.

Still. It stinks when the predators get your beloved pets or livestock. It just plain stinks. And I've cried a lot today over it.

And I told my husband that I cannot take another loss like this. We're declaring war on that fox. She'll have to hunt elsewhere because I cannot loose another chicken to her. And we won't be getting another bunny because we've agreed we need to be on a pet decline from here on out. But I'm going to miss seeing that sweet bunny all cute and white and plump and hoppy with his chickens.

In a strange way, I'm jealous of those animal haters. How much easier their lives must be, without the grief that comes with loving and losing pets?

But what is that famous saying...better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

The benefits of pets and animals on our wellbeing--mental and physical--are well documented.

Last week I was consoling myself after losing a chicken {later to be two chickens lost} that at least we still had our hatched chicks and Rainbow Dixies. Today I'm going to a bit more of an extreme to cope with my grief: at least our kids are alive and healthy. Always something to have gratitude about. Always. Grief is best tempered with gratitude.

Justin has ordered this to help deter foxes. We'll continue to make sure the coop is locked down each night. We're considering and researching all other possible precautions.

Fool me once, Mrs. Fox, shame on you.

Fool me twice, Mrs. Fox, shame on me.

Fool me thrice, Mrs. Fox, I'll be buying that shotgun after all. Don't even think about it. Kits or no kits.

I no longer think foxes are very cute. Vicious beasts, more like it.

The loss of my precious hatched chicks we've worked so hard on is not something I'll easily get over. I'm sad, angry, and full of regret.

I'm so sad. This is something chicken keepers have been dealing with since the beginning of time, foxes are. But still. It hurts.











Tuesday, April 25, 2017

Sly Fox & Kitten in Danger

This is never a welcome sight to a 
chicken keeper.
20170425_113227

Most mornings I get a message from Sander that says, Morning love. But today was just Morning, followed by, I have bad news. It felt like I sat there and watched the Justin is typing... animation for an eternity. The first thought that came to my mind was that something has happened to {his} Grandma. She's 99 and has had a few setbacks lately. But no...he wouldn't give really bad news over Facebook messenger.

Instead, he told me that at 6 a.m. this morning, he woke to the sound of the dog barking and a chicken squawking. The dogs sleep with us so if they're out in the yard barking while we're in bed, we know something is wrong. But I sleep through most things that aren't the apocalypse.

So I had no idea he'd jumped out of bed and gone to the backyard, found a bunch of feathers, counted our chickens and realized one was missing, and looked over our neighbors fence just in time to see a fox sprinting away. Then he got ready for work and left us all asleep and unaware of the tragedy in the coop that morning.

So he told me when I was awake, thanks to the kids and their morning energy. Which I do not have any of. Morning energy.

He came home for an early lunch break and upon further inspection we found that the silly chickens--to their own detriment--had pecked through the wire on the automatic hydraulic coop door Sander installed this spring. Instead of remembering to manually close and open the coop door at morning and night, he had installed this automatic door operator, on a timer, with a solar panel to power it. Smart guy. But it didn't close last night since the chickens disarmed their own security system. And our chickens were sitting ducks for any predator.

They will peck at anything that resembles a worm. The door was meant to "lockdown" the coop around sundown, as chickens naturally know to get into the coop as the sun starts to set. Just as they know when it's safe to leave as the sun rises.

20170425_113124

The fox had made off with one of our Sicilian buttercups. They are/were the last two of our original flock. They are/were beautiful, and the most flighty {meaning they should have been the hardest for a predator to catch}, but any chicken is vulnerable really. Especially without a fierce rooster to protect them. Thank goodness for our dogs, though, who've done a decent job keeping most predators at bay. The night we came home and discovered raccoons sleeping in our nesting box was the one night we'd been away with our dogs!

Poor Pearl, an Easter egger, also apparently was assaulted by Mr. Fox. We couldn't find any bleeding or brokenness, just a large spot of missing feathers. She is clearly in pain as she's balled up with her head pulled in. Chickens only rest like that when in pain or sleeping. The Sicilian buttercup who survived had to be rescued from the fence by my husband. She'd tried to escape through the wire and had gotten herself stuck, poor thing. They're traumatized. I'll have to spoil them with extra mealworms today.

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So, you see, we really haven't had the best day. Sander inspected our neighbors yard but all they found was a bunch of feathers that continued down the driveway. So our poor buttercup is long gone. This is the sort of thing you can expect to happen from time to time with chickens, sadly. Even in the city, coyotes and raccoons and foxes abound. Animal husbandry is never a thing for the faint of heart. I was devastated when we lost our first chicken, Big Betty. But over time we've lost a handful and it's a little less sad every time. I guess that's how farmers get used to it. They must become desensitized? It's still hard and sad, especially when you have to tell the kids.

20170425_113128

Doesn't it seem that when you're already having one of these types of days, all the rest of the things follow suit? Yep. As if a million feathers weren't enough to clean up, Paxton decided to color himself a Minecraft skeleton.

20170425_121104

Then there's Poe. Our adolescent kitten who's been getting himself into tree trouble. And this isn't the 1950s where you could just call the fire department. {Or so our children's books told us.} We wish our cats wouldn't go outdoors in the first place {with foxes about} but they long ago learned to use the necessary dog door and once they get a taste for the outside...

20170425_122443

But he's gotten into tree trouble several times now, and we've always been able to rescue him by getting him far enough down to grab him. Until today. I walked out back to water my sprouts and found the girls ready with a rescue blanket while the cat was, this time, perilously close to the weak ends of the branches. He wanted down, but he couldn't figure out how. So I did what most millenial parents would do, and took a video of the rescue while letting my kids handle things. {heh.}

He's survived the tops of the tree so many times now that I've become desensitized to this as well, and I honestly did not think he'd fall. But he did! And as you can hear in the video, I apparently found it morbidly humorous. I guess after the morning we've had, all I could do was laugh nervously. The girls obviously didn't hold the blanket tight enough, but I think it helped. He's gone up much higher in the tree, but thankfully this time he was only 10 or 12 feet up. Curiosity killed the cat and cats have 9 lives are truly phrases rooted in truth. No worries, he's walking around perfectly fine. And we're going to have to put one of those metal tree things on so he can't get up there again.

This video is ridiculous:




Happy trails to you. 
Heather

Thursday, March 23, 2017

Floating in RiNo

Floating in RiNo

You know how sometimes you mention something you heard about to your spouse and say, "I'd like to try it sometime." But you're not really that serious. So then at Christmas when he gets you a gift certificate for that thing--because of all the hints you dropped for gift ideas throughout the year, this is the one he finds a Groupon for--and so now you're financially obligated to do something outside of your comfort zone? You know how that happens sometimes?

Me too.

But doing things outside of our comfort zone can also be good for us. I know this, because it helps with my anxiety disorder. Push yourself, be brave. It's good therapy.

You know what else is good therapy? Floating.

Floating in RiNo

Maybe you've heard it called sensory deprivation therapy, but in 2017 we call it floating therapy. Yes, that's what I mentioned to Sander only to be presented with a Groupon to do just that. Bless him.

I'd read about it back in October--apparently it was popular in the 50s and 60s, but is making a comeback with its new name and known benefits--and thought it might be something we could do together while in Washington, just the two of us. But we didn't and I forgot about it until Christmas. I'll admit I put it off a bit until Sander reminded me the Groupon expired at the end of March, so I'd better get my float on.

So last Friday--St. Patrick's Day--I left our yard work behind and headed to RiNo. When I got there I thought, I don't know if I can do this. Because RiNo is even more hipster saturated than Highland {aka The Highlands as Colorado noobs call it} and so it was crazy busy and loud on a Friday night. When I was a kid, this area was aka The Ghetto. But alas, Gentrification for the win, it's now River North Art District, or RiNo.

The Denver native that I am is tempted to be irritated at the gentrification of this area, I don't recognize it as classic Denver, with all these new buildings with murals the hipsters with kids make their fantastically dressed little ones pose in front of for Instagram glory. However, I've been there enough to know it's gentrified blessing, having eaten at both Osaka Ramen and Sugarmill {thanks again, Michael!} Which were some of the best meals I've had in Denver. And then there's the art. You can't hate RiNo. It's a legit part of Denver in its own right. Embrace it. It's New Denver. We all knew this was coming.

Floating in RiNo

I was thinking, however, as I made myself 15 minutes late to my 90 minute float looking for parking, Why am I doing this? How can anyone relax in the heart of RiNo?! There are people everywhere! It's loud! They're all Instagramming their food and craft beers!

Also, it wasn't easy to find and their two customer parking spaces were taken. Luckily, I finally figured out Samana Float Center was located in the middle of this building and found a parking space right in front. I didn't know if I'd be able to float for a full 90 minutes either, so I didn't panic at being a little late.

Floating in RiNo

They gave me the upstairs "cabin"--which I would recommend for a first timer for sure over their other option of pods--and explained what to do to enjoy my float.

Floating in RiNo

A cabin is basically a room with a shower.

Floating in RiNo

With a door to a tank. No, this isn't Coraline's door. Nor is it a part of Meow Wolf.

Floating in RiNo

Here's the truth: despite all of my anxiety about floating, when I opened that door and looked in at the water, as soon as I saw it I was eager to get into it. It was definitely inviting.

Floating in RiNo

What's so special about floating? You ask. Why can't I just do this in my awesome bathtub at home? You wonder.

Remember how I said this is sensory deprivation therapy? Floating is not about bathing, it's about experiencing nothing. That's right. The goal is nothing. Except your thoughts, and even then...

So they give you beeswax-like ear plugs to keep noise and water out, and they provide petroleum jelly to cover any cuts or scratches you have {do not skip this step!} and towels.

Floating in RiNo

Then you get in and you can turn off the light if you want {heck no} or leave it on, a subtly color changing spa light. There's also spa music you can turn on or off. I chose to leave it on. And by music I don't so much mean music but more like...spa chimes. Or something.

Floating in RiNo

The water is kept at exactly body temperature, so you're completely comfortable. They put hundreds of pounds of Epsom salt into the water. The result is like that of the Dead Sea, it's so dense with salt that it's buoyant. You can't drown in this even if you fall asleep, and you definitely could fall asleep during your float. I got in and found I couldn't really even sit in it like I would a bath, the water pushed my tush up. So the result is a perfect state of weightless comfort. I would have been here weekly during my pregnancies, if it'd been around back then! You are deprived of all sensory stimulation. You can close your eyes and feel like your body isn't there anymore. Even in RiNo.

There's so many reasons why this is good for you. First, I'm already a big believer in Epsom salts and I regularly bathe with Epsom salt in my tub. It has many known benefits, such as supplying your body with magnesium--which is a crucial need for those of us with depression or anxiety, most of us are deficient--and magnesium is soaked up easily through your skin. It relieves muscle tension and pain. Floating is great for athletes, I'm sure!

But I also think the sensory deprivation was great for me because I'm an HSP. A what? A highly sensitive person. NOT to be confused with hypersensitive, and you can read about the difference here. I have a pretty thick skin and am hard to hurt emotionally, although we all have our emotional Achilles heel, don't we? We do. But no, I'm not hypersensitive, I'm highly sensitive.

Meaning, if I'm watching a movie and my husband is on the other end of the couch bouncing his foot and I can see it from the corner of my eye, it's the same thing as if he were standing by the TV jumping up and down screaming. I cannot concentrate on the movie with him over there screaming. With his foot. Being an HSP has both pros and cons, like most personality traits. It's a very common personality trait, I'm not trying to sound like a Snowflake here. It is not a disorder or anything to be ashamed of:

HSPs have relative difficulty filtering sounds and other sensory inputs. They’re especially sensitive to subtle stimuli that other people don’t notice...High sensitivity is a biological predisposition traceable to brain structures like the reticular activating system. It has little, if anything, to do with emotional sturdiness. 
- Psychology Today (source)

So if you're like me and can easily be overwhelmed by environmental stimuli, this might be a great getaway for you. It's like going to a quiet place, but to the extreme. While I was in the tank, I realized that the last time I have felt this way must have been in utero. 

Toward the end I enjoyed bouncing between one end and the other, and it was a surreal experience. When I got the momentum of the waves going, it created this sensation of being still for a moment, then caught up in the wave of water back and forth--all these bubbles would roll under me like a back massage and suddenly I'd shoot down to the other end and then the same thing would take me back up again after a pause. I don't even know if that makes sense...just try it if you ever float. It takes the tiniest push to get your body drifting. I felt silly. But I was silly relaxed and at peace.

And yes, I did take my phone in with me. It's waterproof. And I wanted a connection to the outside world still. Plus, I wanted to blog about this experience.

Floating in RiNo

Going into this experience, I was curious to find out whether or not I'd come away thinking I'd do it again or never again. I came away thinking I'd definitely do it again. I also decided to get my husband back, because the next day was his 33rd birthday, and I think he'd enjoy this also. So I got him a gift certificate for a 90 minute float.

When you're done with your float you shower again {you do so before getting in} and trust me, you'll want to, because that salt really sticks to you! They have a post-float area where you can make yourself a mug of tea and hang out for a while. There's also a fully stocked bathroom with a hair dryer and other amenities. It's a well thought out business.

Floating in RiNo

If you're wondering about sanitation--and believe me, I did, so I researched in advance--let me share what I know. First, salt water is extremely sanitary to begin with. Organisms don't grow in water this salty, that's why it's called the Dead Sea. But also, at the end of your float you hear the filter turn on, and they filter the water three times. Finally, they use UV lights to sanitize. So...it's pretty clean. And my skin felt amazing after!

I'd definitely recommend Samana in RiNo. And they aren't giving me anything to say that. I'm a creature of comfort, so now that I've had such a nice experience there, it's where I'll return.

So...what do you think? Have you heard of floating before? Would you try it? 

Cheers,
Heather

Friday, March 17, 2017

A Brand New Green for St. Patty's Day!

HAPPY ST. PATRICK'S DAY!!!!

We're not much Irish. More Scottish. But... same thing, right?
{Warning: NEVER say that to a Scot or an Irishman.}
{Seriously. They will punch you.}

St. Patty's Day 2017

This post is an update on our backyard. Remember? We've been "rezoning" it so that now we have a larger chicken run, a fenced and gated garden area, and a yard. I mean, we wanted a LEGIT yard. With grass so healthy, and plush, and beautiful that all summer we'll be barefoot and wandering around our yard. Aimlessly, probably.

St. Patty's Day 2017

The chickens are ingrates. They are not appreciative of our nice new run for them. They did not send a thank you note for their solar powered coop door that keeps them safe from raccoons at night. They give us the stink eye when we're near, because they still think they should have free range of the yard. Also, mealworms daily.

But no, chickens. You'll eat our garden and you'll continue to poop on our deck. Which has already been nicknamed the Poop Deck thanks to your lot. So deal with it.
{I love you so much, my feathered babies.}
Yeah, you heard me. DEAL WITH IT.

St. Patty's Day 2017

We've never laid sod before. But we knew two pallets of it was being dumped on our driveway this A.M. and figured it'd probably be an all day job. So we called in reinforcements who have laid sod beore {my in-laws, because of course. what DIY project haven't they done yet? answer: none.}

By the time I got home from taking the girls to a Leprechaun-hunting, fun-filled day at their enrichment school, they had already unrolled beautiful plush sod out on about half of our new lawn.

St. Patty's Day 2017

{Turns out, it doesn't take that long. Also, it is highly satisfying to roll new grass out like rugs and see your dirt transformed by a new and improved INSTA-LAWN!}

So, you see: we did more than just WEAR green this year for St. Patrick's day. We one-upped you and we installed *A* green this St. Patty's Day. 
*feels smug like a leprechaun*
*realizes no one in this photo is wearing green*

Although...it's still technically winter in Colorado. So by green...I mean...err? Chartreuse?

Straw?

Ugly yellow?

St. Patty's Day 2017

Oh whatever!!! The point is. The point is this. This year I will step right off by deck into lovely plush sod instead of compacted, lumpy, strange grass from the 1950s. And it was weird! Curly, and short, more like moss. It didn't spread like good [coughcough genetically engineered coughcough] grass should.

Our new turf is a Texas x Kentucky blue grass hybrid that is exactly as a Colorado transplant should be: cool with an arid climate, partial to shade, drought tolerant, and self heals nicely. Please inform your friends who've recently moved to Denver. All 8 billion of them. And their dogs.

St. Patty's Day 2017

The ingrates were, however, thankful for the scraps we tossed them.
And the donut Paxton didn't finish.

St. Patty's Day 2017

And after my husband's do-it-yourself parents had left and we stood, beholding our new, healthy 2017 turf, I said to my husband, "I have wanted this for three years. I now love my yard."

And he said, "Good."

Because he's not long-winded. Like some bloggers I know.    ಠ_ಠ 

St. Patty's Day 2017

So now we need to protect our investment from the kids for a few weeks while this sod takes root to our backyard farmette.

St. Patty's Day 2017St. Patty's Day 2017

But we did have several rolls of earth rug left over. So we decided to take my father-in-law's advice...

St. Patty's Day 2017

And we did away with the eyesore, the wild rose bed in our front. We left room by the brick wall for those bleeding hearts and lily of the valley to still spring up {every year, bless}. And good thing, since we barely had enough sod to do so.

St. Patty's Day 2017

And now: the challenge of keeping these pesky pups off our new turf for a few weeks.
Look at Cocoa, sticking her tongue out at me. They're not happy about it.
{Do you recognize this cornhole game from Eisley's first birthday party that had an Alice in Wonderland theme?! Still have it!}

St. Patty's Day 2017

So there you have it.
We greened chartreused harder than you this St. Patrick's day!
Go pinch yourself. ;-)
{Gently.}

Cheers,
Heather
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