Baker's Branch

My dogs sleep outside with the wolves. They curl up tightly in draft-proof doghouses stuffed with hay, and sleep with one eye open (because of the wolves) until things warm up, which they always do. I learned years ago to make it easy on myself at feed/watering time everyday by filling the water buckets only half-full, as it necessitated me breaking out less ice the following day when the chore was repeated. Better to lift only five pounds rather than ten.  I feed my dogs a good, balanced, commercial dogfood; one with a high protein count (not cheap), and pour the water to them.  I have only three dogs at present: a lab, a German Shepherd, and a Chesapeake mix, who's probably smarter than the other two, and I know twice as mean. One of the three really sleeps outside with the wolves.  Heidi, the shepherd, refuses to sleep in her house unless it is raining. I think it's probably too hot in there for her. What, a week ago, when it got down below zero, and the pipes froze in the h

  “How do I love deer meat? Let me count the ways,” the poet might’ve said, but he didn’t. I said that. He would have said it, had he ever eaten any.  Here, post deer gun season, I’m trying to think of a way I wouldn’t eat it. I can’t. Maybe if you threw a raw piece of it into the middle of your driveway, and ran over it with your truck four or five times, maybe I wouldn’t eat it that way. More likely, I would pick it up, hose it off, and give it a shot anyway.  Actually, I did that to a degree when, years ago, Dave Hladik and his wife, Linda, invited Pam and me to share a deer dinner at their house out on Highway 48 north of Mannford. Linda, an excellent cook, made a deer Swiss steak meal smothered in tomato sauce, sliced onions and mushrooms so good I nearly cried at it’s near perfection.  Wow. Here I am, still talking about it some thirty years later. God rest that girl’s soul.  At the end of the meal, girls at the sink doing dishes, Dave and I laid back in our chairs, bellies out,