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I'm a white trash, southern belle newly re-married mother of two- a hormonal teen girl and a boy genius-who is trying to figure out this whole parenting thing, how to make my second marriage work since the first one obviously didn't turn out too well, what she wants to be when she grows up and the meaning of life. Getting pregnant after 35 may be more difficult than at age 25 but it's not necessarily impossible.
After countless hours of research on and about this breed, here is my version of how this wonderful breed came to be.In the early 1800a€™s Scotsman Bruce McKinsey moved his family moved from the cold damp climates of Northern Scotland to the Grampian Hills of Central Scotland.
Yep, that's right, thirty three years ago today my mother went into labor brought on by my Uncle Paul Dean almost having a wreck (my mother was yelling, "Get the brakes, Mary Call" which is from some movie they'd just seen) and chili with beans.
Assess the odds up your chances and harvest advice for getting meaning posterior in life from a getting pregnant after 35 naturally midlife A woman's fertility naturally decreases with age and so getting meaning afterwards xxxv is not. At least that what she says caused it and let me tell you, if a pregnant woman gets within five feet of her, she'll tell them not to eat chili with beans around their due date because you CANNOT GET DRUGS to help you through the labor. Birth Control getting pregnant after 35 naturally Inquisitive how to get pregnant if you are terminated 35 Here are around helpful steps for boosting your fertility and enhancing your chances for getting What are some of the challenges when trying to. After spending time together working the sheep in the fields and watching how McKinseya€™s dogs worked the livestock, Alexander eventually acquired a female Scottish Colley from Bruce and named her Flora.
I also mean my buttocks, my metabolism and my boobs until I got the old girls hoisted back up.
I have no recollection of making the decision to stay home, but I was told by David, from the golf couse, that I had made that decision all by myself.
I know, I know, birthdays are better than the alternative, but time keeps marching on and, to quote my birth mother Dolly Parton in Steel Magnolias, it's marching across my face.
Uh, why would I keep a six year old who must be entertained at all times, usually by me, home when all I want to do is sleep? I guess that would mean it's also marching across my head.I spent my 30th birthday laying on the sofa at my old house crying because all I had to show for the previous thirty years was two kids with two different dads, a failed marriage and a job with a salary that hadn't entered the $30K range yet. Either because I couldn't fathom the thought of getting my sick ass out of bed to take him to school or I was under the impression someone, namely Tiger Woods, was going to be here to help me keep him entertained. I spent my 31st birthday with a migraine and with a man who forgot it was my birthday and never made it up to me once he learned the error of his ways. Or maybe a combo of both.Whatever the case, I was totally surprised when I woke up and I was not at work writing a white paper and end of year fundraising letter (seriously, if you'd like to make a tax deductible donation to a wonderful retirement home who seriously needs the funds, especially for a new wheelchair van, please let me know and I can give you all the information via e-mail) and a six year old was climbing into bed begging me for food. I was even more surprised to not be able to locate David and to learn when he finally did surface that he's at Kate's first golf tournament-practically in Oklahoma-and that I volunteered to let Max stay home from school today so he could play on the computer. There isna€™t any information as to the demise of Alexander, but he was well into his 80's at this time. He seemed shocked that I would be angry and frustrated by the fact that I'm home and can't get any rest. I got to see one of my favorite bands, Cowboy Mouth, which I hadn't seen in years and the lead singer licked me on the hand and called me trouble. The man who rarely makes it into the office because he "works" from home all the time is surprised? The man who can take a nap when he chooses while he's "working" from home and that throws a scraming hissy fit if anyone wakes him up, even if it's like 7:30 AM and everyone is trying to get ready for school and work while he's laid up in bed sleeping is shocked?
This pup would come to be known as "Jet", a black pup with a faint line of white up his face, a white chest and socks.
I'm far too old to party like it's 1999, just so you know.I've been dreading this one even though, for quite a few years, I've had a feeling that something good was going to happen during my 33rd year on this planet.
But I am pissed.You know, before I had anyone in my life and it was just my kids and me, it really wasn't that big of a deal for me to get sick and have to do everything myself because I was alone and I didn't have anyone to help me.
I couldn't wait for presents and cake, even though I never really liked the big birthday party thing. Yeah, it sucked and I did end up in the hospital dehydrated, but what was I going to do, you know? I couldn't wait to get the card from my grandmother with the blue and white checkered check with my name spelled wrong I received every year without fail. Now that I have someone who wants to be my partner and claims to be very helpful, it does piss me off when he pulls this shit.
Both theseA lines worked from the head and didn't have the a€?loose eyeda€? working style of the traditional Collies.If you look at the picture of the Basque Sheepherder, taken at the turn of the century, you can see the resemblance of our modern day McNab in the Black and white dog in the back on the right side.
Or the card with a crisp $5.00 bill and drawings, with their dimensions written on them, from my granny and her husband. Even though my grandmothers and the money are long gone, I think every single one of those cards are still at my mother's house.I can't figure out why the birthdays aren't fun for me anymore.
It's the whole Mars Venus thing and men and women communicate differently, blah, blah, blah. I think it's sexist and disrespectful.Even if I did agree, in a Nyquil and Tyleonl Sinus induced stupor to allow Max to stay home, David should've known better.
Or because I work with senior citizens who say things like, "I remember when I used to wear heels like that" or "I used to be able to go without stockings because I had great legs just like yours" but now they have on sensible shoes and stockings because they have varicose veins and, well, they fall enough without a pair of stilletos helping them to Hip Replacement City.


He knows I've been exhausted because I nodded off Sunday and yesterday just sitting on the sofa which never happens.
But him taking Max to school would've interfered with his plans, so it was easier to just let me agree to keeping him here (which I still don't remember doing) than to take him to school.
I guess maybe, as much as I love old people, I myself don't really look forward to being old.But, it's not like being young was great, either. It's much like when he and Kate trashed the kitchen and I ended up loading the dishwasher less than 24 hours after having my gallbladder out because the countertop-and David-had both disappeared and I knew it wouldn't get done otherwise. Kate once said to me in reference to a comment I made about not being the only adult in the house and having a job where I actually worked, "But you're the mom. Mom's are supposed to clean up." See what I mean about being sexist and disrespectful?So, on days like this where I'm feeling like crap and still having to do everything myself, I think it's a whole lot easier for me to be alone.
Because, at least when I'm doing it all then, there's not another capable adult off at the golf couse hanging out with friends and enjoying his day, while I sit here playing cold & sinus medicine influenced version of Darth Vader and wondering why I can't ever be Luke. Trying to sneak in through the window drunk as shit and praying to God my mother didn't notice that I just puked green beans all in the Care Bears trash can I held on to way past it's prime. Among Scottish flocks he is the pride of Scottish owners, and is valued, both in the Old World and the New, as one of the best aids money can procure. Here even, in far California, there is one ranch, lying high on the breezy mountains and low in the grassy dells, that for years has relied upon the help given by imported collies and their offspring, and it is of the work these bright dogs do that this article is written.For the history of the collie one must look elsewhere than in a brief magazine sketch.
I often think I'd like to go back, though, with the knowledge I have now and re-live some of those years. Many wise dogs have journeyed far by land and sea to race over the rugged hills after the nimble sheep, which in these mountain wilds give fleet defiance to the would-be-gatherer. No one but a real Scotch shepherd can train these dogs to the perfection they attain among Scottish flocks under constant supervision. Descended from long generations of workers the puppies take actively to business, and practice amusing tactics of herding on the farm poultry while still too young to be initiated into the graver cares of life; and at first sight of a band of sheep will usually make some move that denotes the shepherd strain. I have a job I love, my kids are freaking brilliant and, even though Grace is getting REALLY hormonal (REALLY HORMONAL) these days and is making me consider a life full of booze and cigarettes which will only age me faster, they aren't bad kids. I got the day off from David and the kids today and a pumpkin cheesecake all to myself from Cheesecake Factory. Literally is it true of the collie, Ye cannot serve two masters ; his allegiance must be given to but one, or the valuable animal becomes worthless for the work that nature and training have given him to do. The breeze is sweet with bloom, and the sunlight falls, a flood of golden glory, over the lavish green of April meadow, as we take the upward trail, a woodland path that rises steeply under the shadow of the Peak, giving but glimpses of the valley home below, and winding through still shadows in the absolute silence of Natures own domains.
Higher we go, and onward, past an old stone cabin, a picturesque bit of ruin in the lap of spring.
As we come out from the woods with the Peak still above us, send a swift glance northward, where Sanhedrim and the northern mountains still are capped in glittering snow, rising sharply from green valleys to the sunny sky, their sparkling peaks the only hint of winter in all this summerland. Off he dashes up the hill, makes a wide circle past a dozen ewes, and as they bolt up hill heads them, turns, and deftly drives them down. Their lambs lie asleep in the warm sun or frolic together on the hillside, bright bits of movement white against the green. A motion of the hand directs the alert dogs, and they join the two bands and send them steadily along the trail. Two ewes and a lamb go running to the side.Here, Pete!The dog dashes quickly across a little hill, the bright drops sparkling on his black coat as he passes the sheep and turns them.
Circling in front again, the dog overtakes, turns them, follows, and turns again, and patiently works them along till his troublesome charges are safely among their fellows. If sent to hurry the little flock, he dashes at the hindmost, barking his orders.Here the master whistles Fred to the right. Nothing is visible to him, but off scurries the obedient dog, barking frantically, circles, and stops.
Off he dashes, perhaps fifty feet or so ahead, and dropping to the ground with nose between his paws, he waits till the flock is close upon him ; then he springs up and trots ahead again, and once more quietly waits their coming.Fred!
The master walks away, and Fred, understanding perfectly that he must keep the flock, swiftly circles round them and brings them to a halt. Here, alone, he holds them, keeping them closely together while Peter and the master gather the other side of the hill, and return two hours later to find the sheep quietly grazing and Fred lying as quietly watching them.Two ewes wander a little too far. Scarcely rising to his feet, the dog slips quietly through the grass beside them, and they turn and slowly rejoin the band, cropping as they go.
Fred trots quietly around his charges, sees that all are safe, then drops down again, watching them ceaselessly with shining eyes, and not a ewe or lamb is missing when the returning master adds his flock.Steadily we climb, through the golden afternoon. Occasionally shy deer peer through the brush, the warm air is sweet with the breath of bloom, and a distant eagle screams as he sweeps in stately circles over the Peak. The flocks number in the hundreds as we finally reach the summit, where we are met by the shepherd and Tweed, with another band.
In go the dogs, and send the sheep briskly down the trail, while Peter, circling far behind of his own accord, often brings in a stray ewe that has slyly dropped out.Yonder is a place where the whole band broke away years ago, and never have forgotten it, but neither have the dogs.


With a fierce challenge the collies vigorously meet the flying band, and force them back to the trail more roughly than we have seen them do yet, in punishment, perhaps, for their presumption and past sins.
She has bolted away several times, and given Peter much trouble to bring her in ; but his Scotch is up, as she dashes away again.
He springs in before her, and with a dexterous hoist of his body sends her tumbling end over end, which is his own cure for these troublesome bolters, and was never known to fail. As if shot from a cannon, the ewe bangs against him, and over goes Tweed, howling rolling over and over, down the steep hillside, all four feet kicking at once, in angry protest as they come uppermost ; and his chap-fallen expression, as he struggles to his feet and slinks away, shows that Tweed is both a sadder and a wiser dog. Though all are trained alike in a general way, two collies differ as widely in characteristic methods of work as two men,each possessing a distinct individuality of his own.Ah! After much hard running the flock is finally under control, but a bunch of lambs has become separated in the confusion, and after circling helplessly, stampedes in wild disorder. Peter tries his wise best to work the foolish little things back, vainly attempting to head them off.but they jump over him, halfa-dozen in succession, ears and tails flapping wildly as they clear his broad back. While the master separates the sheep, let us sit on this sunny hillside and watch the collies as they circle round the running lambs. They never bark at them as they would at old sheep, but merely follow and slowly check them by degrees.
The little things are both obstinate and foolish, and at first pay no attention to the quiet collies that trot patiently round and round, quietly gather them together, and at last stop their wilr1 run. Slowly, and with marvelous patience they are turned, jumping over each other, then over the dogs, and it seems a hopeless task even to attempt to take them the half-mile to the corral, but in a couple of hours time Fred and Peter come slowly up to the gate with them, not a lamb hurt or missing, and their first acquaintance made with these gentle protectors and friends. Peter is a favorite, bright even beyond the ordinary collie, his first appearance in the field showing a canine reason.
Then he suddenly spied a huge rock; straight for it he went, and springing into sight upon its top, he stood a moment, one paw uplifted, ears up and nose a-quiver, a pretty picture, gave two quick glances, and was down and with the sheep again, and quietly drove them straight across the field to the hidden gate.
Often, till he learned the hills, did he leave the sheep,, and on some high point literally take his bearings, to return to his charge and take them down the better way, justifying his masters assertion that surely the line between reason and instinct is closely drawn in the Scotch collie. He was a ready match for a certain obstinate old ram, that always fought the dogs and delayed their work ; till at last when sent for the flock Peter went first for this old enemy, and there, nose to nose, both heads bobbing excitedly, he would angrily bark and growl, till the conquered ram at last would make a sudden bolt, and the victorious Peter calmly gather in the flock. A most conscientious dog, his work was done faithfully and well till years disabled him; but Fred, more alert to praise, did best were strangers present, when he abounded in bright ways and brilliant work, done with a comically conscious air of superior excellence. The young man pondered a little, then to the country saddler he went and ordered made from his description little leather shoes. He took to them kindly, like the wise dog he was, wore them gratefully, and after a long days run through flying seed, off would come the shoes, leaving his feet sound and well. Meekly he would let his shoes be donned, regarding his master quizzically the while, and wear them complacently enough in view, but let him be sent for sheep a little out of sight, a little delay would be noticed, then out from behind some bushy clump or sheltering rock Fred would gayly emerge, with many gambols to divert the eye.
Clyde closely resembles Fred, whose days are past; and till the present puppy, tiny Tweed, grows to working age, Clyde is the mainstay of the gathering. Help fulfills his name on other portions of the large range ; but either are true types of the working collie, willing and faithful helpers till years disable them. Either one is sent for sheep entirely out of sight in a large field, and patiently hunts till he finds them, then brings them in alone ; and Gyps mother, Bessie, brings in the entire flock from her owners small range just as readily as from the field. They brought with them their stock dogs, the Fox Shepard, the origin not known, but have survived in Scotland for centuries. McNab returned to the Grampian Hills in Scotland for the sole purpose of getting some of the dogs he was used to working. He brought Peter back with him, leaving Fred to have his training completed, and he was later sent to America. These two dogs were bred to select Shepard females of the Spanish origin, which were brought to this country by the Basque sheepherders, and that cross was called the McNab Shepherds because Mr. He named this pup Jet he was black with a faint white line up his face, a white chest and a small amount of white on his feet. Some of these dogs will have a wider strip up the face (Bentley Stripe) and a ring around the neck, there are also instances of pups with brown on their face and legs but will still be mostly black.
Alexander McNab and his family raised sheep in Scotland, but longed for a warmer climate and enticed by the news of the West, set out across the Atlantic to America. McNab was not satisfied with the type of working dogs he found locally, and in 1885 he returned to Scotland for the sole purpose of importing the type of dog(s) he had been accustomed to working with. It was said that these two male dogs were bred to female dogs of Spanish origin, which were brought to this country by the Basque sheep herders. I have searched (and continue to search) to find out the type of dog the Basque may have brought with them to California, and my findings were contradicting.



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