#excuse me while I go herd my goats in peace

[pyraffin-drgo]

All Heavy interactions in Poker Night at the Inventory.

For you to interpret however you wish.

Video Version

(They have [bootleg movies] in your country?) "I like movies, yes." (Yeah, like what? [Lists movies]?) "No. My favorite are The Dirty Dozen and the first twenty minutes of Rocky four."

(We can talk Tetris?) "Hmmph. Tetris is baby game." (Tetris Attack keeps it hood!) "Why does everybody think I love this Tetris? It is just stacking!"

"[To Strongbad] Tiny Heavy." (What is it?) "Do you get the nightmares?" (I get the jibblie nightmares. [Describes silly nightmare, shivers].) "I am talking about the visions of endless suffering. Dead doctors everywhere. Spy can not be found. (No, but that sounds like the Jibblies.) "I do not like these 'jibblies.'"

"Strong and bad. How is boxing career?" (These. Are. My. HANDS!) "I was boxer, once. In school. We have to either box or learn to herd goats." Silence, looking concerned. "I am not good with goats..." (Too much information, man.) "At first, I do not like punching other boys... But then I learn to love it." Punches his palm menacingly.

(Find any rare drops lately?) "I do not understand." (When you get a kill, you get a present?) "When I get kill, I get honor of team." Smile drops. "Sometimes... I also get nightmares. A man does not go home to his wife and children." (So, no loot?) "Oh! You mean hat! Yes, I love hats! Sometimes, I get these. They are the best."

(Hey, Heavy. You know any hot Russian spies?) "I hate spies." (But you gotta have the inside line on some deadly minxes.) "You want hot spy?" (Am I not wrestle man?) "I have friend who gets you a hot spy. (Get em on the two-way, man!) "His name is Pyro." (Tycho, to Strongbad: The spy is hot because it is on fire.) (Oh...)

"[To Tycho] What do you do with life?" (Me?) "Yes. What is possible with tiny, frail body?" (I occupy myself with simulations... of various kinds.) "What is these?" (Struggles to explain.) (Strongbad: He lives in his parent's basement.)

(So, is there a Mrs. Weapons Guy?) "No. Sasha is my only love." (Sasha kills people, I presume?) "No." (Oh?) "WE kill people."

"[To Strongbad] Maybe you and I box?" (I can't risk my beautiful face, it's the franchise.) "We spar. For fun." (I don't think so.)

"Strong and bad. You wrestle? With mask?" (No, I'm a wrestle man, not those hack wrestle-LERS.) "Not like Iron Sheik?" (No, Iron Stake is a LER.) Heavy nods. "Hmm. This is too bad."

(So how long you been with those Team Fortress fellas?) "I do not understand." (The game's been on Steam for like 3 years. I imagine there was some audition process?) "Ohhh! Yes, I understand! I kill many men VERY quickly." (Excuse me?) "I kill record number of soldiers, and I am commissioned to join RED team."

(Mr. Weapons. I am in the market for a new firearm. [Specifications].) "Hmm, for you I do not recommend minigun then. You know, there is this fast baby man that annoys me greatly with shotgun." (Oh! Oh! What are the available options? I'll spring for leather!) "Da, this is good for you. I suggest Force-A-Nature." (I'll tell them [shop owner] Heavy Weapons Guy sent me.) "It is no need. I know guy."

"I will make hat from you, little bunny." No reply from anyone. A reference for the player to the Max hat in TF2.

"You look familiar, bunny." (How closely do you follow the Manhattan Crime Blotter?) Also a reference to the hat, Tycho then takes over conversation.

(If I need someone snuffed out, what's your going rate?) "Five hundred thousand U.S. dollars." (Steep.) "Cash." (You can do it discreetly?) "Sasha... not so discreet." (That's fine.)

(How did you guys hear of the inventory?) "My engineering friend brought me one night."

(This reminds me of the time Artie Flopshark rigged an entire poker tournament to pay off his loan shark.) "I know of this. This is respectable profession in motherland." Conversation is stolen by Tycho.

(This reminds me of [story]!) "I am reminded of time Engineer kill my entire team." (Damn Heavy, that's... heavy. Sorry to hear that.) "I search entire base for him. He tries to kill me with turret and mini turret, but I crush his toys like they are made of paper." (Sounds like crappy toys.) "Then I find him. Hiding by teleporter. I take his gun away from him. He tries to hit me with wrench! Hahohoh! So I take wrench away from him. I take his wrench and shove it down his throat, all the way down to the handle." (Christ!) Heavy laughs. "Then I rip off all his fingers one by one!" He talks while laughing. "Lets see you build toys now!" He breaks out in laughter. "There's blood- everywhere! And- he's crying!" More laughter. "I think he cries out for mother, but- but-" Crumples over laughing. "The wrench is stuck in his throat! And it sounds like-" Makes choking motions and noises then laughs. "Is this not the funniest thing??" (Horrified looks) (Head shakes slowly.) (That's some bleeped up bleep, man!)

(How about you, Heavy weapons? I'm guessing you're a vodka guy?) "Peach Bellini. But bubbles can give me headache."

(Mr. Weapons, how do you like your line of work?) "It is good. There are many benefits." (Oh! Like a free pass to snuff out bad guys or a waffle bar?) "Both. And full dental."

(I wonder if this dump is haunted.) (I hope so! Roughing up who can't die is fun!) "...I do not like ghosts..." (It's okay, Mr. Weapons. I have [extensive experience]. I can handle a few ghosts.) "...You will take care of ghosts for me?" (You bet cha!) Heavy nods at him. "I like you, tiny rabbit."

[Story including a union] "I am union. RED local six fifteen." (You guys unionized?) "Eh. It was necessity for group medical."

"Tycho. This sweater, is special equipment?" (No, standard issue.) "You have no class specific head gear?" (Got a motorcycle helmet that protects from 100% of UV rays.) "This sounds beneficial."

(Why do you keep calling me 'Tiny Heavy'?) "You are Heavy. Tiny. No? You are RED team. You have killing gloves of boxing. You earn these for being great killer! You should try out for RED team." (Hmm. Guess I could join your team of ruthless killers and lame hat wearers and watch you get grenaded by 8 year olds.) "You will take many bullets before dying I think."

(Hey, Heavy. I just finished [Russian fantasy book]. Ever read it?) "No." (Oh. What's your favorite book?) "I prefer war." (Ah, War and Peace. Tasteful.) "No. Just war." (Art of War?) "Nyet." Silence. "I like 'Tsar Hunger' by Leonid Andreyev. You know this?" (...No.) "Is classic."

"You have hands like young girl." (I keep them shits moist.) "...So you are more of sneaky, stabbing type?" (In an extreme circumstance, I guess.) Heavy looks at him suspiciously. "I keep my eyes on you." (No, no no- I wasn't implying that-) Heavy looking at him angierly. (Shit.)

(Ever listen to music while you work?) "Yes! I just buy new walkman." (What gets you in the killing mood? Icelandic death metal?) "I just get Huey Lewis tape. Keeps spirits up on battle field."

"[To Tycho] You have woman?" (Not with me) "She is pretty?" (Yeah, cute, glasses, red hair.) "She has the red hair??" (No, Heavy! She is not on the other team! Don't have to kill her!) "No. But I love the red hair!" (Well, you can't have her, either.) Re-used image of Heavy looking at him angrily. (Well, maybe we can work something out.)

(Hey, Heavyman. You think you can 'take care' of the King of Town for me?) "I can assassinate king, yes. It is expensive, though." (By take care of I meant sneak in and shave off half his mustache.) "I am not best at sneaking." (Confront him in a dark alley then?) "This is better. That way blood wash away in rain."

(You have any interest in moonlighting?) "WHAT? I am not moonlighter!" (Just a little work on the side with Sam and me beating up goons!) "Oh. I can not do this." (C'mon it's fun and free!) "No, I am sure it is." (Then what's the problem?) "I have non compete." (Ah, yeah. Lawyers.)

(All these aces reminds me of [weird dream]. You have any weird dreams, Mr. Weapons?) "I sometimes dream that I am killed. There is blood everywhere. (Tycho gives him a weird look) But then I wake up and I realize this is ridiculous! Nobody can kill Heavy weapons guy! (Riiiight...)

"[To his chips] This is good Solider. This one is good Doktor. You are demolition man."

"Saaaandvich, sandvich, I love you sandvich!" (Would you like someone to order you some food?)

"Blue man." (Tycho.) "Tycho. What college do you go to? You are educated, no?" (Actually, no.) "No?" (I studied at Gygax Polyhedral if you catch my drift.) "I do not. This is good school?" (Uh. The best.) "I went to Soviet College of Mines, Farms, and Science. I have PhD in Russian literature." (Do you.. use that in your work?) "More than you think."

"Tiny Heavy, who is your favorite to kill in war?" (Those discount three-pack green helmets.) "To kill spy is glorious thing! How about you, Max? You are killing type." (My favorite enemy? Like asking me to choose between my children!) Heavy laughs. "You crack me up, little bunny!"

(Hey, Hefty Bag, you ever play video games?) "Just one." (Oh yeah?) "It is called-" (Tycho: WoW?) "Nyet. That is not popular. It is called 'Where's an Egg'." (Strongbad: I love Where's an Egg!) "Where's an Egg is as big as Tetris in homeland."

(Concerning your firearm, whay caliber we talking?) "Big." (What, we talking 300 Weatherby Mag here?) "Bigger." (50 cal, whereabouts?) "Bigger than 50 caliber. They are hand made custom tool cartridges with classified diameter." (Why's that?) "So enemy canmot use ammunition. But Sasha can chew through theirs." (Diabolical!) "I think so." Nods.

(Alright, big pretend killer man. Tell me the most awesome story you have with plenty of senseless violence!) Heavy thinks. "When I was boy, I was at camp, being trained in many ways of combat." (Assassination camp for kids! This is gonna be good!) "There was sparrow sitting on fence. Snow falls quietly around me. Without notice, another boy jumps from behind tree and kills sparrow with throwing knife. The boy runs away." (And then??) "I pick up sparrow, and hear his last breath before digging him tiny grave..." (Tycho crying) (Max silent) (That's not even a little bit funny, man.) Heavy shakes his head solemnly. "No..." Sits back. "It's not."

(So, what do you do for fun?) "Clean Sasha. Use Sasha... Clean Sasha again." (Proper maintience is crucial.) "I also collect old coins." (A fellow numismatist!) "Which I melt down to make custom bullets." (Of course.)

"I am hungry for sandvich." (Then order a sandvich, man.) "Oh, I can not have sandvich! I become unstoppable killing machine!" (Yeah, maybe order a water.) "Is best."

"You wear blue sweater." (All the time.) "What are you?" (Haven't we went over this?) "You are not Scout. Maybe very tricky blue Spy? Maybe... new class?" (I can use a keyboard to sabotage your entire team, steal your intelligence, and have your sister delivered to my doorstep in one afternoon. Yes, I'm a new class.) Heavy, shocked, "This is true??"

(Hey, Heavyman, what's your living situ-aysh?) "I live in RED barraks. Is nice. There is foos table." (How about taking a room in the house of Strong?) "There is vacancy?" (First you'll have to dump the current person in your room.) "This is enemy?" (He won't put up much of a fight.)

Hope you enjoyed, spent most of the day copying all these down. The non-Heavy lines are paraphrased for shortness. Heavy's are full, how they are in game.

#long post #tf2 #team fortress 2 #heavy #tf2 heavy #heavy weapons guy #poker night #poker night at the inventory #neat

[ilovejaskierthebard]

Concept: In a more peaceful world, the Witchers are just a bunch of dudes with tragic pasts and Geralt is a horse-trainer, Lambert is a baker, Vesemir is the village schoolmaster, and Eskel is... uh... well, no one really knows, because he doesn't actually live in the village. He lives in the hills with his ten goats and sometimes on market days he comes down and sells cheese. How does he make this cheese? No one knows. It's pretty good, though.

Okay. First off. I love you and this whole soft concept and I just like, wanna throw myself into it like a crazy woman.

So Geralt is living his best horse-girl life and loving it. 100% teaches the local kids how to ride maybe even has little shows/games and gives tiny medals with horses on them because why not its 2 am and I wanna picture tiny babies on ponies while Geralt smiles okay

Ciri is deff a student and they super bond

-and maybe a certain Bard is like his only adult student who has "trouble" and needs leasons at different hours and its not cause Roach doesn't like him, maybe he just needs a refresher course. Late at night. Alone. Maybe someone loses a shirt?

Maybe Jaskier is actually a good rider, but saw Geralt the hot horse trainer and whoops he slipped and fell in love and DESPERATELY NEEDS LESSONS 'oh Geralt, I am so weak, please help me up? Oh Geralttttt I need help being balanced maybe you can sit behind me??' MAYBE I am just writing a romcom now and no one can stop me

TOSS A COIN TO YOUR HORSE TRAINER

((More like toss your coin to your well hung stable owner. 😉😉😉))

Lambert. Baker.

[Low hysterical laughter]

This bitch bakes. But like. Angrily?

He is still LamLam ok, big dude with the worst case of Resting Bitch Face since my own. But now in an apron that Geralt or Eskel stitched tiny angry muffins on it.

His bread and sweets are DELICATE and SOFT and works of ART ok but he is still Lambert, my favorite goblin baby so he will 100% make your baby the best most beautiful smash cake -fuck it probably looks like a mini unicorn with handcrafted icing flowers and edible gold leaf BUT he would also mutter and swear the whole time and threaten to burn the bakery down at least 7 times. Probably cries about it too.

10/10 if someone tries to steal his super special recipes he would stab them with a rusty bread knife.

Vesemir as a school master but also clearly the kept man of a local rich widow (*maybe a few, I mean I was thinking of Mignole, but whose to say Papa Vesemir can't be out and flirting with rich upper class ladies. Maybe he was a sugar baby in his younger days, okay. I won't kink shame a man who can kick Geralt's well toned ass. You do you, Papa V) so he doesn't need to work he just likes keeping himself busy and enjoys it. I see him lounging about, reading and maybe yelling at kids to get off his yard.

Its just Lambert setting up his bake sale ok

Eskel is hottest goat herder and that is just the facts. He still has his jacket. He still has his Codpiece of Destiny (let me fullfill that destiny jfc someone take my phone away from me pls I am just helplessly dissolving into a fantasy of Eskel the Hot Goat Dad)

He has a whole herd. All of them have names. Like Miss Daisy. Buttercup. Flora. Rascal. Lamb Chop (cus Lambert is a dick) Lil bleater is the baby of the group and maybe he got sick as a baby so Eskel spent a lot of time holding and cuddling him and so now lil Bleater 100% thinks Eskel is his mom and every time they are out just follows Eskel around.

-excuse me while I go cry real quick

Also he makes cheese because what else is he gonna do with all those goats?? Shut up Lambert he won't kill his babies. So. Cheese.

It starts out as a hobby and really simple cheeses but because Eskel is like, a secret foodie at heart suddenly it is like those special designer cheeses that people TRAVEL for. Maybe Lambert sells it at his bakery too?

Meanwhile every desperate housewife and well hung stable hand is just like in tears trying their horny very best to get into that Codpiece of Dreams & Destiny.

Eskel heads into town once a week and its a whole THING. People spend days thinking up lines to get his attention. Probably cheese related flirty puns because they all applied to Jaskier's World Class Flirting Courses. (Why wouldn't they?? His flirting is totally working with Geralt so maybe that's just how you get a hottie of that level??)

Poor Soul: Brie Mine 😉

Eskel: What? I don't have Brie?

Poor Soul about to get his money back: 😧

Everyone flirts their pants off but Eskel just doesn't get it. Maybe they are just being nice because of his scars? Maybe Lambert threatened them with burnt buns for a month?

Meanwhile there are like at least three people willing to propose marriage at any given time and help him raise all his goat babies IF HE WOULD JUST LET THEM???

Im done now.

#jaskier #jaskier dandelion #the witcher #geralt of rivia #Eskel #Lambert #ask #why did no one stop me #i am so sorry #and not sorry too #🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️ #vesemir #domestic!witcher au

[falcon-eye]

Part 3? of the story for my OCs for @inexplicifics Accidental Warlord AU! I intended to only write like the opening paragraph for this today but now it’s two hours later and the whole thing is typed out. Oops.

At some point this will all be on AO3, I promise! But until then, should I do a tag list? Would people want me to tag them as I write these in the meantime? Please let me know!

(Also points to whoever can guess what Veko’s talking about when it comes to colors and smells and things! I also have it, though not exactly like Veko does)

(Also bonus points to wherever can figure out what real life goat Ren is based on lol)

———————————————

Unfortunately, Veko wasn’t able to return to Eloise for a few more years. Between simply not being in the area, not having time between hunts, his brother Hamra almost being disemboweled one year, and his own injuries, he just hadn’t been able to make his way to her little town in Temeria.

This year, he was determined to go back, though he wasn’t sure why. He chalked it up to being able to stay somewhere comfortable, with actual good food, for free, but even he knew that was a flimsy excuse. Eloise fascinated him, for lack of a better word. She hadn’t been afraid of him—quite the opposite! From the get-go it was like she had tried to intimidate him, and godsdammit it worked. But she was so nice to him, and despite what she said, her food was quite good. Or maybe everything Veko had been eating recently was just that awful.

Veko swung down off of Nine—his new gray mare after Eight became wyvern food (rest in peace you prick)—and hitched her to the fence post outside Eloise’s house. For some reason, he was nervous to see her again. Was it because it had been so long (for a human anyway) since he’d been here? He didn’t want her to think he wanted out of their deal or anything.

Veko brushed as much dirt and grime off of his armor as he could before knocking on the door. A moment later, it swung open and Eloise stared up at him with wide eyes.

Veko scratched his burns. “Uh, hello Elo—“

Eloise threw herself at him, arms around his neck. “Oh my gods!” she cried. “You fucking prick! Where have you been?!” Veko faltered for a moment before tentatively wrapping his arms around Eloise’s, but she immediately pulled back, giving him an icy glare. “Well?!”

“I, uh, I’ve been... busy,” Veko replied, but for some reason, Veko felt awful despite it being the truth.

“Busy!” Eloise exclaimed. Holy shit, she’d really been upset about this.

“I’m sorry,” Veko said, staring down at his boots. “I really am. And—and I really was busy. I don’t want you to think I was trying to get out of the deal or anything, cuz I wasn’t—“

“You think I’m upset because of the fucking deal?!” Eloise shouted. Veko blinked at her and she pinched the bridge of her nose. “For Melitele’s—get in here!”

Eloise pulled Veko into the house and slammed the door. Despite the few years that had gone by, not much inside had changed. There were more paint supplies strewn around the house than last time, but that was about it.

Veko scratched his scars again and Eloise slapped his hand away. “Sorry,” he said automatically.

“I thought you were dead!” Eloise shouted, poking a finger into Veko’s chest. “You’re a bloody Witcher! That’s what happens, isn’t it? You fight monsters, and then you die. Well godsdamn you I thought you died!”

Veko was horrified when the salty smell of tears began tickling his nose; something must have showed on his face, because Eloise rubbed her eyes quickly, not letting any of them fall.

“I’m sorry,” Veko said again.

Eloise glared at him again before suddenly hugging him. “Fucking git,” she hissed. “Send a letter or something, at least! I don’t know how to get ahold of you but I’m always here!”

Veko hesitated again but hugged Eloise back. This time, she didn’t pull away. “Sorry,” he said into her hair. “Just, every time I was in the area, something would come up, or my brother was hurt, or I was too injured to travel—“

“Are you ok now?!”

“Oh yeah, all healed up now.”

“And your brother?”

Veko smiled sadly, remembering the blood on his hands and the horrifying look of resignation on Hamra’s face. “Touch and go for a bit, but yeah, he also made a full recovery. I just couldn’t leave him like that.”

Eloise finally pulled away and crossed her arms. “Well damn,” she grumbled. “How can I be mad at you now?”

Veko chuckled, feeling like a weight had lifted off of his chest.

—————

During lunch, Eloise filled him in on how things had been going since they’d seen each other. Lennart was still a bastard, but after being slapped in front of the gods and everyone by a lady at the tavern, he’d been officially removed from his position. A local woman had taken the title of alderwoman now, and things had been a lot better. A few of Eloise’s goats had had multiple babies, though a wolf problem last year had taken a few of them. She still had one of her original nanny goats, though, and apparently this particular goat was about as stubborn as they come.

“She actually chased one of the wolves off, even!” Eloise explained. “Charged it head on. I’ve never seen a wolf roll like that in my life.”

“Remind me not to piss your goats off, then,” Veko chuckled.

Eloise seemed to pause for a moment. “I actually have to go feed them,” she said. “Plus, your horse has just been... well, outside tied to my fence. Come with me?”

So that was how Veko found himself leading his horse to the tiny barn behind Eloise’s house. He could see a couple goats that were obviously youngsters immediately rush over to the fence, bleating loudly. From within the barn, a huge tan goat trotted out and fucking screamed.

Veko flinched and even Nine pulled back. “Sorry, sorry,” Eloise said. “That’s Georgina. She’s... special.”

“I’ll say,” Veko grumbled. “This our wolf chaser?”

Eloise shook her head and pointed to another goat on the opposite side of the paddock. A little black thing, shorter than the others, with huge, curled horns. Eloise whistled and the goat immediately charged—and slammed horns first—into the fence.

“Ren,” Eloise said, crouching down to scratch the goat between the ears. “She’s harmless. Mostly.”

Veko looked at Nine and seemed to almost share a stare with the horse. A ‘can you believe this shit?’ moment that got Veko chuckling despite himself.

“Whatever you say.”

Eloise led Veko and Nine into the barn and into a small empty stall. “This was my father’s horse’s stall,” she explained as Veko began undoing Nine’s tack.

“Where is your old man, anyway?” he asked as he heaved the saddle down.

Eloise looked away. “He, um,” she cleared her throat. “He passed, um, a few months after you left.”

Veko dropped the saddle. “Fuck,” he said. “I’m—I’m so sorry. Fuck, if I’d known—“

“Veko,” Eloise put a hand on his arm, “my father was sick. Even I didn’t realize how badly until a week before he went. But it was... it was peaceful, at least. I’d made him dinner, he wished me goodnight, and I found him in the morning.”

Veko honestly didn’t know what else to say. Death was a weird subject for Witchers, after all. He continued grooming Nine while searching desperately for something to say that wasn’t ‘sorry’ again.

“Did he have... a funeral?” Veko asked. He could’ve slapped himself. Of course he had a fucking funeral.

Eloise seemed to sense Veko’s fumbling, because she smiled gently and nodded. “A very nice one, too,” she said. “I’ll go get some water for your horse.”

As Eloise walked away, Nine looked at Veko again. What was it with this horse? Veko pointed a warning finger in his face; Nine simply huffed and turned away. Somewhere, Hamra was laughing, Veko was sure of it. His brother had always had a good relationship with his horses.

Eloise returned a moment later with a bucket of water. Veko immediately took it from her and poured it into the empty trough.

“What’s her name?” Eloise asked. If he could blush, Veko would’ve been scarlet.

“Nine,” he said.

“‘Nine’?” Eloise repeated. “Does that mean something in another language or like, the number?”

“The, uh, the number.”

Eloise slapped Veko’s hand as it reached for his scars. “Why?”

“She’s my... ninth horse.”

There was beat before Eloise burst out laughing. “You’re something else, you know that?”

Veko smirked to cover his embarrassment. “So I’ve been told.”

Eloise rolled her eyes and headed over to the opposite end of the barn. The far wall was lined with bales of hay. Before she could even reach for one, Veko rushed over and hoisted one over his shoulder. Eloise put her hands on her hips.

“You know I’ve been doing this for years even before you showed up, right?” And she had a point; what was wrong with him?

“I, uh,” he looked anywhere but at Eloise, trying to find an excuse. “I figured it’s... been a while since I’ve been here so I, uh, owe you. I guess.”

“Are you telling me or asking me?”

“Yes.”

Eloise laughed. “Ok then,” she said, heading back out of the barn. “I’ll get the gate at least.”

Veko followed Eloise to the paddock and held Ren by a leather strap around her neck while he made his way through the gate. The other goats immediately began following him. As soon as the hay hit the ground, the goats descended. Eloise let Ren go and the other goats parted to let her through.

“I never realized how scary goats were,” Veko said as Eloise latched the gate closed.

“To be fair, I have quite the herd of characters,” she replied. “Most people have a rooster to wake them at sunrise; I have Georgina and her screaming. Ren is like my own personal guard hound. Sometimes she gets out and chases off anyone who gets near the house. The others are still young, yet, but they’re slowly starting to show their personalities.”

“I’ll stick with horses, I think,” Veko said. “They’re enough trouble as it is.”

“Apparently!” Eloise laughed as she and Veko made their way back to the house. “Seeing as you’ve had nine of them!”

“This is a dangerous job!” Veko defended, but the tone was joking. “Plus in the grand scheme of things, nine horses hasn’t been a lot for how long I’ve been on the Path.”

Eloise’s brow furrowed. “How old are you?”

“Old.”

Eloise scoffed and started gathering some of her paints. Veko followed her into her art room, not sure what else to do at this point, and found the walls covered in different paintings than the last time he’d been here. One in an ornate frame was her father, exactly as real as if he was standing before them.

Eloise picked up a few leather straps from one of the tables. “Help me with something,” she said. “I’m going to repaint the goats’ collars and I don’t know what color to give who. I want you to help me decide.”

“Ok?” Veko said, taking a seat. “Why?”

“Something you said to my father, when you saved him,” Eloise replied. “It always confused him. He told you he lived in the house with the blue roof and you said it suited him. Why?”

Veko went to scratch his scars, but instead balled his hand into the fabric of his pants. “Well, it’s, uh,” he hesitated. Of all things for that old man to focus on!

“My father was always fascinated with color,” Eloise said, as if sensing Veko needed a minute. “That’s how I got into painting. He was never content with something being the original color it was. Hence, the blue roof. He said that you saying the blue suited him kind of, I don’t know, validated him.”

Veko’s chest felt tight. Now he felt fucking terrible for not being here before. Maybe Eloise’s father would’ve understood, or at least found it interesting that—

Veko cleared his throat. “So, sometimes,” he began, staring down at his hands. “When I think of things, or names, or... well anything, really. I get these senses.” When he looked up, Eloise was enraptured. “Like, your father, just looking at him, the color blue came to mind. I don’t know why.”

“Just colors?”

Veko shook his head. “Smells, sometimes. Like when I think of you... I, uh, I think of the smell of your paints.”

“That’s... that’s fascinating, Veko,” Eloise said. “Tell me more?”

Veko gestured to the collars. “Well, you’re trying to figure out what color for what goat. As soon as you said Georgina, green came to mind. I don’t know why. And Ren is red, but not because the name and word are close. Uh, sometimes when I picture my supplies in my pack, I see them like they’re all laid out on the table, lined up side-by-side, despite the fact that I know damn well they’re a jumbled mess in my bag. And in my head, the order is always the same. I kinda do the same thing with months. I see them lined up like squares on a wall.” Veko grimaced. Fuck. “No, ‘see’ is the wrong word, cuz I don’t—I’m not hallucinating or anything!”

“I believe you,” Eloise said softly, taking one of Veko’s hands in hers. And she was telling the truth. Veko felt the tension in his body release.

“It’s weird, I know,” he said. “So I don’t normally say anything. When I was younger the trainers thought my head got fucked up by the mutagens but it’s just the way I’ve always been.”

“Does your brother have this too?”

“No,” Veko chuckled. “But he’s been the most receptive to it, even if he doesn’t understand it. Like, his favorite color is green, but when I think of him I think of like an indigo color. And I’m red, but I don’t know why.”

“What about me?” Veko met Eloise’s gaze and held it. The look on her face was one of honest curiosity and interest. She smiled at him and squeezed his fingers. “What do you see when you think of me?”

Veko swallowed. “I see turquoise, like the color your dress was the first time we met. I don’t know if it’s because that’s what you were wearing or what, but when I think ‘Eloise’ I think of that faint turquoise color.”

“Does it work for family names?”

“Sometimes. What is your full name, anyway?”

“Eloise Calold.”

Veko cocked his head to the side. “Yellow,” he said. “Calold is yellow.”

“But not because of anything I’m wearing,” Eloise said, gesturing to the paint-stained brown smock she was currently wearing.

“Guess not.”

“Veko,” Eloise breathed. “That is the most fascinating thing I’ve ever heard of. So you see colors? Or, think in colors? I wish I had that. I wonder how it would affect my art. I wonder how it would affect your art.”

Veko pulled away and put his hands up. “Hey, whoa, who said anything about me being an artist?” he said.

Eloise laughed. “I bet you’re better than you think,” she said.

“I bet not.”

Eloise smirked. “Tell you what,” she said. “I’ll drop the subject if you do something for me.”

“Name it?”

“Let me paint you.”

Veko again was struck silent. She wanted to paint him? Apparently his mouth was hanging open, because Eloise tapped his chin to close it. “Why?” he managed.

“Because,” she replied. “We’re... friends. Or I like to think we are. And in case... in case something happens to you...” she gazed at the painting of her father, smiling down warmly at them, “I want you to be immortalized with him.”

What the fuck could Veko say to that? “Oh. Ok,” he said dumbly. “Uh. How do you want me?”

Eloise jumped up and ran for a blank canvas. “Whatever’s comfortable!” she called. “It takes a while.”

Veko just... sat there as Eloise began setting up. He turned this way and that, never quite settling, before Eloise huffed and dragged an armchair over. Veko abandoned the stool he’d been on and sat back into the warn leather.

“Better,” he said. He turned, scar facing away, and immediately Eloise’s hand reached out to turn him back. Her fingers grazed the puckered mess that was his cheek and he flinched.

“I’m sorry,” Eloise said gently. “I just—I want to see it.”

“Why?” Veko whispered.

“Because it’s a part of you,” Eloise replied. “And gods know I’ve kept you from scratching it enough.”

There was a moment where neither of them said a word. Veko’s heart sped in his chest like it hadn’t in many years. Eloise gazed over his burn scars and gently brushed her fingers over them again. Veko didn’t flinch this time, but just barely. Her fingers were cool against the phantom heat of his burns, and as she traced the expanse of them along his jaw, he couldn’t hold back the full-body shiver the touch elicited.

Eloise pulled back and Veko scrambled to find something to say before she said anything else about them. “So—so how does this work?” he asked. “I, uh, I just sit here?”

Eloise nodded and finally pulled back. “Yes,” she said, not meeting his gaze. Now that he was out of his own head, Veko could hear her heart hammering in her chest. “Just, um, get comfortable, relax, and um, don’t... don’t move, if you can help it.”

Veko grinned. “Ok.” Eloise nodded and began mixing a few paints.

Veko just... watched her. As brush met paint and paint met canvas, he could almost see the cogs turning in her head. Instead of sticking her tongue out, like he’d heard some artists do, she made faces. A stroke here and her mouth pinched to the side; stroke there and her mouth opened in a little ‘o’.

Veko wanted to slip into meditation, as that would be the best way to sit still for her, but he found he just couldn’t. As much as Eloise was watching him for her painting, he wanted to watch her. He couldn’t help but think of the last time they’d seen each other, and what he thought of her then. She wasn’t all that attractive, merely plain by any standards. Her laugh was unladylike and jarring. She intimidated him. She swore. She—

She made him dinner. She let him sleep in her home. She told him stories and listened to his in turn. She wanted his opinions. She found his mental crap fascinating. She worried for him. She cried for him!

She called them friends.

As Veko sat, watching Eloise paint his portrait, a warm weight settled in his gut. He didn’t want to leave in the morning. Hells, he didn’t want her to ever finish this bloody painting. And although emotions aren’t exactly a Witcher’s strong point, he had a sinking suspicion that what he was feeling...

Fuck.

#falcon writes #inexplicifics #accidental warlord au #the witcher #witcher oc

[acerosedrop]

Spring is for the Bees

In the middle of one if their many journeys, Geralt and Jaskier take a moment to just stop and relax, and Geralt is happy to find that there's always something new for him to learn about his Bard. 

Or alternatively, how many different ways can I come up with to describe a bee in a single story. Enjoy some fluff!!

If there was one fact of life that Geralt had never truly been able to grasp until Jaskier had started walking alongside him all those years ago, it was how the average person could have all of these smaller habits and peculiarities that would never be brought up or explained until the most random of moments. And even after almost spending a decade out on the Path together, this was still especially true of both himself and Jaskier.

One such moment came about a spring afternoon, as the rain that had been steadfastly following them the past week had finally begun to subside, with the barest hint of sunlight peeking through the clouds and brightening up the landscape quite nicely. In a rare moment of feeling just a bit at ease (and being ready for an excuse to cast his water-clogged cloak aside), Geralt had decided to pull Roach off the road and give her a few minutes to nibble on the grass, with him and Jaskier settling under a nearby grove of trees as they shuffled through their bags to get a better look at what would need replenishing or replacing soon.

In a series of motions that had become downright domestic over their many weeks and months of travel, Geralt had settled down to give his blades a thorough one-over to ensure the excess rain hadn’t caused any major harm while Jaskier, after similarly checking his lute and it’s case over, set about taking care of the various rips and tears his travel jacket had accumulated (Geralt had finally, finally thrust the bit of dark blue leather into Jaskier’s hands while they’d stopped at a local market a while back after hearing him complain about yet another doublet being ruined thanks to the elements, and between the sparkle in his eyes and the look of surprise on his face even Geralt had had a hard time denying the small smile he felt tug at his face whenever he saw the Bard wearing the jacket).

With Jaskier’s attention being taken up by attempting thread a rather uncooperative needle, Geralt gave himself a moment to turn his face back towards the fields surrounding them, over to where Roach was happily grazing away. He felt that tug again, the tug he often felt in Jaskier’s company to let himself be at peace for a moment, to let his mouth lift up and ease some of the tension off his shoulders. It was a feeling he found himself experiencing more and more these days, thanks to a rather constructive night they’d shared at an inn almost a year ago that had led to Jaskier joining Geralt on Roach’s saddle the next morning and to a much louder night by the fire. Now, leaning against an old tree with no monsters or villagers breathing down their necks or downpours beating at their backs, Geralt could almost say that he was finding himself to be at peace.

Well, that is, until a bit of movement caught his eye, and he spotted a familiar looking bit of black and yellow fuzz making its way over to their little tree grove, and a frown quickly settled back onto his face.

Bees. Off all the creatures in the world, bees and wasps weren’t exactly a Witcher’s best friend, as despite their stings being little more than like tapping a pin with your finger to such hardened skin, having one suddenly go buzzing by your ear was enough to make anyone jump. Add in a Witcher’s sensitive hearing and, in Geralt’s case, you had one of the few things that could still cause his skin to crawl and give him the urge to jump right out of his seat.

In fact, it was thanks to a far-too curious bee exploring their camp one night that had led to Geralt almost spilling a full bowl of rabbit stew all over himself and the fire, and Jaskier almost being thrown into the river for being unable to stop laughing. It took Geralt having to threaten to use his best doublet to wash Roach to finally get the Bard out of his giggling fit, but after a quick explanation that sounded like Geralt would much prefer being stung then admitting anything resembling a weakness, Jaskier had assured his companion that, while he was a bit surprised at his animosity towards a tiny little bee of all things, he wouldn’t make too much of a deal out of it, and they’d since moved on from the admittedly funny moment. Of course, Jaskier would still occasionally throw in a rather sly comment whenever they passed a hive if he was feeling particularly cheeky, but once Geralt had discovered Jaskier’s own disdain for locusts, grasshoppers, and other bugs of a similar design, the bard decided it was time to seek out some newer material for his jests.

This time however, the fat little fellow seemed much more interested in the patch of wildflowers Jaskier was seated by, and was inching closer and closer to the bard as they made their way from blossom to blossom. Jaskier was completely oblivious to the movement, humming one of his newer tunes under his breath as he now went about fixing a tear on the jacket’s sleeve, and continued to be oblivious as the bee finally made its way onto his leg and settled over one of the many embroidered flowers along his thigh. Geralt had long since abandoned the dagger he still had settled in his lap, and was now watching as the insect began the slow ascent up Jaskier leg, onto his shirt and up his torso, before arriving onto the Bard’s shirt collar and remaining there for the time being.

Predicting the utter Hell that could come about if the bee actually did crawl onto Jaskier neck (Gods help them both if Jaskier spooked it to the point of stinging), Geralt pushed his bag aside and leaned over to deliver a hard flick onto his boot. It wasn’t enough to mess up his stitching, but it was enough to jolt Jaskier out of his tune and turn his head to raise a ‘Did you really just do that?’ eyebrow at his companion before saying, “Any reason you’ve decided to test the leather quality of my boot just now?”

The eyeroll Geralt gave his companion’s response felt almost involuntary at this point, before just barely nodding his head towards his neck and answering, “You’ve got a friend who’s about to make its home under your shirt, if you’d stop all that noise your making for a moment.”

“That noise, my dear, is what’s going to get you a damn-well needed bath at the next inn, and me enough ale to forget about the amount of mud in our laundry bag right now.” Only getting a curt “Hmm” in response from the Witcher, Jaskier angled his neck to try and see what he was referring to, but to Geralt surprise instead of yelping at the sight of the bee or trying to swipe it away like he’d done with other bugs, Jaskier actually smiled down at the furry thing and sit his needle down in his lap to carefully bring his hand up. Sticking his index finger out as if it were a perch, he gently tapped the bee’s behind to get it to move to the edge of his collar, before just gently placing it right where it’s front legs were. He leaned his head down, whispering something that to Geralt sounded suspiciously like, “Come my dear, hop up now,” and to his surprise the bee instantly crawled it way onto the bard’s finger, not an ounce of annoyance or anger in its yellow and black-striped body.

“I’ve mentioned my mother’s affinity for beekeeping before, correct?” Geralt gave a gentle ‘Hmm’ Jaskier had come to know a shorthand for yes before continuing, though his eyes were stuck on the bee now perched on his Bard’s finger. Given a gentle but still very playful grin, Jaskier brought up his other index finger to gently rub the top of the bee’s abdomen before continuing, “Well, I daresay she managed to pass down quite a bit of that love to me before I headed off to Oxenfurt, helping her maintain the hives and collect the honey and what-not. Wasn’t always easy, I still remember the one that decided to crawl its way up into my armpit, nearly knocked the whole hive over when it got scared enough to sting, but since then my mothers’ taught me enough tricks to at least get over that particular fear, and a few other bits to boot.”

Indeed, Jaskier had on occasion brought up his life with his mother to Geralt, before the Bard had made his way over to Oxenfurt. They'd left his father's home when he'd been about four, and after a rather disastrous attempt to make a living herding goats Lilianna had gone for beekeeping instead. Nowadays she was the keeper of a pretty popular honey and wax stall in her village's marketplace, and occasionally she found ways to send some of her wares over to her wayward son, especially when allergy season was just around the corner.

He lifted his finger up near his now, and whispered something else to the bee, something so low even Geralt could barely catch it, but the bee must’ve agreed with whatever he said as they slowly picked themselves off of Jaskier’s finger and headed back off into the day, a lazily bobbing bit of fuzz flying off into the surrounding sea of green. Thankfully since it was still just one bee the buzzing wasn’t loud enough to be grating on Geralt’s hearing, but he still just barely angled his head away from that particular spot as it seemed the bee had discovered a very intriguing set of buttercups and it was very intent on sharing this information with the world. Jaskier couldn’t help but gently chuckle at both of them as turned to pick up his sewing once again.

“Of all the things I’d imagine would set us apart my dear, our attitudes towards the insect populace was certainly not the highest on that list.” He said with another chuckle, Jaskier had gotten quite good at reading Geralt’s body language over the years (often the only type of language the Witcher would consistently use), and was especially skilled in knowing when and where he could jab at his lover’s peculiarities.

Geralt, for his part, must’ve been truly relaxed now, or at least his equivalent to such as feeling, as he answered with just a hint of teasing in his tone, “At least my unease comes from one that can do some harm to a human, you on the other hand spy a single grasshopper near the fire and ask to move camp.”

“Well you try catching a good night’s sleep with those beady black eyes staring you down the entire time! Not exactly the most comforting of feelings when you’re out in the middle of the damn woods.”

“You do realize their eyes are practically the same, right?”

“It’s the not just the eyes, Geralt, it’s the intent behind them! A bee just wants to go about his business, ensure his hive is doing alright, meanwhile a damn locust wouldn’t think twice about stripping you to your bones if it had the chance, little bastards that they are.”

“Hmm, now why can’t you have this same kind of survival instinct when I tell you to stay the fuck away from whatever it is I’m hunting?”

“Oh Gods, I am not arguing this one with you again. One, either I come along or you find a way to become a better storyteller beyond two damn sentences, and two, if you ever do find yourself contracted to take care of some man-sized locusts terrorizing a farm, do be assured that I’ll be happily taking refuge about four villages over, with the best bottle of wine an evening of performing can afford me.”

“As opposed to a fucking Kikimora, or pack of ghouls?” Now there was no denying the smile slowly spreading itself across Geralt’s face as he watches Jaskier become more and more animated with his movements, almost knocking his jacket off his lap as he tries to use his hands to get his point across. It’s one of the few positives he found came with conversations nowadays, seeing Jaskier come alive with just the littlest of ribbing.

“You try writing a ballad worthy of traveling across this great continent about a fucking bug, while I stick to the stuff that will actually help get us a bed for the night.”

“Yes well, if it’s a bed you want then you better hurry the fuck up, we’ve still got at least four more hours before we even hit the next set of farms,” Geralt says, now turning his attention back towards getting the rest of his blades and cleaning equipment put back into its bag. Jaskier tsked, but followed along with putting his own supplies away and standing up to get one more good stretch in. Taking a moment to breath had been nice, but the allure of an actual bed and food consisting of anything other than whatever animal they managed to scourge out of the woods was more than enough to get him back on his feet. Finally slinging his lute case back over his shoulder, he leaned down to leave a quick peck on his Witcher’s cheek before making his way back over to where Roach was standing.

Once again he found himself rolling his eyes, but with the ghost of a smile still on his face Geralt didn’t waste any time in catching up to his partner, ready to continue their journey together once more.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #jaskier/dandelion #the witcher #the witcher netflix #works by rosedrop #reuploading on here since the other format wasn't working too well #hope you guys enjoy!!! #the witcher jaskier #the witcher geralt

[thecoroutfitters]

Written by R. Ann Parris on The Prepper Journal.

5/5 (4)

Whether they’re solely companion animals or serve some level of function, many of us have animals. In some cases, they are members of our families as well as partners. Having accepted responsibility for them – simple companion, paddock pony, pet horses, livestock guardian donkeys and llamas, barn cats, or working dogs of various types – we are responsible for their welfare in a disaster. I’ll start with some of the tough situations first, and then list some tips for evacuating with animals or temporarily surrendering them to a shelter for a natural disaster.

//

When it comes to disaster planning for pets and livestock, we tend to have a lot of choices in North America, especially the United States. More and more human shelters are accepting crated and kenneled animals. Animal shelters and rescues also accept cats, dogs and other small companion animals in advance of hurricanes or when flood evacuation orders are issued. ASPCA barnyards will commonly work with owners as well, given enough of a head’s up. We have enough advanced warning of storms — and even wildfires to some degree – to heighten awareness and choose to evacuate them if it looks at all sketchy.

There are a few steps we can take to make evacuations a little easier.

One thing we should not do, ever, is leave them to fend for themselves, whether we think we’ll be back in a couple of days, or we’re thinking of setting them “free” or dumping them on somebody’s property.

Short-Term Emergency

If we evacuate, we need to evacuate our animals.

Following ever major hurricane and regularly after fires out West, people flood shelters and help lines because they’ve left pets and companion animals behind, and now roads are closed or completely washed out, bridges are missing, and roads are blocked by downed trees.

Private and public-funded rescuer organizations go out in force to try to save as many as they can, but animals perish. In some cases, they wind up far from home, never identified, and never adopted.

Some time on the phone ahead of a disaster, attention to weather news, and pre-packing for animals can mitigate some of the complications and make it possible for us to get our animals out of harm’s way before highways and roads become clogged or impassable.

If we act early, we can also work through local shelters and rescues to leave our animals with them while we evac or take refuge in a storm shelter.

Long-Term Disaster

In a long-term disaster, stray animals are almost guaranteed to increase in number. In some cases, it will be because they got lost and without infrastructure, were never returned. Unaltered animals will increase, and then further multiply, adding to the loose animal populations.

And then there will be the people who dump their animals.

Nine times out of ten, a pet is ill-equipped to survive on its own. A cat that seems to be an excellent hunter and one that is already outdoors may seem like a good candidate to take off somewhere and leave to fend for itself.

Don’t.

There are a lot of ways to die in this world, especially for animals, many of them slow and painful. They’ll be in competition with other animals. Coyotes and cougars already kill and consume even sizable canines every year – deeper and deeper into residential areas. Livestock owners are going to be totally justified in shooting animals that could menace their own either through predation or the spread of disease.

It’s already heartbreakingly common for people to dump dogs and cats across a gate in rural properties, especially if they see there are already dogs or cats.

Resist that temptation, too.

One, a lot of us in rural areas have dogs that double as flock and herd protection. Those dogs will attack and kill strange animals, especially if the newcomer chases or bristles up at them.

Two, it puts the “strange” cat, dog, bird, or goat at risk of fighting with existing dominant animals, or a whole pack of them, and it puts our animals at risk, makes us pay for meds and vet bills after a fight, even if there’s no death.

Three, some of us have donkeys that will stomp a canine and even the odd cat to death. Our dogs know to avoid them, or we have a hot line or fence you may not see to keep them separate.

Four, chances are good we are already at our carrying capacity for animals, well ahead of a crisis, and have not planned to feed an additional dog or cat or five. That means we’re left with the sad duty somebody else is dodging, and have to take it in to a shelter (now) or, in the future, may have to choose between chasing it away and hoping it doesn’t starve to death or run afoul of a local stray pack, and killing it so that at least it doesn’t suffer any more.

Those are sucky choices. They’re really sucky to lay at somebody else’s feet.

We need to plan to do the responsible thing and take care of our animals ourselves. In some scenarios, with no shelters/rescues/vets available, the kindest thing we can do will be to cull our herds and-or euthanize our companion animals.

Personally, I think everybody who considers getting livestock or a companion animal should have to volunteer at a shelter. They might weigh out the financial and emotional costs associated with animals – and the trials of disaster planning and recovery for them – a little more closely. There should be a lifelong commitment to that animal, and to treating even livestock respectfully.

End of Life

No matter how well we plan, our companion animals will end up with low quality of life from age, disease, or severe injury.

With any luck, we’ve considered that and are prepared to end their suffering.

In most situations we’ll face, there will still be options. Some pre-planning and supplies can prevent the need to choose between keeping a healthy animal and leaving it at a shelter permanently or long-term, or having to euthanize at home due to widespread, long-term crises that leave them slowly starving.

Evacuating with Animals

It’s not the easiest thing with multiple animals, especially larger livestock, but just as we have BOB’s and evac kits, multiple methods of evacuation, and plans for our families, we need to have the same for the critters in our lives.

When the authorities say it’s time to go, go.

Yes, sometimes to regularly it’s no big deal. There’s a lot of moving parts with animals, though, especially larger livestock. Hotels and campgrounds that accept dogs and cats are more common now, but in an evacuation, they’ll be getting picked over. Especially with livestock, whether it’s fire or flood risk, don’t delay.

Waiting too long puts animals and rescuers at risk after the fact. It’s easier and safer for everyone just to get them out early.

Trailers & Crates

If we have livestock that won’t fit in the backseat or pickup bed, we need a trailer. It’s almost that simple to me.

We need something we can rig with a ramp and cattle fencing even, and we need to train livestock to ascend and descend. Horses, goats, and cattle are lost in every wildfire, from Fort Mac to California and Arizona, because they won’t load when seconds and minutes count.

People in Fort Mac were supposed to have been safe, so some of the ones who ran out of fuel and rode their horses out or lost the seniors and slow ones to lung damage later have an excuse, but by and large, we can pay enough attention to cut and run. If we have to call around finding trailers and vans first, we’re already behind the curve.

If we have cats and dogs, we need to socialize them and we need to train them to go on trips or to load in crates, too.

If we have multiple small companions, sheep or goats, it may be absolutely necessary that we have enough crates and kennels on hand to move them at once – and thus, a vehicle or trailer capable of holding those crates and kennels, even if we have to stack them.

Animals that are friendly when loose may become aggressive with each other when stressed and over-tired. One trick is to keep cardboard, plywood or blankets on hand that we can arrange around, over and between crates if we need them. The visual barriers can help keep the peace.

Data Prep

Attach information about the animal to that animal, as well as to their crate or trailer. For dogs and cats, and even goats, that might be a collar or harness with a standard tag on it.

On their leads, crates, or trailers attach a larger card or sheet that’s cased in plastic with primary and secondary contact information, and a second point of contact.

Note any behavioral issues or medical needs. It can help keep others and the animals safe.

If the animal is being surrendered to a shelter temporarily, include the same and make sure there are updated photos for claiming them after the disaster.

There is livestock marking ink that can be used to write a name or number (or both) on even medium or large dogs as well as hoofstock. In an evacuation scenario, it’s not a terrible idea to use them.

For smaller animals, it’s easiest to have a pre-cut stencil that says “Baby Parris – ###-###-####” and color the fur through it with the sticks or spray.

Go Kits for Critters

Just like humans, animals should have a go bag or go kit.

When I had larger animals, hefty rolling trash cans that I could lash to the very front or the very back of the trailer(s) or run off the porch onto my tailgate and pickup bed were handy. I could carry several days of grain feed, a set of tack, electric fencing and battery/batteries, long-lines and short leads, shipping blankets and booties, and the Old Man’s old-horse mash mix and supplements in a couple of trash cans.

I also had a rolling trash can with a portion cut out near the bottom and a board blocking the hole that I could fill with hay and bring with us, then just haul down about a square bale and a quarter if I needed to. Both the ponies and the goats could feed from it.

They were easy to grab and pre-load if things started looking iffy, so that I could just load the animals when we made the call to cut and run.

For smaller companion animals or just a couple of goats, life can get even easier.

Several days of water and-or food and-or dishes can just wait around in rolling coolers. Coolers lose some space efficiency, but they’re nice and sturdy (and usually make handy seats and umbrella props). They can also be made water-resistant pretty easily with a roll of duct tape. Rolling luggage and storage totes offers a lot of the same advantages.

With kits pre-packed and ready to go, all we do is rotate the contents.

As with humans, they’ll need shelter and water, which can be wow-painful for large stock. Research the area and contact the ASPCA or Humane Society, Sheriff’s department, or animal rescues within your county and area to find out if they have ideas or resources you can tap. Do it well in advance of an emergency.

There are some parks that do still allow livestock. Another option is to work through the county extension, farm bureau, and county co-ops to find somebody at 20-50-150-300 mile intervals who would be willing to let you camp on their properties and pump or haul water.

Preparing for Furry Friends – Leaving Home

It can be difficult to deal with everything in the moment of a crisis. There are fifty-five things to remember to do and load. Make a checklist to make it easier, and have a way to stick it right by the door.

When we make our lists and plans, hopefully we’re preparing for our animals. With any luck, we’re taking them into consideration for the everyday and seasonal/annual occurrences that strike our modern world regularly. Planning for long-term care of pets and livestock can be difficult, especially if we’re not yet where we want to be for our human families.

It needs to be done, though. Like our children, our animals are helpless in a world we create for them. They count on us to be the responsible party.

Sometimes that can mean we have hard choices and tough actions that we need to be ready to take. Just like in our modern world, at some point a working animal or companion is going to be gray and pained, overcome by tumors, or crippled with disease or injury. Right now and in a lot of situations, shelters are available if we have no recourse left. If we’re planning on some WROL, nation-altering event, we need to plan to deal with those scenarios ourselves.

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