Farm Fresh Blog

 When I was in high school, my class put on the musical, "Annie Get Your Gun."  A lot of the songs stuck with me.  In particular, I recall Annie singing to her suitor, "Anything, you can do, I can do better." 

I haven't thought of that song in years, but it cropped up in my head last night, and like the theme from Gilligan's Island, it won't leave. I thought of the song as poor Lily, my beloved Border Collie, sat on the 4Wheeler and watched Blue Heeler and Cowdog work the cows.  It hurt her.  She was a good girl, and she stayed where she was told, but it hurt.  She CAN do the job.  She IS better than the boys. 

I give you State's Exhibit 1 -

  She IS as tough as the boys.

I give you State's Exhibit 2 -

  She is as brave as the boyz.

I give you State's Exhibit 3 -

 She is as fast as the boyz.

AND . . . she listens and does as she's told!

Lily CAN do everything better than the boys.

So like Lily, you may be asking why this talented pup is forced to sit on the bench while 2nd String talent gets to work.

  "WHY???"

The answer lies with me.  I just love her too much to let her get hurt.  She is my sheepdog.  She is my goatdog.  She is my best friend. Because of that, she can sit outside and watch the boyz swing from the cows' tails and sing the song, "Anything you can do, I can do better!"

And every time I see her plaintive little eyes, begging me to let her play, I'll hear that song in my head.

Look closely and you'll see why Other Half spent an hour out in the hot sun yesterday.

 (note the slobber all over the window)

I was at work when I got the call.  "Cowboy locked me out of the truck!"

Fortunately the truck was running.  Fortunately the air conditioner was on.  Fortunately MY Border Collie was locked up safety at home.  So fortunately, it wasn't my problem.  (evil grin)

This is Day 3 of mixing the goats with the sheep. When I had a lot of goats and a few sheep, it didn't seem necessary, but now that we're moving from meat goats to meat sheep, it's easier to keep the few remaining goats with the sheep so I can take advantage of having a Livestock Guardian Dog for the goats too.  The goats didn't get that memo. 

At night everyone is locked inside the barn with a large run which has access to two big stalls. Because the goats are mean to the sheep, the animals tend to separate themselves - goats in one stall, sheep in the other.  Briar hangs out with the sheep.  No surprise there.  They like her.  They're nice to her. They accept her as one of the family and enjoy her company. She likes being with them.  They are her family.

The goats, on the other hand, are mean to her.  They butt and bully her.  They don't like dogs. Briar is a dog. End of discussion. She could easily kill them, but she doesn't.  She just turns the other cheek and settles down where she can guard them anyway. I'm a cop, I know exactly what's going through Briar's head.  Yes, she understands that she needs to guard the WHOLE area, but it's EASIER to guard the people who like her instead of the people who throw bottles and curse her.  Will she still guard the goats when the coyotes climb the fence?  Yep. She will.  She's a guard dog.  It's in her genes. Ironically, the same goats who are throwing bottles at her now will probably be shoving the sheep out of the way as they're trying to hide behind the dog when the coyotes crawl in.  And when all is said and done, the goats will undoubtedly curse the dog for not acting fast enough to prevent the coyotes from crawling the fence in the first place.  The goats will then call the media and an investigation will be launched.  Briar's actions and the actions of Livestock Guardian Dogs in general will be heavily scrutinized and highly publicized. And through it all, Briar will continue to guard the sheep . . . and the goats.

Letting the livestock out in the morning -

They immediately split and go their separate ways. One of the goats head-butts Briar on her way out the door. Briar yelps and wrinkles her lip, but lets the attack go unpunished.

Once outside, the group splits. Briar hesitates. Which group to go with?

The sheep call, so she ambles off with them.

The goats wander off to set up video cameras in the trees.

Yesterday I moved the remaining goats into the barn with the sheep.  The sheep have the luxury of a Livestock Guardian Dog. (okay, she's a puppy, not a dog, but she is still the size of a mountain and has a formidable bark) The dog was imprinted on sheep.  Sheep are her family.  Goats, on the other hand, are interesting, unpleasant, distant relatives of sheep.  Briar was willing to extend a family welcome to the goats.  The goats were less than impressed with both the sheep and the dog.

Five goats walked into the palace and announced, "we'll take this stall." The sheep stood in the doorway looking dejected. I wasn't too sympathetic.  The sheep far outnumbered the goats.  There was another stall, and a run, and a paddock.  They had more than enough room. But the goats had claimed THEIR stall! And it didn't stop there.

They look innocent, don't they?!

But goats are evil.

Even the baby goats (2 months old!) stood in the feeders and announced, "This is MINE!  Find your own food!"

Oh dear!  Gypsies in the palace!

 Briar risked a sniff.

 "SCRAM, MUTT!"  (Briar scrammed!)

She walked off to eat a piece of wool and chew on her thoughts.

 Briar ambled into her kennel where she could stare at them from the safety of "behind bars," unless of course, the goats chose to walk through the door and claim her kennel too.

  She eventually settled down and stared at ungrateful goats who expect to live in the sheep palace and take advantage of the sheep's security guard. It clearly puzzled her.

Value cannot be measured in beauty alone.

This horse is not valuable because he's beautiful.  He's valuable because he's been my friend for over 25 years.

This horse is not valuable because he's beautiful.  He's valuable because he's a silly goof who has made me laugh since he was a kid.

I don't really know this horse that well yet, but yesterday I learned that she was really valuable too.

She has a quiet beauty . . .  and that might just make her the most valuable horse of all . . .

The boys got into a huge fight yesterday. Cowdog lost.

  He's on three legs now.

 Small punctures on either side of the joint

  OUCH!

You know why this happened? I'll tell ya.  This happened because Other Half just left town on another assignment and I was put in charge of his new dog.  Oh dear . . .

  "But he started it!"

This morning I was watching Briar chase a butterfly. A giant lumbering white mountain danced across the pasture as the swallowtail darted just ahead of her.  (No, I didn't have a video camera.  Trust me, you'd be the first to know!)  Anyway, it got me to thinking about how quickly some things change.  It seems just yesterday when that lumbering mountain was a fluffy hill.

Briar then:

Briar now:

Wet Briar then:

Wet Briar now:

Other things on the farm have changed too. 

Ruffy then:

Ruffy now!

Hehehehehe!  Just kidding!

I've always wanted a milk goat.  Although I'm not a big milk drinker anyway, I've clung to the belief that anything I raise is probably cleaner and healthier than most commercial products.  Besides, even though I LIKE the convenience of grocery stores, I don't like the fact that big industry and government is in complete control of my food.  (Egaads!  I've become that crazy old person who rants about the government and I'm only 47!  What happened to me???)

But I digress . . .

I don't raise milk goats.  I raise meat goats.  But I've been told . . .

(This is always the part where Other Half hunkers down and waits for whatever harebrained idea that I managed to gather from the internet on whatever subject catches my fancy.)

 . . .  I've been told that Boer goats give really creamy milk and can be really good milk goats!  (an idea is born!)

Now realistically I don't have time for a proper milk goat (Other Half vigorously nods his head in agreement!) but there is no reason why I can't start teaching one or two of my Boer does to allow me to milk them.  (Other Half hangs his head in despair.)

The perfect opportunity arrived when one of the babies was only nursing from one teat.  I called Dear Friend With Vet Husband (who is often my partner in crime) and we decided that we needed to start miilking that teat.  (just for practice!)  Vet Husband agreed.  Other Half, who is the only one with actual milking experience (cows!) argued that we were opening up a can of worms. 

     "Milking is something that has to be done EVERY DAY!  Y'all understand that?"

We assured him that we were up to the task. He agreed to teach us how to milk, take pictures, and minimize the laughing.

Step One: catch the goat

Eva can be petted on her back, but was not all wild about the idea of being milked.  She did however, like the idea of being fed. 

Step Two: feed the goat

We decided that we would feed Eva on a large wooden bed-size stand so she'd be easier to milk.  No, we didn't have a milking stand. No, we didn't separate the other goats.

  It was a group effort.  Dolly wanted some of Eva's feed.  Eva stood relatively still while she gobbled.  Our attempts to milk were pitifully unproductive.  Other Half was forced to put down the camera and show us how to properly milk out a teat.

  Ahhhhh haaaaa!

Milk was flowing!  We were excited! We were milking a goat!  Day one of milking was a success!

Day Two of Milking:

     We were better prepared this time. We separated goats. We had the feed ready. We started milking. The goat knocked the pail over.  No sense crying over spilled milk.  Now we know where the saying came from.

By the next day of milking the goat was easier to handle, but the baby was using that teat on his own. We had another pow-wow.  Other Half STRONGLY urged us to abandon our daily attempts at group milking. Since everyone had to go back to work and the baby was nursing that teat on his own anyway, we agreed - but ONLY because we decided that we needed to get a milking stand, and tame the goat to the point where only one person was required to milk the goat rather than three.

So . . .  until then, we're back to milking goats the old fashion way  . . .

A 4 Wheeler is almost a necessity on a farm (unless of course you have a draft pony like I do now! But I digress . . .)

A 4 Wheeler is almost a necessity on a farm. It's handy to have a dog that rides on the 4 Wheeler.  To his delight, Other Half discovered that his new Border Collie loved to ride on the 4 Wheeler.

He loves it so much that we decided Thing 2 could teach Thing 1 how to enjoy riding on the 4 Wheeler. 

  So we loaded her up and off they went!

  Like a kid, she turned around to make sure I was watching.

  "Yes, I'm still watching you."

 She decided that she liked riding the 4 Wheeler. Perhaps not as much as her companion, who bounced and snapped his way around the yard, but she enjoyed riding . . . as long as I stood on the porch and watched her.

"Gypsy gold does not chink and glitter.

It gleams in the sun

and neighs in the dark."

We went to see Ona yesterday and I fell in love with her. We just had to bring her home!

Doug and Debbie, Percheron friends of ours, have promised to teach us to drive this golden mountain.  They have very big horses!

 Percherons!

 and a baby Suffolk!

Ona used to be a Marathon Driving horse so she knows what she's doing.  I don't know anything about driving horses, so I'll need the lessons.   Doug & Debbie bought Ona's driving partner, Magic. 

Doug & Debbie introduce the Haflingers to the BIG horses!

When Ona came home, she met the minis!

 Big difference! 

  Mighty Mountain!

  Mini-Me!