Farm Fresh Blog

Several of you have asked me to give you an update on Montoya and re-post The Goat King. Here it is:

The Goat King

After the death of my 30-year old mare, I considered letting the goats become companions for Montoya, my four year old gelding. Here is how that worked out:

Montoya has been quite lonely since we lost Sonny. Sultan ignores him and I can only occupy a small part of his day, so I decided to let Montoya in with the goats to see if they might make suitable companions for him. I walked him into the goat paddock and we stood together while the goats gaped at us.

"Look, these are your new friends," I told him.

He pointed out that these were peasants and were thus not fit companions for an Andalusian, the Horse of Kings. I reminded him that he was only half Andalusian. He ignored me.

"Come on, you could be their king," I told him as the goats, friendly and welcoming, as most hard-working country folk are, cautiously approached to welcome Montoya to their humble little paddock. He glared at them.

"You know, Thoroughbreds all over the world have goats as companions," I said.

He reminded me that race horses are not bred for their brains. Touché. The goats stopped at a respectful distance to examine their new king. While they gazed up in wonder, Prince Brat looked down in disgust and once more informed me that horses of his breeding do not associate with such low class individuals. I pointed out that since he had been rolling in the back yard, His Royal Highness had doggy poop smeared in his mane. Again, he ignored me. The goats quickly decided that this new ruler wasn't here to feed or entertain them, so they soon wandered off and got back to work.

Montoya gave a disgusted sigh. Because he didn't appear to harbor any genuine animosity toward the goats, I released His Royal Highness in the goat paddock. For a moment, he watched the goats as they stood on their hind legs and stripped a tallow tree.

I swear I heard him snort, "Peasants!" And since he considered an Arabian stallion to be a more suitable companion for royalty such as himself, he trotted off to the back of the goat paddock and called Sultan. The stallion ignored him. Again. So His Highness spent the day ignoring the goats, and they spent the day hard at work. I guess the up side is that since he thinks he's too good to associate with the lower classes, I'm spared having to drag along goats when I want to take Montoya away from the barn.

Montoya is still doing quite well. He has matured into a stunning adult . . . who still doesn't like goats.

Warning! Warning!  The contents of this blog may be disturbing to some readers! Do not proceed further unless you are of stout heart!

. . . .

       . . . .

             . . . .

There is someone on the farm who oversees all activities with a critical eye. Meet The Supervisor!

If there is hard farm work to be done, The Supervisor WILL be there! (Here is The Supervisor's first taste of chocolate!) Ah HAH!  Someone has been holdin' out on her!

Since she is short, sometimes she must oversee Her Workers (that's us!) from atop her pony.

NOTE: The Supervisor does NOT like being taken off her pony!

The Supervisor went with us on the long trek to get cow feed yesterday. She scrutinized the loading of the truck. Afterwards she shouted encouragement and commands as her minions worked the goats that evening.

Then she announced that since meat goats and meat cows don't do HER a lot of good, she WANTS a DAIRY goat! I wonder how long it'll be before we get a couple of milking goats . . . .

Other Half bought me these flowers because I had a crappy day. 

It helped. It certainly helped. 

I love sunflowers. Years ago, when I began my work with CSI and got a firsthand look at the ugly side of life, I tended to get really depressed. (Cuz, well . . .  it just sucks to see that much Death.) So I started buying myself flowers. I would buy them at the grocery store each week. They brightened my kitchen. They brightened my day.

One afternoon I found a really twisted sunflower in a batch of perfect sunflowers. I had bought the arrangement in a hurry and not noticed this weird one. After I unwrapped the flowers, it stood out like a sore thumb. I considered discarding that one because it ruined the bouquet, but at the time, I'd seen so much Death that Life, any life, was very important to me. So I stuck it in a vase of water with the rest of the flowers and put them in the window. What happened after that forever changed the way I looked at the world.

To my amazement, the next morning I couldn't find the weird flower. Every flower in the vase was now facing the same direction--toward the sun. It was the first time I realized that sunflowers, even cut flowers in a vase, will continue to move toward the sun.

I stood by the window and followed that line of reasoning for a moment. It had great philosophical implications for someone who saw so much darkness. It changed me. I still love sunflowers for their simple, country charm, but now I also love them for their wisdom. 

Yesterday sucked, because sometimes Life just sucks. But "tomorrow is another day," and tomorrow is here now. 

My dear friend and co-worker, Fergus Fernandez, gave me these because I had a sucky day. They helped too. They certainly helped. Thanks Fergus!

I'm ready for tomorrow. (I think!) The day just tipped the scale from tragedy to almost black comedy. 

Without going into details (read the posts below) I walked all the way out there . . . and . . . the rifle wasn't loaded. Had to go back to the house and get another one.

Spent an hour digging a hole in the mud. Border Collie supervised. Needed frequent breaks to scrape mud off shovel. She tried to entertain me by leaping in air, grinning, and helping me get mud off shovel.

Came back inside to clean needles. Don't like to re-use needles for injections again, but still boil them for other uses. Border Collie and I shared a pop-tart. (Yes, she is lowering her standards.) 

This is what happens when you don't watch a pot of boiling water. No more water . . .

. . . . lots of melted plastic!

Since Life is what you make it, instead of viewing today as a tragedy, perhaps we should look at today as a Black Comedy and move on to tomorrow. 

It is shortly after 9 AM already.  I have killed two of my animals.

Border Collie crawls in bed at 7 AM to announce that the sun is up and we have chores to do. Check the lamb. She doesn't look good. Took a turn for the worse overnight. Concensus seems to be a back injury but without very expensive tests we can't be sure. Although I am tempted to whisk her to the veterinary university, I know better. The farm cannot afford it and I have other animals to consider.

Make the unhappy decision to put her down. Go to feed the rest of the animals. While feeding the mule I hear all hell breaking loose in the back yard. Blue Heeler has a chicken. Somehow one of my own hens managed to get out of the chicken pen, cross a pasture, and climb into my back yard. Big mistake. I descend upon Blue Heeler in a rage. (He has the good sense not to suggest Anger Management Classes this time.) The chicken is not dead. I must wring her neck. This sounds easier than it is. Amazingly, chickens are hardier than they appear. It is ugly work that must be repeated several times. After it is over, I take a moment for myself and cry. Then I go get the rifle to shoot the lamb.

It would appear that the chicken was not the only victim of coyotes last night. I have a lamb who may not make it. The sheep were fine last night. I didn't notice anything unusual this morning when I fed, but later found that this lamb couldn't stay up on her feet. Alert and eating while lying on the ground. I didn't immediately see a problem. Later it became apparent that although she could struggle to her feet, she could not walk. It is like her back legs are partially paralyzed. 

Called the vet. He hasn't had a chance to get back with me. Contacted sheep/goat man who is also a paramedic. He thinks she has a possible pelvic injury, or disc problem, probably caused by the horse . . . probably caused by the coyotes. At the moment, we are still working with her and haven't given up hope, but we may still have to put her down. Grrrr . . . damn coyotes! 

My day began with dead chickens. Well, actually only one dead chicken, with visions of many more to come. A canal runs along the entire south side of my property. This canal is a Predator Superhighway and is the main reason why all livestock smaller than Border Collie MUST be locked up when the sun comes down. (The Zombie Wars begin!)

My bird pen is, unfortunately, on the south side of the property, right along the canal. It is about a 1/4 of an acre, covered in bird netting on the top, field fencing on the sides, and a short sheet of tin along the ground. The chicken coop is a metal/wood building enclosed on three sides. The fourth side has field fencing covering bird netting. There is a wooden door and a piece of heavy welded wire cattle panel across the wooden door (like burglar bars!) so the chickens can put themselves up at night when I have to leave the house before dark. Anyone caught outside the henhouse after dark is in danger. Or dead.

This set-up has worked for a while--until last night. My first clue (even before coffee I could figure this out) was the pile of feathers beside the chicken coop door. In my neighborhood, a pile of feathers is a BAD thing.  Either Blue Heeler has shredded a down-filled jacket, OR there is a dead chicken somewhere.

It would appear that The Boogey Beast managed to get inside the main pen and slip up to the chicken coop. It then grabbed a chicken that was sleeping too close to the wire. Although it wasn't able to pull the whole chicken through the wire, the hen is dead and partially eaten. 

I HATE picking up dead chickens!  I wish I had a $100 bill for every dead chicken I've had to pick up over the years. Needless to say, there were NO eggs today. Also, none of the birds wanted to walk past the scene of the attack to get outside this morning.  Duh! I'm sure it was a bit traumatic to watch their girlfriend get eaten. And like Jurassic Park, the predator WILL be back. I'm not sure where it's getting in, but it will most certainly be back tonight. I've seriously considered getting a couple of Livestock Guardian Dogs for that area, but then, who would protect my chickens from the Livestock Guardian Dogs?

I am reminded of something a friend said to me some time ago. She told me, "I just can't wait to get home at night so I can work on my Virtual Farm!"  I was intrigued. What the hell is a Virtual Farm? She is on Facebook and loves to play FarmTown or Farmville, or Farmsomething. I asked her if there were "virtual coyotes" on her virtual farm.

"Of course not," she said, "It's a VIRTUAL farm!" (Hmpfh!  City Girl!)

I questioned further and determined that there were also no vet bills on her virtual farm. Hmmmmmm . . . exactly how does one farm with "virtual coyotes and virtual vet bills?"

I bet there are also no virtual dead chickens on a virtual farm. 

Update on Otis: He is getting better. The swelling is still down. He is taking his antibiotics, his Red Cell, and molasses.

Update on Dora: Before I get 500 emails asking me if Dora the Explorerer is okay, YES! she is! Dora didn't live this long because she sleeps beside the fence at night. The victim was one of the brown chickens who was not nearly as wise as Dora. 

Otis survived the night! The swelling started going down within the first hour of receiving the injections. I walked out this morning and a happy, hungry, little goat greeted me.

Today he will start receiving doses of Red Cell and molasses to aid his recovery. Otis should REALLY like the molasses! (The gigantic pink ear tags have GOT TO GO!!! Good grief! Those suckers are enormous! Poor little goat! Other Half just infomed me that he'd found some much smaller tags to replace the pepto bismal pinks.) I want to thank everyone who emailed and called through the night to check on little Otis. Your prayers, advice, and well-wishes were greatly appreciated!

OH MY GOSH!!!! Look at Otis!

This is what he is SUPPOSED to look like. Here is his brother, Amos.

I walked out this afternoon to get eggs and found poor Otis looking like The Elephant Man. 

I mean LOOK AT THIS:

Poor Otis! I couldn't immediately get in touch with my vet, so (God bless the internet!) I got on the GoatandSheepRancher yahoo list and the Dairy Goat yahoo list for advice. God bless these people. Within an hour the advice was rolling in.

I was able to reach my vet who, after hours, (Bless him too!) gave me three shots for Otis--banamine, dexamethasone, and nuflor. Other Half wasn't at home, so Border Collie and I were left on our own to separate Otis from the other goats and poke him three times. (Otis was NOT amused.)

Keep little Otis in your prayers. Hopefully we'll figure out what's causing this before it's too late. 

(I swooney! Ain't that just life on a farm? If it ain't one thing, it's something else!)

Because we spent the day tagging and worming goats, there was precious little daylight left for moving cattle out of the rye grass. We do rotational grazing and thus, we need a cow dog. Cattle have to be moved frequently to prevent overgrazing. A 4-wheeler and a sack of cubes doesn't necessarily do it; there are always a few stupid ones, a few stubborn ones, and a few that just want to make you tromp through the mud.  

Although Border Collie is a fine dog for sheep and goats, she's too young, too little, (too precious to me!) to put on cattle. For cattle we use Blue Heeler. It's not that he isn't precious to me too, it's just that he's bred to work cattle. He's built to work cattle. He can take a kick better than Border Collie. And he thinks it's funny when large bovines try to kill him.  (I don't!)

Last night Blue Heeler and Other Half headed out to move cows. I took pictures. (Border Collie stared through the living room window and pouted.)

The smarter ones see the 4-wheeler and start running to the chute.

Some are less cooperative. In fact, that big yellow cow regularly tries to kill Blue Heeler.

Blue Heeler finds this insanely funny.  (I do not.  In fact, this cow is the main reason why Border Collie will NEVER be allowed to work this group of cows!)

Blue Heeler is much like Muhammed Ali. "Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee!"

Eventually the cows end up in the new pasture, Blue Heeler has a great time, and Yellow Cow runs off to plot more ways to kill him.