Farm Fresh Blog

  (sweet Arabian Stallion)

 Guess who I found in the paddock with the stallion when I came home from work last night?

    Who? Me?

(evil Miniature Horse)

Guess who wriggled his fat ass through a goat-size hole in the fence to get into a pasture with a stallion WHILE there is a mare in full-blown heat in the next pasture?

  Who? Me?

Guess who made a hole in the fence big enough that a FAT MINIATURE HORSE COULD SQUEEZE HIS AMPLE ASS THROUGH IT??

  Who?  US?

I am very thankful for the sweet nature of a certain ancient Arabian stallion . . .

                                . . . . who did not eat a certain little fat pony . . .

  Who? Me?

 Fortunately this morning Briar appears to have recovered from her trauma.  We turned the livestock out and took a nice walk in the pasture (with the hotwire OFF!)  Since Briar's confidence is more valuable than the goats (5 goats are simply not worth losing a good LGD for!) the hotwire will be off EVERY time Briar is in that paddock.  The goats will get training in the paddock when Briar is somewhere else.  Briar's primary responsibility is to protect the flock of sheep.  The goats may have to fend for themselves.

Had Briar been a criminal, crawling or leaping out of the fence, then I wouldn't have a problem with her getting zapped. But the reality is that she is a 9 month old giant baby who has been doing a splendid job of guarding both the sheep and the property.  She was building the confidence to go along with that big bark. Although she was rather melodramatic when shocked, nothing good can be accomplished by telling her to "man-up."  If SHE thinks something horrible happened to her, then it did.  I'm sure me holding her and crying didn't help either, but I got so upset by her performance that water-works were inevitable. Poor Other Half was left standing there watching me sob as I held a sobbing dog.  After working all day in the rain to get that fence up, it was probably a toss-up who he wanted to shoot more - the goats, or me and Briar.   

But alas, what is done is done.  The dog appears to have recovered and I'll be more careful in the future about her sensitive feelings. Other Half stopped short of calling her a weenie. (It wouldn't have been a wise thing.  I was still crying over traumatizing my puppy.)  Police dogs should be raised to never lose.  They always win. These dogs must have a tremendous amount of self-confidence to do their job.  A LGD needs more.  Briar is alone with the sheep. She has to have the confidence to take on whatever lurks in the dark and she shouldn't have to be afraid that the fence will bite her.  The goats are about to lose their bodyguard. I will not jeopardize the confidence of a dog who can protect an entire flock of sheep for five felon goats!

  Sometimes there is just no justice in this world.  Want proof?

  Goats & Sheep

 In order to foil the goats in their near constant attempts to leave our property to sample the exact same foilage on the "other side of the fence,"  we are adding hotwire to existing fences.

  A solar unit was employed for the big pasture and has worked like a charm.  I got the bright idea to put hotwire around the front paddock so the sheep and goats can spend their nights outside instead of being locked in their goat prison.  So we spent the day laboring in the rain to get a hotwire up.   The problem however, was that I was in such a hurry to shock goats that I didn't think about the OTHER victims in the pasture.

 One of my favorite ewes tottered up to the fence and I held my breath. 

   The sheep escaped without as much as a spark, but the real victim was poor Briar who rushed over to bark at some cattle and a few cowbirds.  She was zapped.  There was much screaming and crying.  She ran to me.  There was more screaming and crying.  (That was me.)  I felt horrible.  Poor baby Briar . . .Poor Briar who has never climbed that fence . . . Poor Briar who guards the ungrateful goats as well as her beloved sheep.  Briar ran out of the pasture and hid in the shed.  I was in tears.  (I cussed my own stupidity!)

Blue Heeler climbed out of the back yard and climbed into the pasture to help Briar. He peed on the fence.  Guess what happened.  Poor Blue Heeler . . .  

While I was consoling Blue Heeler, Briar continued to hide in the shed.  Blue Heeler decided that it was in his best interest to leave the pasture - through the fence.  It got him again.   While my attention was focused on poor Blue Heeler (who only had Briar's best interest in his heart when he climbed into the pasture to save her), Briar came out of the shed and sat down to scratch her butt - and leaned against the fence.  There was more screaming and crying.  That was me too.  I pulled ALL the dogs out of the pasture and locked them in the back yard.  Then we returned to the pasture.  This is what we saw . . .  

This little bastard (YES!  I said it!) walked right up to the fence and touched the insulator with his nose! 

 "HEY!  I think somethin's up over here."

I was in shock!  What happened?  Two innocent dogs were zapped badly (wet dogs) and the worst culprit walked away scott free!  Where is the justice in this world???

Now I must try to convince my Livestock Guardian Dog that it's safe to go back in the pasture. I feel like such an idiot!  I feel like such a meanie!  Poor poor baby Briar . . .

 I couldn't hug her enough.  I know. I know. I shouldn't coddle her, but darn it!  I couldn't help it.  It was so unfair.  I felt horrible.  Where is the justice in this world?

 Like the little ant in the story of the Ant and the Grasshopper, we must toil each summer to put up enough hay to last us through the winter.  The spring rains brought good hay this year. So it was time to gather the troops and the bottle water, and head to the field.  (This is why farming families of Old had LOTS of kids!)

  The hay pops out!

 The boys throw and stack.

The lucky people get to drive the trucks!!!!!

  It takes BIG muscles to toss the hay.

  Big Big muscles!

 Big Big Big BIG MUSCLES!

  The Supervisor counts the bales.  (well.... not really)

  Border Collie counts the bales!

Cowboy the rescue Border Collie is working out just fine.  He has become Other Half's best friend. Even if all he is doing is feeding the cows, I feel more comfortable when Cowboy rides out there with him because: 

1) cows are big

2) cows aren't smart

3) anything that big and that stupid can be dangerous

Therefore, I always ask that Other Half either takes Blue Heeler or Cowboy with him when he does anything with the cows.

There is a bull with this group of cows.  He is a nice bull but he is, nevertheless, a bull, and I don't trust him.

Cowboy makes sure he is a well-behaved bull.

Cowboy insures all the cows are well-behaved.

He supervises everything from his throne.

So everyone is safe.

And when he's done . . .

Such is the life of a ranch dog.

The rains have finally stopped and the sun came out again. Yes, I am certain now that we live in The Everglades. There are mosquitoes as big as fighter jets just waiting to descend upon any warm-blooded creature unfortunate enough to find itself stuck outside.  Despite my "anti-chemical" campaign, tonight we will break down and fog the barn.  I hate to poison every bug in the stable, but the mosquitoes carry diseases and are large enough to carry away a good-sized horse.

Well, maybe not Ona . . . .

          But definitely Ruffy!

So this morning after our chores were done and the dogs and I retreated back into the safety of the house, I told them, (because sometimes you have to point these things out to people who eat off the floor)

"Now Guys, we all need to take a moment to say, "Dear Lord, thank you for providing us with a home that has air conditioning."

As the mosquitoes peeked through the windows, the dogs said their prayers.  In fact, Alice has been in deep meditation for most of the morning.

Other members of the family are not as fortunate . . . .

           "May we come inside the house, please?"

While On Duty, Briar can be a very serious dog.         

When she is Off Duty, she is still a giant puppy who enjoys playing with the other dogs.  Border Collie is her favorite playmate. (Mostly because she is so big that no one else wants to play with her!)  She is quickly outgrowing Border Collie too and because of the size difference, I do not allow them to play by themselves.  Lily is 34 pounds.  Briar is a LOT bigger than that!  Briar has no clue that her rough play could seriously injure her Little Buddy.  Lily is aware of the danger, but feels that since she is a Border Collie, then she is Bullet-Proof and Invisible, and no harm can come to her. 

Because of this, I supervise their play.

  At first the play is fun for both of them.

  Briar likes chasing.

  Lily likes being chased. 

  Up to a point . . .  

There always comes a time in the play when Lily looks up at me and suddenly stops playing as if she switches On Duty.  I'm not sure if she really is On Duty, or if this is the canine equivalent of "I think my Mother is calling me now."

  Briar always ignores the fact that Lily has stopped playing.

  Perhaps if I bite her tail she would play again.

  And here it is . . . The Look.

The Look that says, "Bitch, let go of my tail or I'll tear your ears off your head."  Briar never fails to completely miss The Look. 

  In fact, Briar escalates the problem by hooking a big hairy arm over Lily's back. At this point, I'm sure Lily is well aware that she weighs only 34 pounds.  It is time to drop the camera and rescue Lily from her rambunctious playmate, and rescue Briar from herself.

"Good thing Mom stepped in.  I mighta had to open up a can of Whoop-Ass!"

Heavy storms continue to move through the area.  The livestock take advantage of the lull between the storms and head out to the pasture again.

  Briar supervises as the sheep and goats file out.

                                                             Do you think dogs can count?

  Roanie looks back for her dog.  "Ya comin'?"

     Yea, Briar is comin'.

 The sheep immediately settle down to the serious business of grazing.

 The goats immediately try to climb through the fence.

Everyone looks forward to a break in the rain so chores can be done.

Everyone that is, except Alice The Bloodhound.  Alice has better things to do on rainy days . . .

The rains continue . . .

The barn has flooded and we're juggling livestock. The goats and sheep are back together again. They are free to roam through the mud and muck when I'm home, but when I leave for work, they go back in lockdown with the Livestock Guardian Dog. The sheep really like their dog.  The goats tolerate her now.

When Other Half left for work this morning he turned the stock out and cautioned me, "By 1 o'clock we have 85 % chance of rain. Whatever you want to do outside, get it done before then."

I mumbled something and went back to sleep.

He called at 11 o'clock and informed me that the rain would be here by 12:30 pm.  I puttered around the barn and ignored him. There was still plenty of time. (I did this, despite the fact that it was thundering and the sky was turning ominous. I mean, after all, the Weatherman SAID the rain would come at 12:30 pm!  That was a least an hour away!!!)

So I feed carrots to the ponies. I played with the horses . . .

I checked out the sheep and goats with Briar.

And then . . . a funny thing happened. . . 

                                                       . . .  it started to rain.

                                                                                   It started to pour!

But WAIT!!!  It wasn't 12:30 pm yet!  This wasn't fair!

So I call the goats and the sheep.  This consists of screaming "Baaaaaaaa!!!!! at the top of my lungs.  (There is no telling what my neighbors think of me.) The goats come running.  Goats are smarter than sheep.  We have already established that fact.  In short order, the goats are in their shed, happily munching food that I thoughtfully placed there for them earlier.  (I'm not a total idiot!)  So I grab a bucket and slosh out in the rain to call the sheep. Mud is squishing over my flip flops and my glasses are fogging.  I can barely see the sheep in the back of the pasture under a tree.  I pray they don't get hit by lightning.  I pray "I" don't get hit by lightning.   I call the sheep over the roaring rain.  They answer me, but have absolutely NO intention of leaving their tree. 

"Don't MAKE ME GET THE BORDER COLLIE!!!" I shout at them.  They are unconcerned.

"LILY"  I scream through the rain.

A black & white shadow that has been lurking by the fence slithers to the gate.  I wipe my glasses with my shirt tail and cuss the sheep.  The goats temporarily stop muching to regard me thoughtfully.  We exchange a moment, but then it passes.  I know.  Goats are smarter than sheep.  I know.

So I open the gate and Special Agent Lily slithers into the pasture. She has assessed the situation already and was simply waiting to be deployed.  She salutes and heads out in the rain.

The sheep are not happy to see her.  But a few nips on the heels and they come scampering towards me.  Thirty seconds later and she has them in the pen with the goats.  It has taken Lily approximately 2 minutes.  I'm not sure how long I was standing out in the rain shaking a bucket of feed.  But I'm sure that if I'd screamed "Baaaaaa!" any louder, or any longer, my neighbors would have had me committed.  

So to all the folks who say, "I don't need a dog, my sheep (or goats) come to a bucket of feed!" I ask you, how long have YOU stood out in the rain trying to coax them back inside?

When Other Half came into my life, in addition to cattle, cowponies, police dogs, and a cockatiel named Killer, he also brought two fantastic kids.

 A Horse-loving daughter . . .

 . . .  and a Hunting/Fishing/Firearms-loving son . . .

The kids are very close. That's a good thing.  That's a VERY GOOD THING. Because ya see . . .  ya see that DAWG that Son is holding in his arms.  Meet Drake!  Son rescued Drake.  Everyone in the family loves Drake.  He's a very sweet dog.  What's not to love?

But let me paint this picture for you . . .

Daughter and her Husband have a lovely two-story home. Drake and his Master often stay with her.  Drake isn't keen on confinement, and so sometimes it becomes necessary to lock Drake in the bathroom when he's alone.  Now imagine, if you will, that Drake is locked in the bathroom on the 2nd floor.  Also imagine, that Drake climbs in the tub. Stretch your imagination further to picture Drake turning on the hot water . . . full blast.

No one is home. When help does come, Drake has flooded the house. . . the beautiful house with the hardwood floors  . . . the hardwood floors that had JUST BEEN INSTALLED. 

Drake's adventure tallied up to $17,000 in damage.

Yes, Drake is still alive.  Yes, the kids still love each other and laugh about Drake's adventure.  Thank God for close families.  Thank God for insurance.