Farm Fresh Blog

Most of my sheep look like this:

They are Dorper crosses, hair sheep who shed, so you don't have to shear them.  Woo hoo!

 But I have two who look like this:

They have heavy rugs on their backs. I was hoping that most of it would shed off by now, but it hasn't.  So here it is at the end of July and they are roasting.  It's time to accept the fact that these two girls will HAVE to be sheared. (See! That's why I didn't want them in my breeding program!) 

I've never sheared a sheep.  (Being a lazy person who lives in a very hot humid climate, I quickly realized that raising sheep in parkas was not something I wanted to do.) Other Half has never sheared a sheep either.  So . . . we are enlisting the help of someone who actually HAS sheared sheep.  And she is coming over in 30 minutes . . . and I am still in my pajamas!  Eegaads!

The sheep are already yelling, demanding to be released from their prison this morning.  It's going to be a long morning for the sheep. It's probably going to be a long morning for the humans too.  I can only think of one person who is going to enjoy this morning.

There has been some disagreement about who spoils #1 Ranch Dog . . .

thus, I give you PROOF that I am not the only one who spoils Border Collie!

I give you:  State's Exhibit A:

Want more proof?

I give you State's Exhibit B:

The State rests . . .

What's not to love about this little face?

   This little face is one of the many in need of a Forever Home!

  See!  How could anyone resist this?

  Or this?  (Hey!  I think I have a face at home that looks just like that!)

Although we did a great deal of shopping for dog stuff at the dog show, I find it pretty easy not to shop for DOGS at a dog show.  We already have enough dogs. Each of our dogs either has, or currently HAD a job.

 (we do have some free-loaders enjoying retirement in the air conditioning, but I'm not gonna point fingers or anything!)

So I was pretty immune to the sea of adorable faces in need of a Forever Home, until I saw this . . .

  Be still my beating heart!

Please understand, I am a product of the Lassie Generation.  I LOVE these dogs.  I have always wanted one of these dogs.  (Just like this one!)  When I bought my first Belgian Tervuren in 1990, it was a toss-up whether or not I should get a Belgian or try to find a Rough Collie with working drive.  I went with the Belgians, but there is still a fondness in my heart, ney! my SOUL for the Rough Collie. 

So I saw this young dog . . .

  He gazed patiently while the world around him was in chaos.  I almost reached out and touched him, but something stopped me . . . After all these years training dogs, I knew what stopped me.  There is power in the touch.  Don't touch him. Don't touch him. Don't touch him.  For I knew that as soon as I touched this dog, so soon after the death of Kona . . .  I knew that if I touched this dog, there might be a spark . . .

And if there was, Other Half was powerless to prevent it.  (much like I was powerless to prevent him from bringing Cowboy home . . .  )

A dog like this deserves to be someone's primary dog. I don't even have a job for him at my house. So I took his picture . . . I didn't touch him.  But even now, looking at his picture, he touches me.

Most of our shopping tends to be at the feed store and Tractor Suppy.  When we go on vacation we stop and shop at Rancher's Supermarket places like D&D and Teskey's, but they never have a good selection of DOG stuff.  A 4-Day dog show however, can provide just about anything your little Dog-Person-heart desires!

 LOTS of shopping!

  I won't tell Border Collie about this!

  or this . . .

  or this!

Other Half wanted to buy this for Oli . . .

I wanted to buy THIS for Oli . . . 

He vetoed my suggestion!  Can you believe that? That man simply can not think outside the box! Girlfriend would look absolutely SMASHING in this dog bed for her police truck! Other Half pointed out that the other K9 handlers would make fun of them.  I informed him that he really shouldn't care what other people think!  After all . . .  

  Would you tease a woman who can do this?

(Trust me, if I was in charge of the Company Credit Card, then Oli would be sleeping in that dog bed!)

Nevertheless, I did lots of my own shopping . . .

I bought a decal for the tailgate of my truck.  (this is a pic of it BEFORE it's installed.  The wrinkles will come out!) At first, I just wanted a Border Collie.  Then I saw the sheep.  Well duh!  Gotta have the sheep.  Then Other Half suggested we add the farm name.  (advertising = tax deduction)  Good point!  Sooooo . . .

And . . .  I bought Border Collie a new fancy leather collar!  It wasn't until I got it home that I realized this collar matched one of my hats!  Look at this!

Look closer!

Now I have to wear this hat more often so I can match my dog.  I am such a Dork!

Let me preface this adventure by explaining that I began showing dogs in 1984 BOH (Before Other Half). I did conformation, obedience, tracking, schutzhund, flyball, agilty, and in the late 1990's, I began Search & Rescue work. By 1999 I had quit showing entirely and focused on cadaver and mantrailing work. Now, except for the police dogs, all our dogs are either retired working dogs, or working farm dogs. 

Enter Other Half - all his dogs have been either hunting dogs, police dogs, or working farm dogs.  He is completely unfamiliar with Show Dogs.  Last year I took him to his first dog show.  It was a giant 4 day show - lots of dog sports, lots of shopping! I was in Dog Person Heaven.  He was overwhelmed.  One of the first things he ran into was a woman carrying a dog in a front-papoose.  The dog was in baby clothes and was wearing little puppy dog booties.  Other Half's eyebrows crawled to the top of his forehead. I was embarrassed. But then again, perhaps he needs to see things like that.  He believes that I horribly spoil Border Collie (I do!) but seeing a dog in baby clothes being carried like an infant sort of puts Border Collie and I in a different light.  ('nuff said!)

Anyway, his first trip to a dog show opened his eyes to a whole 'nuther world of dogs.  So I dragged him again this year!

I am trying to open his eyes, broaden his horizons! Unfortunately he ran smack into this:

Apparently the poodles were not being shown last year when we were there.  Other Half was stupified. Having worked with standard poodles in the past, I know they are smart and delightful creatures with a working dog heritage and tried to explain that to him.  He couldn't get past the hair cut.

The world according to Other Half:

  Real Dog

 Not a Real Dog

Since Other Half is more about Tactical than actual "tact,"  I kept him away from the poodle people.  Thus, I steered him toward Flyball and Agility.  He really liked watching the Border Collies in Flyball.

  Just take my word for it . . . this is a Border Collie doing Flyball.

He enjoyed the Agility too,  (Since this is my favorite I got too caught up in the action to take pictures!)

I had a blast at the Dog Show.  It was a trip down Memory Lane, and it made me a bit wistful.  On several levels, I miss being in that world.  Other Half may as well have been a National Geographic Explorer in that world. I think he enjoyed seeing what people did with their dogs,

 but Other Half still has his own ideas about working dogs . . .

I told him that he shouldn't be such a Working Dog Snob.  He should lighten up a little!  Have FUN with his dogs!

I wonder if they make these in Border Collie size?

This weekend we were leaving a Gun Show (a whole 'nuther story) when Son announced "Dad, Justin wants your job."

His father works for a large agency with long arms that give him state and federal jurisdiction. Son's friend, Justin, works for the same large police department that I work with and it's ripe with opportunities for young officers, so I said,

"A lot of people want your father's job. Aside from the big paycheck, what is it exactly that he wants?"

"Oh, he wants to travel and do all the special weapons and operations stuff."

"That is precisely the part of your father's job that I DON'T like," I said. 

Since I was the only female in the truck, I didn't get any agreement. From a young man's point of view, Other Half has an awesome job - cool toys, the element of danger, state and federal jurisdiction, travel, a great paycheck, and a certain amount of freedom to get yourself into trouble. What's not to love for a testosterone-ridden American Male?  From the point of view of the woman at home - death and an empty bed come to mind, but then, those aren't the kind of things that men think about.

While Other Half does come with a certain set of unique skills that make him handy to have around in a war, or if the zombies attack,  I rather appreciate his other skills more:

 * Always answers his phone or immediately calls back to let me know he's safe!

* Appreciates good horseflesh!  Bonus: comes with cowponies! (read: High Noon )

* Knows how to pull a calf out of a cow and knows when to wait   (read:  Swinging Calves )

 * Will drive all the way across Texas in one day to get me the puppy I want  (read: On The Eighth Day )

  *Can stitch up injured sheep (read: Miss Hardy)

  * Can butcher a wild hog (read: Easter Ham )

* Will rescue any animal with a Hard-Luck story (read: Cowdog )

  * Knows how to milk a cow and a goat (read: Milking A Goat )

  * Can fix farm equipment when it breaks

* Would rather drive REAL horsepower than fast cars! (read: Driving Drafts )

* Doesn't hesitate to come on-duty to bring me a Dr Pepper, a Butterfinger, and a hug if I'm working a really bad scene

 *  Will spend all day putting up a hotwire fence in the rain, and then not stroke out when I announce that the sheep and LGD will not be allowed in that pasture because the dog was just shocked by the hotwire and freaked out   (read: Justice? )

 These are just a few of the skills that Other Half possesses which do not include weapons and special tactics.  When the zombies come, I'll probably be very happy for those fancy weapons skills, but until then, I can appreciate these skills more.  Big guns, cool gear, and Ninja skills don't make a real man.  A big paycheck doesn't make a real man.   Blood, sweat, tears, hugs and patience, make a real man.

  (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!