Farm Fresh Blog

Since Kona passed away at the end of June, I've dreaded changing the website photo section to remove Kona's pictures from "The Swampwolves."  I finally did it today. Then I cried all afternoon.  I consoled myself by adding a new "Never Forgotten" section which highlights Kona and his predecessor, "The Great Navarre." (read that with trumpets blaring please)

Navarre passed away two weeks before Baby Kona stepped off the airplane.  I had hoped that Navarre could help me train Kona, but alas, twas not to be . . .

When Baby Kona arrived, he had a very big Search & Rescue vest to fill, since he inherited Navarre's vest, and with it, the King's Crown.

And even though I horribly missed Navarre, Kona proved to be a delightfully charming and clever pup. Sometimes that's the only thing that kept me from killing him . . .

Come home from work after midnight in cold rain.

Note that Faithful Pup is at the back gate to greet you.  Bend over wooden gate and allow Faithful Pup to give "puppy kisses." Kiss puppy back.  Ruminate on how much you love puppy.

Note with pride that Clever Pup is learning to bring his toys as "presents" to welcome you home. Run through mental rolodex in head and try to classify the toy he is currently bringing you.  Recoil in horror as toy turns out to be a very plump, very dead, rat.

Curse cat for leaving rat where Clever And Faithful Pup could get it.  Realize that Hunting cat has been shut in spare bedroom and probably did not kill this rat.  Note that there is the slight possibility that Clever And Faithful Pup killed Slow-Witted Fat Rat.

See how proud puppy is as he chomps rat with delight and prances around to show you his rat.  Mentally race through options of how to remove rat from puppy's mouth.  Quickly delete option of touching rat with hands.

Ponder how to get in door without puppy and rat.  Realize that due to doggy door and relatively dry puppy, rat has probably already been inside kitchen.  Sigh and open door to go inside.  Watch in disgust as delighted Clever And Faithful Pup proudly chomps on rat and brings it to you. Realize that you are still clueless as to how to remove rat from pup without touching it.  Weigh wisdom of giving pup a treat to trade for this prize, (since that is obviously what he is shooting for . . .) because you know that if pup drops rat to eat treat, you will still have a dead rat in the kitchen.

Walk dogs to barn where there are rakes and shovels.  Note Clever And Faithful Pup happily chomping rat. Note Sullen Bloodhound who is wishing she had a dead rat to chomp on . . .

Spill cat food on barn floor and watch as Clever And Faithful Pup drops rat to vacuum up cat food.  See Bloodhound scoop up dead rat.  Mentally kick self for not adding that into equation.  See rest of dog pack race in to vacuum up cat food.  See Bloodhound drop rat in cold rain to get her share of cat food.  Sigh with relief.

Quickly scoop up dead rat with barn rake and sling it into horse paddock.  Feed horses who are now wide awake and demanding some retribution for this midnight intrusion.

Go back to house and give puppy and entire apple to rid him of "rat cooties" ("an apple a day chases the rat cooties away!")  Give other three dogs an apple in case they have rat cooties too.

Walk into bedroom closet to get pajamas. Turn on light. Recoil several feet back upon seeing unidentified object on dog bed in closet.  Kick self when you realize that purple felt bone in no way resembles a dead rat.

Take a shower and wash face.  Wash face again.  Contemplate scrubbing kitchen floor and brushing puppy's teeth.  Realize that 1:00 AM is not a good time to introduce puppy to toothbrush.

Sit down at computer.  Reluctantly welcome Clever And Faithful Pup as he crawls into your lap.  Note that he now has "apple breath."  Refuse to allow him to kiss you because you can still vividly recall him chomping on dead rat.

Realize how much you love Clever And Faithful Pup as he settles down beside desk and sighs with contentment.  All is well in his little world. Decide that Cuteness is actually a Defense Mechanism to keep you from killing him.
 

The temperatures have climbed into the triple digits now and so yesterday we took a break from farm work to run the boat a little. Never one to overlook any opportunity to include my dog, I voted for bringing the Border Collies.  They also voted to bring the Border Collies, so Other Half agreed.  As is always the case whenever you deal with boats, there was a great deal involved with "getting ready."  Part of this was an intensive search on my part for Lily's life jacket.  (YES!  My dog has her own life jacket!  Don't laugh at me! Not only is it hard to replace a good ranch dog, but Other Half's life would be miserable if I lost this dog!  Soooo . . . she wears a life jacket when she's in the boat. Nuff said!)

After much ado, the boat was in the water, the truck and trailer were parked and it was time to go!  Thing 1 and Thing 2 were quite excited. 

   Cowboy loves to ride the 4wheeler around the pastures. He had been told about this Water-4wheeler and was particularly anxious to try it. Lily is always ready to try anything.  Fun is her middle name.

But wait . . .

"Is there a problem with the Water-4Wheeler?"

  (there was much cussing . . .)

"Uh oh . . ." 

(Thing 1 and Thing 2 have heard these words before when Other Half talks to the broken lawnmower, and the tractor . . .)

The gravity of the situation begins to sink in for Cowboy.

"No Water-4Wheeler rides???"

"No Water-4Wheeler rides . . . "

Lily refused to allow the lack of Water-4Wheeler rides ruin her fun. Her world is always a happy place. As long as the sun comes up in the morning, it's a good day for Lily.  She makes her own fun and takes it with her!

Lily has the World on a String!

  Or at least . . .

She has Cowboy on a string!           

So while Other Half fought with the boat motor and Lily entertained herself, Cowboy stared wistfully . . .

 . . . and watched other dogs ride Water-4Wheelers.

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned . . .

                            I caused Other Half to tell falsehoods on my behalf . . .

(And it all comes down to goats . . . again.)

It's time to wean some goats. 

It's time to sell some goats.

After they completely stripped the bark off a lemon tree, Other Half persuaded me to sell ALL the goats and concentrate on the sheep. After all, pound for pound, the goats are more trouble and the sheep put on weight faster.  

This hulking creature was born on January 1.

  It's hard to beat the growth rate of these Dorpers.

Thus far, the Dorper sheep have outperformed the Boer goats.  They are easier on the fences and not nearly as clever. But I've had a hard time biting the bullet and getting rid of ALL my goats.  Despite their nature, I rather like the little beasts - they keep me humble and teach me new cuss words.

But nevertheless, I placed an ad for all the goats - as individuals or a package deal.  There was an immediate response for the Package Deal.  I made Other Half talk to him.  He argued that they were MY goats, thus "I" should talk to the man. I've always done this in the past and I hate it.  So I informed him that men deal better with men and HE should make the arrangements.  (while I armchair quarterbacked . . .) 

From my end of the room, it soon became clear that this was another "mini-van deal."  (been there, done that, hated every minute of it) The man planned to pack all the goats in a vehicle together and drive them back to the city where I'm sure he would slit their throats that afternoon.  SCREECH!!!!

I had no problem with the boys being eaten.  They are males, that's what they're raised for.  But the does are former show goats and proven producers.  I didn't want them slaughtered and on a barbecue pit if I could avoid it. Thus . . . I nixed the whole deal . . . leaving poor Other Half to explain to the man that HE himself had made a mistake and since these were show goats his wife was now tripping out and refused to sell them. Sorry for the error.  (He was not happy with me.)

Eegaads . . .  I felt bad. But not bad enough to allow my girls to have their throats cut.

Soooo . . .  I'm still weaning goats this afternoon anyway, but I've decided to keep the does and take the boys to the sale barn next week.  Unless of course, the girls piss me off sometime between now and then.  (If I'm not careful, Other Half may sell ME at the sale barn next week!)

"I wouldn't let that happen, Mom."

As most of my adventures do, this adventure began on the internet too!  I am a member of a most wonderful group of women who trail ride together.  We are like the Red Hat Society on horseback, and we stay connected on the internet. Because of my schedule, I rarely get to participate in the functions, but I enjoy keeping up with them online. I was perusing my email last week when I happened to note that one of our members shears sheep.

"Yee haaa!" I screamed to the cat sleeping beside my computer. She fell off the desk.

I have two sheep that need shearing! Most of my sheep are high percentage Dorper crosses that shed out in the spring, so they don't need shearing, but these two have dreadlocks so thick they look like members of the Jamaican Bobsledding Team.

 So I quickly emailed this Sheep Savior and begged her to come shear my Jamaican bobsledders.  She agreed, and thus the adventure began . . .

Wake up and decide that even though I barely have an hour before Sheep Savior arrives, I simply MUST put fresh shavings in the horse barn. Feed horses. Let goats out of Goat Prison. Let Sheep and Livestock Guardian Dog out of Sheep Prison.  Avoid massive muddy white paws from Abominable Snowdog as she bounces along beside me. Spill coffee.  Threaten to shoot Snowdog. 

Snowdog is unimpressed and bounces over to greet her canine friends who enjoy house privileges at night. Get large garden cart and begin hauling bags of shavings from Garage Barn to Horse Barn. Fill stalls with shavings.  Happy horses play in shavings.

Have Border Collie and Blue Heeler put goats in Kitchen Garden that is overgrown with weeds again. Lock gate and admire them as they immediately begin working like weed-wackers on methamphetamines. Suddenly realize that I have lost my cell phone.  Oh crap! Mentally run through chores and try to figure out where it fell off my belt.  Have disturbing thought that best bet is horse stalls.  Have distinct mental picture of horses pawing through shavings as a Blackberry sifts deeper and deeper into the stall. Have mental picture of Big Fat Ona standing on expensive Blackberry. Have mental picture of Andalusian cross finding phone and running up bill by calling Spain or text messaging his friends in other stables.

Run to barn to save phone.  Lots of shavings.  Confused horses. No phone. Run back to house.  Try to use house phone to call cell phone.  House phone refuses to dial the number 7 so I cannot call my cell phone and listen for the ring tone.  Lots of cussing.  Run to my mother's house.  Bang on door. Hear her dog frantically bark but no one comes to door.  Consider crawling through doggy door but decide to run around front of house instead.  Find mother lounging on front porch swing.  Mom is happy.  Mom wants to chat.  Explain emergency. No time to chat.  Need Mom's cell phone NOW to call my cell phone.  While desperately trying to convey this information quickly, see that Someone is pulling into my driveway.

Sheep Savior has arrived. Briar has climbed out of her puppy prison and I fear that she may eat Sheep Savior or at the very least, put giant Abominable Snowdog muddy footprints on her shirt. Must leave now, but Mom still wants to chat. (retired people appreciate life in the slow lane and aren't quite as quick to recognize the emergency of strangers driving up when no one is home but loose dogs who may or may not eat people. Finally wrangle phone from mother (Sorry Mom!) and run back next door to find Sheep Savior and two small children crawling out of car.  Fortunately White Mountain with Teeth has decided that she is friendly today - but still muddy.  Football tackle dog and force her into outside kennel with Blue Heeler (who is NEVER friendly to strangers - today or any other day.)

Greet Sheep Savior and explain that expensive Blackberry may be in stall with horse who is currently digging to China in the shavings. She listens while I call my phone.  Sheep Savior finds my phone! Phone is on ground beside Garage Barn. Phone is fine. Woo hoo! Thank her profusely and explain that I must run Mom's phone back to her house.  Please don't pet dogs behind bars.  Some of them bite. Sheep Savior happily agrees.

Return phone. Apologize to mother. Have Border Collie pen sheep who are now grumpy because they just LEFT the barn. Single out Jamaican Bobsledders. Rodeo. Mutton Bustin'!  Ride that sheep, Cowgirl! Finally get first bobsledder strapped onto trim stand. Fire up those clippers! Wow!  Return dazed bobsledder back to flock sporting a new Marine haircut.  The rest of the flock admire her new doo!  More Mutton Bustin' as we rodeo second bobsledder onto trim stand.  In no time a new dazed bootcamp recruit joins the rest of the flock. Turn flock back out and barely recognize bobsledders. There are actual sheep under those dreadlocks! 

I haven't figured out what to do with the armadillo shells of dreadlocks that pass for wool rugs.

 Maybe I'll give them to the dogs for beds.  On the other hand, my dogs are so uncivilized they will probably eat them, and we all know what that will happen then!   (Read: Useless Factoid )

Farm Rule #23 - When dogs eat wool . . .  they poop out felt!

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.