Farm Fresh Blog

In the evening the sheep & goats are penned up near the barn. Their "Bodyguard" is on-duty all night long.  In the morning they are released out to the pasture with the horses and their Bodyguard is off-duty until the sun goes down and once again, we begin the cycle of the "Zombie Wars."

  "Good Morning Briar!"

Briar gives me a debriefing of the night before, providing detailed descriptions of each coyote, bobcat, raccoon, skunk, oppossum, and zombie that she has sent packing overnight.

 Ahh yes . . . dawn is here. The zombies have gone back to wherever zombies go when the sun comes up.

 The sheep & goats file out.  I count them.  Briar counts them.  We compare numbers.  She is almost off-duty. Everyone is happy.  Everyone except . . .

. . .  BarnCat!

 BarnCat is not happy to see Briar.  See that look of joy on her face?

 Briar, however, is delighted to see BarnCat!

 "Run, Cat! Run!"

 "Run Cat! Run so I can squish you!"

 BarnCat is soooo not amused. 

 This was not how she wanted to start her day.  But she finally sees an opening.  Briar zigs when she should have zagged. 

And . . . .

                                       They're off!

  Scattering sheep!

Briar is delighted!  BarnCat is pissed. (Pissed off Puss!)

BarnCat finally scoots up a tree.  From there she runs on top of the barn to groom herself and remove the dog spit while Briar hustles to the gate to commune with her doggy friends and enjoy a morning swim in the pond.  Nope, being off-duty doesn't suck!

Here in Texas we have a joke about students from Texas A&M University. They are nicknamed "Aggies."

The joke goes like this: "How do you drive an Aggie crazy?"

Answer:  "Put him in a round room and tell him to pee in the corner."

Aggies analyze the world quite closely. In this way, they are much like Border Collies.

Case in point:  "How do you drive a Border Collie crazy?"

Answer:  "Put her in a pond and tell her to bring you the goldfish."

  The Aggie salutes and begins her search!

  This is serious business!

 Ah ha!  Spotted one!

 Target acquired!

 "FIRE!"

 "Wait!  You were just kidding, right?"

Hats off to Aggies and Border Collies everywhere!!!

It's hot.  It's really, really, REALLY hot!  If you're gonna stay outside, you've gotta find a way to stay cool.  Briar has that covered. When the temperatures soar, she slips into her "Super Suit" and transmongerates into "SPLASH the Streak!"

She stands at the edge of the pond, contemplating her transfiguration.

 She slips into the Magic Depths . . .

And transmogrifies into . . .

 SPLASH the STREAK!!!!

(Cue Ray Stevens' "The Streak" soundtrack.) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XtzoUu7w-YM

 "Oh yes they call her The Streak!"     (Boogity Boogity!)

 "Fastest thing on four feet!"

                                                                        (Boogity Boogity!)

 "What?!!  Is that you, Ethel?"

"GIT YER CLOTHES ON!!!"

(For those of you too young to know who Ray Stevens is, I strongly urge you to google him and listen to his music. Your life will never be the same. Parents with young children or bored teenagers:  this will keep them entertained for weeks.)

Exactly one hour before I was supposed to leave the office last night . . . the phone rang.  It was a murder, a complicated, tear-jerker, stay-out-all-night-long murder.  I called Other Half and informed him. He was supposed to get off early so I was satisfied that even though I'd be out all night, the dogs would be fed soon. He called me back a few minutes later to inform me that he and Oli just got a call.  They were gonna be out all night too.  In fact, we ended up meeting on the highway at the end of the night.  It was almost sunrise when I finished chores and staggered in. 

All I wanted was a bath and a bed.  Unfortunately other members of the family had slept all day, and all night. I tossed breakfast at them, promised them some attention later, and crawled to under the covers. Bless her heart, Border Colle gave a heavy sigh, laid her head on my hip, and settled down, where she stayed until I dragged myself out this morning.

I woke up mid-morning and tripped my way to some caffeine. The dogs had emptied their toy box but they had let me sleep.  Frankly, I don't think Border Collie ever got off the bed. Now she was ready to play and all I wanted to do was check the sheep, eat a bowl of cereal, and go back to bed.  (a real Border Collie downer!)

The rest of the pack was disappointed too, but I have a perfect Puppy Pacifier for just this situation.  So I reached in the cabinet and grabbed the bag.

  "Ooohhhhhh YEEEAAAHHHHHH!"

Everyone filed up for their pig ear.  Everyone except Bloodhound - she was sleeping.  (Bloodhound is a bit senile and so we let her do her own thing.)  Everyone settled down to chew their Puppy Pacifiers.  Everyone . . .  except Border Collie.

   "Can we do something FUN now??!!"

Poor Border Collie!  She wants to play.  She wants to work.  She wants to take a walk.  She wants to do ANYTHING but hang out and chew a stupid pig ear!

The sounds of crunching pig ears finally woke Someone up.

Or maybe it wasn't the sound that woke her up.  She does possess a Super-Sniffer!

So Bloodhound shuffled up for her pig ear too.  Then everyone was happy . . . except Border Collie. She waited. And she waited.  And finally she settled down under the kitchen table with a heavy sigh while I ate a bowl of cereal.  I have promised her that as soon as I wake up properly, we would play fetch. 

In the mean time, she should watch this video and get some ideas of ways to entertain herself . . .

Amazing Dog Tricks by Paige the Border Collie!

Okay Class!  Get Ready! Pony Pilates!

And Back UP!!! And Shake!                                                                      

Exercise session for the day brought to you by Ruffy.

Downward Facing Pony

(Our morning yoga class brought to you courtesy of Napolean.)

I am a firm believer that everything happens for a reason.  I go through life with complete confidence that no matter what happens, I can rest in the knowledge that it's "meant to be."

Get to the point!  I'm getting there!

Okay, when we first started looking for a cowbred Border Collie, I told the breeder that I wanted a black and white male.  He sent me pictures of the two males.

  a red & white

and a black & white   

I LOVE a split face, so I fell in love with the red & white.  I told the breeder I wanted that one. He agreed, and a day later sent me another picture of the puppy.  But  . . . it wasn't the same puppy!  No split face!  So I questioned it and he apologized and explained that he accidentally had sent a picture of a female that he planned to keep.  I assumed that he meant the most recent photo was a female. A day later he sent me more puppy pictures. Uh oh!  I was wrong!

It turned out that the split face puppy was a girl! 

The red & white male is actually this puppy:  

No cute little split face????  Awwww . . .

At first I sent a note to the breeder and said that because of the misunderstanding, we'd take the black & white pup instead.  But something just didn't feel right about it.  I talked with Other Half. He was okay with either pup.  So I sent the breeder back another note (I'm sure he's convinced I'm a total airhead now!) that I'd be happy to take the little red male instead of the black & white. 

Ironically, it turned out that the black & white male sold on Sunday.  When I read that, I was realized that this little red guy was meant to come to us.  I wouldn't have considered a red if not for the split-face that I fell in love with. Now, the more I look at the reds, the more I like them. So through a series of divine misunderstandings I ended up with a completely different puppy.  And I am certain that he will be the perfect puppy for our farm.

After going through all the wonderful suggestions for names of this little guy, I have finally decided on a name.  I am a crime scene investigator. I work with trace evidence.

So Ladies & Gentlemen,

meet TRACE!!!

I ate one of my lambs this week.

Other Half refuses to eat the lambs or the goats.

While I see them like this:

and this:

He sees them like this:

and this:

This is an ongoing argument.  I want to know where my food comes from. He counters that he does know where his food comes from.  It comes from Kroger's!

I argue about the humane treatment of animals.  He counters with this comeback which never fails to end the discussion, no matter how accurate my arguments . . .

"I don't want to KNOW my food!"

Despite their appearance, these are not guinea pigs.  They are baby Border Collies. By mid-October, one of them will probably be my baby Border Collie.

After the loss of Kona there was a large gaping hole in my heart.  Actually, it was more like a canyon. I began to talk about getting another dog.  I began to talk about getting another Belgian.  Other Half begged me to get a Border Collie instead.  Although the Belgians are wonderful dogs, we aren't doing search & rescue work any more and I'm not doing cadaver work anymore.  They are great farm dogs, but what we really need is a bold, reliable cow dog.

Cowboy is fine on calves, but lacks the boldness for the nasty momma cows.  He is also dealing with the back problem resulting from the donkey attack before we got him. I doubt his working career will be long. Lily is bred to work cows, LOVES to work cows, and is pretty darned good at working cows, but she is young, and she is little, and she is my best friend. Don't want a cow kicking her tiny hiney in the head. Then I'd lose my best goat dog, my best sheepdog, and my best friend. So as you can imagine, Other Half was all over the idea of getting a cowbred Border Collie.

So I have been researching . . . and guess what I found?  Nice working lines.  (Internet video is wonderful!) 

I found this breeder in Oklahoma.  They just happened to have a litter on the ground.  Born August 11.

There are two males available . . .

                                                 a red & white  . . .

                    and a black & white . . .                  

(I'm leaning toward the red & white.)

Lily has already given me a list of things she refuses to share with her baby brother:

1) Front seat of Monster Truck

2) The Crevice (area between Mom & Dad in the bed)

Everything else is optional, but she reserves the right at any time to add things to her list.

So now, it is your job to help me come up with puppy names!

Rules:

* cannot sound like herding commands (come-bye, away, lie-down)

* short - one or two syllable

* cannot sound like:  Lily, Briar, Ranger, Ali, or Ice  (Zena doesn't care and is highly unlikely to respond anyway.)

Today's adventure is brought to you courtesy of a old "Belgian" friend of mine, Libbye Miller, who raises sheep in Kentucky. When she sent this to me I laughed so hard I almost peed in my pants.  So I begged her to let me share it with you! She graciously obliged!

It's probably somewhat telling that for me, the Farm Fresh Blog reads like an episode of "This is Your Life". Because around here things like this happen...

I went down to the barn to feed much later than usual because shockingly, DearHubby and I had actually left the farm together for dinner. There was a lot of milling around and complaining from the flock as I filled the lambs' creep feeder. Toffee, who was particularly incensed about the lateness of service, managed to cram her head through the creep feeder bars and hoover up a bunch of pellets. Soon I heard that peculiar gagging/coughing sound that suggests someone is choking. I looked around and there's Toffee, staggering, foaming at the mouth and looking "not too shiny" (as we say in the south when someone doesn't look well).

Usually they get things unblocked on their own but Toffee was getting increasingly distressed so I grabbed the foal tube (a 7 foot long tube made for passing through the nose and into the stomach of horses) that hangs on the barn for just these occasions and went to work. Did I mention it was nearly dark? And the heat index was 110? And this greedy little pig of a ewe is one of Dear Hubby's favorites?

Toffee gagged and stagged around while I tried to hang onto to the incoherent, foamy slobbery slippery, 150 lb sheep and pass the tube. Sometime during the ensuing melee, she managed to suck the offending wad of pellets deep into her trachea at which time she proceeded to die. Like flat on her side, non responsive fully dilated pupils dead.
I tried various methods of Heimliching her, up to and including jumping on her chest yelling "YOU ARE DADDY'S FAVORITE, NO DYING" to no avail. Well CRAP.

If I mention that I'm a vet will it make you feel any better about this next part? Let's hope so. As a totally last resort I ran in the barn and grabbed the scissors I use to cut hay strings. Available at your nearest "Anything for a Buck" store for ...$1. Then, in the dark, sitting in a patch of spiny pigweed in my shorts, I did an emergency tracheotomy.  Lo and behold she sucked an explosive gasp of air and started coming around a little. So I'm sitting there with a large  semiconscious sheep in my  blood, sweat, and sheep spit covered lap. Oh, and I'm holding the hole in her trachea open with my finger and can't let go. Time passes. I sweat profusely  and wonder why DearHubby hasn't noticed I haven't shown back up at house. There is cursing. Toffee remains semi-conscious. Finally I decide that she's brain dead from heat stroke and lack of oxygen and I'm just going to have to put her to sleep. Well CRAP.

On the way to the house for some drugs, I meet DearHubby coming to the rescue finally and blubber that I've killed his favorite sheep and he has to help me pick her up so I can take her to the back of the property to the "final resting place for sheep". In this weather, you uhmm, don't want to put this task off.  I collect drugs and tell him to wait in front of the barn while I administer the coup de grace. Did I mention that DearHubby is not of the veterinary persuasion? I try to spare him the really gory stuff.

So I walk out to where I left what I assume to be the dead/near dead Toffee.......and she's gone. There's blood and tube and scissors but no sheep. How very odd. I finally spot her out  GRAZING WITH THE OTHER SHEEP.This gives new meaning to "Rise and Walk".  I figured I should give her some antibiotics and put some fly spy on her neck wound but she's RUNNING AWAY from me. Not that I blame her. I decided we've both had enough stress for one day and leave her to her EATING.

I did catch her up the next morning and treat her wounds. She was just mad that I'd interrupted her grazing.  I'm happy to report that's she's made a full recovery.  Other than her baa sounds a little raspy.

     I put Libbye on the spot and asked her to write a short bio for you! 

I married DearHubby in 1979, graduated from vet school in 1982, moved to the farm in Kentucky in 1985 and spent the intervening years getting horses, getting out of horses, and somehow accumulating a flock of around 70 Kathadin/Dorper/What'sMyMoodThisYear sheep. The flock is been ably attended by my beloved Belgian Tervuren Quazar (retired) and his grandson Buzz (current manager of all things ovine). DearHubby's sheltie Eli frequently adds his two cents because that's what shelties do.

In my spare time, I dabble in showing dogs, herding trials, running doggy email lists, and generally making a nuisance of myself around the internet.