Farm Fresh Blog

Guess what time it is!!!

This is Briar's first lambing season.  She is meeting her lambs for the first time.

Because she is young and enormous, Briar isn't allowed with the lambs without supervision.  The other ewes, particularly Rasta the Nasty is very protective of this first set of twins, so it's in Briar's best interest to stay at a healthy distance anyway.

"I've got my eye on you, you stupid dog!"

It's county fair time!  This is a Big Deal around these parts mostly because of the commercial heifer auction.  (I know . . . more cows)

Other Half simply cannot pass up a cattle auction. As we have already discussed, even our vacations somehow end up centering around livestock.  We have been known to whip into a cattle auction while en route across Texas for something else just because he wants to see what cattle are bringing in different parts of the state.  Actually, I don't believe it has anything to do with cattle prices, I think it's a sickness - and it's genetic.

I give you State's Exhibit A -

His Granddaughter at the cattle auction

(The acorn doesn't fall far from the tree.)

This child does love the County Fair Commercial Heifer Auction.  After all, what's not to love? 

The Fair has cows, free food, free drinks (so buyers will buy MORE cows!) and more cows! She was enthralled!

She gets her own sign so she can buy her own cows.  (Yes, she bought her first heifer last fall! The office said she was their youngest buyer yet!)

Lilah's cow, #197!

Other Half has always loved his black cows, but last year the kids and I convinced him to get a Santa Gertrudis at the County Fair. 

Now we're sold on 'em and after a field trip to the King Ranch in South Texas, Other Half has decided that it's time to start turning the herd towards these hardy red cows. 

We'd like to have about 50 more like this!

That said, Other Half bought another Santa Gertrudis at the fair this year.

Meet Daisy Mae!

 (Yes, that's what her name was, so "Daisy Mae" it is!)

The little girl decorated Daisy Mae for the auction. (Guess who had to wash off all that paint and glitter this morning?  Yep, little ole me!)

Other Half really likes to support the Fair kids. He bought this little girl's heifer 4 years ago.

It was her first show heifer.  She cried and cried when she sold Angel. She's older now, but each year she asks about Angel and we're happy to report that Angel is a good mother and is producing nice calves.  She won Reserve Grand Champion with her calf this year and her father thanked Other Half for starting it all by buying that first calf.

When I look at this little girl, who cannot take her eyes off the excitement of the auction,

I'm reminded of her grandfather, wheeling and dealing cattle, . . .  

 . . . and I cannot help but wonder if she'll be showing cows too. 

Something tells me that she probably will . . .

One thing's for sure . . . if she wants to show cattle,

her grandpappy will have lots of nice red calves for her to choose from.

"Im giTTn purTee DaRned tIred oF hEErin, "Trace, Yer tOO LiTTle!"

"wE wuz haWLin hAy tooDAY n I cooDnT giT owt oF tha Truk!"

"N wheN wE wuz DoNe, I haD too weAR a LEESH wheN I goT owt"

"I dOnT nEEd nO sTinKn LEESH!"

"QUIT pULLn mA LEESH!!!"

"LiLy gOt oN tOp oF thA rOwnD bALeS."

 "Ha Ha, Yer too LITTLE!"

"MuM puT mE uP tHeRe!!!!  pLees!!!"

 "wOw! iT reeLLy IZ a LoNg wAy dOwn!"

"yOO kEn sEE fuRevEr uP hEre!  Iz awL thiS oUrs?"

"Nope.  It's all MINE!  You're too LITTLE!" 

The Old Woman Who Lived In A Shoe would have lost her mind if she had lived on a farm. While I have no little children bouncing around here, we do have so many dogs, cats, goats, sheep, and horses, that I feel like I have "so many children, I don't know what to do!" 

We just bounce from one drama to the next.  If you have enough pets and livestock, you WILL have drama. My Livestock Guardian Dog, Briar, was the big adventure for yesterday. Who knew that someone could get soooo melodramatic about a jolt of electricity?  I was so caught up in Briar's metamorphosis into a 747 jet jumping fences that Trace's adventure fell between the cracks.  After all, who notices a "foosa" when there's a white freight train hurtling across the pasture?

Anyone who has seen the movie "Madagascar" will recall that a "foosa" is a small furry meat-eating predator. (If you haven't seen the movie, then you absolutely, positively MUST rent it!  I promise you will laugh so hard you'll pee on yourself! But I digress . . . )

 Deep in thought, I opened a gate to allow sheep to move into an adjacent paddock. The sheep filed in and immediately came to attention.  (This is a clue that you should look behind you.) Lost in my world of hotwire and haywired dogs, I failed to remember that Trace is small enough to slither out of the back yard and follow me.  Thus the adventure began:

Note puppy sink into classic Border Collie crouch.  "I'm a Foosa!" he said.

Call puppy. Note puppy has developed a hearing loss. Puppy begins to slink forward toward sheep.  Sheep stare in disbelief. 

"Is that a Foosa?!!"

"Yeeeesssss!  I AM a Foosa," Trace assures them.

I attempt to scoop him up.  Despite the fact that he never takes his eyes off the sheep, he easily scoots out of arms' reach.  I spout UnChristian-like words. (Yes, the Lord knows my weakness and we're working on it, but progress is slow.)

The sheep continue to ask each other, "Is that really a Foosa?"

Like a suave python, Trace mesmorizes them as he gets closer and closer.  Again and again, I reach out and end up grabbing air. (very humbling) Rasta, the largest, nastiest ewe, gives him the "hairy eye" as he approaches.  Desperate, I snatch at air again as he assesses the problem.  Like David before Goliath, the puppy glares at the ewe.  Then he reaches deep into his chest and pulls out a Power Bark.

"YESSS!!!!!  It IS a FOOSA!" the sheep scream in unison. 

By now, Trace is drunk with power and slithers behind them as they file back into their pasture like obedient school children. I grab him when he turns to grin at me. 

"Gotcha!"

I hug him tightly as he wags his little windshield-wiper tail, still dizzy with his new-found Superpower. Then I remind him that he is Pre-schooler and will not be pulling out his "Super Suit" any time soon.  (and I found 5 new gray hairs on my head!)

   "What was he thinking?"

Many of you may recall Briar's first experience with electricity.  It wasn't pretty.  She cried. I cried. We were both hysterical.  But that was last spring, when the ground was wet, and Briar was younger.  (I'm not sure why I thought anything would change in a few months . . .)

     But the sheep have overgrazed some areas and it's time to pen them up with the goats and the ponies while the pastures recover and the rye grass takes root. This worked well for about 45 minutes.  Briar puttered around, checking out her digs while I went back to the house.  Then I heard the screams. 

     It started in the distance, like the whine of a locomotive.  As it grew closer, a large white freight train roared into sight.  I was on the back porch with Ranger when he leaped the fence to go help Briar.  At the same time, Briar was climbing out of the pasture - and raking her back along the hot wire strand.  The screams reached a new octave, and the freight train launched into overdrive. 

     She passed Ranger like a jet taking off the runway as she leaped into the back yard.  The other dogs and I watched in open-mouth disbelief as a 747 squeezed through the doggy door and into the house.  I went inside to find a quivering mass of jelly hiding in the hallway.  Ranger scurried in with me to make sure she was okay.  Briar was definitely NOT okay.

An hour later she was still huddled on a sheep skin in my office.  Oh well . . . like oil & water, I guess Briar and hotwire won't ever mix.

"But I don't WANNA go back in there!"

Embrace your obstacles!

When Life squirts water in your ears, shake it off!

"Shake it out, Little Dude."

 "Can't . . get . . it . . . out!"

Climb great pinnacles . . .

. . . and chase your problems away!

Then . . .

 Sleep hard!

It's Monday! Time to tackle the week ahead!

So when weighty problems smack you aside the head . . .

. . . take advice from Trace!

Handle those mountains . . .

. . . one bite . . .

. . . at a time!

"Whew!"

"I got sand in ma eyes!"

"What we need is a dip in tha pond!"

 Trace has never been swimming.

(Pardon the quality of these photos, but they were too cute not to share.)

Trace's First Swim

 "Geronimo!!!!"

Look at that grin!

 "A goldfish!!!"

Ranger closely supervised Trace's swim. You couldn't ask for a better babysitter than this goofy little blue dog! After multiple trips back into the water, we finally headed to the house.  (. . .where he got a bath in the kitchen sink, and it was not nearly as much fun as swimming.)

Disclaimer:  Farm Fresh Forensics is not receiving any monies from the sale of Kong products.

That said, you have GOT to get one of these suckers!

Seriously . . .  you do.

I got a great deal on it because they weren't selling at my local feedstore. "Buy one, get one free," the man said.

"Sold!" I said.

With 9 dogs, we're always in need of toys.  Small wubbas are a favorite, but don't last long.  Someone always chews the octopus legs off and that takes a lot of fun outta the toy.  With Trace moving in, the new toys are tiny. Everyone wants to play with Trace's tiny toys.  So . . . Trace and I went to the feed store and found toys for the rest of the pack. (after the staff played with him, and fed him, and gave him a chewie to take home. . . )  But a Giant Wubba? Would a Giant Wubba replace the fun of destroying tiny toys?

I'll let you be the judge.

"Whatcha got?"  

 "It's mine!"

"But Mom said the toys were for everyone."

"Go away Pin-Head or I will rip your ears off!"

May I take a moment to point out that these two are best friends.  Apparently friendship for Lily does not involve sharing Wubbas. At this point, I decided to try a little experiment.  How important was the toy to her?

"Lily, where are the sheep?"

"Huh?!  What? Sheep?!!  Where?!"

 "Oooh lookie what Somebody left!  Thanks, Mom!"

"HEY!!!!" 

 "That's mine!"

"Not for long, Pin-Head!"

  "Whut y'all got?" 

"Ooooohhhh . . . I want it!"

After much tussling and intimidation . . .

. . . guess who . . .

. . . ended up with the Wubba?

"There's a lot to be said for Old Age & Treachery."

And guess who else . . .

My mom's dog, Penny, passed away yesterday. 

 This is my favorite photo of them.

It shows the pure joy that a good dog brings.  They make your heart smile.

     She was Mom's constant companion.

      Penny was Kona's sister, and like Kona, her life was also cut short by cancer. She fought the good fight all summer.  More than ever I am convinced that everything works out for a reason.  The winds of Fate blew a tiny little angel to my mother's doorstep . . .

"Thank you, God!!!"

 . . . and just as Penny entered the worst days of her illness, this little angel came to bring a smile despite the dark clouds.

It has been a long, hard summer . . .

. . .  but I've been told . . .

. . . there are goats to chase in Heaven.

Godspeed, Pen-Pen

On a more uplifting note, for those of you who expressed an interest in whether or not Glory was a male or a female, the vet took a look at the kitten yesterday and proclaimed that Glory was definitely a little girl.

Now here's the funny part -

(Hehehehehehe. . . I'm still laughing about this!) Mom became so curious about the sex of her little kitten that she got on the internet to research how you properly determine the sex of a kitten.  (hahahahahhahahaha . . . ) Sorry, I couldn't help myself.  So anyway . . .  guess what kind of websites you pull up when you google the words "sex + kitten" together?  

I laughed so hard I almost peed in my pants.  Mom won't be doing that anymore.

Captain Ahab heads out in search of the Great White Whale

Deep in a sea of amber and green he searches . . .

Suddenly he spies the beast as it comes up for air . . .

And the chase is on!

 Over the waves . . he leaps in his relentless pursuit of the Great White Beast

  He is closing in . . .

. . . just as the beast turns upon him!   "Oops!"

  "UH oh!"

(Captain Ahab is under there somewhere . . .)

Moby Dick flees . . . leaving the scene of an accident and failing to stop and render aid

The Great White Beast doesn't get far.  Captain Ahab has a Fairy Godmother (Godfather?)

Apparently this was a felony.

(Yes, Moby Dick is under there somewhere.)

After a severe tongue-lashing, the Fairy Godfather releases Moby Dick.

"Are you okay, Little Buddy?  How many toenails am I holding up?"

 "Uhhmmm . . . 4?"

So the Fairy Godfather declared that the Little Captain was okay, and all was well.

The Great White Beast even returned to play . . .

. . . but this time she was more careful.