Farm Fresh Blog

While walking in the pasture last weekend, I stumbled upon this:

It begged for a tagline but I simply couldn't think of one.  So I posted this picture on my Facebook page and we've had so much fun trying to come up with a caption for this shot that I decided to see what your creative minds could come up with!

Whatdaya think?

We have already established that I like high-drive, thinking dogs. Now on the surface, most people will step up and shout "Me too!"  BUT . . .  do you really?

For every cute and clever thing they do to amuse you, there are five not-so-cute dangerous things their brains also concoct. Take, for instance, our intrepid young Crocodile Hunter, Steve Irwin. (Trace)

The Crocodile Hunter discovered sheep last week. Actually, that's wrong.  He had discovered them before, what he discovered last week is that he could GET TO the sheep.  No longer content to stay in the yard while I fed livestock, The Crocodile Hunter would race along the fence line until he found an impossibly small spot that he could slither his tiny ass through.  Thus, I would be mindlessly feeding sheep, annoyed that they were stepping all over my new Crocs, when suddenly I would get that feeling that I wasn't alone.  (Mostly because sheep would be magically moving in my direction.) Casting around for the source, I would find a pair of little blue eyes slithering sheep in my direction. EEEEKKKK!!!!  Not good!  Very, very NOT GOOD!

On the surface, you would assume that you could just throw his butt in a kennel until you were done feeding and then let him out after the excitement was over.  Right?  Wrong!  Steve Irwin makes his own excitement!  Immediately upon release from prison, Trace would begin running the fence line, looking for any spot he could slither his multi-jointed, snake-like self through.

So we commenced to fortifying the back yard like Fort Knox.

We tacked up cattle panels on top of the board fence which already contained hog fencing. Yes, it is the most Hillbilly Trash-looking arrangement you've ever seen.  (Thank God you don't live next door to us.) I keep telling myself that when he is older I can take the cattle panels down and re-use them somewhere else.

 I was amazed with how quickly he figured out that all he had to do was run to the end of the cattle panels and find another spot that had washed out where he could squirm through.  I soon ran out of cattle panels. What to do? What to do?  AHH HA!!!  Cinder blocks! (Yes it just keeps getting trashier and trashier!)  So we lined the rest of the fence with cinder blocks!

And then we tested it.  Turn out the sheep . . . . and wait.  Trace ran up and down every inch of that fence . . .  

. . . but he didn't get out!

 Don't feel sorry for him.  He's plotting.

(To read why we call Trace "The Crocodile Hunter": The Crocodile Hunter LIVES! )

The Gate - Revisted

My mamma always told me, "Give the hardest job to the laziest person, and they'll find the easiest way to do it."

As we have already established, I'm a lazy person. That's why I have high-drive dogs. I like my dogs (minions) to make my life easier. Yes, I'm shamelessly lazy and give them all sorts of jobs to do! 

One of those jobs is closing the gate after the sheep come into the paddock. During the rains, the gateway is often muddy, (ewwww) and I developed the perfect solution to the problem: Get a slave (Border Collie) and ask them to walk through the mud and close the gate for you!

Lily absolutely LOVES to slam that gate closed, over and over and over again.  She grabs a lead rope which has been tied to the gate and pulls it shut. (If a lazy person puts a magnet on the gate, it'll stay shut!)  Now this is all well and good until a 35 lb Border Collie swings on the gate so much that the gate hinges break. (imagine that!)

Then the gate has to be LIFTED out of the mud and pulled shut. This particular lazy person has not yet figured out how to train a Border Collie to lift the gate and then pull it shut, thus, this particular lazy person has had to tromp out there herself and shut the damned gate.  (grrrrr)

BUT . . .this week Other Half fixed the hinges AND put a WHEEL on the gate.  Woo hoooo!  The wheel makes the gate roll through the mud quite nicely.  So Lily and I are back in bidness!

Lordy, Lordy, I do love a good dog!

Watch and learn, Little Dude, watch and learn!

Steve Irwin & The Coffee Table

All of our dogs eventually end up with a nickname, so it's no surprise that Trace ended up with one too.  The surprise however, is that he has assumed the unlikely name of "Steve Irwin."  Yes, the Crocodile Hunter lives!

We began calling him Steve Irwin when we noticed his fascination with Oli, the Current Patrol Dog.  Oli is young. Oli is fast. And Oli looked at young Steve Irwin like he was a fast & fluffy bunny rabbit. Steve Irwin was definitely on The Menu.  (along with sheep, goats, cows, horses, and trespassers)  But Young Steve Irwin was drawn to Oli like a moth to a flame. 

He would dance right up to her kennel, peer through the bars, and say (in a thick Australian accent) "Blimey!  Look at the Dangerous Beast!  I wonder what would happen if I tugged its tail!"

Yes, our intrepid young Crocodile Hunter wanted to PLAY with the Dangerous Beast. And the Dangerous Beast wanted to play with him too.  It was a match made in Mommy Nightmares.  So we juggled Oli and Steve Irwin for weeks, waiting for young Steve to either grow up enough to get some common sense (not likely), or grow up enough for Oli to realize that he was a D.O.G. and not a bunny zooming across the yard. We'd been doing pretty well until Friday night.

That night I came home from work, and took Steve Irwin and the Pack for a walk.  Then I crammed The Crocodile Hunter in the house and took Oli out.  She cruised along with the rest of the pack while I checked the rams.  When I was done I whistled them in. Lo and behold, Oli came zooming in with Steve Irwin bouncing along beside her. (Apparently I had failed to notice that the Doggy Door was opened.) I'm sure I paled.  There he was, a pre-schooler with arm floaties, swimming in the ocean with a Great White Shark. Despite the fact that he bounced all over her shoulders, she trotted along, oblivious to the little remora on her neck. I swallowed the urge to snatch up that little pre-schooler, pull off his arm floaties and throw his ass in the outside kennel before she could change her mind. Instead, I watched them.  Oli knew he was there.  She knew he was a dog.  And she knew he was a puppy.  Oli was okay with her little remora.  I removed him before he pushed his luck too much, but it was clear that they'd reach The Day - the day that the Crocodile Hunter became a dog and not a bunny.

Today we let them play in the house. At first she didn't see him as a playmate, but he was persistent . . . and cute, . . . and so she finally gave in and played with Steve Irwin.    

They started on the couch . . .

 . . . and moved . . .

. . . to the floor . . .

And like an idiot, I watched them, happy they were having such a good time. Yep, I watched them.  I watched them crawl under a glass top coffee table. (why do Dog People have glass furniture!!!) And then I watched Oli stand up . . . taking the glass top with her. And then . . . then she said, "Holy Shit!" and she dropped like a rock . . . and so did the glass table top. 

Steve Irwin was delighted.  The resulting crash was very impressive. Oli ran.  The Crocodile Hunter bounced beside her, "Blimey, Dangerous Beast!  Do that again!!!!"

No, no one was hurt.  Yes, we now have a new coffee table.

When you have goats,

you learn to expect this.

 But . . .

. . . these are lambs! 

(Somebody (bodies?) didn't get the memo that sheep aren't goats!)

 "Whut?"

There is a wealth of wisdom to be mined from the experiences of our elders. During a discussion on people who retire and then get bored, today's words of wisdom come from a long-time rancher and county judge:

"If you have a black bull and a windmill,

you always have something to do."

Black bull?  Check!

Windmill? Not yet. 

Clearly we are only halfway there to saving ourselves from retirement years of boredom.  On the other hand, something tells me that we'll have enough to keep us busy . . .

I'm just saying . . .

Over the years I've discovered that dogs recognize members of their own breed.  They speak the same language.  They play the same games.  Belgians play a distinctive "wolf & the sheep" game that other breeds don't necessarily understand. 

"I am the wolf. You are the sheep."

They play this for a while and then the roles are reversed.  It's fast. It's loud. It sounds like a dog fight.  It's great fun for everyone. Since Ice lost her brother, Kona, in June, there has been no one to play "reindeer games" with her. Until now. . .

I cheerfully announced that she and I were going over to Grandma's to meet her new little brother. 

Ice said, "Oh dear God, it's not another Border Collie, is it?" 

"No! It's a two year old Belgian Tervuren.  Just for YOU!  You can play with him. And Lord it over him. And impress him with your Greatness!"

She allowed as how this DID have possibilities, so we went next door to G'ma's house. Stone was simply delighted to meet her. He dropped down into a play bow and spun around the room.  Her ears touched and she pulled herself up on her tip toes to impress upon him that she was certainly the most exotic and queenly creature he had ever, or would ever, meet in his life.  He was most impressed with her royal self.

 He zoomed.

And they played a bit.

He checked back with Mom from time to time.

And got hugs. . .  

 before running off . . .

. . . to play some more.

 Ice settled down in the leaves.

And while she watched him run, I couldn't help but wonder . . .

. . . if she missed her brother as much as I did.

"Preludes Kona Winds" - Cadaver Dog & Best Buddy (2002-2010)

              I'm toast!

Christmas arrived early for my mother!  Santa Claus (Lynne Foster!) drove all the way from Illinois to deliver CH M.A.J.I.C.'s It's A Family Affair (call name: Stone) to his new mommy in Texas!

  It's a win-win situation for everyone!

Lynne and his breeder, Melody Jensen, know that Stone will receive a forever home where he gets to be the ONLY dog of a retired person who already has experience with Belgians. Stone gets his own Special Person. My mom gets the companion that she needs.  And neither of them will ever be alone again.

Thank you so much Melody Jensen of M.A.J.I.C. Belgian Tervuren & Groenendael and Lynne Foster of Frostfire Dalmatians for making this possible! And God bless Lynne for making that marathon drive across the country to make someone's wish come true!

To read about why Mom was alone:  Godspeed, Penny

To read More about people like Stone's breeder, Melody Jensen:  The Unsung Heroes

There is one big reason why a certain grandpa . . .

 . . . who only got four hours sleep last night,

. . .  bounced out of bed . . .

 . . . . to drive to The Big City . . .

Do . . .     

 . . . you . . .

. . . have any idea . . .

. . . why?