Farm Fresh Blog

The Great White Beast spies an intruder . . .

"Prepare to be disassembled, Intruder!"

"Oh, good grief!  You're kidding, right? The sheep aren't even out here!"

 "NO! You are wolf! I am a wolf-killer!"

"But I'm poopin'!"

"Prepare to die, Wolf!"

"Tag!  You're it!"

 And thus continues the saga of Ralph & Sam, the wolf & the Sheepdog . . .  off-duty!

The sheep are lambing and so Briar has been pulled out of the pasture.  She is still a giant baby and I don't want any accidents with the lambs. 

She visits with them daily while I can supervise her and sleeps beside the fence at night. 

Briar has recently proven to me that she is quite the agile little critter (agile Big Critter?).  Do you see how high these stall doors are?

Did you know that a certain Big White Dog can climb these stall doors to get in with her sheep?  Very impressive.  I was inside the sheep pen and had left Briar locked in the barn. A few minutes later I turned to find her ambling through the sheep.  Whudathunkit?

 I'm now convinced that if coyotes climb into the pen with the sheep at night, then Briar is quite capable of climbing the fence to get inside and protect them.  Pretty darned good for a mutt dawg! See!  Blood will tell . . . I'm sold on these Big White Dogs now. 

Despite her appearance, underneath all that fluffy hair is a lean, mean, climbing machine!

Briar is a Great Pyrenees/Komondor cross.  That little brown & white dawg behind her is a Liver-coated Sneak-Stalking Sheepdog!

This is for all the people who have an uncommon breed of dog, or a Border Collie that isn't black & white:

One of our Homicide Investigators saw a photo of Trace.

"That's my new puppy," I said.

He peeked at the camera phone. "Oh. It's a Springer."

"Actually, he's a Border Collie."

Pulling the photo closer to his face, he verified that Trace WAS a little brown and white dog. "Looks like a Springer cross," he said.

"Yeah, he does, but he's really a Border Collie. We drove all the way to Oklahoma to get him."

Then he gave me the polite, patient look that is usually reserved for little old ladies who have just been duped out of cash by the widow of a Nigerian prince on the internet.

Oh dear!  Poor Trace will forever be marked as a mutt because he isn't black & white.  It's okay.  I've had Belgian Tervuren for 20 years, so I'm used to it. The public thinks they're longhaired German Shepherds, or Afghan-Collie crosses.  We had family members who tired of trying to pronounce the breed name and simply called them "Albanian Lavernes."  So it stuck. 

Meet my first Albanian Laverne:

Perhaps I should come up with some clever herding dog breed name for Trace!  Maybe I can call him a:

. . .  Celtic Collie!

. . . .A Cheyenne Shepherd!

a Highlands Herding Dog!

Or what he is . . .

a Liver-Coated Sneak-stalking Sheepdog
 

CRASH through the work day! 

The weekend is NEAR!

If you have goats, you never run out of fence work to be done.

Over the years I've been systematically replacing sagging field fencing (which goats drag down by climbing on them) with cattle panels. (very $$$ project!)

But I told myself that in the end, I would have this farm completely fenced in cattle panels which will keep in sheep, goats, cattle and horses!  Unfortunately I didn't figure on having The Goat King.

Oh, he's a handsome rascal, isn't he?  But this is the Border Collie of horses!  (I know this because I've raised him since he was "knee high to a grasshopper!" ) Montoya is a 'thinking' horse.  Thinking horses are good because they don't tend to explode out from underneath you when you're riding them.  Thinking horses are bad because they tend to tear shit up to get the things they want. (pardon my French)

See this fence line?

 I didn't put those panels up like that!

 SOMEONE (someone BIG) is standing on my cattle panels and dragging them down so he can get behind them.  SOMEONE then walks all over the downed cattle panels, thus twisting and contorting them so badly that they can 'barely' be tacked back up again!

 I can understand this. Force of Nature. It happens.

But this also appears to be a Force Of Nature  . . .

. . . a very expensive Force Of Nature who needs to become intimate with hot wire!

 "Whut?  WHUT?!!"

Read more about The Goat King:

Trespassers will be eaten!

Perhaps I need to post this photo on the front gate for foolhardy meter-readers who by-pass "WARNING - POLICE SERVICE DOG" signs.

Actually, Lily bit her tongue.

She continued to work as the blood steadily dripped.  (Poor kid)  It mixed with saliva, (Lily drools when she works sheep.) and in no time Lil looked like a "slavering beast!"  NO SHEEP WERE HARMED! (But Rasta now has a better understanding that she shouldn't attack Lily.) The dog looked so bad that I was afraid she had broken a tooth, but upon thorough examination, it seems that she had just bitten her tongue badly. It made me wince just to look at it, but it didn't slow the little dog down a bit.  What a trooper!

(Don't ask me why I name the sheep, but when I begin to recognize them as individuals, they seem to end up with names.  Rasta is so nasty that she certainly stands out enough to deserve a name.) 

Don't forget to say "I love you."  Don't get too busy for a hug. Take the time to share a glass of wine and a piece of chocolate (or a whole pan!) with a girlfriend.

We had our glorious Ladies Christmas Party on Saturday.  We laughed. We loved. And if only for a few hours, we were silly little girls again. 

Then Monday afternoon one of our girls had a seizure and died. She was so young. We are still in shock. But we are thankful for the good times we had together. It is so important to live and love each day as if it is your last.   Godspeed Kim, We love ya!

Adorable, isn't he?

Smart, isn't she?

Makes ya wanna run right out and get a Border Collie, doesn't it?

But here's the Dark Side Of Border Collies:

My back yard looks like this . . .

and this . . .

. . . because a certain adorable little Border Collie puts every smidgeon of brain power into finding a way out of the yard and into . . .

. . . here . . . .

(Read: High Drive To Insanity )

And the boards in my horse barn look like this . . .

YES!  THIS! 

(No, a child with a chain saw did NOT do that!)

A certain obsessive compulsive Kung Fu Panda is overstimulated by the sight of horses between the boards.  Take the horse out of the stall and it completely diffuses her.  The horse MUST be on the OTHER SIDE of the boards for the obsession to take hold.  But make no mistake.  She is helpless before the power of her obsession. . . and she's damaging her teeth.

Soooo . . .

We installed a gate in front of the barn to keep out Border Collies!

Note: Yes, we KNOW the gate is upside down.  We had to install it upside down to keep The Crocodile Hunter from slithering underneath it!

Now I'm not saying they are not the most adorable, remarkable dogs in the world, but if you get a mind like this . . . be afraid . . . be very afraid.

For your life will never be the same again.

That said, I cannot imagine how we ever ran a farm without one!

The Christmas Party

Or . . .

In Which Pooh Bear Attempts To Be A Girl

Between my work schedule and and farm schedule, getting "Girl Time" is rare. Most of my girlfriends are also trying to juggle full-time jobs and farms, so we spend more time on the phone than face to face. But each December, we have a Christmas party where we all drop what we're doing, take time off of work, leave the husbands at home, toss some feed at the horses and the kids, put on a clean shirt and get together for "girl time."

Girl Time means you can shamelessly talk about horses, leopard-print underwear, and bling-bling and know you are with like-minded women.  In fact, since one of our members was lifeflighted off the beach after a bad fall from a horse and it was discovered that she was wearing leopard-print bra and panties, we have adopted leopard-prints as well as bright purple as our group colors.  (You don't get more girly-girly than THAT!) We are the "Red Hat Society" on horseback - a posse of purple and leopard!

So yesterday I took off work for my total immersion in "Girl Time."  The Girls always lay out one helluva spread. You won't go hungry at a Girl Party. The problem is that not only do I not cook worth a darn, I worked the night before so there was no guarantee that I'd even have time to cook before the party. Since the bakery in my little town makes awesome cake balls, I planned to swing by the bakery on my way to the party. (The best laid plans of mice and men . . .)

And thus began the adventures of the typical middle-aged premenapausal airhead . . .

Admire cute black holiday horse sweatshirt in mirror. Find matching earrings.  "Damn girl!  You look good!" Pack up purse to leave.  Crap! Go back in house to get White Elephant gift. Crap! Wrap White Elephant gift. Start out door again.  CRAP!  Forgot to unload shavings from back of truck.  Since a cold front is supposed to blow in, decide to unload shavings and spread in sheep stalls.  Manage to accomplish this without getting too dirty.  Amazing.  Decide it is hot.  Very hot.  Too hot for cute black holiday horse sweatshirt.  Damn. Go back in house.  Stare at closet.  Volumes of clothes. Nothing to wear.  Decide on black t-shirt that matches earrings.  Tug on shirt.  It is wrinkled.  Damn.  Decide that at least shirt is clean. With visions of leopard-printed bling-bling dancing in my head, I grab purse and climb into Monsta truck.

Pull into bakery.  It is closed.  Do WHAT??!!!  Uh oh!  Refuse to let Holiday Spirit be dampened. Head to Kroger's. Find chocolate-covered strawberries. (mmmmm . . . BETTER than cake balls!)  Buy outrageously expensive strawberries.  Decide that since it is now 1:45 PM and I have not eaten, I must buy something to eat NOW so I don't eat everything including the paper plate at the party.  (learned that little trick from Scarlett O'Hara)  Buy Spicy California rolls and some potato chips.  I never get to eat California Rolls at home because Other Half flips out and squeals "SUSHI!  How can you eat RAW fish!  GROOOSSS!"

So I get a package of Spicy California Rolls and feel all "urbane" at the idea of eating this yuppy food even though I am fully aware that a piece of fake crab and a hunk of avocado wrapped in a slab of rice is definitely NOT sushi. Decide that Other Half needs a bag of Peanut M&Ms. Rush through check-out line. Climb into Monsta truck. Carefully unpack Spicy California Rolls and place on center console. Tear open package of soy sauce. Pour onto rolls. Pop roll in mouth.  Savor sensation.  Have a Happy Fake Yuppy moment.  Follow roll with a potato chip.  Mmmm. . . perfect balance of salty.  Mmmm . . .

Notice time.  Damn!  Running late.  Plug address into Tom-Tom.  I have been here 4 times already and I STILL have to use the damned GPS.  Oh well, at least the address should still be in there. It's not.  Three tries later and still cannot find it. Damn!  Damn!  Damn!  Give in and call hostess.  AHHHH . . . wrong city.  (Have major Gray Hair Senior Moment) She understands.  She's been there too.

Find directions in Tom Tom.  Pop another roll in mouth and cruise through parking lot. Package of Spicy California Rolls falls into floorboard.  Lots of cussing. Put truck in park and look in floorboard.  Rice and fake crab everywhere.  More cussing.  Begin to pick up hunks of what use to be cute little wheels of rice, avocado, and fake crab and chunk them back into package.  They are covered in Border Collie hair.  Still very hungry.  Debate the idea of picking off the hair and eating them anyway.  Mentally calculate how much microscopic sheep poop and cow patties are on floorboard.  Dismiss the idea.  Stomach growls.  Decide that if the Donner Party could eat their companions, perhaps a few Border Collie hairs wouldn't be a problem.  Begin pulling off dog hair.  Find a Belgian Tervuren hair.  These are quite distinctive crinkly multi-colored hairs. My Belgian Tervuren died in June.  Decide this is Kona's "Hi Mom!" from the grave.  Smile and throw hair back in floorboard. (I have always said that I could never commit murder because anyone who suspected me would have the forensic team look for Belgian Tervuren hairs at the murder scene since I always manage to carry them everywhere I go.)  That dog never even rode in Monsta Truck and yet, here are his hairs in the floorboard.

So now my fingers are coated with sticky rice and spicy sauce. There is orange spicy sauce dribbled down the side of the center console and the floorboard.  Bits of rice and orange sauce are on my wrinkled black shirt, and the thighs of my blue jeans.  Yep . . . I'm ready to go to a Party!

Roll out of parking lot and drive down highway, listening to Tom-Tom and picking dog hairs off my food.  Decide that if I get stopped as a Drunk Driver for weaving on the highway then I will show Highway Patrol Officer my floorboard.  He will feel sorry that Other Half is stuck with such a DingBat and not give me a ticket.   OR . . . he will be so appalled at the idea that the abovementioned DingBat would actually pick doghairs off the food and eat it, that he will be afraid to loan me his pen to sign the ticket. (especially since my fingers are still coated in orange spicy sauce that is now drying and sticky.)

Decide that the rest of the rolls are too mangled, hairy, and disgusting for even the Donner Party to eat. Still hungry.  Work on potato chips.  Look longingly at Other Half's M&Ms.  Decide that since he never KNEW I BOUGHT the M&Ms, he wouldn't necessarily know that I'd opened and ate some of his M&Ms. Calculate length of arms and distance to reach M&M bag.  Since numbers don't add up, decide against M&Ms.

Am making good time down the highway until a little blue Honda Civic looms into view.  Almost run over it like a skateboard.  It is going 40 MPH in a 60 MPH zone. Roadway is now down to two-lane highway.  Cannot pass little Pokey Car.  Mentally picture that Little Pokey Driver is a Half-Blind Elderly Woman.  Envision driver as Teenager-On-Cell-Phone. Since that brings up "less than Christian" thoughts, opt to envision her as Little Old Lady instead. Do not wish to intimidate Half-Blind-Elderly-Woman by being so close she can read F.O.R.D. in her rear view mirror. Slow way down. Speed limit changes from 60 MPH to 50 MPH.  Half-Blind-Elderly-Woman changes from 40 MPH to 30 MPH. Still cannot pass her. Follow her down roadway for an agonizingly long time.  Note long line of cars in my rear-view mirror.  Note that since they cannot see around my Big Ass Monsta Truck, they are probably blaming me for the slow down. 

Little Old Lady FINALLY pulls into the grocery store, sparking the start of the Indianapolis 500, but by now the speed limit is 35 MPH.  Decide that despite the fact that I am now thirty minutes late for my Girly Party, a city cop would not be impressed if I tried to explain to him that I was speeding through his town because I had been stuck behind a Little Old Lady for the last seven miles and felt I was entitled to "split the difference" as far as the speed limit was concerned. (Cops can be such downers where that's concerned.)

Finally emerge into something resembling a decent speed limit when Tom-Tom announces that it's time to turn right.  Really?  I have been to this house numerous times and this does not look remotely familiar.  Consider arguing with the computer but look at the time and decide to follow directions instead.  A few minutes later we emerge into familiar territory.  I'm sure I heard a smirk in Tom's voice.

Roll up to a house with horses in the back yard and a front yard full of farm trucks. (40 of my favorite people!) I am now late, wearing a wrinkled shirt covered in spicy orange sauce and potato chip crumbs. Bits of rice are clinging to my blue jeans, and I have rice and fake crab in the tread of my cowgirl boots - "Let the Party Begin!" 

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?