Farm Fresh Blog

He's tiny, but he is cute.

He's nursing, and his mom is attentive, so we'll hope for the best. The other lambs are gi-normous compared to little Tiny Tim, but he watches them. 

He watches them bounce . . .

He watches them leap . . .

But Tiny Tim needs more groceries before he can get out from under the porch and play with the big lambs.

He doesn't seem to have a problem with that!

This little dude has a smart mama! Unlike the other ewes, this one waited until the freezing weather had passed. When the pasture had warmed up, she had this little guy in the afternoon sun. Good thing she waited too, cuz he is a tiny little fart.

Compare Tiny Tim to Hulk . . .

That's Hulk scratching his chin. Granted, he has 12 days growth on this Tiny Tim, but the size difference is pretty apparent.

Today was a busy day. We took New Police Dog to the vet to be spayed. (I know! Can you believe she wasn't already spayed?) Anyway, my poor little Sweet Potato is sooooo miserable now. (Don't you think she is the color of a sweet potato? I'm sure Other Half is hoping I will find a better nickname for his little velociraptor.)

We lost a rooster to the Boogey Beast the night before last. The Beast visited again last night for the remains of the rooster, but didn't get into the coop. I think it's a raccoon. I'm giving serious thought to getting a Livestock Guardian Dog. 

An old friend visited my farm this week. She raises sheep too. We talked at great length about what actually holds a farm together. This is what we came up with:

  HAYSTRING!!!

For those of you without farms, haystring is the string that holds a bale of hay together. Like duct tape, haystring makes the world go round. And on a farm, haystring makes the fences go round!

  And the bird pens . . .

  It ain't pretty, but it works!

In addition to haystring, we also use . . . .

  ZIP-TIES!!!

                and . . .

 WIRE! 

I'm a big fan of wire!  If a board falls down and it can't be nailed back up, TIE that sucker back up!!!  (and the wire doesn't stand out the way the haystring does!)

  Not too bad, huh?

It made me feel a lot better to know that her farm was tacked together with haystring and baling wire too! That kinda goes back to the whole Romance vs Reality theme. Romance is a sunrise over a board fence. Reality is a fence held together with baling wire. 

And now for an update on Baby Hulk:

He is continuing to thrive and is quite the chunky monkey. We like the way he is developing and are giving serious thought to keeping him as a breeding ram.

In addition to putting his "best foot forward" as he interviews for the role of flock ram, Hulk has now turned to Higher Source:

   A little prayer never hurts!

Ok, I just have to get this off my chest.  Readers with delicate sensibilities should scroll past this part:

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                 . . . .

HOLY CRAP IT"S COLD!!!!!! JIMININY CHRISTMAS, PEOPLE! CLOSE THE DAMNED DOOR!

Okay. That said, we can resume normal broadcasting . . . .

We got up yesterday and it was 26 degrees on the front porch. It was 30 degrees inside the barn. I was freezing my butt off! All you guys from Cananda, and Wyoming, and Montana, and Wisconsin, and New York can stop laughing at me now . . . .  This chick was born and bred well below the Mason-Dixon line and SHE IS COLD!!!!

We had planned to take some time off to celebrate Other Half's birthday. You know, go somewhere, do something, see some things. Scrreech! In this weather, the only thing I want to see is the underside of my electric blanket! Fortunately, our vacation plans were interrupted by the arrival of New Police Dog. We can't gripe too much about ruined "time together" because the Arctic Air rolled in and we have spent a lot of time together - feeding livestock and keeping them alive in this bitter cold. 

It all comes down to shelter and food - lots and lots of food! We also had to make sure everyone had water. Naturally all the tanks froze so we spent a good bit of yesterday busting ice so livestock could drink before the sun went down and froze their drinking water again. (sigh)  I used a horse shoe to bust 1 inch thick ice out of a 400 gallon tank.  My glove dipped into the water AND IT FROZE.  HOLY SHIT, PEOPLE!  FOLKS ACTUALLY LIVE LIKE THIS??!!!  (Canadians, STOP laughing!)

After we got the animals reasonable well situated, we headed off to Tractor Supply for more tarps, animal food (since we were there!) and hoses (I kid you not, it was so cold, the damned water hose broke in two - and filled Other Half's boot full of water - I laughed. He was not amused.)

Now when people spend a lot of time together they tend to argue about the stupidest things. We managed to have TWO major arguments in Tractor Supply.

Argument #1 - He saw a cold little squirrel in the front yard and suggested feeding it. I immediately launched upon this and grabbed up a big bag of wild bird food with nuts and berries, and sunflower seeds. He mentioned a squirrel feeder but then choked at the price. I pointed out that the birds and the squirrels were God's little creatures and we should take care of them in this cold. He pointed out the price. I pointed out that God had blessed him with a GOOD SALARY so that HE could TAKE CARE of GOD's little creatures. He looked at me like I was THE craziest white woman he'd ever seen and then put the squirrel feeder in the cart. I smugly assumed I had won. Then . . . as he rolled the cart down the aisle, he announced . . . "this way I can lure the squirrels to the house so I can shoot 'em." I almost shot him in the store. (to my younger readers - HE WON'T!  I promise!)

Argument #2 - Oli's dog toy: New Police Dog needs her own toys. So we went to the dog toy aisle to see what Tractor Supply offered in the line of fun toys for spastic maligators. I selected a really cool ball on a rope. The ball was cheetah-spotted!!!!! He wrinkled his lip at the ball and selected a tire. WHAT?!! I pointed out that the tire was boring. It didn't do anything. He pointed out that you could roll it. I pointed out that he wasn't secure enough in his manhood to let his dog have a girly-colored toy. He pointed out that the tire could roll. I called him cheap. He pointed out that the tire was the same price as the ball . . . and the tire could roll. So we got the darned tire . . . and she loved it.

And so did everyone else in the house . . .

Now I have to hear him say, "I told you so!"

Yesterday was Other Half's birthday!!!!

  We had planned to take some time off to celebrate. Plans were changed however when his agency informed him that he would be picking up his new dog on Jan 7.  He told them, "But that's my birthday."

They informed him.  "Happy Birthday, you're getting a new dog. Go get her on Jan 7."

Okay then . . .

Meet Oli!

She is a 23 month old Belgian Malinois.  She was born in Czechoslovakia. She doesn't speak English. Other Half doesn't speak Czech. (He speaks some German.) Other Half has had 3 German Shepherds. To him, Oli looks like a pound puppy who should be in an SPCA commercial.

Other Half likes female dogs. He is secure enough in his masculinity to have an itty bitty female dog. (Many men are not! All I have to say about this is that THEY are missing out and it leaves more good female partners for Other Half to choose from!) Other Half is not too concerned about her size. He has seen her bite work. (I've seen it on video.) Oli is a teeny tiny dog, BUT . . . Oli is faster than a speeding bullet. Faster than a German Shepherd. (Faster than Other Half.)

Police Dogs are kennel dogs. They sleep outside. They don't eat people food. They are athletes. They go from the kennel to the vendor and if they are lucky, they end up in a home with a good handler who will welcome them into the family. Oli is a very lucky little Mighty Mouse.

Because they need time to bond, and an Arctic Blast was coming in, we juggled dogs and Oli was allowed in the house. Oli has NO house manners. 

 She LOVES trash cans!

 and counter tops . . .

Oli explored her new home as only a Narcotics Dog could!

  She was happy. She finally had a real DADDY!

  and toys!

  and a dog couch!

   . . . but we got excited and had an accident. I guess you can't call it AN ACCIDENT if you MEANT to do it. After all, no one has told Oli that you aren't SUPPOSED to poop in the house. (Border Collie was horrified. Then she peed on it herself!)

Oli most definitely hit the jackpot! She finally has a forever home.

(For those who may be concerned how Zena (Old Police Dog) feels about this, note that we are taking great pains to make sure that she does not meet New Police Dog except when Oli is in the outside kennel run. Zena is now a full-time house dog!)

I got into another major theological discussion with a friend at work tonight.  We have stood over many dead men and it tends to color one's views.  He firmly believes that Good doesn't prevail while I believe that eventually, Good will prevail.  I respect his views, just as he respects mine. We are all coming from a different place. I have learned over the years however, that my job most certainly makes you think about these things. It makes you ask questions, and sometimes you find the answers in the strangest places.

I play Twister over dead men for a living. I'm a crime scene investigator. In my world, I see so much death and despair that my relationship with God was getting pretty unsteady. I had questions about suffering that couldn't be explained. So many things I'd seen and experienced just didn't make sense. I began shaking my fist at God and asking "WHY?" But I would get no answer. This left me angry and disillusioned. I saw only a distant and aloof God. I needed comfort and proof of God's love. Then He sent 4 kittens... and they are Innocence personified.

The calico runt was so little that we weren't sure she would survive, so I named her, Hope. I thought of 1 Corinthians 13. It can best be summed up in the Alan Jackson song "Where Were You When The World Stopped Turning."

"Now I know Jesus, and I talk to God,
And I remember from when I was young,
Faith, Hope, and Love are some good things He gave us ---
and the greatest is Love."

So I named the girls Faith, Hope, and Love. I named the boy, Brother.
Since God saw fit to send this rag-tag litter of homeless kittens, they have brought such joy. They are all precious, but tiniest one, Hope, has always been the most delicate.

Saturday night I came home from work and opened the door to their room. Three kittens came bouncing out. Where was Hope? I called and called. No Hope. Since she's given me this scare before, I started to search for a sleeping Hope.. And I found her. She was hanging on the back side of a chair. She had hung herself on a chair that the dog had chewed on months earlier. While playing, she had apparently become tangled in the frayed upholstery fabric.

I've felt a lot of Death, and as I grabbed little Hope's body, she was already getting stiff. Sick, I began to unravel her. She was still warm; she hadn't been dead long. I worked to untangle the fabric around her neck and prayed for God not to take my little Hope. But as I held her lifeless body, I no longer had hope. I yanked the last of the fabric away and began blowing in her nose and rubbing her back vigorously. I continued my desperate attempt at CPR on a kitten that was small enough to fit in one hand.... and she began to breathe.... and then she opened her eyes and started paddling her little legs. I set her on the floor and without so much as a backward glance, she toddled off to play. Then I sat back in that chair and sobbed as I thanked God for saving my little Hope.

When I had first picked her little body up, I had no hope. I've seen Death. I've felt Death. But breathing Life back into something so small was the most remarkable miracle I'd ever seen. I learned an important lesson that night: When hope is gone, keep on trying anyway. God may just send you a miracle.

Hope is none the worse for her ordeal. While I watched in amazement, she spent the better part of that evening careening around my office and playing SpiderMan on the curtains. I am so thankful that God left her with me a little while longer. These kittens have been a precious gift. When I told a friend that this experience had brought me closer to God, she said, "That's good, but it's a shame that it took a cat to do it." The comment hurt at first, but after some thought, I realized that she just doesn't understand. I figure God knew what it took for someone like me, and so He sent 4 scrawny kittens.

He still hasn't answered my questions about Suffering, Life, and Death, but I'm satisfied now. Something special happened Saturday night, and I won't forget that.

"But ask the animals, and they will teach you." Job 12:7

That was two years ago.  See how my blessings have grown . . . .

  Faith then . . .

  Faith now!

  Hope then . .

  Hope now!

  Love then . . .

  Love now!

                                       AND

  Brother then . . .

  Brother now!

Baby Hulk is a cheeky little dude. He pushes and shoves the adults on the way out to the pasture . . .

Today he squared off with one of the 2009 grown lambs . . .

 Watch this little beast pick his battle!

 He is 5 days old.

 . . . but not a complete idiot. . . .

 He chose a tactical retreat. Discretion is the better part of valor!

 So he ran off to play with someone else . . .

 Someone who DID want to play with him!

Before we get started on this discussion, it has come to my attention (because I didn't post one this morning, and I HEARD about it!) that quite a few readers WANT an update on the Dynamic Duo. Here are their pictures for today:

 New Year's Eve Lamb

  New Year's Day Lamb   (This little Hulk is auctioning for the position of herd ram. He does not want to go to market!  I had planned to get a young ram by this little guy's sire, but Other Half wants to keep him instead. We'll see . . .  His mama IS my favorite ewe. Good mother. Calm ewe. Boss ewe.)

Now . . . on to our discussion: In the immortal words of Shakespeare, "To Spay, Or Not To Spay"

Shakespeare didn't say that???? You're kidding! Well, he should have. It's an important discussion!

Border Collie is in heat. (sigh) Our little "Kung Fu Panda" is a big girl now. Look at her Big Girl Panties!

  Look!  Tiny Hiney!

Several people have asked me about getting puppies from her . . . "negative, ain't gonna happen." Border Collie will be spayed when she comes out of heat. We just wanted to make sure that all her hormones were working and she was an adult first. Some folks spay as soon as possible, I just choose to wait a little longer.

"But she is such an awesome dog!"

Yep, she is an awesome dog. But . . . as much as it pains me to admit (and you never heard it from me!) I think Border Collie is probably just an average cow-bred Border Collie who simply landed in a working home. She is a great working dog, but HOPEFULLY there are lots more out there just like her. She isn't registered. Her parents work cows on a feed-lot. I doubt she is a fluke, because her breeder only breeds dogs that work cows. I imagine if they don't work cows, he probably culls them (and that does NOT mean place them in a pet home). He is not in the dog business, he's in the cow business. Dogs are tools that make his job easier. He clearly produces some nice dogs, but it doesn't mean I should breed Lily. I can't trace her lineage. Breeding her would be a crap shoot. 

"But she's healthy!"

She's only 9 months old. That's a little early to decide that she doesn't have some underlying problem that hasn't come to the surface. Her parents had NO health checks. They worked. That's the way her breeder selected dogs. If a dog was too weak to work, it didn't stay.

"But she WORKS!"

Well, yeah. She works. She is probably the best farm dog I've ever had, (and perhaps ever will have) but that doesn't mean she should be bred. I greatly appreciate the generations of effort that went into producing this dog, and I hope that when I'm ready for another Border Collie, I can find one "just like her." 

"Don't you want to let her have puppies?  I'd take one."

Right, and I'd take one too, but what would happen to the other five puppies? I firmly believe that if you breed, you are responsible for those puppies FOR THE REST OF THEIR LIVES. Rescue organizations are overflowing with good dogs. As much as I love this dog, and want another one "just like her," I don't want to contribute to the problem.

So . . . Border Collie will be spayed. She'll be happy. She lives to work . . . and chase cats. Besides, I don't think she'll miss having to wear her "Big Girl Panties.

                                                                                
The Paper Boy

People who raise goats share one thing - loose goats. As you get more experience, (and better fences) the episodes are not as frequent, but nevertheless, every goat is a blood relative of Harry Houdini. Not only are they escape artists, they are also psychics.  Goats KNOW when you are too busy to fiddle-fart around with them .

Nothing in my life is ever simple. Now I'm not a mathematician, but I do see a common denominator among the problems in my life. Most of my headaches stem from the same source - goats

Goats. God sent goats to test me. God sent dogs to help me . . .

Tonight I found myself running late for church. I had exactly fifteen minutes to make it out the door and into the chapel. It's a ten minute drive. I didn't have time for a shower, so I put on a clean shirt and a spritz of perfume (just in case I smelled like a dog.) I grabbed my purse and headed for the door. That's when the phone rang. There are four words I do not want to hear at any time of day or night. They are fingernails on a blackboard: 1) Your 2) Goats 3) Are 4) Out

I glanced at the clock again. "Please, please, please Lord... can you just slow down Time a little so I won't be late for the service?"

And with that prayer, I grabbed up The Enforcer and headed for the front door. As soon as I hit the step, I pointed at the loose goats and said, "Fetch 'em up, Boy." A tawny streak raced across the front yard... until he saw the newspaper. I could read the indecision on his face.

"The paper. The paper. She always sends me out the front door for the newspaper. Maybe she wants the paper. Goats? Paper? Goats? Paper?"

I yelled at him. "Not the paper! Get the f#*kin' goats!"

Ah! A language he understood! But to err on the safe side, he grabbed up the newspaper as he raced across the yard toward the goats. By this time, the goats were already in a full-scale panic. The Enforcer, still carrying the newspaper, looped behind them and galloped them back toward me - at break-neck speed. They passed me so fast that I'm surprised there was no sonic boom. With a nimbleness that would make a gymnast pea-green with envy, they vaulted onto a stack of firewood and leaped back into the pasture. The Enforcer screeched to a halt and dropped his newspaper beside the fence. The goats huddled together like innocent choir boys and stared.

Then the dog turned to me, picked up the newspaper, and said, "Hey, you still want this?"

Sleep. I need some sleep. I haven't had more than 4 hours of uninterrupted sleep in a week. I am a Bitchy Bear! That's what happens when I don't get enough sleep. I grow horns. (like the Evil Goat, Evie) There is a multitude of reasons why I haven't gotten enough sleep.

Border Collie is in season (argh . . .). The Enforcer and Blue Heeler are intact (a constant source of argument between Other Half and myself). So . . . we must juggle dogs. We must juggle dogs in the #%!*^! mud! MUD! MUD! MUD! I hate MUD! (Breathe . . . breathe . . .)

Okay, there's the mud. Muddy boots. Muddy paws. Muddy floor. Muddy laundry. Need I go on?

House Goats. The young goats are near the house (so they don't get eaten by the Boogey Beast!) They begin to scream for me to let them out THE MOMENT the sun is peeking over the horizon. If they don't quit that I'm gonna LET the Boogey Beast EAT THEM!

Work (the job that actually pays the bills around here). Work is work. Well duh, that's why they call it WORK. 'Tis the season. I really, really, REALLY hate standing over dead people in the cold . . .  'nuff said.

In a nutshell, I haven't been getting enough sleep. Whining dogs, screaming goats, and worrying about ewes in labor and baby lambs are keeping me awake at night.

But then . . .  the goats force me to finally drag my butt out of bed. And I see this . . .

                                        and this . . .

and this . . .

 and . . . . my heart smiles. And I'm not a Bitchy Bear any more.