Farm Fresh Blog

True to his word, before we could unload the calves, Other Half insisted that they be tagged and wormed. Oh joy.

Two tired Divas + Three Terrified Calves = Long Night

Other Half collects the necessary items: cydectin, ear tags, bands, band applicator

I examine banding doo-hickey and proclaim that roping calf's testicles are WAAY too big for banding.  Other Half grunts and ignores me.  I again protest that Roping Calf (let's call him "Willie") has testicles that are MUCH larger than the little fat green rubber band that Other Half is planning to use to castrate him.  (a practice which I don't care for . . . I'm just saying . . . )   Other Half ignores me again.  So I put it in words he can understand, "HEY!  His balls are too big for this rubber band!"

"I'll look at 'em and see when we do him," he mutters.

Do what?  Does he think I can't peek through the bars and mentally calculate that a rubber band smaller than a dime is not gonna stretch over balls the size of summer egg plants? Oh well. . .  Since I am not in the mood to argue with him about it, I decide to let him figure it out on his own. He gives instructions on EXACTLY how he wants the cydectin measured and EXACTLY how he wants the new tag set up.  Ok, I got it!  I think.  I hope.  It's not as easy to do when holding a flashlight. Everything must be done with one hand because IT'S DARK!!!!

Other Half climbs into cattle trailer containing three snorting calves with a rope and a wooden crook. He attempts to get one of the beef cows to move into the back of the trailer where it can be isolated. The roping calf is happy to move back there, but NO! Other Half wants one of the little heifers first. Because . . . he wants to castrate the little roping calf.  Now keep in mind, those balls haven't gotten any smaller since I announced that he was too big to be banded, but nevertheless, Other Half refuses to even address the issue until the heifers are done.  Okie dokie Smokie!

He finally gets the little white calf in the back. Then things got interesting. This is how it was supposed to go:

His job:

1) Rope calf
2) Press calf against bars and call for necessary items to be handed through bars

My job:

1) Hand him bull chain/tongs which clip into calf's nostrils (and must hurt like hell) in order to control 230 lbs of bawling cow
2) Pour cydectin on calf's back
3) Hand him ear tag applicator

This is how it actually happened:

His job:

1) rope calf
2) Richochet off bars of trailer while being dragged like a kite on a string by a hysterical calf
3) Yell for tongs
4) cuss

My job:

1) hand him bull chain/tongs
2) argue that he is hurting calf when she starts bawling
3) cuss
4) pour on cydectin
5) hand him ear tag applicator
6) open door to release newly tagged hysterical calf with a purple stripe down her back
7) inform Other Half that when we are retired, we will be too old to handle cows so we should go 100% to sheep now
8) inform Other Half that we are too old NOW for this shit

Re-group -  set up another ear tag. Pour more cydectin. Separate another calf.  Little roping bull (let's call him "Willie") still wants to go first, so this time Other Half let him.  Get Willie into back of trailer. Shut gate so Willie and Other Half are alone.  Convince Other Half that he needs my assistance INSIDE the trailer. He ropes Willie.  Willie is okay with that. Examines Willie's testicles. Proclaims that they are too big to be banded.  (wonder of wonders!) Other Half decides that he will cut him later. Clip tongs on Willie's nose.  Willie says "Damn!  That hurts!" So Willie doesn't move.  He stares at his nose with crossed eyes. I pour on cydectin.

Other Half tags him. We unclip Willie's nose, and open the gate. Wham! Bam!  Thank ya, Willie! Off he goes to join the white calf.  Yessiree, we're in the groove now. 

That's what we thought . . . until he roped the black calf . . .

Holy Crap!

Black calf was certain that she was gonna die. She was a kicking, bawling, bucking maniac. Other Half took that ride like a monkey on a border collie at the county fair. He had a tiger by the tail, afraid to let her go.  I stood in the corner of the trailer and waited for the cyclone to quit spinning.  They finally landed in a corner where he called for the tongs. Okay, I can do that!  Clip!  The bawling commenced in earnest now.  He hooked the rope of the tongs over the top bar of the cattle trailer and pulled poor little black calf up by her nose.  Lots more bawling, from the cow and me.  Then he made a mistake.  He handed me the end of the rope. . .

In my defense, a man should NEVER hand a woman the end of rope with a hurting, hysterical calf on the other end.  Feeling sorry for said calf, the woman will immediately release some pressure on the cow's nose.  Now two things happen when you do this:

1) The man will scream loudly in a high pitched voice, "NO! NO! NO! Don't let her GO!"
2) The calf will feel the release of pressure on her nose, shake her head, and guess what  . . .  Dude . . . the tongs will fall off . . .

And the rodeo was on again.  There was lots of screaming, cussing, and bawling  (most of that was from Other Half). It took a while but we finally got her wrestled into the corner again. This time everyone (me!) followed instructions and the calf was wormed, tagged, and released without further incident. We thought . . .

Shortly after she bounced out of the trailer to find the other calves at the end of the arena, Other Half announced that one of the calves must have really been bleeding from that ear tag.  Huh???

None of the cows were bleeding.  That's when we discovered that Other Half was the one bleeding . . . a lot. The thumb of his glove was filled with blood.  Blood had dripped all over the floor of the trailer.  He gingerly pulled the glove off.  It made the skin on my butt crawl. 

Somehow . . . some way . . . after "Someone" let up the nose-pressure, thus releasing the cow, the lariat attached to a 270 lb bucking bawling baby had gotten wrapped across his thumb in such a way that it ripped his thumb and split it under the nail.  (ouch!)

So Other Half stood there in the trailer, with blood running down his hand, and he asked me, "So what have you learned about cows today?"

I didn't even hesitate.  With firm conviction I announced, "I learned that SHEEP are easier to handle!"

(He was not amused.)

Sidenote: We put food in a trough for the calves. It became apparent that the black and white calves had not seen a feed trough before.  In fact, it appeared that they had not been properly weaned, just ripped off their mammas and taken to the sale.  Thus, they spent a good bit of time bawling at the fence while our more maternal cows rushed over to comfort them. The little scrawny roping calf however, KNEW what a feed trough was.  He KNEW what groceries were. Over the next day and half, he taught his companions how to eat from a trough. When we worked the dogs on them, he was calm and led the way to sanity (unlike the white calf!) so well that Other Half mentioned that if he remains so calm and well-behaved, he may be a good teaching steer for other additional dog training calves, and thus we might consider keeping him for said position.  So I said to him, "Hey, if we keep him, I'm gonna name him 'Willie!'

He glanced at me, with his hand still dripping blood in the darkness. Something crossed his mind but he didn't say it out loud. Probably best . . .

Remember when the Divas went shopping?  The Divas Go Shopping

Lest anyone think our "diva-like" behavior is limited to Christmas shopping, let me share yesterday's adventure with you . . .

Other Half announces that on Saturday we will go to the cattle auction. Thinking this is a simple road trip for fun, I agree. Other Half then announces that we are taking the cattle trailer. "Why" I venture cautiously. It is winter. We have sold our spring calves. The cows are calving. I'm staring at another winter of cows calving in the cold rain and hauling hay in the mud. Why add more responsibilities?

"You never know what we might find."

Translated: He has just sold an old farm truck and the money is burning a hole in his pocket.

Saturday arrives.  A cattle auction is for Other Half, as Toys R Us is for your average 6 year old - an adventure. Give him a pocket full of money and you might as well have handed a 6 year old a credit card as he walks through the sliding glass doors.

We make decision to take only Trace, Kindergarten Cowdog. He is delighted - he is riding shotgun to the cow sale. Yee ha! Other Half has decided to buy Lily (Top Hand Border Collie) some baby calves to practice her cowdog skills on this winter. I argue that he would not have to do that if he had kept the 2010 calf crop instead of selling them. He argues that at the time, the money was more pressing than letting the dog play with calves valued at $700 each.  Touche.

Two hours later we arrive at cattle auction with every other rancher in a four county area. By now, it is noon, my caffeine level has dropped dangerously low and Diva (Liza Minelli) emerges from my personality. Because of crowd, decide against taking Trace inside sale. Send Other Half inside to buy cattle.  Trace and Liza Minelli stroll around outside and examine the LONG line of cattle trailers lined up to drop off cattle.  Trace is quite interested.  Liza and Trace watch as they slap stickers on cow butts.

Liza decides that this is a good place to actually do some re-con work because you can see the cattle better out here than when they are run through the sale.  Decide that Trace and I can phone Other Half with tag numbers of good calves.  Other Half used to be an assistant ranch manager on a 44,000 acre cattle ranch.  Other Half has spent almost 50 years buying and selling cattle.  Liza has spent . . . less . . . considerably less . . . time . . . (none!) buying cattle.  But never mind THAT!  Liza feels completely qualified to judge good cow flesh. So Liza and Trace walk the trailers looking for nice, clean, beefy calves that will put on weight quickly. There are too many to bother with.  Liza becomes bored long before Trace does.  Liza wants a frappuccino.

Other Half phones demanding location. He announces that he has just purchased a calf.  Liza is expecting to hear that he has purchased a nice beefy red or black Angus-looking calf. He informs Liza that cattle prices are too high today and so instead of buying three, he just bought one. ???? Liza is annoyed.  Why even bother to buy just one?  You can't work dogs on just one calf! Wellll . . . perhaps the calf was of such exceptional quality that he decided to add it to his breeding herd. Liza inquires as to breed. Other Half describes a scrawny roping calf. 

 Roping calf in rain

Liza has a fit. Liza launches straight into Diva Domain.  Liza is not happy.  Why buy it then?!!!!

Other Half launches straight into Diva Domain himself. Enter Aretha Franklin.  Aretha informs Liza that if she didn't like the calf he purchased, then she should have had her ass in there with him when he was bidding on it. Put Trace back in truck. Stomp into sale barn to show cow man (who has logged almost a half century in cattle) how to buy good calves.

See nice calves cross through.  "Get any of those," Liza informs him.  Other Half is not bidding. He is looking at numbers on tally board.  The cattle are moving through quickly and Liza is having trouble caculating the price per pound weight with the actual weight of the calf who just left the area. It is all moving entirely too fast.  Unlike the sheep and goats, which sell by the animal, cattle are sold by the pound, and then weighed as they step out of the arena.  The weight then flashes on the screen.  Liza wants little cows to train her dog on, but she also wants to re-sell the calves next summer at a major profit, thus, she does NOT want scrawny roping cows, she wants nice beefy BEEF calves.  (Liza has gotten a bit spoiled when it comes to having nice cows.) 

But Aretha is the COW person. Liza is the GOAT/SHEEP person. Liza has trouble remembering how big the animal which just left the arena was when comparing it to the number flashed on the screen. It is much easier to simply snap at Other Half and say, "Buy that one!" when a fat toddler animal crosses the arena.

And he does. He buys a little black angus thing.

He then informs Liza that the next calf will come out of HER money.  Do what??!!  Okay fine then.  Liza watches numbers flash and becomes bored.  Liza announces that Trace needs a break and informs Other Half to just buy another good beefy one as she starts to climb down stairs.  Aretha Franklin informs Liza Minelli to get her ass back there and select the calf SHE wants.  And so she does.  Liza quickly finds a nice little Charolais-looking heifer and informs Aretha to get THAT ONE.  He does.  Liza now owns a cow. 

 Liza is bored and ready to go.

Aretha picks up the paper work.  Liza's one cow cost almost as much as Aretha's two cows.  Holy Crap!  Is THAT what those numbers mean? Obviously Liza and the meat packers are buying the same type of calf. Oh well.  The scrawny roping calf will probably eat just as much as Liza's white elephant and not gain as much weight. Liza is quite certain that she will double her money on this calf by next summer.

Aretha gives Liza the paper work and tells her to give it to the man at the loading dock while he gets the cattle trailer. Liza strides towards the man like she knows what she's doing, then hesitates. Pink or Yellow???  Which copy does he get?  She doesn't want to look like she's never done this before.  (She hasn't!) Notes that he has a pink paper in his hand.  DUH!  He must take the PINK copy!  (Liza IS actually a Trained Investigator in her Other Life!) Give man pink copy like she's done it all her life.  (Ah ha!  Take THAT, ARETHA!)  Aretha backs up trailer to loading dock like he's done it all his life, (which he has!).  Liza peeks through the bars at HER calf.  Do what???  She's the same size as Other Half's scrawny roping calf but she cost three times as much! OUCH! 

Other Half then informs Liza that there are cows you train dogs and horses on (i.e. roping cows/longhorn crosses) and there are beef cattle.  (Liza declined to remind him that there are dairy cattle too, because it just didn't seem like the time.) Instead, she argued that the beefy calf would gain weight faster than the roping calf and why put feed into something that wasn't going to double in value. Aretha agreed that Liza had a valid point. Since now Liza was not only suffering from LCL (low caffeine level) but also LCBL (low checkbook level), Aretha pulled out of the sale barn parking lot and headed out in search of caffeine.  Then . . . he informed Liza that although it would be dark when they returned home,  they would still need to tag and worm all the calves and castrate the roping calf before they ate dinner. Yeee . . .  freakin' . . . ha!
        

"Any fool can count the seeds in an apple.

Only God can count all the apples in one seed."

Robert H. Schuller

My lemon tree failed to get the memo that not only is it January, but an Arctic blast is scheduled to blow in early next week. I sit here at the kitchen window, watching the bees and the butterflies dance around the blossoms, and like the tree, am lulled into the illusion that it is Spring. 

The day started like every day.  The sun was shining. The birds were singing.  But somehow I managed to miss the ominous music playing in the background.

Stumble out of house with cup of coffee in hand. Stumble over dogs as they race to the barn. Feed sheep. Count sheep. Feed goats.  Drag goat away from sheep pen and thrust her through gate and back on the "goat side" of the fence. Feed horses. Feed cows. Pick up cup of coffee and take dogs on a nice long walk.  Daydream about new Boer goat sire and spring babies. Fail to hear the ominous soundtrack playing in the background.

Go back to barn to turn sheep out.  Note that the annoying bleating of sheep has continued well past feeding time.  Sight in on offender.  Note: Offender is mother of newest baby.  Look for baby.  No baby.  Walk around stall areas.  No baby.  Bleating continues. No answering baby bleating.  Oh . . .  Shit. Something took the baby.  Begin to run around barn yard frantically searching for baby.  No baby.  Reality sets in.  FINALLY hear the ominous music! Stumble in Crocs through mud and sheep shit desperately looking for baby with mother's frantic bleating echoing in my head. 

Realize that Something must have waited until I fed the sheep, and took the dogs (ALL the dogs - including the LIVESTOCK GUARDIAN DOG!) on a walk.  Then Something climbed over the cattle panel fence, grabbed the tiniest meal in the pen and climbed back over WITH MY BABY!!!!

Call Dear-Friend-On-Next-Farm-Over to report the incident while still frantically wandering around pasture in Crocs.   She is on her way over.  Call Other Half. He is at Cow Farm and is about to climb on tractor.  He is now on his way. Call my mother. Turn Livestock GUARDIAN Dog back in with sheep.

Go back in house, change Crocs for rubber boots and set out to find CLUES to identity of Kidnapper/Murderer.  Decide against taking gun because Kidnapper/Murderer is LONG GONE with his free meal by now. Have burning hatred for coyote/bobcat/Boogey Beast, but grudging admiration for that kind of intelligence. Bleating of mother sheep is deafening.

Decide to carry Blue Heeler along in search for CLUES.  Blue Heeler immediately begins chasing cattle. Call him repeatedly.  Watch him ignore multiple requests to cease his idiotic antics and return to the serious search for evidence.  After cows are chased into another pasture, he returns. Regret not bringing gun. Throw Blue Heeler out of pasture.  Walk around studying every muddy footprint behind barn.  Walk into hot wire.  Cuss.

Stop in center of pasture and stare back at sheep in paddock.  Note Livestock Guardian Dog ambling around. Note that dog seems unconcerned. Note that sheep seem unconcerned.  Note two tiny lambs racing through the paddock. TWO tiny lambs . . .  TWO???  All other lambs are big.  Note Hysterical Bleating Mother is silent.  What tha?   Walk fast toward paddock.  Start to climb through fence.  F**K!  Hotwire.  Find another spot to climb over fence. Definitely TWO tiny babies.  Holly, the Chrstimas Day baby is bouncing across the paddock, stride for stride with a tiny running mate - a tiny little running mate that looks suspiciously like my Kidnapping/Murder victim.  What tha???

Walk among sheep.  Yep!  Baby has returned. Where was he? Ponder possibilities:

1) Boogey Beast had a change of heart and returned Little Tyke  (not bloody likely!)
2) Intrepid Explorer crawled through cattle panel gate in anticipation of being released into sheep paddock (since that's what we'd done EVERY day of his very short 3-day life already!) He then made his way through the goats, and into the sheep paddock which is the ONLY area I didn't check thoroughly because what coyote takes a baby lamb to the sheep paddock to eat it?!!!
3) God just enjoys jacking with me and listening to new cuss words.

We definitely need to come up with a name for this lucky little explorer.

Would you kill for this?

Apparently someone in this house would.

Last night I baked sugar cookies, and a certain muddy little puppy was drawn to The Food Room by the wonderous sugary smells.  He appointed himself The Little Chef and sat beside the refrigerator to supervise the cookie baking. He carefully watched as each pan came out of the oven. He oversaw as each cookie was iced and sprinkled. 

 All was well until I ran out of cookies, and I still had PLENTY of icing left.  That's when I reached into the glass cookie jar on the counter and pulled out the Milk Bones.  Now in our home, cookie jars hold DOG cookies instead of PEOPLE cookies, and EVERYONE in this household knows the sound of The Cookie Jar opening.

So Lily rushed into The Food Room at the sound of the cookie jar.  That's when The Little Chef mutated.  Suddenly Emeril sprouted fangs.  He watched as I iced the Milk Bones. Lily slid into position to receive the expected Milk Bone.  Emeril then attempted to knife his best friend. She laughed at him and bounced away.  Emeril followed her and attempted to drive her from the kitchen. Suddenly it wasn't funny to her. 

"Stop it!" she ordered.

"LEAVE!!!!" the Soup Nazi screamed.

"Do not MAKE me hurt you!" she said.

"LEAVE!! LEAVE! LEAVE!" he screamed.  Suddenly he became Achmed the Dead Terrorist, "I WILL KILL YOU!!!!  I WILL KILL YOU!!!!"

Right there, in the kitchen, with flour and powdered sugar all over the counter, and me on the phone, a dog fight ensued. I let it go for an instant, thinking that surely the ADULT dog would put the smack-down on this snotty little brat, but Emeril continued his assault in his crazed attempt to drive Lily from the kitchen.  I screamed at them.  Lily quit fighting. Emeril continuted to knife his companion.  (What a little beast!!)  With hands full of cookie dough and powdered sugar, I yelled for Other Half to come and evict the Enraged Emeril from the kitchen.

With sanity and order restored, the Milk Bone decorating continued.

  Emeril sneaked back in the kitchen but was a bit more subdued.  Bones decorated, I passed out beaters.

Yes, that's all I needed - Emeril high on sugar frosting.  But since he'd managed to behave himself, I felt that he deserved a reward for his improved kitchen manners.

And yes, Lily (and everyone else) got a Special Milk Bone. . .

. . . and Emeril put up his knives.

Would you kiss this face?

Look closely. Think again.

I may have to put some serious thought into it the next time he climbs in my lap. Then again . . .

If you live on a farm long enough, your standards of cleanliness change a bit.  You actually consider things that never crossed your mind before you trudged through mud and cow poop each morning. (Read: Leopard Print Underwear Rules!)

Soooo . . . I'll let you be the judge.

Load up Blue Heeler (Ranger) and Border Collie (Lily) and drive out to feed cows. Note Worthless Barn Cat standing over Suspicious Something. Order dogs to stay in truck while I step out to investigate Suspicious Something.  Blue Heeler ignores me and bounces out of truck.  Break out in a string of cuss words. (Father, forgive me!) Border Collie stares in horror. The world has stopped spinning. Someone disobeyed Mom. She is aghast at Blue Heeler's behavior.  (She is, however, used to my cussing.) Blue Heeler stops in his tracks.  Stares. ("What? You got a problem?")  Hops back in truck.  Border Collie's world begins to spin again.

Leave dogs in truck while I investigate Suspicious Something. It is a scapula, a shoulder blade.  Decide that it is a deer scapula. Son must have cleaned a deer over here.  Mystery solved.  Call dogs out of truck.  Caution them to "Leave it!" Border Collie is still upset and thus she glances at me to make sure I see that she is ignoring the Nasty Object on the ground. I smile at her.  She smiles back.  She is assured, once again, that she is The Perfect Dog. Blue Heeler stops to sniff Nasty Object.  I growl at him. He raises his eyebrow, informs me that I am a "Bitchy Bear", lifts his leg and pisses on Nasty Object.

Walk out to feed cowponies. Dogs are not allowed around cowponies because they will stomp dogs.  Tell Border Collie to "DOWN" outside the gate.  She does.  Start to tell Blue Heeler . . . Oh never mind, forget it. He races around like an idiot.  He was blessed with phenomenal athletic ability, but very few brains.  Decide that there is no point in traumatizing Border Collie by having her witness Blue Heeler repeatedly leave his stay. Thus . . .  let Little Blue Dog zoom-zoom and giggle while Border Collie holds her stay. Feed cowponies. Blue Dog dances and giggles while they try to run him down.  Ignore him and feed cowponies. Call Border Collie.  She zooms into pasture and bounces on me.  She is delighted that she held her stay.  I assure her that Yes, she is The Perfect Dog. She nods and runs to the mule.

Climb into mule beside Border Collie.  Watch Blue Heeler roll in horse poop.  Scream at him. He stands up, offended that I would speak to him in that manner. Drive to feed room.  Load up cow feed.  Drive to pasture. Border Collie grins broadly as we bounce through the mud.  Scream at Blue Heeler for rolling in horse poop again.  He stands up - offended.

Cows are crowding the gate. Remind Border Collie to stay in vehicle. Blue Heeler races through fence and into pasture. Big Red Cow chases him. Blue Heeler giggles and darts just out of reach.  Drive mule through gate.  Border Collie catches my eye to remind me that she has stayed in the vehicle. Assure her that yes, she is The Perfect Dog.  She smiles at me and snaps at cows that get too close to the mule as we drive.  Feed cows.  Scream at Blue Heeler for rolling in cow poop. He stands up - offended.

Drive back out.  Scream at Blue Heeler to keep him from jumping in the pond. Wish I had a dog crate bolted inside the bed of my pick-up. Step off mule and into deep mud puddle.  Note that Border Collie leaps over mud puddle.  She turns to smile at me.  I smile back and assure her that, yes, she is The Perfect Dog.  Call Blue Heeler.  He is dancing around the heels of Annoyed Cowpony.  Am reminded of M.C. Hammer song, "Can't touch this!" 

Go to water faucet to hose mud off boots.  Blast ice cold water on them. Turn to see Blue Heeler with Nasty Object.  Scream at him.  Forget what I am doing and blast ice cold water inside my boot.  Cuss.  Blue Heeler drops Nasty Object - offended.

Am forced to allow Blue Dog to sit on leather Lariat F250 seats. He smiles at me.  There is cow poop between his teeth.  Drive home. Sheep have already come in.  Note sheep placenta in stall.  Decide that Livestock Guardian Dog only ate part of it this morning when she cleaned up after sheep birth.  Scoop Disgusting Stringy Object up with barn rake.  Exit barn with Disgusting Stringy Object. Baby Border Collie runs right up to barn rake. With the kind of blinding speed that only a Baby Border Collie possesses, he grabs Disgusting Stringy Object off rake and runs like a Spotted Ape into the darkness.  He is Gollum, galloping through the dark with a golden ring, mumbling something about "His Precious".  I stand there, screaming like a Fishmonger's Wife with my empty barn rake.  Call Baby Border Collie.  (crickets chirping)  Blue Heeler giggles. He is right.  The clouds have parted and I see things clearly now.  On the Cootie scale, suddenly a little cow poop doesn't seem as big a deal.  Listen to the darkness.  Crickets are still chirping. 

Gollum does not come back until he has fully consumed "His Precious."   He bounces up to Other Half.  His feet are smeared with blood.  Other Half gags. Blue Heeler giggles.

Look what the New Year brought! 

 He was born shortly before 6 AM this morning.

The Christmas lamb is doing just fine. 

 We'll keep her, so we named her Holly.

(I know!  I know!  I know!  Don't name your food!  But since we're keeping her for breeding, not eating, she gets a name. )

Look how big these babies are!  They are just two months old!  I'm still amazed with how quickly these Dorper sheep gain weight.  They really out-perform our Boer goats. I'll still keep goats, but this is our second crop of Dorper sheep and now I'm convinced that are a much better deal.  They are easier on the fences, they handle the Texas heat, thus far, we haven't had to help with any deliveries, and they gain weight FAST!

As always, Briar continues to amaze me.  This is her first crop of lambs, so we still don't trust her alone with them. (cuz she is big and they are small!) but she remains quiet and watchful around her flock.  This is such a contrast to her normal behavior.  Away from the sheep, Briar is a bull in a china shop.

With the sheep, she oozes between around them like warm butter.

Briar is really getting into watching the flock during this lambing season.  Today she cleaned up the afterbirth, and then threw it up. (I'll spare you those pictures!) After I separated the momma and baby, I let Briar come inside with everyone else.  She oozed around the paddock and settled down to watch the other lambs. Until . . .

This horse almost lost his nose.

Apparently "Oozey Briar" can mutate very quickly into "Cujo Briar" when she has lambs. (Point noted.)

But since this little guy is not much more than a "coyote sandwich" himself, I'm sure he really appreciates having Cujo Briar so close.

"Like wind flies Time 'tween birth and death;

Therefore, as long as thou hast breath,

Of care for two days hold thee free:

The day that was and is to be."

Omar Khayyam (c.1048-1131)

Eegaads!  The bows are still lurking under the kitchen table, used gift bags are stacked inside each other and packed away, and credit card bills have arrived like chickens coming home to roost.  It's time to pay the piper!

I spent the morning paying bills. Sigh . . .  some days I feel like this dog . . .

 "Where's my tail?"

"There's my tail!"

 "A-a-a-almost got it!"

"Nope. . .There it is!"

 "Woowh! I'm dizzy . . ."

"Was that VISA or MasterCard?"

Check out these ears! 

Trace looks more like Dumbo the Flying Elephant than a Border Collie!

  Eeegaads!

I'm sure this really convinces the naysayers that Trace is NOT a Border Collie.  After all, Border Collies should look like this:

                                       Right?

Wrong!

I give you Exhibits A & B:

A Tale (Tail) of Two Puppies

 Ruby

Trace 

They are young Jedi Warriors . . . they are Border Collie!

While other breeds go for a walk, our young Jedi Warriors go for a stalk . . .

May the Force be with them!

 And after they stalk everything that moves in the pasture, they finally collapse . . . and the Universe takes a moment to recover.

Read more about the Liver-Coated Sneak-Stalking Sheepdog: