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Fun is just so exhausting.

Guess who earned her Puppy Chow last night?

Briar works the Night Shift. When the rest of the dogs are snug and warm in the house, Polar Dog is at work.  At 5:30 am this morning, Polar Dog announced there was an intruder in G'Ma's yard trying to get into the chicken coops. Her barking woke me and I let the rest of the pack out. With canine back-up, Briar climbed the fence and headed to the chicken coops. Blue Heeler, The Black Wolf, and Border Collie raced right behind her.  The suspect (s) apparently ran underneath G'Ma's deck and got away. (short little buggers! probably raccoon or oppossum)

I returned to bed with the rest of the pack and Briar resumed her patrols in my yard. When the sun came up, I looked out to find that instead of sleeping on the hay in my barn, Briar had climbed the fence again and like a Sphinx on guard, was on the icy deck between the chicken coops. 

The Boogey Beast did not come back for chicken dinner last night.

Good Dog, Briar!

They say this is perfect weather for warm milk & cookies.

Mmmmmmm . . . warm milk!

Now . . .

. . . what's a cookie?

I have a much better understanding of that phrase now. Guess what happens when you don't leave the faucets dripping . . .

 . . . the well freezes. Pipes freeze. I get an education in plumbing.

Other Half and I did a great deal of shouting and pointing fingers at each other yesterday.  A good bit of the morning was spent with a hair dryer under a horse blanket trying to thaw out the well.  God smiled on our efforts (and probably laughed too.) and blessed us with running water once again.  Mom's pier and beam house is still a problem because the pipes run underneath the house and APPARENTLY those suckers aren't insulated well enough for 24 degree temperatures. But eventually we got water running in her house again too. The Cow House is okay though.  Evidently Son has a better understanding of "LEAVE THE FAUCETS DRIPPING" than I do.

The temperatures are a bit higher today, but they are calling for freezing rain and snow this afternoon.  Eegaads! We need to shuffle animals. Haul more hay.  Break the ice in the tanks. Haul water to the barn.  Buy another ton of cow feed.  (and unload it!)

It looks like it's going to be a long day.

Here is a list of things I'm thankful for:

Thank you, Lord, for running water.
Thank you, Lord, for electricity.
Thank you, Lord, for hair dryers, horse blankets, and men who know how to use them.
Thank you, Lord, for a Boss who understands the words . . .

"I might be late. I might not even make it in" and then says, "Take the day off and do what you need to do."

Now at this point, I know my Northern neighbors are laughing.  But HEY!  It doesn't get this cold in South Texas!  We don't know how to handle it here! There are rolling blackouts over the whole state!  Perhaps I should have noticed when the horses began to look like caterpillars . . .

 Yep, maybe I should have noticed that,

. . . because this is probably what they will look like tomorrow. . .

Briar's first lambing season . . .

She is fascinated by the "little people" in her flock.

She tries to convince the Christmas Day lamb (Holly) to play with her dead mole.

 Briar is quite taken with this blond-headed lamb.  When the lamb has had enough "love" she gets up and walks away.  Fortunately Briar allows her to captive to leave, unlike her behavior with George the chicken.

Our Giant Puppy is finally growing up.  I still don't trust her completely with the lambs because she is big and they are small.  But next year . . .  maybe . . .

To read more about Briar & George: "I will name him George"

Why I like Sheep better than Cattle -

As a rule, sheep don't try to kill you. The same cannot be said for cattle.  Other Half is a cow man. Like most of his kind, he has an ingrained prejudice against sheep and sheep people. Cow people tend to hold themselves above sheep people. I haven't quite figured this out since my sheep have never tried to kill me and yet, cattle seem to do this on a semi-regular basis.  Take Saturday night:

Come home from work to discover that despite the fact that Other Half had INSISTED he and Son would be working cattle EARLY in the day, he has STILL not done it.  In fact, he has planned to wait until I get home. Now one would think that this meant he valued my in-put. Apparently such was not the case. 

The Chores:

1) Separate new red calf with cough, shoot him up with antibiotics, tag his ear
2) Separate the mother of another calf who has still not passed the afterbirth, pull afterbirth out, shoot her up with antibiotics

Note that Son has managed to get mammas and babies in the roping arena.  (He did not use a Border Collie.  It took him over 2 hours. He had to physically pick up some newborn calves and carry them by hand through the chute to get them into the arena.)

Note that little red calf and his mama are already eating hay in the catch pen. Woo hoo!  Half that battle is done!  Cut out his mama and close pipe panel in his face.  He is upset.  His mother is enraged.  Note that Big Red Mama Cow has plans on stomping us into mud if she can get back into the catch pen.  Son catches calf.  Calf bawls.  Rodeo begins.  Appreciate the fact that Son is Big & Strong as he flips calf on its side.  Wham!  Bam!  Thank you! Ma'am!  Calf is done.  Turn him back with his Mama. 

Now the real rodeo begins . . .

Note Black Mama has nasty stringy afterbirth hanging from her butt. Note that she is ignoring her baby. Looks like someone better shape up or she will find herself at the sale barn. Cut Mama out and put her in catch pen.  She is still ignoring her baby.  Baby walks up to catch pen to talk with her.  She vaguely recalls that she had a baby several days ago.  "Oh yeah, it's you again."

He toddles back to the herd.

Ask Other Half EXACTLY how he plans to get cow cleaned up.  He informs me that he will simply rope her, put bull tongs in her nose, whereupon she will hold still while he works.

Do WHAT??!!

I argue that this is impossible. I point out that once he ropes this cow, she will go apeshit, he will be flipped around like a monkey on a string, AND the cow will end up kicking the shit out of him.  It seemed to be a quite logical conclusion to me, but then, I'm a girl. . . and a sheep person.  I pointed out that since we have no stocks or squeeze chute over here, we could MAKE one by undoing the pipe panel corral and "oooch" it toward the roped cow, thus pinning her against the board fence where we could safely work.

And there it was . . .

The dividing line between men and women. The point where the man decides that he knows it all and dismisses the woman.

And he so does.

He ropes Big Black Cow.  She bawls and the rodeo commences. I stand on the fence and watch.  It is midnight. I am calculating how long the wait at the Emergency Room will take.  She finally calms down a bit but refuses to allow him to put bull tongs in her nose.  (Sista ain't no fool!) But in time however, the two men get bull tongs on the enraged cow.  She is snubbed to the fence and everyone re-groups.  I point out that she is still VERY DANGEROUS because she can kick the snot out of anyone who plans on getting near her rear end.  (and perhaps we should move the panels and pin her against the fence.)

Other Half points out that this is a former show cow and won't kick. 

Do WHAT??!!

In what universe?  This bawling, slobbering, angry creature in no way resembles a show cow anymore.  In fact, she looks very much like a wild animal plucked out of the swamps of the South Texas Lowlands. This is NOT A HAPPY ANIMAL.

He ignores my warning.

Cow is swishing her tail back and forth.  Cow is VERY ANGRY.

He ignores her warning.

With Son holding tightly on the bull tong chain, Other Half scooches up to Angry Cow's Ass. 

And she kicks the shit out of him.

The sound of ripping blue jeans tears through the night. Other Half bellows and limps away.  I stand there in silence. Son and I exchange looks. He is putting weight on it, so it must not be broken. Maybe . . .  hopefully. We examine the leg and it looks bad. Bad, but not broken.  And in the world of working cattle, that means - get back to work.

But guess what!

He decides that perhaps, just perhaps, it might be easier to take panels apart and ooch them forward to press cow against board fence.  (No sh*#, Sherlock!)  I cannot stand it.  I point out that WASN"T THAT WHAT "I" SAID??  He allows as how that's where he got the idea.

So we do that. And wonder of wonders - it works.  Other Half pulls lots of stringy, rotten, afterbirth from cow's butt. I give her injection of antibiotics. We release Ungrateful Cow who scampers back to herd.  She barely notices her calf.  (This young lady may well find herself at the sale barn.)

As we walk back to the barn, I point out, rather loudly, that I deeply resent it when he blows me off and disregards my advice when working large animals.  I further point out that Men do jobs with the BRAWN, but Women must do the same jobs using their BRAINS.  Son finds this conversation vastly amusing.  Other Half just nods and limps off.  

But at least he said the words I needed to hear . . .

"Okay . . . you were right. And I was wrong."

Music to my ears.  And that's why I like sheep better than cattle.

I have absolutely nothing to say in my defense.  I stand over dead people for a living. But still . . .

It was a typical winter morning in Texas. The temperatures were mild. There was standing water in the yard. And more rain is predicted for tonight. The morning was spent dealing with new lambs and moving hay, thus, it took me a while to notice. But there were signs . . .

There was this.

Each time I popped into the house I saw her.  Secret is the house cat, so that shouldn't have been unusual. Thus, it didn't ring any bells.

There was this:

As I went about my business outside, she tagged along at a distance. But Faith is a barn cat, so that didn't ring any bells either.

But sometime during the day, I had a thought:

Why am I seeing Secret and Faith?  They should be locked up in the Cat Room.

(fail to hear the ominous music playing in the background)

Secret, the house cat, rarely goes outside.  Faith, the Barn Cat, loves to come inside, but because her bathroom habits aren't to be trusted, when I do give in she is relegated to a spare bedroom that hasn't been re-tiled yet - The Cat Room.  If she happens to stand in the litter box, and poop OUTSIDE the litter box, it isn't a tragedy. Most of her life is spent outside, but when it is cold and wet, she begs to come inside. And last night, I gave in.

So I asked myself that little question, but shrugged it off.  Perhaps "I" had opened the door and didn't remember it.  I am often a victim of GHS - Gray Hair Syndrome. 

But then . . . I passed the doorway and the door was closed.   Hmmmm . . .  a mystery.

So I opened the door.  The sliding window above the daybed was wide open. The screen had been pulled aside.  How odd . . . I walked across the room to investigate this further. The lock swung easily in place. Ahhh . . .   Faith has been known to use her paws like fingers, thus, it wasn't a stretch to see that Faith jiggled the lock, slid open the window, popped the screen and let herself (and Secret) outside.  Secret must have come back inside through the doggy door which is a task Faith has yet to master.  Mystery solved.   So I turned to leave the room.  I still had a full day of farm work ahead of me before I actually went to the office. And that's when I glanced down.  (and that's when the music from "Pyscho" started)

I screamed. I screamed like a little girl.  I screamed and danced in place.  I screamed and danced and pointed.  Dogs came running. They observed this odd ritual with great interest.  Why do I bother to scream?  I see horrid stuff all the time. (Of course, it's not usually IN MY HOUSE!) When the screeching finally subsided, and I could catch my breath, I ran for the camera, because that's what I do.   I take pictures of gross and disgusting things, and this certainly topped the chart.

                                      . . .

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                                                      . . .

                                                              . . .

It would appear that Faith brought me a little thank you gift. I'm sure if I look closely there is a little tag attached that reads,

Remember this ewe?

- the ewe who held onto her babies so long

I was ready to take her to the mall for some mall-walking!

This Ewe has a public service announcement:

   :

Good Morning, Bi-peds!

Lookie here!

Everything in its own time . . .

Tolstoy credits this little pearl to an Arabic Wisdom:

Moses said to God, "Where can I find you?"

God said, "If you are looking for me, you have already found me."

I spend a lot of time looking at sheep butts.   

Now before you call the authorities and have me hauled off, let me explain.  I like "tending" sheep.  I enjoy walking out among my little charges, sipping my coffee, while I look for signs of impending births, impending problems, and anything else that happens to catch my eye. 

Briar and I compare notes.

Take this ewe for instance.

     Because I don't have an exact date on when she should be due, I've been waiting on Big Mamma here to deliver for a month. Thus, I spend a lot of time staring at her butt. She is the lead ewe.  While she is not the exact picture of what I'd like to breed for, she has the right temperament, and she throws nice hulking babies.  This ewe is the calm voice of reason among the flock. (if it can be said that sheep EVER possess a voice of reason)  Because of this, I named her "Maa."

     Not every sheep has a name.  Some are just sheep - nameless, faceless butts, in a sea of black and white. But some are special.

 Roanie

I enjoy spending time walking among them with their Great White Dog.  Time slows down as I listen to them graze, peace settles on the pasture . . . and in my soul.

Clouds pass overhead and I have romantic notions of what life must have been like for shepherds who spent most of their time alone, tending their flock.  I swallow that last drop of coffee and walk back to the house, quite aware that if I were freezing my ass off in a Wyoming winter with those shepherds right now, the image would not be nearly as romantic.