Farm Fresh Blog

Every morning, after the livestock is fed, I try to take the dogs for a nice long walk. Often we walk in the lamb paddock that borders G'Ma's fence.  If she's awake, G'Ma will come outside bearing gifts for granddogs.

Everyone (except Lily the Titty Baby) rushes up the ramp to beg an egg.

 Some of us are a little pushier than others.

 "Pul-ease!  G'Ma! Pick me! Another for me!!!"

And that . . . is how this happens.

"I got egged!"  

In an effort to be fair and make sure everyone gets their share, G'Ma tosses eggs to each granddog. Sometimes eggs are stolen. Sometimes people get hit with an egg not intended for them.

 But everyone enjoys a visit from G'Ma. 

Some of us just enjoy it a bit more than others.

 "More please, G'Ma!  More please!"

I picked up the new ram this week.  His name is "AL," and he's a registered white dorper.  I LOVE the babies he puts on the ground.

While I was there, I couldn't resist this little girl, so she came home with me too.

I named her "Snip."

Briar met Snip yesterday. I was amazed at how quickly the dog singled out the one new sheep in her flock. She bounded through the pasture to introduce herself.

But she was just a wee too fast for young Snip.

  "EEEEEEKKKKK!"

Briar immediately checked herself, but first impressions are important and Snip had already decided this was one Big White Dawg that she didn't want to meet. Thus began the stalking.  Like a stalker in the grocery store, Briar walked at a distance behind her new sheep.

Eventually she was satisfied that she'd gotten a good sniff of her new charge, so I put her in the ram pen to meet her other new responsibility.

Fortunately she had learned from her first experience and didn't barrel over there like a kindergartener at an ice cream party. Instead, she eased over to her new ram, like Joe Cool, and . . .

 he ignored her.

So she was able to satisfy her curiosity pretty quickly, thus reinforcing the Prime Directive - "Thou shalt not scare the sheep."

tHiS wEEk wE weNt 2 tHa pAtRiK sHaNnaHan cLiniC.

wHiLe tHa bIg dAwGz werKd, i hAd 2 sIt oN tHa fEnce.

sOmeTImez iT wuz bOrIng bUt iT wuz beTTr thaN tHa crAte.

cEnts oTheR puPPees wEr werKing, mOm LeT mE werK 2!

mY pRaYerZ wEr fInaLLy aNsWrd!

pAtRiK dId tHa sTeeRin N mOm wAtcHd. hE tOLd mOm i wUz a nIcE pUp n sEd i wUz reDDy 4 LeSSoNz! tHe sHeeP gOddEz whO hAd tHa sHeeP sEd i coULd sTarT werKn 1 tIme a wEEk aFter LiLyz LeSSoNz!

tHanK eWe, LOrd!

They grow up so fast . . .

Lily has another herding clinic with Patrick Shannahan this week. Today I took Trace along with her JUST FOR SOCIALIZATION!

When Lily wasn't working Trace came out to watch the other dogs work. (as if he needed any help feeding his obsession.) This afternoon Patrick worked puppies.

 "HEY! I'm a puppy!"

And as I watched him staring through the bars at puppies his age playing with sheep, I decided that maybe, just maybe, I could sacrifice one of Lily's spots tomorrow to let Trace work for the very first time in his little life.  (Since Patrick will be at the helm, I can't screw him up!) 

It should be an exciting day. . .

Woman Logic 101 -

Woman sees hideously beautiful boots. (Ugly but beautiful in an Ed Hardy sort of way)
Woman wants Hideously Beautiful Boots.
Woman convinces herself that Hideously Beautiful Boots are completely impractive and thus resists temptation.
Woman sees Hideously Beautiful Boots EVERY time she goes to ANY Western Wear store.
Woman resists Hideously Beautiful Boots EACH time.
Woman is informed by Lover/Husband-Creature that he wishes to get married in blue jeans. (ooo-kay)
Woman FINALLY has a rational excuse for purchase of Hideously Beautiful Boots.
Woman & Husband-creature go to Western Wear store for boots that are not stained with horse/cow/sheep poop
Woman cannot find Hideously Beautiful Boots.  (what??!#!)
Woman is sad, but settles for Acceptable Boots.
Woman searches for Blingy Blue Jeans that she has also found completely impractical and refused to purchase in the past. 
Woman cannot find Blingy Blue Jeans in her size.  (too big/too small/too short/too tall)
Woman calls Dear Friend and arranges Girls' Shopping Adventure.
Woman & Dear Friend begin adventure to find blue jeans for both of them and boots for Dear Friend.
Woman cannot find Bling Blue Jeans in her size.  (too big/too small/too short/too tall)
Woman settles for "tried and true" Boring Blue Jeans.
Woman is bummed.
Woman walks around the corner and runs right smack into Hideously Beautiful Boots!  - IN HER SIZE!
Woman decides this is a Sign From Heaven (Woman hears Angels singing!)
Woman calls Husband-creature to inform him that she is purchasing Hideously Beautiful Boots (that she is certain he will hate) despite the fact that she already purchased a pair of Perfectly Acceptable Boots that he loves.
Woman mentally calculates cost of a "normal wedding."
Woman closes eyes and throws credit card at cashier.

And THAT's how these Hideously Beautiful Boots (that will NEVER step in horse/cow/sheep poop) came to be in my closet!

Are they not delightfully ugly yet, adorable?

Other Half took one look at them and groaned.  But since he's seen me linger over these boots MANY times before, he knew that he was powerless before the irresistible attraction of Hideously Beautiful Boots!

After years of living together, Other Half and I finally decided to make it legal. (Now all the dogs will have the same last name!) This decision however, has spawned a great deal of controversy. We are, at heart, boring people. This is not the first time around for either of us, and well duh, we've been living together for years, so this isn't a big surprise to anyone either. Not much changes around here except a name tag on my work uniform.

We are quiet people. We are "just us and the preacher" kind of people.  Our friends are not.  Our friends are "rent a ballroom," "book the fairgrounds," "have a big shin-ding" kind of people.  (some of them)  And . . .  we know A LOT of people.

So there's that - we're about to upset folks who're gearing up for a big party.  Not only are we not real "party people," but do you know how many cattle panels and fence posts you could buy for the price of one hotel ballroom?  (I'm just sayin'.)

Then there was the date - when do we both have a large block of time?  We don't.  We thought we'd found a week, but then we realized that I have a Death Investigators class, and Grandbaby #2 is due!  Scratch going out of town then. 

So I sat at work last week, pouring over the calendar, when it hit me.  We aren't party people, but we are stock people.  What's the one giant month-long party that hits this cow town every year?  The Livestock Show & Rodeo!!!  We generally take off a few days and spend marathon amounts of time up there anyway. In fact, it's one of our FAVORITE things to do!

So I got to figuring . . .   Why, pray tell, do we have to go out of town when the fun is right here?!!

I found a weekend that we already had booked for the livestock show. Theoretically we could get hitched in a private morning ceremony, go to the sheepdog trial at noon, go home to feed the livestock, and return in the evening for the Cowboy Mounted Shooting!  Our party-loving friends can meet us there at their convenience, and we can eat turkey legs, barbecue, and funnel cakes until we're all green!  Sounded good to me!  I whirled it past other Half and he allowed as how this was an EXCELLENT idea!  (We did decide that we may have to bring our own wedding cake though!)

Yes, it's non-traditional, but so are we. It solves all the problems.  We're never far from the farms. We can accomodate as many folks as the grandstand at the sheepdog trial will hold, the cost is minimal, and we're not far from the hospital if Daughter goes into labor!

Next problem - what to wear?

A wedding dress at a livestock show is out.  Duh! Plus, I'm not paying that kind of money for a dress for one day.  Been there, done that, and this time, I'm the one having to pay the bill . . .  (I'm just sayin'.)

So I envisioned a really nice, long cowgirl skirt with a petticoat (that just so happens to be hanging in my closet right now.)  Unfortunately Other Half nixed that.

"Blue jeans."

"Do what? You want to get married in blue jeans?"

"Uh huh."

"Don't you want me to look nice?!!!!"

"You look fine in blue jeans."   (Yeah, gotta love that man.)

So although it did not fit my mental picture of wedding attire, today we went shopping for the kind of outfit you could get hitched in, wear to a livestock show, go home and feed your own stock, and then return for evening festivities involving horses and handguns. 

And he's right . . . somehow planning a wedding is a lot more fun when you cut out the expectations of others and just do what you want to do. 

The Ring -

Note how it is flat so I can wear it at work under latex gloves and on the farm under leather gloves! Other Half takes ALL the credit for picking out this puppy! 

And this country girl likes it a lot!

Remember this set of twins?

For some reason, Briar is fascinated with them.

 The blond girl . . .

. . . and the white boy

Maybe it's because they look different from the other lambs who are all black & white.

Or maybe . . . it's because 

                                      . . . they . . .

 . . . bounce!

 Pounce!

 (scream at Briar)

 "O-kay"

And just like that - Bounce, Pounce, Scream! Back to Normal . . .

But that's why Briar isn't ready yet to stay with the lambs full time with no supervision.  Some toys are just too tempting.  And for Briar, it appears to be Malibu Barbie & Ken.

(I love the expression on that lamb's face as he looks at Briar. "What WAS your problem Big White Dog?")

Around this house, a stick is called a "Red Ryder BB gun." Now for those you, who like my mother, may not have seen the movie and are completely clueless as to why, let me hasten to explain.  In the classic movie, "A Christmas Story," which plays 24 hours a day on Christmas Day, young Ralphie's heart's desire is a Red Ryder BB gun, but everyone is adamant that "you'll put your eye out with it," thus sparking his elaborate schemes to attain his cherished prize despite their warnings.

That's the way Lily is with sticks. She obsesses about sticks as Ralphie obsessed on that BB gun.

Any time we go for a walk, she scours the path, searching for a Red Ryder BB gun.

She has been known to bring me the withered stalks of sunflower plants, large pieces of hay, small boards, and anything else that remotely resembles a "stick" in her quest for the perfect Red Ryder BB gun and a game of fetch.

But I submit these photos:

 State's Exhibit 1

State's Exhibit 2 
 

 State's Exhibit 3

Not only is young Ralphie in danger of putting her own eye out with the Red Ryder Rider BB gun, but she is also in danger of putting her brother's eye out too . . .

Thus, it is the finding of this court that there is still a "no sticks" rule to be employed when walking multiple dogs.

"Bummer Dudes!"  

To those of you with dogs that don't fetch, I say, "take heart!"  Lily had absolutely no interest in fetching either when she was Trace's age. I didn't make a big deal about. She watched other dogs play fetch and eventually, being the jealous little attention-hogging beast that she is, decided that she wanted to play too.  Since then, it has become an obsession.

While Cowboy did not sign up to fight little bears, (see: Goldilocks) there is someone in the family who did.

Ranger, the Blue Heeler, signed up to fight raccoons ("little bears"), opossums, coyotes, and stray dogs,

discourage burglars and truck thieves,

chase the mailman and the garbage man,

sneak behind friends and neighbors and bite them in the butt,

mindlessly bark at ponies, horses, and sheep,

run cattle past open gates,

snuggle in bed,

and smile all the way to his toes when you look at him . . .

"Now, where are those little bears?"

Breaking and entering our house could have deadly consequences. With the number of dogs we have, it's highly unlikely that a burglar could escape detection for very long. That's why I was so surprised.

We have two houses - the cow farm and the sheep farm.  We generally stay at the sheep farm during the week and stay at the cow farm on the weekend. (Now this is important, so keep up here!)

The Master Bedroom at the Cow House opens up to a Sun Room/Game Room that has a sliding glass door which faces the cow pasture.  We rarely use this door.  In fact, we rarely use this room.  It has become a junk room containing a game pool table, an old recliner, leather stuff, old boots, etc.  It is, in essence, a Mud/Muck Room.

Monday Morning, around 4:30 AM, I woke up for a "call of nature" run.  Lily, the Border Collie, follows me everywhere, so she went with me.  We returned a minute later to find the door to the Muck Room standing wide open.  ????

I had apparently just missed the excitement.  It went something like this:

Other Half also feels the "call of nature."  Since Lily and I are in the bathroom, he and Cowboy head for the Mens Room (the Great Outdoors). He opens the bedroom door to walk through the Muck Room. Naturally, he does not turn on the light.  After all, if you plan on peeing off the porch, you don't want to illuminate yourself. (it's one of the things that separates men from beasts) Fortunately he put his glasses on first . . .  because there he was . . .

. . .a naked man . . .

. . . staring . . .

. . . at a raccoon sleeping in the recliner.

Now being a Naked Man puts one at a distinct disadvantage. Like Goldilocks and the Three Bears, our raccoon realizes he is trespassing, so up in a flash, he races across the room, and slides through a hole beside the door.

And just like that, he is gone, leaving a Naked Man and a puzzled Border Collie in his wake.

Lily and I return to the bedroom to find the two of them, staring into the darkness.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

And so he relays this incredible tale of a rather brave Goldilocks Raccoon. 

"So what did Cowboy do?"

"Nothing. He just stood behind me." 

"WHAT?!!"

Cowboy said to me, "I didn't sign up to fight any little bears."

Lily snickered.

And there it was. With the police dog in her kennel beside the bed, and Blue Heeler at the other house, a raccoon had riggled into our home, walked across the room, climbed into the recliner, and fell asleep.

When we reported this to Son the next morning, he summed it up perfectly,

"Can you blame him?" 

No, but I certainly admire his pluck.

"I didn't sign up to fight little bears!"