Farm Fresh Blog

Since today promises to be another busy day of running errands, and I don't have time to pen a clever blog this morning, (plus I still don't have my camera back yet!) I figured I'd answer some questions Peg sent last night:

Which horse did I sell?  Yes, she was right, we sold Marshall.  Maybe. We'll see. You know how I am. In my world, everyone must be happy - the buyer and the animal. This is a friend of mine and I want to make sure she's happy with him before I consider it finalized. I am a firm believer that once I bring an animal into my home, I am responsible for that animal for the rest of its life whether it still lives with me or not.

Which horse did I get back? No, it wasn't Ona.  You probably couldn't pry Ona away from that woman even if you used a crow bar. The horse I got back was a four year old Azteca. The lady no longer had the time or facilities for him and so I took him back and put him with the same trainer I use for Montoya, Scout, and Marshall.

A herding update?  I finally bit the bullet and started taking herding lessons again. (2 hours away) Thus far the weather and my court schedule are cooperating and I see major progress in Lily (and myself)  As the Sheep Goddess has politely pointed out, Lily isn't the problem.  My handling sucks.  I screech commands, wave my arms, and otherwise do lots to confuse my little dog who then lacks the confidence to go out and do a proper fetch, so working with my handling is a must.  Lily is having a blast, and I see her gain more and more confidence. After her bad experience with another trainer last year, she had become scared when someone screamed or waved a stick, now she is back to trying to sneak onto the working field again while at practice. I'm very happy to see that.  I feared the hole in her confidence was permanent.

"Got sheep?"

Today I take Zena to a possible new home.  (again, assuming the lady and Zena are both happy!)  An elderly lady who lost her husband, her daughter, and her dog, is in need of a companion to sit on the couch and watch television with her.  Zena would absolutely love a home like that. This could give an older dog a second career and provide years of loving, watchful companionship to an elderly woman. 

So Peg, hopefully that answered your questions!  Other Half and Oli are out of town again, and things tend to overwhelm me when I haven't had enough sleep, enough food, and I'm trying to juggle everything (while he "armchair quarterbacks" over the phone!) Say a prayer that Zena and this lady are perfect for each other other.  Zena would be happier in a home like that, but we weren't actively trying to place her.  She just gets lost in the sea of panting faces that jockey for our attention around here.  There she would have her own person that she didn't have to share. We shall see how it turns out.

Some days are like an angry goose. It's just best to retreat. Did you ever have one of those days? I had one on Monday.  I got up at 5:30 AM, and ran around all day long, subsisting on caffeine and a bag of Cheetos. By the end of the day I was mentally and physically exhausted, and in tears.

In one day I had:

* Gotten up at 5:30 Am to do chores
* Driven 2 hours to herding class
* Driven 2 hours back from herding class
* Dropped off dogs at home
* Loaded up 2 horses and took them to trainer
* Sold one horse
* Got another horse back (Nature abhors a vacuum!)
* At 9:30 PM still have not eaten.
* Realized that I left my camera at herding class 2 hours away
* Cried
* Visualized Livestock Guardian Dogs playing keep-a-way with my Canon
* Texted and called Sheep Goddess - no answer

It was at this point I remembered Post-it notes. One of the wisest and most profound things I ever heard, (and for the life of me, I cannot remember where I heard it!) was the simple idea of mentally writing down your problem on an imaginary Post-It note,  and here's the important part - putting it on God's desk. You have a problem.  You can't solve it yourself. There's no sense worrying any more about it. Write it on a Post-it note for God to handle . . . and let go of it!

I kid you not. It works . . . every time. It works. Call it weird, call it naive, call it anything you want, but - it works.  And that's all that really matters.  Just give it up. As a dear friend once told me, "Let go, and let God."

So that's what I did.  I ate a bowl of cereal, mentally wrote out a post-it note, put it on God's desk, and went to bed.

At 6:30 AM the following morning I received a message from the SheepGoddess. She had found my camera and misplaced her phone. All was well. I thanked God for the prompt response to my Post-it note, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

    "Rise and shine!"

 "The farm is awake, but we've been up all night."  

 "Allll night . . . "

"But now the sun is up and we thank God for another day"

"It's so hard to get real work done when the farm is awake though. For instance, have you ever tried to hunt with a cow walking behind you. Subtle, real subtle.  You blend in like a billboard." 

"I just cannot work under these conditions!"

Perhaps I'm just getting old. Perhaps I'm just tired. Perhaps I've just seen too much in this world, but I find that more and more, I am reminded of the words of John F. Kennedy.

"Too often we enjoy the comfort of opinion

 without the discomfort of thought."

I'm just saying . . . .

I'm still not sure how this happened,

                                                  but we just bought another cow horse.

He's Colonel Freckles bred on the top side, double Hancock on the bottom side.  This boy is bred to be a ranch horse.  We have friends who have his full brother and his half brothers and they're very happy with them and the ranch they purchased them from.  This ranch produces nice cows and nice cowponies.

Sooooo . . . that's how we ended up with a three year old instead of the solidly trained ranch horse that we were looking for . . .   Ah well . . . I couldn't resist his butt and his kind eye.

". . . and he whispered to the horse,

trust no man in whose eye

you do not see yourself

reflected as an equal."

source unknown

D.H. Lawrence wrote "I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself."

(But if you saw the movie G.I. Jane you already knew that.)

A seven month old Border Collie is a wild thing. A seven month old Border Collie with a broken leg is a wild thing that doesn't feel sorry for itself.

He doesn't.  He really doesn't. In fact, a broken leg doesn't slow him down a bit.  When not confined, or stretching his neck when he richochets off the end of a leash, he tries to sneak outside (at breakneck speed) with his little leg held up just high enough to not slow him down.  I'm amazed. I'm trying to keep him quiet, but at the same time, keep him sane.  Confinement is much tougher on Wild Thang than having a broken leg. 

I let him out of his kennel to stretch his legs this morning. He grabbed a kong, climbed onto the couch and proceeded to drop it off the back of the sofa. Then he raced off the couch to catch it, climbed onto the couch again, and repeated the process.  Oh dear.  He was playing fetch with himself.  Please!  Please!  Please! Don't tell my vet that I watched him do that three times before I stopped him!!!  I'm sorry!   I couldn't help it!  He was so freakin' cute!  And he's going nuts confined to a kennel.  But he doesn't feel sorry for himself.

He is the K9 equivalent of a 6 year old little boy running around with a broken arm.  His world has changed and he simply adjusts accordingly.  Although he doesn't cry or whine in his crate, he is pretty creative with his toys, and unfortunately, just because he's confined in a crate, it doesn't mean he's quiet.  I don't think richocheting off the bars was not what the vet had in mind.  He is actually quieter when we drag him around with us to run errands, since he sits in the truck like a little co-pilot, happily looking out the window.  He's quiet when the sheep are in the back yard and he can sit in his crate and watch Sheep TV.  But he's waiting. He's waiting for me to slip up and not remember that he has a broken leg. Then, . . .  like a P.O.W. he will make a jail break. He will slither out, knock down the baby gate, sneak outside the doggy door, swim in the pond, and return back through the doggy door, to play fetch with his soaking self on my couch.  (That's my little boy!)

But he doesn't feel sorry for himself.

Other Half is on a quest. Since he lost The Greatest Ranch Horse Ever, he's been in search of a replacement.  The problem is TGRHE (see above) was an old horse from an old line (Skipper W) that isn't as common as it used to be, PLUS, he was a push-button horse that didn't have to be ridden regularly.  (That is VERY important around here!)

Before he lost TGRHE, Other Half purchased this horse. 

He is a great roping horse, and he looks like TGRHE, but he's an athlete who needs to be ridden regularly. His talents are being wasted with us. Other riders have made money on this horse, but we're not interested in that, we just need a reliable ranch horse. He is probably better off as a competition roping horse, not a replacement for TGRHE.

Sooooo . . . despite the fact that Other Half really loves this horse, what he really wants is a Skipper W bred ranch horse - a horse used to working cattle, a "been there, done that, got the t-shirt" horse. We don't have regular ranch work (most of it is outsourced to Border Collies) but Other Half still wants to have a reliable ranch gelding around.  Our ranch is the perfect home for the "semi-retired" ranch horse and that's what we're looking for.  It's easy to find nice young well-bred 2, 3, & 4 year old geldings.  (and Other Half is tempted!) but the reality is that we are TOO BUSY to regularly school and ride a young horse. 

So my plea to you is this - if you know someone, who knows someone, who has a Skipper W bred older ranch gelding for sale, let us know.

Read this blog about TGRHE to understand why Other Half continues to search . . .

High Noon

 

He died that same way he lived, like a real cowpony. The call came in yesterday morning. Even though we had expected it, you are never quite prepared.

"Skip is down, and I can't get him up," the neighbor said.

The old horse was approaching thirty years old now and time is cruel. He'd cheated Death twice this year already, and we didn't expect him to make it through the winter. Other Half and Skip had logged many miles together. Skip had penned many a cow, carried many a child, and was that "go-to horse" that you could count on when you needed the job done right. They shared a lot together, they were co-workers, they were friends. They took care of each other. And so when he put the phone down, Other Half drew a heavy sigh. This horse, who had safely carried him through so much, this horse who had safely carried his children, now needed to be safely carried along his journey.

Phone calls were made. The vet was unavailable. His staff would give him the message when he got in, but the earliest appointment would be in five hours. Death was already pulling Skip away. He was a fighter, but it was a losing battle, and Other Half refused to allow Death to toy with Skip for five more hours.

Skip laid his great head against Other Half and he cuddled that old horse like a lap dog. He stroked his eyes, smoothed his mane, and kissed his forehead. Then with a heavy heart, Real Cowboy shot Real Cowpony. We held each other as Skip fell.

I've seen a lot of Death and have come to learn that there are worse things -- Suffering and Regret. Skip lay in the shade of a beautiful October morning with the blue sky over his head. The weather was good. It was a good day to die. Other Half took a ragged breath and went back to stroking Skip.

Well, I'm down to just The Boys again -

Montoya,

and Sultan the Sexy Senior Citizen. 

(The Porch Ponies don't count as horses.  They are "horse-like dogs" who live with the rams, and the Cow Ponies live with the cattle.) Sultan is approaching thirty and in less than stellar health. 

"I am NOT in poor health! Quit sayin' that!"

 He has had melanoma for years but seems okay.  The winters are harder on him now, but he recovers his weight in the spring. I've had him since he was four years old, and you couldn't ask for a better behaved stallion. I used to do some endurance and competitive trail riding with him and other riders couldn't believe he was a stallion because he was so mannerly. Still, I never felt comfortable putting a gelding companion with him, because he IS a stallion. 

The few times when a gelding has broken into HIS pasture, he appeared to welcome the company.  Just last winter Ruffy the Miniature Horse broke in twice. Both times he was safely waiting for me to retrieve him for breakfast, and I was thankful that Sultan has such a good temperament - but he is STILL a stallion. 

Friday my friend who bought Ona convinced me to go ahead and put them together. She raises Arabians and has known Sultan since he was born. Sultan is a weenie (even the goats bullied him!) Montoya is a butt-head, no one bullies him.  He's used to being Big Man On Campus.

So yesterday I opened the gate that joins their pastures. It was quite uneventful. 

Montoya grew up on the other side of the fence from Sultan, so he was more interested in access to Sultan's pasture than the stallion. 

 The feeling was mutual. 

They checked out each other's digs and just wandered off - it was anti-climatic. Occasionally they graze together, but they are neither hostile nor clingy. It certainly simplifies things to not have to juggle a stallion and it gives Sultan his own little herd - finally.  He now has one gelding and two heifers.  I will still watch them closely, but I think they both enjoy the company.   

Yesterday was a busy day, but we did it our way. Exactly twenty-six minutes before he was supposed to get married, Other Half was on the phone, trying to buy a ranch horse.  Twenty minutes before he was supposed to get married, Other Half was on the phone again, trying to buy a ranch horse.

In hindsight, I think we spent more time trying to find the perfect ranch horse than we spent planning the wedding. (and there's nothing wrong with that!)  The average wedding ceremony costs more money than a good ranch gelding! After a ceremony that took all of five minutes, the Justice of the Peace regaled me (and threatened Other Half) with tales of Other Half in the Ole Days, back when policing was a bit more like the movie "Tombstone."  (He has mellowed quite a bit!)

Then we raced off to do chores on the "other" farm, and I got sheep poop smeared on the toe of my Hideously Beautiful boots!  Grrrrrrr . . . 

And then . . .  off to the Livestock Show!

Daughter met us there with a delightful wedding cake that she'd made!  Like our atypical wedding, the cake was perfect for us.

Look!  It's a little farm!  It has sheep! And a cow!  And a horse!  And chickens!  And a pretzel fence!  And she has altered her father's brand to include me!   (hehehehehe . . . I thought that was a nice touch to the ranch cake!)

And so in a 12 hour period, we got hitched, watched the sheepdog trial, watched the Cowboy Mounted Shooting, got tacos at a street taco wagon on the way home, did our chores, and then . . . watched the movie "Tombstone."  

For us . . . it was a perfect day. Life is short. Do it your way.