Farm Fresh Blog

I'm seriously considered giving Briar a haircut.  Maybe a puppy cut, or one of those Portugese Water Dog clips. She'll probably look silly but I think she'll feel better. Briar spends so much time in the pond that her butt is beginning to matt.  Combing her out isn't much of an option because by the time I get up in the morning, she's normally already taken her morning swim.  Then we take a walk, and she takes another swim. Briar is a closet-hippo! Combing out a wet dog is not an option for me.

Not only is she rarely dry, but she smells like a fish bowl  (much like Trace!) Soooo . . . that's why I'm seriously considering giving Briar a 'wash & wear' haircut.

Look!  I spy an Albino Hippo!

"Hey!  A fish!"

"Look!  My TAIL!!!"

"OH!  There's my tail!!!"

Any questions?

Scientists say we commit the sin of "anthropomorphism" when we say an animal grieves; we are, after all, giving "human characteristics to things not human." I argue however, that they feel emotions as we do. One cannot hear Montoya's cries echo through the night and not understand that he is lonely, that he grieves.

He still calls for Sultan. He calls. He listens. He waits for a response. He calls again. It breaks my heart. Tonight I pulled him out and played with him.  It was therapy for both of us.

I open the stall door and invite him into the aisle. Like a overgrown dog, he eagerly bows, backs, and sidepasses for cookies. I pull out his hot pink brushes and rub him down.  His world is getting back in balance. The grinding of his teeth lulls me to a state of Here & Now as he munches the hay and I comb his tail. Three calico cats drop from the rafters to land in the hay beside him.  He gives no notice, happy instead, for the company. From time to time he turns and gazes at me, a mouth full of hay, and I remember him as a weanling again.  I have spent so many hours combing his mane, combing out the tangles, combing away my problems.  This horse has always been therapy for me.  Tonight we were therapy for each other.

I groom him. We play. And as I leave the barn, his cries echo through the night again.  

The End Of The Trail

Today was a good day to die. The longest walk I ever take is from the horse trailer, down the path that leads behind the clinic.  It's a beautiful path, with tall grass and wildflowers.  Trees line either side.  Cows bellow from the pasture nearby. I think they call both a welcome, and a farewell. The cows see this walk played out all too often. I've walked this path too many times, for both myself, and dear friends. It's never an easy walk, and it helps to have a girlfriend walk with you - to hold your hand, to lend a shoulder, to remind you to cut a lock of mane and tail.

I shared 26 years with Sultan, my sexy senior citizen. I'll miss him, but I know he lived a long, good life. I bought him from his breeder as a four year old, and he never knew an unkind hand. He loved his saddle and his horse trailer.  They were his "tickets to adventure." His farrier and his vet loved him - which says a lot for a stallion. He was a model citizen, he was a great horse.  I'm honored to have shared the journey with him.

Look at this heifer. 

She looks innocent enough, doesn't she?  Look again.

See!  There it is!  She's plotting!

Daisy Mae has GOT TO GO!  (at least that's what I informed Other Half this morning when I called him in a rage) She is a cow. Cows belong with other cows, behind the fence, chewing their cuds. Daisy Mae didn't get that memo. 

She is a registered Santa Gertrudis heifer. We plan to breed her to another registered Santa Gertrudis.  Unfortunately our bull is an Angus.  (you see the problem)

Thus we moved Daisy Mae to the Sheep Farm so she didn't get bred to an Angus. Unfortunately she has proceeded to walk through fences like a red bulldozer. (no barbed wire)  Chain link fencing is NOTHING to a red bulldozer in heat. 

As if that wasn't a big enough sin, this week Daisy Mae escalated her criminal activities.  She is now bullying the stallion out of his food.  YES!!!  (my stallion is a weenie . . . )

 Sexy Senior Citizen

This is how meal time runs now:

Walk to barn as sheep scream in stereo from both sides of the path. Enter feed room. Lock dogs in feed room. Scoop up sheep food.  Spread sheep food among various feeders.  Note that Blue Heeler has escaped from feed room.  Wonder (???)Feed weaned lambs. Feed rams.  Go back to feed room. Scoop horse food. Lock Blue Heeler back in feed room with everyone else. 

Shovel feed to stallion.  Move to next stall and shovel feed to gelding. Head to cows with hay. Note large red cow has moved stallion out of his stall.  Stallion moves in with Gelding. Gelding runs out and moves Red Cow out.  Red Cow barrels toward Stallion.  Stallion exits stall and runs toward stall with Gelding.  Gelding leaves stall and evicts Red Cow.  Red Cow just moves stallion out of his feed again.  

Enraged Human phones Spouse to scream into his answering machine. Spouse wisely decides to allow her some time before he returns call. Note that Blue Heeler has escaped from feed room again.  (???)

It is time for Daisy Mae to return to her breeder so when she comes home she can go back out with THE COWS!

"Greetings Bi-ped!"

"Hey Bro!  Wake up!  The Bi-ped is here!"

"Look cute, Bro!  Look cute! Look into the camera-thingee and smile! We're boys. Boys either end up at the sale barn or for working dogs.  We want to stay and work dogs, so look cute."

"Look at me smile!  I like dogs!  (Smile Bro!  Smile!)"

The new mama didn't want to take her babies out of the barn this morning. She's happy enough to share her babies with the rest of the flock, as long as they stay in the barn.  When everyone else strolled out the gate, she stayed behind.  Oh well, maybe tomorrow.

Terri's Pal asked me to post more photos of my lambs.  Because the new lambs are inside the barn, I can't get good shots of them without a flash (and then they have blue eyes!)

Here they are with the Malibu Twins. Note the size difference.

I named them the Malibu Twins because the ewe lamb has a blond head.  I call them Malibu Ken & Barbie. (born Jan 29)

Here is the lamb that was born on Jan 2.  He's a little hulkster now.

The Jan 2 lamb with the Dec 25 lamb.  Compare them to the lambs born yesterday. 

Here are Roanie's boys - Ricearoni & Macaroni

They've grown a bit, haven't they?

We've got lambs stretched from Oct 25 birthdates to March 28 birthdates. Thus far, the singles born later have caught up with the twins born in October.  Next year I'm hoping to plan better so that everyone is born within the same month.  We're weaning in groups and so I have to listen to screaming babies from now til June!

 "What'z weaning?"

The last of the hold-out pregnant ewes gave birth yesterday.

 Twins!

She is a first-time mother and I had worried about her.  This ewe was as wide as she was tall and I was certain that she'd have twins. As a yearling, she loved the new babies and so I had hopes that she'd be a good mama herself.  She is.  She gave birth to twins all by herself (a plus!) and is the doting mother to both of them.  I returned from a herding lesson to find two more additions to the flock and a very attentive mama.

The little ewe is as friendly to me as she was before she gave birth, but the barn cat . . .  well that's another issue . . .

"Run, Cat, run!!!" 

"Babies okay?"

  "Check!"

And so she assumed the position again, standing guard over her little ones, keeping them safe from the Big Bad World of Barn Cats.

 "Yawn . . . "

In the classic country song, Tom T. Hall sang the praises of "Old Dogs, Children, & Watermelon Wine."  There's something about old dogs and old people that tugs at my heartstrings too. Some time ago a friend of mine asked about finding a German Shepherd as a companion for her elderly mother.  In one year her mom had lost her husband, her daughter, and her dog. (that alone, makes tears spring to my eyes) We immediately thought of Zena. 

We love Zena, and she's happy in our home, but she deserves more.  As much as I love my animals, I'm not so arrogant as to believe that we are always the best home for each animal.  Such is the case with Zena.  She is enjoying retirement, but she doesn't get her share of attention because she is one of eight dogs, and she is the well-behaved one.  Thus, she ends up getting shuffled to the back.

So I spoke to my friend and she said Zena would be perfect for her mom. Unfortunately her mother got very sick before she was able to meet Zena. After a long illness, she finally was able to meet her new dog today . . . and it brought tears to my eyes.  (This is why I would suck at Therapy Dog work.  I would cry in every hospital room.) There is something magical in the touch of a dog. When she ran her twisted arthritic fingers through Zena's hair and said, "I dreamed of you when I was sick," I almost bawled.

Zena is always welcome back into our home, but it's obvious that this woman needs Zena, and Zena needs to be needed. So we're gonna give this a try and see how it works out. Something tells me that this pair will be just fine.

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.