Farm Fresh Blog

Today we decided to give Briar a little more freedom for a while. She has been spending about 22 hours a day, or more, with the sheep. For her protection, she has been separated by a pen from the ewes with lambs. The lambs like her; the ewes are more suspicious. I'm satisfied they won't kill her now, but I still don't want her to have a bad experience with them. (They obviously have overlooked the idea that it doesn't hurt to have big friends.) 

She was delighted to be free with them. As soon as everyone fiinished breakfast, she settled down beside them while they grazed.

All went well until they decided to wander off and she got up to follow them.

  As soon as she sat up, they decided she was no longer a sheep, but a FOOSA, a little predator.

  "No, seriously, I'm a sheep.  Listen.  Baaaa!"

  Mama Sheep is not fooled.

  Briar slinks off. 

  "Nobody likes me . . . ."

  She sees me standing on the fence.

  "Ma, nobody likes me."

  We discuss it.

  And she is convinced to give it another shot.

  Then we walked back out there together,

and she lay down with her sheep. 

I have often said that what I like so much about living in the country is the comforting silence - no hum of the traffic, no sounds of the city. But if you take a moment to listen, life on a farm has its own sounds.

The sound of a sunrise and a silent moon . . .     

The sound of Bloodhound shaking her long ears . . . 

She is old and no longer works, but every morning, a shake of those ears starts the day.

The sound of goat feet rat-a-tatting across everything they climb over when I turn them loose . . .

The sound of screaming dogs who are locked up so they won't get muddy feet . . . 

The sound of sheep hollering to be fed . . . 

The sound of one of the two remaining roosters as he greets the day . . .  

He celebrates another night that he escaped the Boogey Beast. This is Remus. His brother Romulus bit the dust.

The sound of animals eating hay . . .   

This is the most comforting sound in the world. There would be no more war if everyone just listened to the sound of animals eating hay.

And the sound of silence . . . as Border Collie stares at me and wills me to put down the camera and get on with the serious business of feeding everyone on the farm.

There will be no more talk of not bringing Briar in the house for a bath in the kitchen sink. 

I give you Exhibit A:                              

What does this look like to you?              

It looks to ME like Other Half has a Working Police Dog in our bed!  Does it look that way to you? I protested that I didn't want her dirty feet on the bed and he said, "Her feet are not on the bed."

Right . . . .

Anyway Briar's getting another bath tomorrow -- in the kitchen sink!

Speaking of Briar, this is Briar in her little exercise pen in the sheep pasture. She sits on a bale of hay to oversee her kingdom.

She is content her until the sheep wander off and leave her. Then . . . she has a healthy set of lungs.

       "Everybody LEFT me!!!!" Y'all come baaaaaaa- ck!"

I actually got home from work ON TIME last night, so after feeding the critters, I let Briar out of her protective pen for a little "unprotected" time with the lambs. I had to supervise closely as the ewes are fiercely protective and I didn't want Briar hurt. While the ewes munched their hay, the lambs cavorted about and Briar settled down to watch them.

The youngest one soon got tuckered.

They regarded each other.

One of the older lambs had to get involved.

This lamb is a bit pushy, so Briar was given a thorough examination . . .

 and didn't measure up as "friend" material.

   And typical of playground behavior, there was gossip. "HEY! I just wanted you to know - that kid wearing the funny "Super Hero's mask" is NOT one of us!  Firecracker said she wasn't even a SHEEP! And my MOM said that she's REALLY a FOOSA like Border Collie! I mean, you can hang with her if you want - I'm just saying . . . ."

  So Tiny Tim listened to their advice, and then made his own decision. Tiny Tim is smaller and not as fast as everyone else, but Tim does have brains. When you're little, it's wise to have big friends (or at least friends who WILL be big some day).

A sidenote:  This is in response to all the readers who are ready to lynch the rancher who sold me Briar. The lady is not a monster. She is really a wonderfully sweet person who has a large sheep ranch. Briar's mother was given to her and is so wild that she cannot be caught. She is an excellent guardian dog, but the rancher has not been able to catch her to spay her. I'm sure she was unaware of Briar's hot spots until she captured the puppy. Briar really was a little Mowgli Jungle Book child.

Many large ranches have a "hands-off" approach to handling these livestock guardian dogs. The dogs live out with the stock and become "sheep" with the flock. This is a successful method for many people. My farm is just not set up that way. While I don't want to make "a pet" of this dog, I do need to have her more social. My animals are able to enjoy a higher level of care because I don't have hundreds of acres where I run several hundred head of sheep. If you run a large operation, it's easy for a little wild puppy to fall through the cracks. Briar is just lucky that her mama was protective and could take care of her so she could survive long enough for the rancher to notice her. She was then put in a home where she could live her life as a livestock guardian dog. Hopefully, she'll be like her parents and protect the stock. If she proves less than able to accomplish that feat, she'll still have a home with us - she just has to live in the barn and not the bedroom!

  Yes, I know . . . she's in the house. Don't tell Other Half! He made me write it down on paper that this dog was livestock and would not be in the house! On the other hand, he has also bottle-fed calves in the house!

I know she is a Livestock Guardian Dog and thus MUST be with the stock. BUT . . . she is also a 12-week old baby with horrendous hot spots under a matted coat. So . . . today we had our first bath (in the kitchen sink).  Other Half would defecate the proverbial brick. After I turned the sheep out in the rain (more rain = more mud!!!), I gathered up Briar and we had a bath. Both of us had a bath. And the kitchen counter had a bath. And the kitchen floor had a bath.

When it was all over, I was better able to see all the oozing hot spots. I doctored them which burned like the dickens, and this very forgiving puppy didn't eat me. In fact, much to my surprise, the little beast played with my feet when I set her back down on the floor. She cannot go back outside until she dries and putting a hairdryer on that oozing skin is out of the question.  Soooo . . . she will be placed in a kennel in the dog room until she is dry. Yes, it's in the HOUSE . . . .  

 . . . . but look at her little back!!!!

  It's covered in raw places.  I cannot throw a wet puppy out in a damp barn for those hot spots to fester. Since I have to go to work, my dear friend (who happens to be the vet's wife) will come and throw her little hiney back out with the sheep when she has dried! Problem solved. Other Half never has to know that LIVESTOCK was in the house and in fact, LIVESTOCK was in the kitchen sink!  I know you won't tell.  Right?

Remember the Warner Brothers cartoon Ralph & Sam? It was the one with the sheepdog and the wolf (who always looked to me EXACTLY like Wile E. Coyote but with a different accent.) I googled them. Ralph was the wolf (coyote) and Sam was the sheepdog (Livestock Guardian Dog). They punched a time clock in the morning and then began their shift of either protecting sheep (Sam) or trying to eat the sheep (Ralph). At the end of the shift, they punched the time clock and then left "the office" together - to start again tomorrow in the endless game of predator & prey.

Border Collie and Livestock Guardian Dog remind me of Ralph and Sam. Border Collie is all about the hunt (minus the kill).  Border Collies have been bred to be top-notch predators, minus the kill. All Border Collie thinks about is hunting livestock and making them submit to her will. There is not a loving, maternal, "look out for the stock" bone in her body. Lest I dare make the comparison, her attitude toward sheep is much like the dog in Babe. She believes sheep are stupid animals who must be forced to behave.

Briar, on the other hand, believes that sheep are her family, merely cousins with odd eating habits. (Every family has a few!) She is happy when she is with them and sad when they leave her to go to the pasture.

  But she is too young to simply turn her loose with ewes and lambs. She may injure a lamb, or be attacked by a ewe. So for now, Briar is locked in an exercise pen inside the sheep area at night where they are all together, but no one can get hurt.  During the day, I turn the sheep out and leave Briar in the barn where she can see the sheep and the other dogs. She is okay puttering around the barn, but would be happier with the sheep. 

She needs to be cleaned up A LOT. Her puppy coat is matted. Today I began clipping. Despite the fact that yesterday the little Beast was snarling at me, today she is more submissive. I let her spend a bit of time with Zena, Retired Police Dog, who worships the ground I walk on. After a little bit of modeling, Briar was beginning to figure out that I was not the Evil Captor that she thought I was, and loosened up a bit. I left Police Dog (who is very maternal) in the barn while I popped Warrior Child on a stack of hay and started cutting. Police Dog climbed up on a bale of hay so she could supervise.  Warrior Child chewed a straw of hay while I cut out mats. Yuck.

   She doesn't have to be showdog clean, but the matts have GOT to GO! Her puppy coat will fall out in the spring, but in the mean time, her skin could use a break (and some air!)

We took a break and she met Border Collie.

   Ralph & Sam

  Remember this picture.  When she grows up, I'll need it to remind me of how little she was at 12 weeks. Boogey Beasts Beware! Warrior Pup has arrived!

  Look closely. Yes, that IS what you think. Farming isn't for the squeamish. Despite my efforts to fortify the chicken coop, the damned Beast was back. Three dead. It looks like chickens exploded in there. Ten birds in one week. Six birds in two days . . . and I still don't know how it's getting in.

That is the most disheartening part about life on a farm. Despite your best efforts, you cannot save them. After the carnage, I had one laying hen left, a small banty hen, and two banty roosters. Four birds . . . out of a whole flock. The remaining red hen was stuffed in Other Half's patrol car and transported to join the cowponies, the cattle, Dora the Explorer, and Reggie. They aren't necessarily safe, but they are 7 miles from THIS Boogey Beast, who will most certainly be back.

  The refugee

The thing about being a crime scene investigator is that you tend to put a great deal of investigation into your own crime scenes. (I'll spare you the photos.) My two biggest issues are: 1) suspect, and 2) prevention.

Suspect: The Boogey Beast is small. BB is ferocious. BB is messy. BB may actually be several suspects. (a GANG!)

Because I had body parts all over the coop, I suspect a family of small predators, perhaps a mother with young that were squabbling over pieces. (Yes, I know it's gross, but unfortunately it is part of the Circle Of Life. It happens on a farm. Animal Planet just doesn't film it.)

Here is our suspect's pawprint:

I didn't have scale tape, so I stuck my fingers in there to give you an idea of size.

I'm thinking maybe a raccoon. I need to check out pawprints online and see about that. The Sheepgoddess has suggested a weasel. She may be right. I don't even know if we have those around here. I'll check that out too. (Isn't the internet wonderful?)

Now that we have done some research into the suspect, let's begin with prevention.  First . . . remove the birds. Done. (Except for the banties who sought refuge high up in the trees.) Second . . . remove the predator. Impossible . . if I remove them, others will come to fill that niche. That leaves me only one option. I must bring in a warrior in my Battle Against the Boogey Beast.

For years I have resisted this, but if you start adding up how much money I have lost in livestock over the years, it doesn't make sense NOT to do it.  Soooooo . . . . a 9-hour drive later . . . and there is a New Kid In Town!

     Meet Briar!

Be careful. Those teeth are sharp. She's a killer. Boogey Beasts, BEWARE!

Briar is approximately 12 weeks old. She's a Great Pyrenees/Komondor cross. Her parents are working Livestock Guardian Dogs that have produced working Livestock Guardian Dogs. She has been raised with sheep and goats. In fact, she's a little wild thing. I should have named her Mowgli since she considers humans to be her captors, rather than her friends. We are slowly working on that. She needs some cleaning up, and some growing up, but Boogey Beasts beware! She will be the size of a Saint Bernard and she will eat Boogey Beasts for Breakfast!

  You just wait!  The Warrior has arrived!

Damn that Boogey Beast! It got into my chicken coop and killed three good laying hens last night! Earlier in the week I lost a rooster and a banty hen so I started locking the wooden door before I left for work in the afternoon. Normally the birds have a flight pen with a chicken coop inside the pen. The coop had a "doggy door" so they can come and go into the flight pen. The hole was small (6"x6") and so the chickens could put themselves up at night, but since the Boogey Beast had taken two birds this week, I decided that the birds were not putting themselves to bed earlier enough (either that, or they were getting up too early in the morning!). Either way, I thought I had solved the problem by shutting the doggy door and locking everyone in on my schedule.

Unfortunately the Boogey Beast (probably a raccoon) managed to force its way into the coop last night and the birds couldn't get out. The only consolation is that the 3 birds were eaten and not wasted. Now we must move the remaining birds out of this area TODAY and set them up with the cowponies and the cattle, until I can bring in something bigger and badder than the Boogey Beast.

Tomorrow I am going to pick up a new warrior in the battle against the Boogey Beast. Be forewarned, BEAST, just wait 'til she grows!

He's tiny, but he is cute.

He's nursing, and his mom is attentive, so we'll hope for the best. The other lambs are gi-normous compared to little Tiny Tim, but he watches them. 

He watches them bounce . . .

He watches them leap . . .

But Tiny Tim needs more groceries before he can get out from under the porch and play with the big lambs.

He doesn't seem to have a problem with that!

This little dude has a smart mama! Unlike the other ewes, this one waited until the freezing weather had passed. When the pasture had warmed up, she had this little guy in the afternoon sun. Good thing she waited too, cuz he is a tiny little fart.

Compare Tiny Tim to Hulk . . .

That's Hulk scratching his chin. Granted, he has 12 days growth on this Tiny Tim, but the size difference is pretty apparent.

Today was a busy day. We took New Police Dog to the vet to be spayed. (I know! Can you believe she wasn't already spayed?) Anyway, my poor little Sweet Potato is sooooo miserable now. (Don't you think she is the color of a sweet potato? I'm sure Other Half is hoping I will find a better nickname for his little velociraptor.)

We lost a rooster to the Boogey Beast the night before last. The Beast visited again last night for the remains of the rooster, but didn't get into the coop. I think it's a raccoon. I'm giving serious thought to getting a Livestock Guardian Dog.