Farm Fresh Blog

Janet asked who Briar gets to play with and so I took a few shots of Briar at play.

Border Collie has finally lowered herself to play with the puppy.

It's often a bit one-sided, but Briar has fun. And more importantly, I feel it's necessary to let her interact with Lily so that she doesn't eat my Border Collie later when she feels her sheep are threatened.

Here is Briar's other trusted playmate. I can totally trust Retired Police Dog not to hurt her. Zena has raised both Blue Heeler and Border Collie. She is very maternal and adores puppies.

The ewes seem to have finally accepted Briar as one of their own. Yesterday I witnessed one of the particularly nasty ewes ask Briar for ear-kisses. Briar groomed the sheep for a long time. When she was through with one ear, she nibbled the ewe's neck. Then Briar went back to scratching her own butt. Ironically, the ewe presented the OTHER ear for cleaning and Briar obliged. I was completely fascinated and wished I had my camera. That's when I made the decision to allow her free access without barriers. Last night was her first night to sleep with the sheep with no bars. Our little girl is growing up! :)

     Trying to juggle farm-work and work-work is a constant struggle. Some days I'm better at it than others. My success is directly proportional to the amount of sleep I get. I accept the fact, and will readily admit, that I am a Bitchy Bear when I don't get at least 6 hours of sleep. That's the minimum. The problem with life on a farm is that if I get in from work at 4 AM, the farm still wakes up at 7 AM.  Border Collie does her GI Joe crawl across the bed to kiss me and inform me that the sun is up and so is she. The goats begin to scream, and this invariably sets off the sheep. (Don't even get me started on the damned rooster.)

     An end-of-the-shift murder call had me getting in late, and thus I'd only had about 4 hours of sleep when the farm got up yesterday. They were all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I was not. I was not even close. I staggered to the refrigerator for a bottle of Starbuck's Mocha Frappuccino. It's my addiction. If they made frappuccinos illegal, I'm afraid you'd find me strung out in a crack motel somewhere, except they'd call them "frapp-motels," and dealers would smell of coffee and use code words like "grande" and "vente." But I digress.

I popped open a frapp and wobbled to the patio door to slide into rubber boots. It's hard to put on rubber boots while you're mainlining caffiene and as luck would have it, the cap of my frapp fell off and rolled under the couch. Oh dear! I don't know about the rest of you, but I have at least 5 dogs at any given time inside my home. That's a lot of dog hair. I try to keep it swept up pretty regularly, but nevertheless, it can accumulate under the couch. Generally by the time I move the couch to sweep, you could make a poodle out of the hair trapped under there. And friends and neighbors, that's exactly where my lid rolled! Yuck! Since I really needed the lid, I was forced to get down on my hands and knees and grope about in the darkness until I found it. I suppose I should thank the hairy poodle under the couch that it didn't roll any further. My lid had dog hair stuck to it. Grossssss . . .  For a moment, I considered the germs. Then I decided that someone who steps in blood at night shouldn't be too picky about a little dog hair. So with that thought, I slammed the lid back on my frapp and stepped outside.

I locked the main pack of dogs in a paddock to keep them out of the mud, then I staggered to the barn to release Briar and the sheep. s the sheep filed behind us, Briar bounced up and down at my leg.  She is now 13 weeks old, and is as solid as a cinder block with legs. I would say she is built like an "excrement domicile" but my grandmother would not have approved of that term and since we have younger readers (who are no doubt racing for their dictionaries as we speak), I have to keep it clean.

It made my head hurt just watching Briar as she danced along. Once in the pasture, I fed both the puppy and the sheep.  She wagged her little tail and occasionally paused in her 'heifer-like snarfing" to smile at me. I took a long slow sip of frappuccino and decided it should be against the law to be that happy in the morning. (I told you I am Bitchy Bear without my sleep!)

Briar finished her breakfast and puttered off. The sheep happily hoovered down their food while I kept a watchful eye on Hulk lest he choke again. Several days ago, Hulk was bolting food down so fast that the little booger started to choke and I was forced to do the Heimlich maneuver on a lamb--a very fat lamb. Although I am considered a First Responder, I don't think the police department had lambs in mind when they taught that class. It must have worked though, because the little pig lived.

I stood in the pasture, letting the caffeine slowly drip into my veins, wishing I was still in bed, when a black and white bouncing blur crossed my field of vision. It took a little effort to focus on the Bounce. Tiny Tim was springbokking his way across the pasture. Like a little antelope, he leaped toward Briar. She was deep in thought with her nose crammed in a bush when he stopped in front of her. For a moment they stared at each other, then like a sewing machine, Tiny Tim started bouncing up and down in front of the dog. Her eyes lit up and the chase was on. The little cinder block managed to get up considerable speed, but Tim turned on the juice and kept just out of reach.

Tim was delighted. I was not. I didn't want Briar to discover that she was a foosa after all. While it seemed like innocent fun, I was reminded of that chase scene in the movie, "Madagascar", when the lion and his best friend, the zebra, discover that the lion is a foosa, after he becomes mesmerized by the zebra's butt running in front of him and takes a chomp out of his best friend. Briar and Tiny Tim are tight, but I was afraid that Briar would begin to see lamb chops instead of her little snuggle-buddy. I could almost hear the National Geographic theme song playing in the pasture.

So as the pair raced past me, I dropped a bucket on poor Briar's head. (I know. It was mean. I felt guilty for doing it, but she can't chase the lambs, even if they "started it.") Briar staggered a bit, but immediately spied my leather gloves that fell out of the bucket. Pennies from heaven!!!! Briar LOVES those gloves. She quickly abandoned Tiny Tim and snatched up a glove. Then she danced around to show me that although it was raining buckets, it was also raining leather gloves, and this was a Delightful Thing. Like Winnie-the-Pooh, Briar's world is pretty simple and it's easy to make her happy.

I took another sip of frappuccino and decided that Briar was probably right--when Life throws a Bucket at you, don't get discouraged, your favorite leather gloves just might fall out of it.   

Other Half set out a game camera the other night. After much cussing and taking pictures of our boots, we got the sucker set and attached to the base of a tree. Things have been very busy with murder scenes and murder trials and so on and so forth, that we just now got around to checking the camera. In two days there were over 155 shots!  That's a lot of traffic for an abandoned bird pen. Barn cat set it off quite a bit, but that's no surprise. I'm sure rats are still cleaning up bird feed.  But guess what! . . . The camera finally captured the BEAST! 

Since I watched the animated movie Madagascar, all predators on the farm are now referred to as FOOSAS! (I recently learned that there is actually a critter called a foosa, but it's spelled fossa. It lives in Madagascar and eats lemurs--well duh!  That makes sense if you've seen the movie.) Anyway, I digress--the point IS all predators on my farm are referred to as Foosas. 

If you're not a vegetarian, you're a foosa. The sheep are not foosas, except when the lambs are chasing the rooster.  Gerald the Rooster might argue that lambs are foosas.

The Boogey Beast is definitely a FOOSA! Anything that can disassemble chickens like that critter can do is most certainly a foosa. Our question was purely academic. "What kind of foosa?"

So with the help of a game camera that was set to flash whenever the beam was tripped, we now have a pretty good idea of who visits at night. Here is a our Foosa . . .

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But now I've got a foosa too! You just wait Mr. Raccoon! You just wait!

We are giving Briar longer and longer periods of free time with the sheep - always under supervision. Today I was glad I had my camera. I'm still laughing. She is approximately 13 weeks old.

  Briar with her sheep.

I was leaning on the fence, just supervising, when I noticed Briar alert on something. Three lambs were in hot pursuit of a chicken - YES! The lambs were chasing the Rooster!

  Hulk, the testosterone-ridden baby, was in the lead and he wasn't letting up. Briar was fascinated.

  Then she decided to join the game.

  The lambs stopped as Briar chased the intruder.

 Rooster doubled back.

As soon as he was away from the sheep, Briar stopped the chase. Now I ask you, how can I teach the dog that chasing chickens is wrong when the SHEEP are chasing the chickens??? I'll give her credit though. She didn't continue the chase once the rooster got away from the sheep. Good puppy. But all that running did work up a thirst.

    "Sector 12 is clear!"

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!