Farm Fresh Blog

     Since Trace just passed his first birthday, his breeder called for an update, so here it is for him and the rest of Trace's fans:

     Trace has grown into a delightful young dog. Most of the time he is quite biddable EXCEPT when he's with livestock, then he goes off into "the zone" and you have to crack him on the head to get his attention. He tends to get sticky and wants to head off the stock to stop their movement, and refuse to call off. Because this resulted in lots of head cracking, I decided to put him up until he matured some more. I worked him on sheep early in the summer and when given a larger number of sheep and more room to work, I noted that he was relaxing and settling down some. Then the brutal summer heat came.

     The drought brought gigantic cracks in the ground which endangered livestock and dogs, so I decided to quit working Trace until it cooled off and the rains came again to fill the cracks. It simply wasn't worth a broken leg on sheep or dogs.

     From what I've seen thus far, Trace likes to go to the head. This is a nice complement to Lily, who likes to heel. 

     He also is bolder in his fetching and is willing to go much farther than Lily to pick up the sheep.  I haven't worked him on cattle at all yet.  Because of the drought, we sold all our calf crop from this year. When the rains return and he is biddable on sheep, then we'll pick up some calves for him to start.

     His people skills are excellent, and he is very friendly with strangers. He gets along well within our pack, but he is a resource guarder, putting a great deal of unnecessary energy into guarding food and humans. It isn't a major problem though. Overall, Trace has been an excellent addition to the farm and I expect that when he matures, he will probably be a more skilled herding dog than my Lily. He just has to learn there is no "I" in the word "teamwork."

     His littermate, Ruby, was quick to jump into the game and is already a big help on the farm. That may well be the difference between boys and girls, as I recall, we discussed how the boys tend to mature slower than the girls. Trace is very keen to work, so I don't doubt that with a little maturity, he'll get with the program too.

Sunday we moved Montoya from the other farm to this one.  I really missed my elegant clown and it's so nice to look out the window and see this again:

I've had this horse since he was knee-high to a grasshopper, now he towers over me. But no matter how big he gets, he will always be my little goof, and it's so nice to have him in the back yard again.

Baby Montoya aka Xenophon Star

"I will be filing a complaint with DUG (Dairy Goats Union) regarding the outrageous treatment I have been forced to endure.  This is degrading and I wish it to STOP!"

"From time to time the Male Biped on this farm has performed milking duties. Unfortunately he feels it is entertaining to shoot that Insane Black & White Beast With The Googly Eyes in the face with milk. Apparently Insane Beast likes this and has now taken to 'lingering' during milking time.  

I find this behavior intolerable, and wish to renegotiate our contract. My union attorney will be contacting you!"

 "Whaaat!!"

Disclaimer:

In this time of extreme drought, we do not water our lawn or wash our cars. I have cat pawprints on my windshield that have been there since June.  We are careful with our water, and each precious drop goes to the animals.  That said, we did allow for some summertime fun this weekend.

Other Half dug in the garage and found a forgotten water sprinkler.  Like inner city children with an open fire hydrant, the dogs played in the water for about 5 minutes.  Everyone had great fun, but someone monopolized the sprinkler . . .

 "What???"

Yesterday I made my favorite summertime treat!

Ingredients:

   Nilla wafers

Nilla puddin' 

  Nanners

Goat 

Wait!

                        Yea, goat milk!

Put 'em togther . . .

  Nanner Puddin' !!!

Thank you, Clover!

Anyone know what this is?

Try it from this angle.

It's a dog, you say?!!  An OUTSIDE dog??!!  An OUTSIDE dog sleeping INSIDE??!! In the foyer?!!

A dog who is supposed to be living in the 102 degree temperatures with the livestock??!!  THAT dog??

Well . . .    

. . .  you're right!

Briar has so much hair that the heat is really hard on her.  Her skin is pink, so I don't want to give her a haircut because she will sunburn.  It started innocently enough.  I began sneaking her in the house during the hot part of the day while Other Half was at work.  She is the perfect house dog. Briar lays around like a bearskin rug - a polar bearskin rug.

I was feeling guilty until a friend of mine in North Texas lost a mule (a MULE!) to the gawdawful heat. So I said to myself, (and Other Half)

"Screw that! Ih'm bringin' ma dawg inside!"

Whereupon he objected that she was dirty. So I bathed her in Pantene Pro V shampoo, and combed her out.  (There is a BEAUTIFUL dog in all that hair!)

I was still feeling a bit overindulgent until I watched the evening news last night.  Believe it or not, there is a couple in Central Texas who are bringing LLAMAS into their house during the heat of the day!  Suddenly bringing Briar in the house during the day didn't seem so outrageous.  

Llamas go inside house to escape heat

This weekend Huckleberry went to his new home.

As I explained to him when we neutered him, the very best home for a male goat was a Pet home.  Dear Reader Kelly bought Huckleberry and Swan and took them home Sunday to begin their new careers as Pet Goats. 

This means all the milk Clover produces now becomes MINE!

As a first time mother, I didn't take Clover's baby from her until he was ready to be weaned. Thus, the lion's share of the milk went to Huckleberry.  Now that he is weaned, I must milk her twice a day.  This was the milk on the first morning.

Now I have visions of cheese, yogurt, soap, and lotion dancing in my head!

"And dogs!  Don't forget warm milk for dogs!"

While Lily may be born and bred to be a cow dog, I'm just not sure I'm emotionally stable enough for Lily to be a cow dog.  Take this morning:

Am lying in bed, peacefully minding my own business, cuddling my precious Border Collie, (that's not true, she was asleep at the foot of the bed) when Other Half rolls over, slaps me on the hip, and announces "Since we have the cattle trailer already hooked up, let's take those cows to the sale today!"

Other Half is like that. Planning is never his strong point. He's more a "fly by the seat of your pants" kind of person. And since we both had the morning free, and since the trailer was already hitched because he took some sheep to the sale yesterday, he decides that this is a fine morning to take the cows to the sale.  Okie Dokie, Smokie.

"And hurry! They stop checking them in at 11 am!"

It is 8 am. My mind has barely had enough time to process the chores that need to be done, and he is already rushing me. Sigh . . . I haven't even had my caffeine yet. (Yes, trouble is a'brewin'. Cue ominous music now.)

So I juggle dogs for potty breaks and slip into jeans and boots.  He is already feeding cattle. By the time Lily and I get out there, wonder of wonders, he has, by some miracle, managed to separate the ones headed to the sale. The next task should be simple.  Move the cows through the chute where they will hop up into the cattle trailer, then you slam the gate shut and roll on to the sale barn. 

In reality, it isn't as simple.  Cows normally try to run back over you as you push them toward the chute. Large animals are frightened, or at best, annoyed. And it's tight in there. Not much room to work. People and dogs can get hurt.

While Other Half has originally planned to use Ranger The Blue Heeler, I have visions of the dog getting excited, barking, and running cattle back over us, so I choose Lily. She is Top Hand, the dog most likely to figure out exactly what we're doing, and how to help. Most of the time . . .

We begin moving cattle toward chute. All is well until Lily has a Border Collie moment and decides that she must GATHER the cattle and bring them back to us.  Holy Crap!  Get out of way. Try it again.  As cattle try to bound back toward the main herd on the other side of the fence, Lily is bounced into a fence.  My heart is in my throat. She recovers and heads them off.  With cows turned around, Other Half begins to aggressively smack cattle with sorting stick and move them toward chute.  Lily is TOTALLY on board now.  She understands and is pushing cattle along with Other Half.  Cows shoot through chute and into cattle trailer.  I barely see a flash of black and white in the trailer nanoseconds before I hear the trailer door slam shut.  Oh Dear God!  Lily is trapped in the trailer with the cattle. At this point I see her little fluffy life flash before my eyes . . .

That's when I begin screaming and running down the chute toward my precious puppy. Other Half has figured out that Lily is trapped and is working to get her out before the cattle discover it and stomp her to death. As I run down the chute, I fail to lower my head and am smacked across the top of the skull with a board or pipe, or something the size of a refrigerator.  See stars.  Keep on running to save my dog.

She has apparently discovered her mistake and is trying to be a Very Small Black & White Dog In A Corner. Other Half scrapes his knuckles off trying to get the cattle trailer opened, but manages to get Lily out before the cows see her. 

Lily springs out, all grins.  I am sick. I cannot decide whether to cry or throw up. I still see stars, but mostly I see the image of a crumpled bloody dog underneath angry cows.  Still a toss-up whether I cry or throw up.  Decide to hug dog instead. It is more productive and not as likely to upset her . . . and Other Half.  (who is very aware that if anything happens to that dog, the world will stop spinning, and life as he knows it will cease to exist.)

We roll to the drop-off location for the sale barn to find that one poor man is trying to unload cattle, register cattle, tag cattle, and put them in pens, all by himself. 

Cattle trailers are lined up. Everyone is selling cattle because of the drought.

Other Half decides that he must help this poor man. He bales out to assist. That leaves me with plenty of time to decide that I hate cows.

Despite the fact that I live in Texas and am married to a Cow Man, I prefer sheep and goats. Handling them isn't as likely to result in a trip to the emergency room or the Pet Cemetery.

Despite the drought, we've had just enough rain here to make the lawn grow.  Woo hoo! Today I turned the "lawn crew" out to work.

Supervisor in the Shade:

Like Pac Man, the sheep go through the yard.

 Goats in the Yard

MMMMMM.... browse! 

The Supervisor patrols the perimeter.

"Sector 12 is clear!"

  V.  

    I have finally got the bulk of the furniture out of my old house. It is sitting in a cattle trailer in the back yard, which will explain the strange stains on the back of the couch.  That's not a major problem because there are strange stains on the front of that couch too.  If there has ever been a bloodhound in your life, you have strange stains in strange places - drool marks on the wall, drool marks on the ceiling. And you will have rub marks on the couch. 

     Some time ago Other Half informed me the couch was not coming. Naturally, being a woman, just because he told me we weren't moving the couch, I planted my feminine feet and insisted that we WERE moving the couch. It could just stay in the muck room.  Being a man, he realized he was facing a wall, and gave in.  I think he had plans on burning it while I was at work one day. I was adamant, the muck room would be turned into a Dog Room and the couch could stay there. I wavered a bit though when a friend who was helping me move, announced, "You're not really taking this thing to Robby's are you?"

     Hmmmm . . .  Yeah, she was right. It smells like a Bloodhound. But still, the couch had to get out of the house. so into the cattle trailer it went with everything else. And after all the fabric furniture was out, I scrubbed the floor with chlorox.  All was well until I got feedback from prospective home buyers, "House smells like a dog."

WTF!!  I scrubbed the floors!  I lighted incense!  I didn't smell anything when I left!

     I compared notes with Dear Friend who visited AFTER the Homebuyers.  She stated that it smelled good. It smelled like incense.  Thus you see the problem.  Dog People cannot smell dogs. Sigh . . .  thus begins the war, the war on Dog Odor. . .

. . .

Arrive at house armed with LARGE jug of bleach. House is empty.  House cat has apparently decided to exit doggy door and play in The Great Outdoors. Fine.  Walk into kitchen. Am Scared shitless by tiny rodent racing across floor. 

Do what?!!  Mouse?  In the house? Holy shit!

Am reminded that House Cat is old and worthless as a hunter.  Her idea of fun is to drink latte and watch The View. Sister does not do rodents.  Make plans to bring barn cats in house later.  Doggy door bursts open. House cat races into kitchen and announces,

"Hey! You're back! You gonna feed me?"

Point out to cat that a MOUSE was in the house.

Cat reminds me that without thumbs she cannot open the cat food container.  Like the well-trained pet I am, I trudge to back room and feed her.  Then I begin to clean.  This involves filling large buckets of water and bleach and sloshing it out over tile floors.  Take THAT Dog Odor!  In no time, my entire house smells like a country club swimming pool - but not a dog!  (At least as far as I could tell, apparently Dog People cannot be trusted in these matters.)

It is in one of my many trips from the kitchen sink that Stuart Little decides to crash my party again.  I'm guessing that like me, the little mouse is also a bit tipsy from chlorox fumes, because just as I am leaving the kitchen with a bucket of bleach water, Stuart races across the kitchen and into the dining room - narrowly missing the top of my foot.  Because the dining room floor is already wet, he can't get good traction and is slipping like a pig on ice across the tile.  Three things happen:

1) I scream.
2) I toss an entire bucket of bleach water onto a tiny mouse.
3) Someone cues the theme from Hawaii 5-0 . . .  because . . .

Stuart Little goes from a pig on ice to a little mouse riding the waves.  That little bastard climbs on his surfboard and rides the giant wave across the dining room tile, under the table, and out the other side, where he gracefully exits his surfboard and scampers under the piano. 

I am in shock. I stand there, staring at water all over the floor and an innocent-looking upright piano. At this moment the House Cat appears in the dining room, requesting another can of food.  DO WHAT??!!

"If you want to eat something, eat this!" I snarl as I roll the piano away from the wall. 

No Stuart Little.  Some wet dust bunnies and an old birthday card from my sister.  And like the ADHD person I am, I say, "Hey! Where'd that come from?" and reach down to snatch it up before Stuart Little's slowly advancing tide of water can reach it.  I am already crammed behind the piano when I come to my senses and realize that if Stuart is not BEHIND the piano, it means he is INSIDE the piano.  I back out quickly and shake myself like a horse after a good roll. EEEWWWWW!

Meanwhile, the House Cat is unimpressed.  She yawns at my birthday card and puts in another request for cat food. I inform her that the barn cats hunt without the benefit of satellite television and air-conditioning.  She is still unimpressed.  I do however, gather up all her dry and canned cat food and put it on the back porch.  No more eating in the house!  No more free meals for a rodent who has obviously figured out the dogs are gone.  Clearly prospective homebuyers have better noses than Dog People and tiny rodents in Hawaiian shirts because we can't smell the dog odor in that house.

I told a good friend that I was going to have a Non-Dog Person come and do a sniff test for me.  She texted me this:

"Good luck fiding one of those in ur contact list."

Touche. Point well taken.

(and to answer your questions, No, Lily was not with me. Had she been, Stuart Little would be pushing up daisies in the back yard.)