Farm Fresh Blog

On this farm there is a hierarchy of power. Let us examine this further.  Take for instance, the power struggle over the willow branch. Yes, a willow tree branch.

Our dogs are like children who receive an expensive birthday present and proceed to play with the box it came in.

A stick off the ground is better than any toy from the feed store. (and lasts longer)

But herein comes the power struggle.  Top Hand, the most useful dog on the ranch, has the willow branch.

She loses it to largest dog on the ranch.

Who promptly loses it . . .

. . . to smallest dog on the ranch.

"There is something so grossly unfair about all this."

Having a ranch is not about having room for eight dogs to run.

(Obligatory puppy picture!)

It's not about having sheep, goats, and cattle for the Border Collies.

    "Huh?"    

Farming and ranching is about this:

 YOGURT!

Well, it's not really about yogurt. It's about food! If you have a farm then you can raise your own food! Food that didn't travel across the ocean can land in your bowl! Food that wasn't abused can fill your plate. Food that was loved and never lived in fear can be yours if you just care to take a little bit more trouble than running to Kroger's.

I should run for president! 

If I'm elected, I promise that every family will have a dairy goat and three chickens!  And no one in this nation will ever go hungry again!

     After an extensive search through every pet supply store around here, I went to Bass Pro Shop to buy Dillon a camouflage puppy collar. Finding a suitable collar wasn't too hard. After all, in Bass Pro Shop, your choices are camouflage or neon orange. That's it.

     I was in a hurry, (What's new?) so I grabbed the collar and ran to the checkout. Now here's where it gets a bit strange. . . 

 I'm standing in the checkout line at a major hunting/fishing manly-man guy store when I just happen to read the warning label on the puppy collar.

Excuse me?

Am I the only one who was dumbfounded by this?

I'm just askin'. . .

I was at a law enforcement K9 seminar once when they got to talking about how dogs are tools in your tool box and like a well-stocked tool box, each dog should have its unique skills.  Someone mentioned using a Trailing Bloodhound as a Cadaver Dog and someone else said something I shall never forgot.

"That's like using your finest wood chisel to open a paint can."

Like a Leatherman tool, a multi-tasking dog is great, but if you have real work to be done, it's nice to have a dog that can excel at the job it was bred to do. That said, Other Half and I are blessed with two well-paying jobs and so when a dog isn't stellar, we don't trash the dog. We work around their limitations.

Here are the dogs in our tool box:

Ranger the Blue Heeler:

Cow Dog. Good for dangerous jobs because he is least likely to be killed by a cow. Not useful for anything that requires "thinking outside the box."

Lily the Border Collie:

Top Hand. Most useful stockdog. Good on cattle, sheep, & goats. Excellent for jobs that require finesse. Not good for distance work because she always "checks back" with handler.

Trace the Border Collie puppy:

Very green but has more raw talent than Top Hand Border Collie. Better at distance work now, but lacks finesse because he gets excited and forgets to listen. Is not used on cattle at all yet.

Cowboy the Rescue Border Collie:

Picked up as a rescue. Does a decent job on cattle but has no distance work or finesse whatsoever. Fortunately for him, despite the fact that he isn't a great working dog, he has excellent "suck-up" skills and Other Half loves him dearly, thus he has a Forever Home.

Briar the Livestock Guardian Dog:

Her only job is to guard the sheep & goats. Bonus is that she guards the farmyard.

Oli the Belgian Malinois:

No, she's not an ugly German Shepherd. She is a $6000 police dog who has always looked like an SPCA commercial. She is a currently working Narcotics and Patrol Dog.  She has no other job and cannot be trusted around any hooved livestock.

Ice the Black Belgian Tervuren:

Yes, she is a Terv.  She was born a black dog in a litter of brown dogs. Ice had a career as a Narcotics Dog but was too spacey to be consistent so she was re-homed with me because one of her littermates was my working Cadaver Dog (he was not spacey!) Ice has absolutely no job in our family, but we love her and are her Forever Home.

Dillon the Labrador puppy:

Bred to be a hunting dog, Dillon is the only "recreation" dog. It would have been really nice if one of the other dogs had the ability to hunt dove, ducks, and geese, but alas, not one of the herding dogs has any interest in being an accessory to murder.  (I'm just sayin' . . . )

And this, Friends & Neighbors, is why the boys don't take me hunting with them.

The Border Collies have decided there is just "somethin' odd" about Dillon.

While Lily adored Trace when he came to live with us . . .

. . . and let him sprawl all over her . . .

. . .  after careful consideration . . .

. . . they have decided that Dillon is an N-BC, a Non-Border Collie,

a Gentile, not one of God's Chosen People.

Fortunately other members of the pack are not so judgemental.

In fact, for some of us, watching Dillon is better than having HBO.

The Border Collies tolerate him, and watch his antics with mild interest, but they have decided that for the most part, he is an ugly little kid with nothing in common, who is unlikely to amount to any kind of ranch dog.

Meet Count Chocula.  No seriously, we named him "Dillon." I just call him Count Chocula because he's a chocolate vampire - a Fudgy Fangster.

He looks so innocent, like a living Hershey's Kiss.

  "A whut?"

"Whure?"

 "Who me???"

This is supposed to be an outside dog, you know, a manly hunting dog. Guess where he was last night?

  Okay, he was in a crate beside the bed, but he still spent a goodly amount of time in the bed too. 

The rest of the pack is absorbing him pretty easily.  Trace (1 year old Border Collie) thinks he's a neat toy.  Lily (3 year old Border Collie) thinks he's too little right now to be interesting. Talk to her when he gets big enough to play.  Briar (Livestock Guardian Dog) thinks he's a neat toy.  Ranger (Blue Heeler) thinks he's a darling baby who must be watched constantly. Ice (former Narcotics Dog) thinks he's an annoying brat who better quit checking her for the milk bar. Cowboy (antisocial Border Collie male who pees on everything) wishes the puppy would hold still so he can pee on him. Oli (present police dog) would like to check Dillon out closer because she believes he just "might" be an exotic squeaky toy.

At six weeks old, Dillon is already fetching. We will continue fetching games and will expand the games to include obedience and scent work. The Border Collies could always use some scent games too, since that's not exactly their forte.  On the other hand, Dillon shows absolutely no interest in livestock. He can't understand why Trace is so fascinated by the hooved creatures and Trace doesn't understand why Dillon likes feathers.  Different strokes for different folks.

  And water!

One of us REALLY loves water!

Dillon is the only member of the canine family who ISN'T a livestock dog or a police dog. They are "work" dogs. Dillon is a "play-work" dog. I keep telling Other Half that he should train him to do Narcotics so Dillon can pick up birds and pay the bills too! He said he ain't gonna ruin a good Gun Dog. Hey! Who says the dog can't multi-task?!!

I'm just sayin'.

There has been a significant shift in the weather here - hell just froze over.

We got another dog.

I know! I know! We both swore there would be NO MORE DOGS until all but two of the current dogs died.  Three is a good number. Yeah, three. The problem is that when you have working dogs, you become lazy.  After all, why work when a dog will do it for you?  And that brings us to this little guy . . .

 Guess what his job is.

This is opening weekend of dove season.  Oh wait!  I typed that wrong.  This is OPENING WEEKEND of DOVE SEASON.  Let me just say, I'm not a hunter. I'm a dog person who can appreciate a good dog doing whatever it was bred to do. That said, even though I, myself, don't hunt, I love a good working retriever.

 In case you haven't figured it out already, these aren't his birds. (but don't tell him)  Son and Friend shot and recovered all these birds themselves, i.e. no dog. Son informed me that he and his father had not been hunting dove together since the death of Millie. (Lab who walked on water. Much like my Border Collie, Lily)  For years Other Half has wanted another dog like Millie, so today, I broke down and bought him a Bird Dog. (before he brought home a stray that wasn't bred to hunt, and then we'd have another dog but it wouldn't WORK! At least this one will work.)

   Next year, look for this pair to be wearing camouflage together. Puppy does not yet have a name. His Indian name is Sleeps-A-Lot-Pees-A-Lot. Tomorrow his Indian name will probably be Chews-A-Lot-Pees-A-Lot.  He needs a REAL NAME.  Any ideas?

Disclaimer: Puppy was NOT riding in the back of the pickup truck. Our dogs do not ride in the bed of trucks. They ride inside, on leather seats.  And for the more sensitive among us, I apologize for photos of dead doves. It upsets me too. It's a guy thing. They see a successful hunt. I see thirty birds that should have gone to the veternarian.

Crimson, the new dairy goat, is afraid of dogs.

 "Wwwhere's a dddog?!!"

She is so afraid of dogs that for a week I kept the Livestock Guardian Dog away from the goats to give her time to settle in. This weekend I put Briar back in with the sheep and goats. Crimson ran.

"OOOOhhh!  There's a dog!!!"

Clearly someone has failed to tutor Crimson regarding roles of dogs on this farm, so here is a quick tutorial:

  Dangerous!

 Not Dangerous

If you don't believe me (since after all, I am a Two-Leg) take it from Roanie the ewe who survived the attack from Dangerous Police Dog:

 "Big White Dog is our friend."

She protects us from dogs, coyotes, and bobcats.

And she gives kisses. But sometimes she licks my butt before she kisses my face. I could do without that.

"We are good friends."

After all, who couldn't trust this face?

To read more about Briar and Roanie: Blood Will Tell

     I was awakened in the wee hours this morning by a large black dog clawing at my back.  Assuming Ice had a CODE 1 potty issue, I bounced out of bed to escort her to the door . . . and that's when I heard it.  Rain!  Rain! Rain!  (and thunder - thus leading to the claw marks on my back, but who cares! We got RAIN!)

     So I gathered my crew and hustled outside to play in the rain. Some of us, however, were less than amused with a morning walk in the rain.

 "Freakin' rain! Freakin' thunder! Freakin' Freaks who play in the freakin' rain!"

     Others more than made up for this lack of enthusiasm. I apologize for the quality of the photos. It was dark, and it was raining, but Briar's exuberance was such a joy to behold that I simply had to share it with you.

Thank you for indulging us in our celebration of rain. We now return you to your regularly scheduled program. Oh! But wait! One more thing!

"Thank you, Lord, for sending us rain!"