Farm Fresh Blog

Have you ever had "movie moments?" You know, when someone says something, and you mentally fast forward to see what really happens.

For example:

This weekend Other Half was preparing to go out of town again. (Yes, leaving me with a blind bull, cows calving, seven dogs, and a flooded ranch.)

I beg him, "PLEASE!  While we have some help over here, let's move Paisley so she doesn't have her calf in the mud in the back pasture. Please let's move Paisley to where I can more easily handle her when she calves in the cold mud."

His response after studying Paisley's back side like a college professor is "Oh, she won't deliver for another week or two."

Fast forward to yesterday morning.

I am already in a pissy mood because he has left me with this muddy mess and jetted off to go play with his dog. My goats are living in a stock trailer because of the flooding. My ram is back in with the ewes, because of the flooding. The dogs are a muddy mess. The horses are going stir crazy in the barn. We're running out of square bales of hay. I can't unload the round bales of hay by myself, so they sit patiently waiting on a trailer. I must put on cold rubber boots that are already filled with water from the day before, AND . . . I have a murder trial to testify in as soon as the chores are done!

Sooooo . . . while slopping through the mud, I happen to look out in the back pasture and what do I see?  YES!  Paisley has had her calf!  In the cold mud! Paisley, who is dumb as a box of rocks on a good day, calved in the back pasture.  I slosh out there and sure enough, the calf is alive but very chilled.  She is shivering.  Her idiot mother is staring at her with a "What the hell is THAT" expression.

Lovely.  I look at my watch. I must be in court, 45 minutes away, in 2 hours. At this point I call Other Half and wake him up in his nice warm hotel room.

"Are you happy now?!!"

I'll spare you the rest of the conversation. This is, after all, a family friendly program. Fortunately Son is on his way to work and is able to come help me. Unfortunately, Paisley is uncooperative. We towel baby off and try to warm her up. Paisley stares at her like a teenager with a new cell phone, but she is clueless as to what to do. She refuses to follow us as we try to carry the baby to the barn.  Lovely . . .

Watch as baby attempts to nurse. Note with disgust that Paisley knocks baby down and absentmindedly kicks her in the head as she walks away. Baby shakes her head to reassemble her rattled brains.  She is okay. Her mother is a crack head.

Dear Sweet Kindly Rancher Next Door has received my panic call and is now climbing over the fence.  The cavalry has arrived. He agrees to keep an eye on the little tyke while Son and I go to our REAL JOBS!  After spending 4 hours in court, I drive BACK HOME to check on baby and let dogs take a potty break. Rancher is also returning back home and he arrives in back pasture at same time. Baby is still alive. He agrees to check on baby after his chores.  I drive 45 minutes BACK to WORK!

Rancher checks on baby. She is okay.  Son checks on baby when he gets off work.  She is okay.  I return home and check on her in the dark.  She is okay.  I get up this morning to find that baby is now alone ON THE OTHER SIDE OF A BARBED WIRE FENCE from the rest of the cows.  I cuss Other Half again.  Things would have been SOOOO much easier if Britney Spears had calved in a board arena or a pipe corral.  Attempt to feed cows in the mud. I am mugged and shoved and fall down.  Border Collie starts to climb through the fence to help. I send her back for her own safety.  I then cuss cows and Other Half and the entire cattle industry, and beef in general.

Once cattle have settled at the feeders, I head over to try to carry baby back into pasture.  She is too heavy for me to easily carry in the mud.  Get her on her feet and poke her back through barbed wire fence instead.  Success!  Paisley, the crack mother, has her head buried in a feed trough, oblivious to the fact that she even has a baby.

I walk around fence through gate to join baby on the other side. Baby lets out a cry for Paisley. That's when I hear a small tank splashing through the mud toward me. Paisley has remembered that she has a baby. Her pea brain has registered that a bi-ped has her baby and her baby is crying for her.  I see the thought of running me down flash across Paisley's small brain.  Dart behind round bale of hay to safety. Paisley joins baby and glares at me as if I tried to steal her cell phone.

Paisley then walks off as baby is trying to nurse. Baby tags along trying to grab swaying udder.

"Mom!  Wait!  Mom!  I'm hungry!"

Baby follows Paisley around pasture but finally gives up and lays down. Still hungry.

Paisley stops to examine her stalled cell phone.

I make mental note to sell Paisley.

The perfect cow mother watches this drama with great interest.

"What IS that crackhead doing?"

Snickers is a raging bear of a mother.  As a first time mother she removed her baby from the pushing and shoving at the feeder and had to be fed separately because she refused to approach the feeder, fearing for the safety of her baby.  She will run down any coyote, stray dog, or Border Collie that comes near her baby.  She will glare at all humans like a rampaging elephant. Her babies WILL survive because she sees to it that they do.

Paisley is pretty, but there is no room on this farm for a cow or sheep or goat who will not properly mother her baby. And unfortunately since she may pass on the lack of maternal instinct to the baby, we should sell her too - if she survives life with a crackhead mother.

This was a "4-Frapp" day. (yes, I'm drinkin' again . . .) There is not enough de-caf coffee in this state to get me through this day without killing someone, thus, I thank God and Starbucks for those little glass bottles of nectar.

Normally it takes two. Today it took four. In fact, I am sipping #4 as we speak. Imagine a wino sitting on a milk carton behind a convenient store chugging a 40 oz. That's me right now.

This is how a 4-Frapp Day begins:

Am jolted awake by the sound of thunder crashing and hard rain. Actually it is the sound of Ice trying to break down the muck room door to get into the bedroom.

But alas, since Ice gets scared of storms and pees on herself, she is not allowed in the bedroom despite her best "Home Invader" impersonations.  I feel bad, then I remember that even inside the bedroom she will still be freaking (and clawing my back) and so the muck room is a much better place for her.

Am thankful that I brought MY horse into the barn before I went to bed.

Other Half trudges out into the storm to bring his Very Grateful Mustang Cowpony into barn. He returns to bed wet but within minutes he and Dillon the Labrador are snoring in rhythm. The storm rages on. The electricity goes out temporarily, thus turning alarm clocks into paper weights.  Wake up at 7 AM to realize that Other Half is missing his 6:30 AM meeting. Rut Ro! So much for alarm clocks.

Push him out of bed and climb out myself to go meet farrier at Grandma's house to do ponies' feet. There is a blissful break in the storm. We have just enough time to trim two ponies and buy four boxes of Girl Scout Cookies. Return home to find that Son and Girlfriend have arrived. Oh joy! Help with the Blind Bull! It is 9:30 AM. Let the games begin!

Thus starts the dangerous sport of Blind Bull Bumper Car.

 Since Bully feels better because he is hydrated and has food in his belly, he is far more reactive than yesterday and much more dangerous. He is far too big, and far too wild. I find myself climbing onto a feeder and hanging onto the fence as he crashes below me. As I wait for him to slam into my legs and break something, it becomes apparent that we cannot continue this game with enough regularity to save his vision.  I do not want to lose the bull, but I also do not want to end up in the hospital myself, nor do I wish to see Husband or Son stomped into the mud, or become a Flat Stanley against a fence. Fortunately Girlfriend has more sense than the rest of us. She stays outside the pen, ready to hand us medication . . . and call 911.

Eventually we do get him in the headgate without having to pay a deductible. No sooner is this done, than the heavens open up again. Son braves the lightning to get a round bale of hay for the cattle while his father and I hook up the trailer to drive to the feed store and pay the mafia for two round bales of horse-quality hay. By now it is raining so hard that I can only drive 20 mph.  I strain to see through a fogged up windshield and wonder what people in subdivisions are doing right now.

By the time we return home, the roads are flooding and I am thankful for my Big Ass Truck.  Not only is it above the water mark, but if that Mitsubishi rushing down the road goes into a slide, I'll still be alive when they pull his dumb ass out of the ditch. (I'm just sayin')

Arrive at home and am thankful that I drove since now Other Half must get out and open gate.  (it's the simple things in life . . .) Park truck. The water is already three inches deep and rising. Border Collie informs me that she would rather stay in a heated F250 pickup truck than jump out into a lake. 

"Really?!!"

She blushes.

"GET YOUR ASS OUT IN THIS RAIN!"

She reluctantly leaps into the water with me. I hear her mutter something about not having rubber boots.

The rain continues. It is time to build an ark. I check on livestock. The water has risen so quickly that I fear the lambs may drown and we discuss the option of bringing them into the house.

"Where would you put them?" asks Girlfriend.

Son shares with her that the bathroom is not a stranger to baby cows in distress.  (Well, she might as well know now what she's signing up for with this family . . .)

Since I have no desire to juggle five lambs and eight dogs in the house, I wait. It continues to rain. We watch the news, and eat some breakfast. It is 1:30 PM. The rain continues to beat on the roof. I have lakefront property. Actually, I am living in a house boat. (there is a lot to be said for a pier and beam house) I make brownies and pretend that my husband isn't going out of town and leaving me with a blind bull, and a flooded farm. My phone rings. Life just gets better and better. I am expected in court tomorrow morning. Lovely. Just freakin' lovely. I will not have enough time to get chores down before I must be in court and then go to work. (am reminded of the old saying "If God leads me to it, He will lead me through it.")

Son notes that the rain is threatening the smaller vehicles. He sloshes out to move my 4Runner and Girlfriend's PT Crusiser.  I warn Other Half that he might want to move his police truck.  He smarts off that his truck is too tall to be in any danger.  Okie dokie, smokey, not my problem.

A few minutes later he looks out the window and decides that perhaps he should move his police truck. I take minor satisfication from this.  The rain finally starts to slack off. Son sloshes out to check sheep and gives me two thumbs up through the window. They are not happy, but not in danger of drowning. Fire ants are floating in stinging clumps and he battles them as they attack his bare legs. I worry about my animals. Ants just add insult to injury.

The rain subsides and we decide that since nothing more can be accomplished, a nap is in order. An hour later I rise to check on the animals again. There is 4-8 inches of water surrounding the house. I convince the dogs to wade through the water to get to higher ground on the driveway and go potty.  Dillon has never seen floodwaters and is delighted. To a Labrador, this is the next best thing to Disney World.

 "Splash Party, Dudes!"

 I stuff his chocolate butt back in the house and go check the livestock.  Return to find that he has climbed onto the stove and stolen an entire pan of cooling brownies.  All gone!  No more brownies! He is burping chocolate bubbles. I debate whether I should sit down and cry now, or wait until he has diarrhea on the carpet. Opt for the latter. There is no time to cry now.

We check on lambs. Everyone is miserable. The goats are standing on pallets. The lambs are crammed in a corner of the shed in wet shavings. Their mothers look at me in expectation. Surely I will solve this latest problem. After all, that's what Bi-peds do.  We drag goats through the water to put them in stock trailer. This gives the sheep more room. The goats are not happy, but they are dry. The lambs take custody of the pallets. It's not much, but it's the best I can do at the moment. A few wander out to the tiny island surrounding the round bale of hay.

I give dogs another potty break (waiting for the inevitable chocolate explosion from Dillon's Behind) and note that water has receded about 4 inches in places in the front yard now. Other Half starts packing his truck to go out of town. Briar begins to squeal and spin in circles. Run to her aid and see that she has a crawdad attached to her back foot.  These are mini lobsters that are known by various names: crawfish, mudbugs, crawdaddies, crayfish, etc. They are good eating when boiled en masse, but all of this is unimportant when one is clamped to your back foot. I try to pull it off, but its pinchers have a vice grip on Briar's pad. Other Half rushes in and stomps the creature. Its pinchers pop off its body, but remain clamped to Briar's pad. She whines as I pull them off. Trace stares in horror.

It is now 9 PM. I give up. I inform Other Half that despite the fact that the water has receded from 1/4 of the yard, all the dogs will stay in the house.  He informs me that Briar will be locked in the muck room. (Other Half believes that I baby Briar too much and cannot abide by the idea that my Big White Dog should be allowed in the house, whatever the circumstance.)  At this point, I throw up my hands and inform him that HE is going out of town and leaving me with this mess. I still have a pickup truck full of cow feed to unload, two round bales to convince Son to unload with the tractor, muddy dogs to juggle, ants, crawdads, (probably snakes) and defense attorneys! But since I am IN CHARGE, MY DOG IS COMING IN THE HOUSE!  End of discussion.

A very wet Briar limps inside. I have ceased to care that the house smells like mud and wet dog. I need caffeine.

I ice up a frapp and consider the words I've heard three times today.

"Well, we needed the rain."

So help me, the next person who says that to me will be strangled.

I'm just sayin'.

They say hindsight is 20/20. Decisions in life seem so clear when looking back. At this point, I must borrow from Shakespeare.

"To thine own self be true."

I sit and ponder these words as I look out in the roping arena and see this:

He is a pitiful sight. Our bull went blind this week. The vet says he has a 50-50 chance of recovery. If Bully doesn't recover, we will most likely have to eat him, because a blind bull is a dangerous creature. Bully is small, but he still weighs about 1500 lbs. Imagine something the size of a Volkswagon Beetle scared and blind. He cannot see fences. He cannot see Border Collies. He cannot see us.  He is helpless. He is dangerous.

And I blame myself.

Several days ago, I noticed that Bully wasn't coming in with the House Cows to feed in the morning. Because of recent rains, the feeder area was a sloppy mess. I could see Bully in the distance beside the hay bale, so I assumed he was being a prima dona who didn't want to get his feet muddy.  He was standing, so he must be okay.  For three mornings I resisted the urge to walk out and check on him because Other Half is always cautioning me,

"They're cows! Quit coddling the livestock. You could make a pet out of a mountain lion."

He's right. I have the uncanny ability to make a pet out of anything with fur. But the sale of cattle is money, and beef is food, so I resist the urge to make pets of the cows.  Still, that little voice said, "Maybe you should go see if Bully is okay."

I was immediately chided by another voice that snapped, "Quit trying to make pets out of everything. He's standing. He's fine."

Oh, how I wish I'd been true to myself and babied the cattle.

The rancher next door saw him first. He called Other Half who called the vet.  The vet says an infection (like a cold) has settled in his eyes and he needs massive antibiotics to recover. There is a 50-50 chance that he'll regain his sight.

Yesterday we spent a heartbreaking afternoon trying to coax a 1500 lb frightened animal into a wooden corral. He walked into barbed wire fences. (I HATE that stuff!) He walked into corral panels. But fortunately he didn't run over anyone. In Bully's favor is his wonderful temperament.  He is a very calm and easy-going bull. On a good day, Bully is lazy and never in a hurry to get anywhere. When he can't see, Bully is even less likely to take off at a dead run.

We couldn't use the dogs because that wouldn't be fair to Bully or the dog, so we were reduced to walking near him with a sorting stick (not a shock stick) and tentatively poking him. It was slow and agonizing work. Several times Other Half was ready to give up and shoot him, but I wanted to give Bully a chance - give the antibiotics a chance. I owed it to him.

The infection came on quickly, and even if I'd brought him in 4 days earlier it may not have made any difference in the outcome, but still, I should have been on top of things. I wasn't, and so I'm determined to give Bully every chance I can.

We finally managed to get him doctored and in a safe place. He was hungry, he was dehydrated, and he'd lost a lot of weight. 

We moved a Seeing-Eye Cow in with him.  Daisy Mae just hit the lottery.

 "Wooo hoo!"

By default, she gets to return to the life of a show cow, something Bully has never experienced.  We may move another pregnant cow in there with him too. Both Paisley and Daisy Mae are first time mothers and both are due soon. If they are close to the house, we can keep a better eye on them. Normally we hope for heifer calves, but this year, we're hoping to have some nice bull calves to get a replacement for Bully.  This, of course, guarantees a bumper crop of heifer calves.

So Bully will spend the next month or two being coddled. Even if he doesn't regain his sight, we cannot butcher him until the antibiotics are out of his system so it buys him more coddle time.

And I have some time to work on my Shakespeare. In the future, whenever I am tempted to go against my own nature, I'll think of this and be reminded.

"To thine own self be true."

The holidays are over and it's time to get back to work!

Or, if you're a Border Collie, you never took off for the holidays.

But the rest of us can look back over the holidays . . .

and reflect on our blessings . . .  

And then, like the Border Collies . . .

It's time to get back to work.

Wishing you and yours a wonderful year filled with the promise of new beginnings!

The results are in and the Employee of the Month for December is . . .

 Miss Lily Langford!!!

(again)

For her tireless service, continued devotion to excellence in the workplace, initiative and creativity, Miss Lily Langford has been awarded the Employee Of The Month for the month of December.

(again)

Miss Langford proved her value once more this week when she took it upon herself to keep the goats out of the feed room when the Boss was dishing up sweet feed for cattle. Miss Langford noted the goats behaving like "gypsies in the palace." She observed The Boss repeatedly pushing goats aside and smacking them with buckets. Miss Langford then drew up a plan whereby she placed herself between the feed room door and the goats and disciplined (i.e. "bit") any goat that challenged her authority. The goats backed off. Peace was restored and the cattle were fed without further incident.

The next morning Miss Langford anticipated the problem and assumed the position at the feed room door without being asked.

So once again, for her tireless devotion to this company, Miss Langford has been selected as Employee of the Month.  Because Miss Langford has also been awarded Employee of the Month for:

January, February, March, April, May, June, July, August, September, October and November, this earns her the title of Employee of the Year!

Could we hear a few words from Miss Langford?

 (blush)

"Awww man!  That bites, dude! This thing is rigged! What about me?!!  What about ME going out in the dark ALL THE WAY TO THE NEIGHBOR'S to get those stupid sheep?!!  What about ME?!! I'm tellin' Dad! This is a joke! This is rigged!"

"What about ME?!!  I penned that stupid red heifer last week! What about ME?!! This thing is rigged! That little brown-noser wins every month! I'm filing a complaint with Internal Affairs!  DAD!!!"

Our journey to put money down on the ranch was Dillon's first real road trip. It proved to be quite entertaining. The realtor is very pro-dog and encouraged us to let the pups run. (He knows how to sell ranch property!)    Dillon was an angel,

 as always!

Everything about the ranch was a delight to a 4 month old Labrador, and he was a little chocolate angel. He stayed close to us. He came when he was called, and most importantly . . .

. . . he didn't roll in cow poop.

The same cannot be said for other members of our party.

Yes, Blue Heeler has a love of Cow Poop Perfume. 

Let me paint you a mental picture. Imagine this:

We walk into Realtor's Office and the weather is beautiful. Mild temperatures. Blue skies. Sign papers and throw down large sum of money. Walk out of office to discover that a Blue Norther has rolled in and it is now colder than a polar bear's nose.  Inform Other Half that we STILL will go by the property again to take photos of old homestead. He reluctantly agrees. It is cold. We have a long drive ahead of us. Nevertheless, he is stuck in the truck with a woman for the next 7 hours, so he does the only wise thing - he agrees with her.

Drive to ranch. Reason that this is the perfect place to allow pups to play before their long journey home. Problem: the cattle already on the place are certain that we are there to feed them and are thus following the truck. Grrrr. . .

Outrun cattle. Inform Other Half that he can sit in warm truck, pay bills, and keep an eye out for cattle while I throw sticks to entertain pups. (it sounded good on paper) What happened was this:

I get absorbed in playing fetch with Lily and Dillon and fail to note that Blue Heeler has slipped out of my eyesight FOR JUST A MOMENT.  Turn around in time to see him rising out of a roll.  He is covered ON BOTH SIDES with yellow-green slime. Thirty angus calves have been in a wheat field. Thirty calves can leave a lot of yellow-green poop.

Yes, it is 38 degrees outside with a stiff breeze, and we are now facing a 7 hour drive inside a truck with a dog who is now covered in cow shit. Oh joy!  See red for a moment. Vainly try to find way to blame Other Half for this dilemma. He is still sitting in warm truck. Inform him that Blue Heeler will now ride in the BACK of the truck in Dillon's crate.

Other Half argues that this is unfair and is cruel and unusual punishment for the crime.  And so that's how two idiots ended up bathing a stupid blue dog in a 38 degree stream.

 "ma bad . . ."

"Ranger smells funny. Can I sit in the front seat?"

 Greetings Bi-peds!

I'm passing out cigars! (made of hay) Christmas was a busy time for us! We had 4 lambs born in 24 hours. (3 girls and a boy)

 Christmas Carol -

- born midday on Christmas Day

 Twin Girls

- born in the wee hours after midnight on the day after Christmas. Note milk poopy butts.

 Single Boy

- born 8 pm the day after Christmas

 The Human says she is ready to go back to work just so she can get some rest. She says Lambing during the Christmas holidays is almost as stressful as dodging Christmas shopping soccer moms who are driving SUVs while sipping Starbucks and talking on their cellphones.

     It's becoming a Christmas tradition - lambing. What better way to get to the heart of the Christmas Story. While most people are in church, Other Half and I have sleeves pushed up, delivering lambs in the cold mud.

     After this summer's drought, we shouldn't complain, but lambing in the mud during a cold drizzly rain was never on my list of "things to do before I die."

On the other hand, babies are healthy, mommas are healthy, we have rubber boots and a washing machine, so all is good. Our families are also getting used to the familiar excuse,

"We're running late. A ewe is in labor."

Last year Holly was born on our way out the door . . .

This year brought us Christmas Carol . . .

     Thankfully we were home when Ma went into labor because Carol was stuck. Other Half adjusted her massive, unladylike shoulders, and "pop!" she slid right out.  Actually it sounded more like "SLOP!" she slid out and hit the mud. When she stood up she was as big as a two week old baby!

     I'm sooo glad that when I was whittling down the flock this summer I decided to keep these ewes. Rather than keeping the better bred ewes, I chose to keep the core stock of girls that I knew were experienced mothers. Now as they lamb in the cold rain, I appreciate the fact that these ladies know what they're doing, and they trust us. Ma saw us coming yesterday, and said to me,

"I might need just a little help adjusting this bowling ball. Assistance please!"

A few minutes later Carol hit the mud and we backed off to let Ma do her thing. A few hours later, Carol was bouncing around the hay, playing with another baby. It was a good Christmas Day.

     And so even though the rest of the world was snug and warm in church or with their families on Christmas, I didn't feel any less close to God by spending the day in a shed full of animals. If anything, the miracle of new life on Christmas brings me closer.

Lilah lives an hour away from her Neigh-Neighs (nay-nays???) and thus she doesn't get to ride them as often as she'd like. She does, however, pull up their pictures daily on the computer so she can keep abreast of her farms. (online supervision) And trust me, this kid keeps up with her farm!

She knows her animals. For example, last week she was helping me package soap orders. She looked down at the business cards that were attached to each bar and announced,

"Hey!  That's my goat!"

"Well, yes Dear, that IS your goat."

Whodathunkit? On the other hand, Lilah is 2 1/2 years old. She KNOWS what belongs to her, so when she comes to the farm, Lilah comes prepared . . .

 Her Neigh-neighs love to see her coming.

While Napolean genuinely likes kids, Ruffy firmly believes that children are cookie dispensers.

He's not wrong. While Napolean does all the real work, Ruffy soaks up the rewards.

 I dread the day she outgrows this little guy. I suppose there is a Welsh Pony in her future. Don't worry, Napolean's place in this family is secure though. HomeBoy ain't goin' anywhere!

After she plays with ponies, Lilah must drive around the ranch to supervise her other creatures. Yes, she drives the mule.

 Checking on the bull

(I would dearly love to know what she was telling him.)

And baby brother, Everett, is not left out. There are lambs to check too.

On Christmas Eve, Lilah returned bearing more gifts for her Neigh-Neighs. Even the big horses love to see her. It's simple math.

 Double-fisted

Grandbaby = midget human = cookie dispenser

For Christmas her baby brother received a Fisher Price Nativity Scene.

 Lilah immediately confiscated it.

  "Huh?!"

She then proceeded to rip out Baby Jesus and fill the stable with Neigh-neighs.

"Isn't there something wrong with that?"

On that same note, look closely at this Nativity scene.

Closer . . .

Yeah, that!     

Who knew Jesus had a Border Collie?

And I'll leave you with this . . .

Like Lilah, keep track of your blessings.

And like Everett, make sure to keep a little Jesus in your manger.