Farm Fresh Blog

Clairesmum asked about chicken eggs at the ranch to go with the bacon from free range hogs.  THIS is why we won't have chickens until the dogs are at the ranch full time.

 We have so many bobcats that Son even saw one during the day. I won't shoot them on sight, but knowing we have so many certainly changes my plans for building chicken coops.

Until Briar is there full time, there will be no small livestock or chickens at the ranch. Even then, we'll build the pens so the dogs COMPLETELY surround the chicken pen. (like a moat filled with canines!)  When the sun goes down out there, the predators come out like the flying monkeys in Oz.

 "Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!" 

After examining well over 400 game camera photographs, it has come to our attention that we do not have a hog infestation on the ranch.  We have 9 regular inhabitants - 2 honking large sows and 7 fat little piggies.

Yes, still dangerous, but definitely not something we want to eradicate.  Since we cannot avoid having hogs on the property, we need to manage the hogs we have. Thus, we'll just take male piggies for butchering. (unless a sow attacks us or the dogs, then all bets are off. Die Piggy! Die!)

I've named this the Arnold Bunch.  Here's Arnold.

Even though Arnold appears to be male, I've asked the boys to leave Arnold because he doesn't blend. Arnold sticks out in the woods like a sore thumb.  I've been able to identify this pack when we surprise each other because of Arnold. 

In one set of pics I thought I had another bunch of hogs.

Then I found a dirty Arnold.

 See?  There he is on the left.

I'm sure there are other hogs drifting through the property, but since this is our resident group, and they have pretty predictable behavior, we agreed there is no sense in shooting them except to take male piggies for the freezer.  They are, in essence, the ultimate in free range pork.

But yes, I'm still carrying the AR-15. Do you see the size of those sows??!!  (Not giant by hog standards, but big enough to do a number on a pack of dogs and a lavender-loving human.)

My "bucket list" dream has been to ride an Andalusian horse through the lavender fields of Provence. Since I am highly unlikely to get to France anytime soon, and I've already got the horse,

I've decided to bring the lavender fields to me!  North and Central Texas is a good climate for lavender, so I've decided to start planting it on our ranch. Last month I set out $130 worth of little lavender plants of different varieties, in different spots. What makes it makes it, what doesn't will be cut from the team. 

I returned last week to find that wildflowers had exploded all over the ranch. The ranch was awash in bright colors and butterflies.

 Even weeds were beautiful when covered in butterflies.

I eagerly rushed out to examine my lavender.  Problem #1: finding it.

I hadn't counted on the abundant growth of grass and weeds in my absence. I couldn't even find many of the lavender plants that I'd carefully set along the red dirt road. 

Some I found, but they were struggling to compete. Problem #2: competetion

 It's alive . . . somewhere in there.

 But look at this one!

I had the best luck with the larger plants that were already established. Although they cost 3 times as much, they faired far better than the small plants.  Provence variety was the hands-down winner for the ranch too. 

When we move up there full time, and I'm better able to care for young plants, I can put in smaller plants and more varieties, but for now, I think my money is better spent putting in larger Provence plants.

What do you think?

There are certain mysteries in life that simply elude me - the pyramids, crop circles, Kardashian celebrities.  Most of the time I just shrug and move on but today's puzzle has me stymied.

Why, I ask you, can a person be in BFE (bum f*** Egypt) for almost a week, in a remote location with less than spotty cell phone reception and not spot ONE FREAKIN' SNAKE and yet, return home to find this in the feed bin with the oats . . .

I've named her Nadine.

Since we have a mouse problem in the barn and Nadine is a Rat Snake (I think!), she can stay. Unfortunately she is STILL camped in the feed bin, with at least six mice, so the horses will NOT be getting oats any time soon. I threw them hay this morning and advised them to be happy with it! I'll have to feed them out of a trash can until Nadine moves on. She has already eaten one, but it'll probably take her a while to go through the entire Stuart Little Family.

Nadine showed up yesterday. It boggled my mind that I spent almost a week looking for rattlesnakes at the ranch and saw nothing. I am NOT complaining. In no way, shape or form, am I COMPLAINING! Our neighbors 21 miles away found 5 rattlesnakes this weekend alone!

I returned home to the 'cow camp' house to find Nadine yesterday. (shudder)This morning while walking the dogs IN THE YARD, I saw a snake that looked suspiciously like a cottonmouth. (viewed from about 20 feet away) I quickly hustled seven dogs away and returned with a shotgun to find my snake had split. Well, not literally. If he hadn't been gone when I returned with the shotgun, THEN he'd be 'split.'

Truthfully though, unless he was poisonous, he'd have been safe too, because although I dislike snakes and they give me the willies, they 'do' have a place in the circle of life and I respect that.  On the other hand, poisonous snakes are not given such latitude.

So there it is, two snakes in two days - 45 minutes from the Big City. (shudder) I swear I heard the theme from JAWS this morning when I saw that snake in the yard. All I'm sayin' is that you shouldn't scare people who carry shotguns. I'm just sayin'.

I'm dating myself here, but many years ago, there was a commercial with a slogan that stuck. It said,

"A mind is a terrible thing to waste."

Wise words to live by.  Which leads us to the Brainiac of the Day Award:

 Rocking RL Gunsmoke

Mr. Dillon!

The D-Man takes the Brainiac of the Day Award with his stunning display of 'true to his breed' characteristics.

Let me set the stage:

Am on phone with Neighbor discussing Mother. Note little green lizard in house. Catch little green lizard. Open window. Deposit lizard outside. He runs off. Close window. Note that D-Man has seen window open and comes over to investigate. Ignore him and return to conversation. Glance out window to find the D-ster with Little Green Lizard. Bang on window. D-Man looks up. Lizard scampers off. Clever-Fast-Chocolate-Predator snatches up Hapless Victim. Open window and scream at Chocolate Monster to release Victim. He ignores me.

"Surely there must be a misunderstanding. Perhaps Mom 'wants' this creature. After all, it smells like Mom's hand."

 Chocolate Monster scoops up Green Victim who is now turning brown and happily delivers him to the window. I open window to take Lizard. Lizard Dog releases Victim to my hand. Victim screams in silent terror. I drop him back outside where he runs off. Pull Chocolate Thunder through the open window. Continue phone conversation.

Note that Chocolate Thunder has disappeared. Hmmmm.... screen door is open. D-Man has let himself back out into yard through front door. Go to back window. Yes . . . Mr. Matt Dillon has run around the house, located the lizard, and is bringing me said Lizard . . . again. I open window and once again, he delivers a terrified but otherwise un-harmed brown lizard to me.  He climbs through window again.  Joy! Joy!  What a wonderful game for everyone - except the lizard!

Note: Although he is the only dog in the house who would even 'care' to fetch a lizard, fortunately for the lizard, he is also the only dog in the house who would not mangle the poor thing during the fetch. It's the small blessings in life we should focus on. (grin)

Michigan Sister asked about Montoya. What's his story?

Montoya was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. His father is the black Andalusian stallion, Conquistador, from Andalusians De Mythos. His mother is a beautiful Paso Fino mare who was a buckskin going grey. Montoya was born in Colorado and was a dark grulla color. 

For those of us not schooled in the elements of color, he was a product of the black mixed with buckskin gene. His mother also gave him the gene to go grey, and so although Montoya was born dark brownish grey, with black points and stripes on his legs, over the years he is slowly turning white.

It is said that a good horse can never be a bad color and so whatever color he is, Montoya is a character. He is easily identifiable in photos not by his color, but by his expression. I bought him as a weanling . He is registered as a Half-Andalusian. Montoya was impeccably started under saddle by Francine Dismukes and Malen Dell and by all rights he should have gone on to a show career, but he was saddled with me.

The delightful woman who has his sire arranged for Montoya to get a spot in a fancy Andalusian training facility. He was rubbing elbows with horses worth more than my house, and yet, I made it clear to Malen that Montoya would never have a show career. He was my therapy horse, my bird-watching horse, and my friend.

I explained that I was divorced and had a high stress job and Montoya was my therapy.  Montoya has soaked up many tears. Many nights I would come home from work, and tell Montoya what terrible thing had happened. There are few things more therapeutic than leaning against a horse while he's eating hay. The slow grinding of teeth grinds all your troubles away.

When he was a baby, I discovered Allen Pogue's Imagine A Horse website. I loved it!  Allen treats his horses the way I treat my dogs. Montoya is the first horse I've ever raised this way.  He learned tricks, and problem-solving skills, and became a highly entertaining and challenging partner.  Montoya loves to interact with humans.

Crusty old cowboys (like Other Half) call him "spoiled" but I prefer to think of him as a lovable engaged friend.  Where they see a meddlesome horse who doesn't know his place, I see a bored, intelligent creature who wants to entertain himself with your tools while you fix the fence.  Where they see a destructive animal, I see a creative creature who has found a new toy. (the red bobber underneath the float valve on the water trough)

One night, shortly after we moved over to the Cow House full time, Other Half was proudly showing me how Musket had learned to step over a blue plastic barrel in the round pen. Nice. And it was. Musket was a green-broke horse, not long out of the pasture. I should have stopped at merely complementing his horse, but the devil hopped on my shoulder and pushed the angel aside. (mostly because Other Half is always putting my horse down.)

So I called Montoya, who Other Half barely tolerates because he considers the horse to be a spoiled, "fairy tale" horse with no real purpose in life. 

 Fairy Tale Horse

 So my fairy tale horse walked into the pen, eager to play.  I pointed at the barrel and said

"Hey Buddy, look at that. Touch it."

Montoya hustled over to examine the new blue barrel. He'd never seen a blueberry blue barrel before and was quite intrigued. It ROLLED!  Yes!  YES! The barrel ROLLED!  And so I asked him to bring me that barrel.  And my good for nothing fairy tale horse rolled that damned barrel across the pen and brought it to me. Montoya and I are were both quite pleased with his fuzzy self. 

Now . . .  I'm sure there are crusty cowboys all across Texas asking themselves this one question,

"So what? What good is a fetchin' horse?"

To them I say this! 

BLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!

Give us a kiss!

Terri's Pal asked if managing the dogs was more trouble than managing the livestock.  YES!  That's a BIG FAT YES!!

This morning:

Cowboy is shuffled inside and Ranger is shuffled outside. They cannot be together because they fight. (Grrrr. . . I WARNED Other Half about bringing home Cowboy, but he fell in love with the dog and still adores him. Ranger, however, does not. Cowboy taunts Ranger in an Eddie Haskell manner. It can get ugly, so we keep them apart.)

With Cowboy secure in the house, put Briar in cattle trailer so she doesn't eat Oli. She doesn't like Oli. Something in Briar's genes tell her that Oli is not to be trusted with sheep. Ya think?

Start Mule. Trace, Lily, and Ranger play Three Stooges to get in front seat. Lily wins. Ranger gets in back. Trace runs along beside. Dillon crams a tennis ball in his mouth and trots along. Ice maintains a heel position as she trots along. Oli madly circles while barking like a crazy person and occasionally darts in and attempts to bite tires.

I shout "Don't bite the tires!"

Lily shouts "Don't bite the tires!" 

Ranger falls out. He then circles with Oli and prevents her from biting the tires.

When Oli is about to pass out from heat stroke, put her in kennel run with water. Put Trace in another kennel run beside her. Put Dillon and Ranger in another run. Put Ice in house with Cowboy. Take Lily to go feed livestock.

     Feed horses and lock them in barn. Move sheep. Move goats. Feed cattle. Horse flooded the pasture with float valve again last night! (They say Insanity is doing the same thing and expecting different results. Why, oh why did I turn the water back on to the pasture before I went to work yesterday?)

Vow to keep water turned off while horses are loose. Fill up tanks. Play fetch with Lily. Bring Ranger and Dillon into pasture. They all swim in pond while water tanks are filling. Pond is nasty. Dogs all smell like a swamp, but are happy.

Return to house, hose dogs down and stuff them in cattle trailer. 

    Take Briar and Ice for a walk in pasture to turn off water to tanks. Note that Lily has lost ALL 3 of her dog tags beside pond. Thank God they are on ground and not lost in water.

     Turn horses out to new pasture. Sheep are now in yard, happily mowing. Goats are trimming trees in pasture. Cows see horses in good-grass pasture and start to bellow. Promise them that I will move them in there this afternoon.  No more problems from livestock. All are happy.

     Ice comes in house. Briar joins her sheep. Dillon, Lily and Ranger scream in cattle trailer to remind me they are wet, covered in wood shavings, and now wish to come in the house. Oli is spinning circles in her kennel run again. She has gotten her second wind. Trace is racing back and forth in his kennel run while watching Sheep TV in the yard.

 God love him, but Trace is one step behind Oli in the "So-Obsessed-He's-Lost-His-Marbles" department.

     In 4 hours, this routine must be repeated before I leave for work. Return Sheep and Goats to their paddock. Move Horses. Move Cattle. Drive around in Mule to exercise dogs.  Bring dogs into air conditioning to cool off. Feed them. Put them in kennel runs/or cattle trailer/or yard. Leave for work. Do an 8-14 hour shift. Come home and repeat.

Other Half is sleeping a nice hotel room with no dog hair in the bed. Now I ask you - is this fair?

Because of the hog problem on the ranch, it has become necessary to expose certain members of the family to gunfire lest I have to shoot at a hog and find myself with three scared dogs racing off into the forest.

So Other Half and I loaded up the mule with dogs and a couple of rifles and headed to the creek. The deep sandy banks provide a safe place to shoot.

Plan:  Shoot rifle. Observe dogs. Reinforce good behavior.

Execution of Plan:

Remind dogs they need to stay in mule. Walk to bank. Fire shot.

Result:

Lily starts wildly barking. 

Dillon is quietly stimulated but clearly thrilled.

Trace - "WTF!" 

It's hard to tell if Trace is frightened of gunfire, or Lily's psychotic behavior.

Observe dogs closely while Other Half shoots at a distance. Same result. Praise dogs for staying in mule. Shoot again. Same result. Praise dogs for staying in mule. Note Trace's growing anxiety. Stop exercise for a game of fetch.

See? Endure the couple of shots, and then we'll play a rompin' good game of fetch!

Lily is almost intoxicated. Gunfire has overstimulated her. Dillon is giddy. Something in his genes appears to have kicked in.  Trace is relieved.

Am somewhat assured that in Real Case Scenario the dogs won't bolt and run into the forest at the sound of gunfire.

Next Day: Real Case Scenario

Other Half escorts us on Morning Walk. He is concerned about hogs. He is armed. I am armed. Dogs are unarmed. (Except for Lily who is always armed with a quick wit.)  Because Other Half wishes to creep up on corn feeder, he splits from road and goes around pond to get to back side of feeder. Dogs and I continue our merry way. We are not quiet.  Other Half radios that turkeys are headed our way.  Sure enough, two nice fat turkeys pop out of forest, see us, and happily fly away. Cool.  We radio back. We are not quiet. Dogs are zoom zooming in pasture behind pond. Other Half exits forest and joins us. We chit chat. We are not quiet.

Happen to glance over shoulder and see eight large piglets crossing back of pasture - WHERE WE JUST CAME FROM! WTF!! 

I call dogs. Thankfully all three come bouncing over. Other Half takes the long shot.  BOOM!

Trace hits the deck.  "HOLY CRAP!" 

Trace zooms to my side. Lily begins to wildly bark. Dillon bounces TOWARD THE GUNFIRE!

He arrives at Other Half's side. Pigs are gone. Dillon stares with excitement. Something has awakened in his seven month old brain.

Pat Trace and quickly grab up a stick. (If you survive the Boom, we will play fetch.)  We play fetch while Other Half keeps an eye out for more hogs. Once more, Lily is intoxicated with power. Dillon is assured that gunfire equals the coolest game in the world, and Trace is satisfied that the world has not ended.

Walk to other end of field. No dead pig. We won't discuss who missed that shot. In his defense, it was a long shot and they were moving quickly. Son however, will not be as gracious as me. He will give his father much grief about missed shot.

I am just happy that our practice the day before paid off. Clearly Trace could become really gunshy if we don't play our cards right. Clearly Dillon is not. Clearly Lily is a psycho,

but then, we already knew that.  And we love her anyway!

I'm not a Gun person. I have guns. I believe in having guns. I believe in the right to bear arms. I believe in the right to arm bears. (grin) I believe a gun is a tool, like a hammer or a pocket knife. It is neither inherently good or bad. It simply is. I believe in pot hunting. If you're hungry, it's hunting season. If you've got three kids to feed, it's hunting season. That said, I also believe if you kill it, you damned well better eat it. Unless it's a personal threat to you or your livestock (including dogs) I don't believe in shooting it.

I like small shotguns for snakes, and a small .22 rifle for varmits (coyotes), but I've never had much use for big rifles. The men in my life have them. They need to reach out and knock down big things, like hogs and deer, and in Other Half's case, man.  I don't really need that kind of fire power, and am not enamored with the idea of possessing that kind of fire power just to say I have it.

Some people love guns. Other Half loves gun. To him, guns are currency. He sells guns to buy more guns. Although he has a few personal favorites, most guns in his collection have a price. Son is the same way. When the Zombie Wars come, my warriors will be prepared.

For me, guns are a personal thing. My duty weapon is a Smith & Wesson 40 caliber. It's nothing fancy but I like it. Most folks have switched to Glocks or Sigs or anything but a Smith, but that gun has saved my butt countless times, and I appreciate that, so I won't switch to something else just because my gun is out of fashion now. It has never jammed on me. It has never had an accidental misfire. It's a steady and reliable gun. When my work mostly involved running felony warrants and narcotics, that gun was pointed in earnest at someone EVERY night. It was the reason I didn't leave work in a body bag. I greatly appreciate that.  I trust the gun. It may be just a tool, but I trust that it will work. I've handled it long enough that it's a part of my muscle memory. I don't have to think about how to use it.

Unlike Other Half, I don't buy and sell guns that I like. I feel that to be truly proficient with a gun, it should be an extension of your arm, and to have that, you've got to carry it a lot, and use it a lot. The gun must be a part of your muscle memory.

I tell you all this to answer the question as to why buy a gun I could borrow from my husband - because I want it to be MINE. I could have borrowed it, (I prefer the word "steal"), but I would rather own the gun outright.  After several hog sightings on the ranch, it's apparent that we have quite a bold wild hog population.

I've sighted two large sows with eight piglets twice, and we have numerous pictures of them on the game cameras. A sow with piglets is a dangerous creature.

My handguns cannot bring down one of these sows. I now need a rifle, and I want it to be MY rifle, not something he will sell with a promise to loan me something else. I want MY OWN GUN!

The AR-15 has a stock that adjusts for my arm length. It's light, accurate, and easy to carry. It doesn't have much kick. Once I decided I needed one, it was just a matter of getting it, but they aren't cheap, and I didn't want to plunk down the cash. He was gonna spend the $1300 on the blind and feeders anyway, and I was gonna spend the $1300 on a good AR-15. This was a solution we could both be happy with, and it saved us $1300.

Look closely at the tusks on this sow. That's why I need the AR-15.  Country men love to tell tales of how brave their dogs are when tackling hogs.  I listen politely as they recount the bravery of Brutus the Wonderdog, then I ask them what became of Wonder Brutus.

"Oh well, a hog finally got 'im. But we got that hog!"

Yeah. The long and short of the story is always, "Some hog killed the brave dog, but the dog didn't die of his injuries until after we killed the hog."

Alrightie then. I plan for my version of that story to go like this:

This little piggie went in the freezer.

In any relationship, there must be give and take. Most of the time this is done to keep the peace and make life simpler . . . other times, it's a pure business transaction. Such was the case this weekend.

To get to the main gate of the new ranch, you must go through two gates and a cattle guard. People don't just casually show up there, so imagine our surprise when we return from a visit to the neighbor's place to find a pickup truck parked outside our main gate and the combination lock un-done.

Four-wheeler tracks lead from the truck into our property. Since I had locked the gate when we left, this does not bode well . . . for the person or persons poaching on our property.

The hinky part is the fact that they had the lock combination. How odd. Perhaps someone we know? But everyone we know with the combination ALSO has our cell phone number! And they know we carry guns and have a pack of hounds. Escape is futile. (grin)

On the off chance the trespassers were the deer hunters who had left feeders and a blind on the property, we drive to the blind. Voila! Friendly deerhunters are finally taking the stuff they left three months ago. They wish we had arrived an hour earlier before they disassembled feeder and blind. They had wanted to sell us the stuff to avoid the time and effort of recovering it, but didn't have our number. How odd. Other Half had wanted to buy it, but didn't have their number. What good fortune for both sets of men! They agree on a figure of $1300 for the purchase of feeders and blind.

Men began to set them up again.  I sit in the mule contemplating this business transaction. Realize that Other Half plans to use the RANCH account checkbook to purchase items for hunting when I, myself, don't really give a darn about hunting. $1300!  THIRTEEN HUNDRED DOLLARS! WTF!!!

Very Astute Husband notes my change in mood. As he and men put up VERY EXPENSIVE ITEMS FOR MURDERING INNOCENT ANIMALS, I contemplate the purchase and decide then and there that at this point, if I wish to buy $1300 worth of lavender plants to dot the roadways of the ranch, Other Half has absolutely NO LEG to stand on in objection.

In fact, I could purchase $1300 worth of damned near anything that he didn't want, and he couldn't say anything about it. Mood is improving slightly. (Except for the fact that I cannot think of anything I want to spend that much money on.)

Decide that watching men work is not my idea of fun. Announce to Other Half that the dogs and I will drive up to Moss Bluff to check some rosemary I planted last month. He reminds me to take a rifle in case we run into wild hogs. (very dangerous creatures- especially to dogs) Offers to give me his bolt action something or other. I decline.

Unsaid:  I am a handgun person. In order to take a rifle to Moss Bluff I must go back to camp and get one of his precious AR-15s and load it. I have unloaded many AR-15s at murder scenes, but have never loaded one. He has never given me a lesson on how to use this beast, but I figure that loading one must be the same as unloading one - just backwards. 

Assure him that we will be fine. He gives me The Look.

The Look says, "I won't 'front' you in front of total strangers, but can you load a strange weapon and use it to protect yourself and the dogs from wild hogs?"

I assure him that Lily and I have it under control. He nods. Clearly he has his doubts. I drive off with renewed determination. Go back to camp. Find gun. That's a start. Find magazine. Halfway there. Pop magazine into gun. Almost done. Hmmmm. . . bullet should be in chamber. Check that safety is on. Point gun at mattress in case there is a boom! Rack gun. Hear bullet slide into place. Double-check that safety is on. Connect sling. Okay! Gun has bullets. Bullet in chamber. Safety on. We're in business! Head to Moss Bluff.

Woo hoo! Happy with gun. Bounce down path, happy that if we encounter hogs we now have the firepower to deal with them. Announce to Lily that we're stealing Daddy's gun. Lily allows as how that is a good idea.

Arrive at the Bluff and check rosemary. Lookin' good! (i.e. Not dead yet!) No hogs. Good. Didn't really want to deal with three dogs and a herd of Ole-Yeller-Killin' Wild Pigs. Want to shoot New-Gun-That-I-Have-Just-Decided-To-Steal-From-Husband. Opt against it since the sound of a rifle shot will cause him to worry. Instead the dogs and I return to Working Men. 

Men share a beer with Other Half and then leave with their money. I then inform Other Half of the current power shift. He reluctantly agrees. Clearly he has been ruminating on this fact too. He avoids subject by inquiring about any problems loading AR-15.

"Of course not! I've unloaded bunches of these things. Just do the same thing, but do it backwards!"

He nods. He hasn't thought of that.  Smile smugly. Chock one up for Girl Power! Inform him that now I wish to shoot gun and have decided to steal said weapon from him. His mind leaps to the obvious conclusion. I hear it clear into place like the bolt of a rifle.

"YES!!!  I will trade her my gun (that she would have taken anyway!) for the $1300 of hunting things she didn't want!"

He suggests trade of gun to balance purchase of hunting things. (that he would have purchased anyway!)

I make a show about weighing it. Reluctantly agree. He is happy and quite relieved that we didn't have to spend $1300 on some frivolous woman thing. I am happy that I got a gun I wanted. Decide now is a good time to press my luck. Tell him I will only agree to trade if he puts fancy laser sight (that Son told me about) on said gun. Where red dot is - bullet goes. Sounds like a nice toy to me. He agrees. What man wouldn't? In his mind he just saved himself $1300. In my mind, I get a tricked out gun in exchange for something he would have purchased anyway.

As we drive off to shoot my new gun, I ruffle Lily's ears. Soul Sister smiles and assures me that getting a rifle to protect her from hogs was a good trade.