Farm Fresh Blog

Because of the mud and juggling Briar around the cows, yesterday I put her in the buck pen with the boys.  While the goats fall under her protection, Briar considers herself a sheepdog, not a goat dog. The goats have never been fond of Briar, and thus no one was particularly thrilled when I locked her in with the buck pen.  As I filled the water trough I watched this little drama play out.

 Jethro - young buck, not even a yearling yet, who believes he's Billy Bad-ass since he's the only one with testicles. (These things get him in trouble.)

Briar - self-appointed Guardian Of The Galaxy

As soon as Briar entered the pen, I noted Jethro giving her the hairy eye. She ignored him. He shook his ears at her a few times. She continued to ignore him.  He got bold enough to stiff-walk her way with his head down. She turned her face to the side, just barely in his direction, and lifted her lip in a silent snarl.

 And Jethro decided that retreat was the better part of valor. Interesting. This is the same idiot who thinks he can spar with the cattle. Perhaps Delta knocked some sense into him when he tried to ram her calf a few weeks ago. Whodathunkit?

 "Uuuhmmm" 

"Sparring with the dog will not part of the matinee performance."

As Briar points out almost every day, not everyone loves Border Collie puppies. Some folks like Big White Dawgs. Therefore today's post is a nod at my favorite BWD, so let's take a morning walk with Briar.

 The stock has been fed. The sheep and goats have to stay locked up until the calves finish eating or they will mob the cattle troughs and then eat all the cow chow. (This bothers Other Half more than it bothers the calves.) While the calves eat, Briar and I take a walk.

 She patrols the pastures.

 And up by the yard.

 She gets the giggles and transmogrifies from Briar the Noble Pasture Protector to Yeti - the Spinning Abominable Snowdog.

 And she runs.

 And she spins around.

 And she collapses on the ground.

 Where she winds herself up and begins again.

 And when she is finally out of breath, the spinning Yeti turns back into a peaceful pasture puppy,

 who is just as cute as any Border Collie.

After careful consideration and taking into account that Mesa is quickly growing into an opinionated, independent pup, who thinks nothing of standing up for herself, we decided Mesa was ready for The Big League - Aja, the patrol dog.

Although Aja isn't dog aggressive, for the longest time Mesa looked like a guinea pig, not a dog, and until we were certain that Aja understood that Mesa was a little person, there was always a stout fence between them - until this day.

She got bounced around quite a bit, but she loved it.

"If you can't play with the Big Dawgs, stay on the porch."

And play they did. Mesa quickly figured out that she'd leaped into the deep end of the swimming pool but soon discovered that she could still engage Aja from the relative safety of underneath vehicles. She used guerilla warfare to dash out, do a sneak attack, and dash back behind a tire to emerge with a face full of teeth on the other side. It was great fun for both dogs.

Because Mesa is so small, I still wouldn't leave them unattended but not having to juggle these two for potty breaks sure makes my life easier. It has been pointed that juggling dogs around here is like living in a penitentiary. (Yes, it is!) The pack is broken up into two sub-packs:

The Nice Dogs: Dillon, Ranger, Lily, & Aja

and The Mean Dogs: Trace & Cowboy

At the moment, Mesa interacts nicely with both packs, but I wonder if in the future she will live as peacefully under Lily's thumb. Lily is a micro-managing bitch, but she isn't a fighter. Mesa is a scrapper who isn't going to back down unless she is clearly outmatched by her opponent - and then she might hold a grudge for a while.  This will probably put her in the Mean Dog camp with Trace in the future, which is fine, because I need her to be able to work with him as a team on cattle.

In the mean time, I will enjoy the liberty of being able to bounce her between the packs for playtime and potty breaks. And to answer the question before you ask -

No, she still isn't allowed around Briar.

Briar still sees her as a Little Lily and despises her. She watches Mesa playing with the other dogs and isn't charmed one bit. As far as Briar is concerned, Mesa is not cute, Mesa is a baby Border Collie, something akin to a baby alligator in her book.

"It's not cute. It's just small."

Well, it happened today - this morning - on our morning walk. The goats rushed to the fence to see me and suddenly they slammed on the brakes - staring at my feet. And at my feet a sleeping dragon had awakened.

She squared off, lowered her little head, raised her eyebrow, and the National Geographic music rolled. And at that moment, the goats and I realized a baby cowdog woke up. They took a step back and sealed the deal. That was it. The "power" breathed into her like a Jedi force and just like a light switch flipped, Mesa turned on. Alrightie then.

I was reminded of one of my favorite scenes in the movie, "Madagascar" when Alex finally realizes he's a lion, the ultimate predator. This scene never fails to put me in stitches: http://youtu.be/6PutXIL2MS8

If you haven't seen the movie Madagascar, do yourself a favor and see it. You will not regret it.

This is the modern cowboy:

  While not entirely excluding work on horseback, we still find that the use of a 4wheeler with dogs is a pretty easy way to work cows.

There is a creek running through our ranch that wild hogs (and cows) use as a highway. The fence gates across the creek crossings are supposed to work like doggy doors, flipping up when the water flows bringing debris with it, and then settling back into place. The problem is that the cattle have figured this crap out and use the fence gaps like giant doggy doors. Thus they come and go as they please. Since our ranch has the only ponds in the area, they still come home to drink, but those hussies roam like tomcats in the hood.

This must stop. They have everything they need on our property: grass, water, shelter, cattle feeder. There is no need to adopt this "free-range" attitude. Talking to other ranchers in our area, this is common with their cattle too. One rancher even pointed out that Texas is a free-range state, thus fences are to keep cattle OUT not to keep cattle IN.   Hmmmm...

I don't care. I don't want my cattle loose. I don't want my cows so far away that they can't even hear us calling them. Thus Other Half made plans to seal the doggy door closed. The first good rain will take it out since the fence can't raise up now, but for a while, it'll keep the cattle inside. But before he could change the fence, he had to find the cows and return them to the property.  I drove around the first day and they were nowhere close. And since we've had some rain up there recently, there was obviously no burning desire to return home to water either because the next day they hadn't returned.

So Other Half loaded up the 4wheeler with his favorite tools: fencefixing materials and Trace

I have a love/hate relationship with this dog. I would probably like him more if he wasn't so dog-aggressive and so hard on my sheep. Other Half adores the little beast. He's happy enough with the way the dog works cows and they have a good relationship. I suppose the dog works because Other Half believes in him.

For example, they loaded up on the 4wheeler that cold rainy morning while I stayed in the warm house and did inside chores. He had a thermos of coffee, a walkie-talkie radio, a gun, and Trace, so I didn't worry much, but I didn't expect to see them for hours.

Less than an hour later I heard him bumping me on the radio. A half mile off the property Trace had found the cows, gathered them up, and headed them back home.

And after that he just settled down behind a cactus and watched them - like a peeping tom stalker.

 That big black cow is Snickers the Water Buffalo who will stomp a dog to death if she can catch it. The trick to working these cows is to give Snickers a healthy amount of distance and let her think moving the right direction is her idea. Don't push this old girl to fight or she'll make an honest attempt to kill your dog.

 He doesn't have a lot of formal training, but Trace reads cattle really well. He doesn't have a lot of finesse but he understands the basics - find the cows, get around them, pick em up, bring em to Dad, hop back in the 4wheeler.  And because of this, he manages to be a basic tool for the modern cowboy.

 I think it takes more than just having a good dog. I think it takes a healthy dose of believing in that dog. Trace steps up to the job because Other Half believes he can. He isn't nearly as judgemental with this little dog as I am, and it shows in the dog's performance. They ride out together, both having a big picture of the job, and working together, they get it done. And really, I suppose that's what it's all about.

The evolution of a nickname is a curious thing. Lily's alias is "Gator," Dillon is the "D-Man," and Trace is "Red Feather." It was assumed that Mesa's nickname would evolve to be "May May," but such is not the case.  This past week at the ranch her new nickname emerged:

"Moo Moo"

Because the cow goes "Moooooo."

 And Mesa Moo has supervised all cow feeding,

and she has figured out now that the cow goes "MOO!!!"

Mesa was quite happy to watch the cattle from the safety of the truck but when Other Half carried her through the bunch to count cows, she was a bit apprehensive that the 'moo-moos' noticed her.

It is clearly a lot less intimidating when you're being carried through sheep or goats, but neverthless she handled the cattle well. I did notice there was no discussion of "Put me DOWN! I've got legs. Let me walk!"

The conversation went more like:

"Hold me tight, Daddy!"

And he did. And Mesa was just fine. At her age it's all about exposure to the world she will work in without allowing her to have a bad experience. So Mesa spent a week at the north ranch, soaking up real ranch life and the worst thing that happened to her was she got a stupid nickname.

 Mesa Moo

 It has legs now!

 And a nose!

One day I noticed that Mesa was getting around faster and realized that she had suddenly sprouted legs. It was like a cartoon. One moment she was a guinea pig without legs, and then - there was a pop! And she sprouted legs!

 "Even I don't believe that."

Regardless of when they appeared, they did, and Mesa the Mogwai Monster Minion is suddenly a very fast-moving twister with a mind of her own. Yes, a twister, that pretty much descibes what it's like to keep up with her.

And the twister has 4 wheel drive.

The day she came home, I placed a board on the back of the flatbed trailer and every morning she climbs the board to survey her tiny kingdom from the top of the trailer.

 She also enjoys exploring the area in the side yard which houses all the farm equipment. Just like baby goats, baby Border Collies love this jungle gym.

Each day she plays on the equipment and I'm happy to encourage her up to a point -

 This was the point.

I was busy snapping pictures when I realize the little beast was shooting to the top of an old dog walk. This was the first time she had ever shown any interest in the old thing. The ramp has become disconnected from the top so she thought everything was fine until she got to the top and realized that was as far as she could go.  I hustled over as fast as I could move without trying to make too much of a fuss lest she bail off the top.

Dillon and Ranger were already on it.

 No, I hadn't said a thing to them. The adult dogs just recognized she had a problem and rushed over there. I joined them and she got herself turned around. Then she climbed back down, turned around, and shot back up to the top. Monster likes climbing. Monster likes giving me gray hairs. While I appreciate her boldness, this is definitely not an obstacle I want her playing with at her age.  Too much risk, too much strain on her growing body. So this will be her last view from this height for a while.

"LOOK! You can see the sheep from here!"

When is a troll not a troll?

 "He's not a troll!

 "He's my brother!"

 "I've got a minion!"

Who could be immune to the charms of this little mug?

Who could not love this face?

Or at least tolerate this face?

And this fuzzy butt!

I can't believe everyone doesn't just fall and gush over this cuteness personified.

"Believe it."

Briar has not only not warmed up to Mesa, she has decided that Mesa is indeed, a Mini-Me version of Lily, whom she despises.

Thus by default, she despises Mesa . . .

. . . who really is a Junior version of Lily.

Briar has decided she doesn't like any of the Border Collies. She loathes Lily, whips Cowboy's butt when the mood strikes her, and tolerates Trace until he does drive-bys, nipping at her as he races past. It's sad really, since they used to play together, but as the Border Collies got older, they got more cliquish, and as Briar gets older, she gets more grumpy and less tolerant of other dogs. Just about the time the board of Barbed Wire Border Collies, Inc. met and decided to approve Mesa's membership application, Briar decided the pup was definitely a Border Collie, something that would grow to be a know-it-all-micro-managing-back-biting-sheep-intimidating-holier-than-thou canine upstart.

Thus, there will be no cute pictures of Briar cuddling with Mesa.

"Nooooo.... there will not...."

 "That's her loss. This toy is neater than a Kong!"
 

What is the first rule of dog training?

Everyone together now!

"TRUST YOUR DOG!"

If you've ever run Patrol Dogs or Search & Rescue Dogs, this lesson should be pounded into your head. Trust the damn dog. I cannot tell you how many times I've been tossed off my high horse humbled by an honest dog. You would think I would learn by now, but here I sit, in confession, admitting my sin to you yet again.

Before we go there, we have to touch base in the Land Of Sexist Rants again. Forgive me guys. What is it about men that makes them think their jobs are more important than ours? Why does a man think that it's okay to go to work, come home, go to bed, and have uninterrupted sleep because his spouse will take care of any and all responsibilities? And, why does a woman do it? Why do we allow him to come home and crawl in bed when we don't allow ourselves this luxury?

When I come home from work I must:

1) Potty break and juggle 7 dogs
2) Entertain the puppy who has been in kennel for at least four hours. Puppy must be tired and fed again and have another potty break before I am allowed to go to bed. This takes at least an hour.
3) Go to bed. Wake at least once during night to give puppy another potty break.

When Husband comes home, he:

1) Goes to bed

Since the addition of Mesa the Baby Border Collie I have been forcing Other Half to at least give her a potty break before he comes to bed so that I can have an addditional hour or two of sleep before I face the day.  My reasoning is this: He darned sure plans to use this pup on his cattle, and thus he should share the responsibility of raising said creature.

Ladies, am I right?

This is how it played out this morning:

Other Half comes home at 5:30 am. Mesa, as always, is delighted to see him. He takes wriggling, happy girl outside. A few minutes later, he returns to plop her in bed with me where she plays until he comes to bed. He then crawls in bed and plays with puppy. (expecting me to return pup to kennel when he's done) His reasoning: "You have to pee anyway. Just lock her up when you come back to bed." This sounds reasonable so I fall for it.

The lights go back out. Minutes later puppy is crying. He ignores her. I ignore her. After all, she has had a potty break. She has played. I should have at least an hour and a half before the sun comes up and I plan to SLEEP. If I get up now, there is no going back to bed. So I listen to her cries become screams. Her bowl begins bouncing around the kennel like a prisoner's tin cup banging the bars. I squeeze my eyes shut and continue to ignore her. Her antics become a full-blown fit.

And here's where I made my mistake:

Dillon comes to the edge of the bed and announces: "Mesa has to go to the potty."

I ignore him. He is her best bud and probably wants to start his day early too.

He paws my face. "Mesa has a CODE 1 Potty Emergency."

I yell at him to go lie down. He sighs and leaves, only to return and announce, "She isn't kidding. She's gonna have a mud blow-out if you don't let her out."

I roll over and ignore him.

And guess what?

Mesa has a mud blow-out. Simple as that. She shit all over her kennel floor, all over her toys, all in her little dog bed, and it was all over her feet. I peek in the kennel to find a very unhappy little girl sitting in the middle of a poopy dog bed, glaring at me.

Dillon's eyebrow said it all. "I told you she had to go to the bathroom."

And that's when I put it together. Rather than stand outside in the cold, waiting for a puppy to poop, Other Half had allowed her to pee and then run back inside. He ignored the basic rule of Training Your Dragon: The dragon ALWAYS has to poop! The Mesa Dragon has to poop twice before she is really done. He has been told this, but at 5:30 am after a long night at work, it's just easier to ignore that and count on the spouse to deal with it.

The lamp comes on and the fireworks go off. I point out that if he had taken the time to give her a proper bathroom break he would be snoring at this moment instead of helping me drag a dog crate outside, bathing a puppy, and washing her dog bed and toys.

I apologize to Dillon for not trusting his judgement. I apologize to Mesa for not believing her. I then rush Mesa, Lily, and Dillon outside and return for the kennel. Growl at Other Half who is still lying in bed, blinking like a mole. Open front door to take poopy trash bag outside. Mesa is standing at front door happy to see me. She no longer has to poop. (Ya think?!) Lily is disgusted by Mesa's actions and bites her in the face. Puppy does a backflip and falls off the porch, landing in a large puddle of muddy water. I smack Lily in the side with a trash bag full of shit. She is grossly offended by this. Mesa happily climbs out of puddle, runs around the deck, bounces up the steps, and appears at my feet, poopy, muddy, but happy.

I cannot help but smile at her good humor. No harm. No foul. She doesn't hold a grudge. Perhaps we can all learn something from a puppy.

I think about that as I hose out the kennel, her dog bed, and her toys. We take a long walk in the yard while Other Half plunks her dog bed in the washing machine. I have a 'wife moment' as I hear the washing machine filling up with water and shout through the screen door at Other Half, "You know you have to put something else in there to balance that load, right?" He grunts that he knew that. My mind does a quick inventory of the dirty clothes. Nothing in the hamper is something that can be washed with a crappy dog bed, so I ask him, "What did you use to balance the load."

No response.

Standing on the front porch I ask again through the screen door. Crickets.

The only possible right answer to this question was "dog towels" but since he didn't respond I knew he was still running around the house trying to find something to wash with the crappy dog bed because he had forgotten he couldn't just plunk a shitty dog bed in the washing machine, hit the 'wash' button, and go back to bed.

I take a lesson from Mesa who is happily bouncing around in the mud with a stick. I let it go. Walk around yard watching happy puppy while the wildly popular song from the movie Frozen rolls through my head. Other Half shouts through the window that Mesa's bath water is ready.

We bathe puppy in sink. She discovers the bag of puppy chow beside the sink and buries her head in the bag to pack her little cheeks like a chipmunk. Whatever. It keeps her still. Pick your battles. After her bath I make Other Half pose for a photo with a puppy burrito.

I inform him that I will blog about this. He nods. He is tired and no longer wants to hear how this is all his fault because he short-cutted her potty break. I will go on record as saying the fault is shared because if I had believed Dillon when he announced the emergency, I too, would have been snoring in bed instead of starting the day by walking in the mud humming the PG version of "Let It Go" while a grinning puppy chews on sticks.