Farm Fresh Blog

I stand before you and admit it.  I have a drinking problem.

If I were able to knock the Starbuck's Mocha Frappuccino out of my life, I'd lose 10 lbs right off the bat.  Of course, considering the fact that it has enough caffeine in it to ride your bicycle to Dallas, giving up frapps would undoubtedly cause me to become a Bitchy Bear and I'd probably knock a lot of other things in my life too.

I've tried to quit.  I've tried coffee.  I've tried coffee beans. Nothing has worked. Fate seems to have a way of knowing when I'm planning to cut back on the frapps.  There is a basic law of Physics that says "For Every Action, There Is An Equal And Opposite Reaction." That law applies EVERY time I try to give up frapps.

Since I haven't been to the grocery store in some time, I've been forced to buy my precious Nectar of the Gods from the local gas station where they cost an arm and a leg.  Would someone PLEASE shut those damned sheep up!!!!!  (Pardon me, we are weaning sheep and a week of screaming is wearing me down!) Anyway, back to the story . . .  Last night I bought two frapps on my way home so that I'd have them when I woke up.  (Yes, as I have already admitted, I have a drinking problem.)

As I crawled in bed, I told myself that today would be a good day for cutting back on the frapps.  I heard Fate laugh at me as I fell asleep.  True to form, this is how my day unfolded:

Am jolted awake by smell of cat piss.  Yes!  I said it!  Not cat urine!  Cat PISS!  Anyone who has been awakened by that smell in their bedroom will tell you, it's CAT PISS! (Would someone PLEASE SHUT UP THOSE DAMNED SHEEP!!!!) Leap out of bed to investigate odor. Two cats point at a third who is slinking out of the bedroom. Ice, The Black Wolf, is beside herself.  Egads!!! A cat has pissed in her dog bed!  (That's a hanging offense in this house!)  I look at it and several thoughts race through my mind:

* Other Half is going to have a fit when he sees this.
* I'm going to have to throw away ANOTHER dog bed.
* I need a freakin' frappuccino. NOW!
* Why are the sheep quiet?
* It's time to evict that damned tabby calico!

Put the dogs outside.  Ice continues to bitch about the fact that a cat has pissed in her dog bed. Note that one of the cats has thrown up in the hallway.  Give silent thanks that I didn't step in it. Give serious consideration to throwing ALL cats outside. Remember that I have done that before and they learned to use the doggy door.  Decide that no important issues should be tackled until I have a frapp.  Note that sheep are quiet. 'Bout damned time! Weaning must be going well. Get frapp and head outside.

No baby goats were born last night.  Dolly is about to pop and Eva doesn't look too far behind her. Dolly is waiting for a cold, icy night after I have come home from working a double murder in the rain before she has her babies. Since Spring has sprung, she will have to satisfy herself with waiting until I come home from an all night stinker to have birthing complications while the vet is out of town.  Coming home on time to two or three healthy kids is probably not in the cards for me. I accept this, and that is why I have a drinking problem.

Feed goats and head to main barn.  Happen to notice that a ewe is with the weaned lambs.  How did THAT happen? Remember that two days ago I placed young Boer Buck Amos with the weaned rams.  Decide that somehow AMOS is to blame.  After all, Amos is a goat, and somehow, some way, most headaches on the farm can be traced back to goats.

Get inside barn and note that ALL the sheep are now back together.  They are happy.  Amos is a goat among sheep, a Stranger In a Foreign Land. He advises me that he wishes to be returned to the goat herd now. I inform him that he is now part of the Bachelor Scene and will remain with the young rams.  Amos informs me that if he is not returned to the goat herd then he will teach the rams how to escape their prison and continue to cause further mayhem.  I inform Amos that Boer Bucks are easy to find and he will end up in a tortilla if he does not behave.  He informs me that he has been wrongly accused and that in actuality, Hulk the Ram opened the gate and let the ewes back in with the lambs.  Uh huh.   

Manage to sort ewes and lambs again.  The screaming commences as soon as they finish breakfast.  Loud screaming. Very loud screaming.  Threaten to sell every one of them on Craigslist. Walk in house and get another frappuccino.

And that, Friends and Neighbors, is why I have a drinking problem.

Advice For The Day (Learned the Hard Way!)

Do NOT, I repeat, DO NOT run over a pile of sheep's wool with a lawnmower!

On the other hand, if you do, you will become your Livestock Guardian Dog's new best friend!

I don't spend any money on toys for this dog. She is easily amused. 

Earlier this web I was cussing and discussing life with a farmer friend who shared with me that she had someone tell her they would love to live on a farm like hers, but they would need STAFF to help run it.

Staff?  That's a laugh! She can't even take a vacation because she can't find competent help to "staff" the farm for a week while she's gone.  I felt her pain. It reminded me to be ever-thankful for my Dear Friend and her Vet Husband who run a small farm down the road from us. 

We switch off taking care of each other's animals so we can each get out of town from time to time. They raise heritage turkeys. I tried that.  I sucked at it.  After months of caring for them, when the turkeys finally got up to eating size, coyotes got into the flight pen and killed most of my flock in one night. (13 turkeys and 5 chickens!) That was the end of my turkey raising, but Dear Friend managed to successfully raise her flock and butcher them herself. More power to her.  I'll stick with 4-legged animals for now. I live in fear that when I'm taking care of her turkeys, I'll bring my Bad-Turkey-Karma over and find that coyotes have massacred her entire flock on my shift.  Eeeek!!!

Anyway, the point is that those of us who raise livestock have a hard time finding good help.  You simply cannot do it by yourself, so sometimes you get a little creative when hiring "staff."

For instance:

I can neither afford Round-Up, nor do I wish to poison my fence lines.  So I got a Landscaping crew that cleared fence lines:

(These pioneers paved the way to GOATS on the farm.  They were both a blessing and a curse.)

Mowing in the summer is such a hassle, so I employed another type of Landscaping crew for the back yard where I didn't want ALL my landscaping eaten as goats tend to do. The stallion worked the high grass in the yard.  The geese worked the low stuff that the stallion wouldn't eat.  This system worked really well until the *#@! coytoes came in and ate my yard crew! (Well, they didn't eat the horse, but I'm sure it was discussed!)

  I was heartbroken.  I swore to Other Half that I would not get any more geese because I loved these little guys so much. I broke the cardinal rule: Never Fall In Love With Something On The Bottom Of The Food Chain!

Fencing by yourself can be a hassle too.  The Enforcer is most helpful with this. He will sit on the end of field fencing while you roll it out and tack up the other end.  He will also carry all manner of tools. The only tool he cannot easily carry is the t-post pounder. My big fear is that he'll break a tooth in his effort to carry the t-post pounder.  "A man has GOT to know his limitations!"

 (Update on his renal faillure:  He is still holding his own and refuses to "Go Gentle Into That Good Night."  He is a fighter. )

One day a few weeks ago I came home to find that the neighbor had mowed his grass.  It was all one length. It was beautiful.  My yard looked like white trash lived here.  Weeds, wildflowers, and clover competed with the Spring grass. I didn't have time to mow, but I had a solution. I already had a yard crew capable of giving me a lawn quality cut with little or no effort on my part.

So the moral of this story is: Good help IS hard to find, but a little creativity will save you a lot of work!

This is why I drove across Texas to get this dog.

   This sheep is Roanie, the other ewe that was attacked by New Police Dog.  Because Jamaica died and left Roanie alone in the hospital stall, we took the vet's advice to just throw Roanie out with the rest of the sheep.  She must fend for herself at meal time and the long walk out on three legs is tough, but she seems MUCH happier.  Today she met Briar for the first time.  It was magical.  This is clearly what this dog was bred to do.  The ewe came from a ranch with Livestock Guardian Dogs and was originally born on the ranch where Briar was born.  Instead of playing bumbly puppy games with her new sheep, Briar greeted her slowly.

  Then she checked out the mangled back leg.

  Then she kissed her.

  Then the sheep laid her head on Briar's shoulder.

 And they just stood there.

It was so beautiful that I almost cried.  (My mother stood beside me and whispered, "Are you getting pictures of this??!!")  Briar is still a bouncey baby elephant of a dog, but even at her young age, she understands her job.  It's in her genes. And that is why I drove across Texas to get this dog.

             Briar in her Super Hero pose!   

Believe it or not, this dog is working.

She sits in her chair and surveys her little kingdom.  Not much goes on in the pasture that she doesn't know about. I am alerted every time a chicken walks near the sheep, or a robin lands near the water trough.  It's a tough job, but someone has to do it.

This dog is also working.

Someone got the short end of the stick.

While Jamaica won many battles, she lost the war.  Early this morning we had to put her down.  The tetanus was simply too much on top of the injury she already had and her immune system finally gave out.  We learned a great deal from this experience and like my vet told me,  "It's 30% medicine and 70% luck."  I regret that I didn't recognize the signs of tetanus hours earlier and start the antitoxin then, but as one sheep rancher told me, "Most folks lose the first ones. You learn. And after that you're able to see the signs earlier."

On a happier note:

Lily the Border Collie has been weed-eating beside the porch.  She loves to munch on a tall weed that grows against the house and always grabs a bite on each pass in and out the door. It has now been eaten down enough to reveal this little visitor poking its head out of the ground.  I love Spring.  Forgotten bulbs from discarded flower pots find a way of revealing themselves at just the right time.  Now each Spring when these pop out of the ground, I'll remember Jamaica.

     It has been confirmed that Jamaica The Sheep has tetanus.  Her chances of recovery are slim. This is an ugly disease. I first noticed she was a bit off on Saturday morning. Saturday night there was clearly a problem but I didn't recognize the classic signs of tetanus.  She was standing like a sawhorse with white foarm around her mouth.

        She looked like a Hollywood version of a rabid dog!

     As is so often the case, we couldn't get a vet out on the weekend, so assuming it was an intestinal problem, we treated the symptoms.  That didn't work.

     Sunday morning there was still no vet available, but the next best thing WAS available: THE INTERNET!!!!  No, despite our attempts at internet sleuthing, we were unable to google our way to a diagnosis.  I'm on several yahoo sheep groups.  I put the question to them and was quickly rewarded with multiple cries of "TETANUS!!!!"  (thank God for the internet!)

     We started her on the antitoxin and put her on fluids. By Sunday night she was paralyzed from the neck down.  I decided to shoot her.  Then . . . I got multiple notes telling me that these farmers had gone through this and HAD sheep RECOVER.  Looking at Jamaica, I figured that it was impossible.  I called Dear Friend for moral advice.  I wanted to give this sheep every chance to live, but didn't want her to suffer.  I have shot sheep who were in better shape than Jamaica is now.

     Dear Friend and her Husband-The-Dog-Vet have a bottle-fed goat and are now looking into getting sheep and more goats.  He wants to start working on sheep and they threw out the idea of bringing Jamaica to their garage and treating her in a more "sterile" environment" than the horse stall (where she obviously contracted the tetanus!)

     We discussed the course of treatment with folks who had done this before (thank GOD for the internet!) and with my large animal vet. We had a game plan.  The future still looks dismal, and I hate to prolong her suffering, but this particular sheep has shown a remarkable desire to live, and so as long as she wants to live, we will help her.

     I have given her to them, and so if she makes it, they have told me they will change her name to Princess and pamper her like a pet.  While it still doesn't look good, if any ewe can survive, it'll be this one.  And if she doesn't, then we will have still learned valuable veterinary skills. 

This has given me a greater respect for tetanus.  It is an ugly death. While I don't know what shots she had prior to coming to my place, I know that we gave her the vaccine, and she still got tetanus.  From what I understand this is a very common thing. Don't put too much faith in that vaccine.  Know the early signs of the disease.  Had we caught it early and started her on massive doses of antitoxin then, we may not be where we are now. Who knows?

     I do know that I've had horses and goats for YEARS and never had a case of tetanus, but when it hits, it's a shocking eye-opener. I didn't have enough respect for this disease. Jamaica is like a cadaver in rigor mortis (she is THAT STIFF!) and yet, she is still breathing and she is still swallowing her smoothies.   We will know something soon.  Either she'll get better with the anti-toxin or she'll die.  The farmer in me says, "put her down."  The vet in me says "let's try to save her."

I can tell you this much - this disease is so bad that it's enough to make ME run out and get a tetanus booster! 

On another note: 

Border Collie was spayed today. While the vet was doing the procedure, he and I were talking to the tech about what a good dog she was and how much help she is to us on the farm.  (Vet is my neighbor and knows first hand!) After listening to our stories about this dog, Vet Tech said, "Why are we spaying her? Put those back!!!"  (her ovaries were already out) 

I stood over her little prone body and worried the whole time. I hate putting a dog under for anything, but she made it through the surgery just fine.  Phone is ringing. Vet.  I can pick up my little Kung Fu Panda now. 

And so begins the drama of trying to keep a Border Collie quiet . . .  

Prepare yourselves . . .

Jamaica, the injured sheep who was doing so well, took a turn for the worse last night.  It appears that she has tetanus.  She was one of the new sheep and so I wasn't sure when her last tetanus shot was, so after the dog attack, I gave her another one.  Unfortunately she STILL got tetanus.  And folks, it ain't looking good.  We gave her the antitoxin and the vet put her on fluids, but she may not survive the night. She is a fighter, and has won battle after battle, but it looks like she may lose the war.

On a happier note:

As if ONE drama was not enough in our lives, Other Half went looking for MORE drama today.  We were driving down the highway (in the middle of freakin' NOWHERE!) when he said, "Did you see that cow stuck in the mud?"

No, I did not.

Here she is  . . .    (after about an hour of us trying to get her un-stuck, when I realized that I should be taking pictures!)

Girlfriend was stuck up to her belly in a muddy ditch, and she was all by herself. If we left her there, the coyotes would undoubtedly kill her tonight and it wouldn't be pretty. So, what did we do? We turned around and went to the nearest farmhouse.

   She wasn't his cow.  In fact, he had no idea who leased that property. BUT . . . he had a tractor and a brother-in-law, and we had a tow rope.  An idea was born.

 Other Half and Brother-in-Law of Tractor Man

This poor cow needs some groceries.  They managed to get a tow rope around her middle but it kept slipping off over her head. After MANY attempts, they got her stretched out on her side. 

  It took quite a while, but they FINALLY got her out of that mud.  She was exhausted, and not in the least bit appreciative.  We still have no idea whose cow this is.  The guys hosed each other off, drank some tea (Southern thing!) and we headed off to deal with our sick sheep.  How do we manage to  just hop from one drama to another?

And now . . . I have to go to the barn and check on our tetanus patient.  Then I'll go to the goat barn and check on the goat who is so pregnant that she is literally wider than she is tall.  She must be carrying some really big twins or maybe triplets.  I don't care what she's carrying as long as it's an easy delivery and they're healthy. I don't think my heart can stand any more drama for a while!

  Boer-Goat-About-To-Pop!

If your time hasn't come,

not even a doctor can kill you."

                          Meyer A. Perlstein

Other Half returns home today. His parting words were, "Don't let the sheep die while I'm gone."
He takes great pride in the fact that he has managed to keep our two patients alive after their mauling (by HIS dog!) and was a bit reluctant to give me the heavy responsibility of keeping them on this side of the grass while he was gone. Aside from the fact that I don't want to bury another sheep this winter, I really don't want to face Other Half if they die on my watch.

Since doctoring these sheep is a two-person job, I enlisted the aid of Dear-Friend-Who-Is-Vet's-Wife.  Not only is she a reliable Helping Hand, but she has her husband on speed dial. Since she helped stitch them up after their attack, she has taken quite an interest in their recovery.  In fact, we are ALL amazed that they are alive.  (This is because they are cheap, mutt sheep that I hadn't planned to breed!  I am certain that if the dog had attacked $450 registered ewes, they would have been belly-up as soon as the dog ran past them. Soooo . . . even though they are not "supposed" to be part of the breeding program, they may stay around just because they have managed not to die.  Charles Darwin would love it.)

Neither Dear Friend, nor I, have a vet degree hanging on the wall, (Okay, she does, but it's not hers!) so we were really muddling through our Daily Doctoring Duties.  (I'm sure the sheep will be REALLY happy when Other Half is giving the shots again.)

Our days went pretty much like this:

Pull penicillin out of refrigerator. Shake. Shake. Shake. Get into deep discussion about whether or not penicillin is too lumpy. Find clean syringe. Find clean needle. Draw up 9 cc of penicillin. Thump at bubbles in syringe.  Cuss getting old. Put on glasses so we can see the bubbles. Thump syringe some more to remove bubbles.  Shoot penicillin out end to remove bubbles.  Shoot penicillin all over stall wall. (Farmer Graffiti) Draw up more penicillin to make up for what you painted all over the wall.  Thump out bubbles.

Turn to look at sheep. Sheep stare in resigned terror. Put syringe in tray to free hands for sheep wrangling. While not the brightest crayons in the box, sheep will still figure out the game plan when you poke them every day for two weeks. Begin the chase around stall.  Sheep are feeling better. Sheep can run now. Catch one ewe while other watches with growing dread.  Dear Friend straddles ewe, using her legs as a squeeze chute around sheep's neck. I poke ewe with needle.  Apologize to sheep again for putting the dog where she could eat them.  (The sheep are somewhat reluctant to accept my apology. I don't know why.) 

Stab thumb with needle while trying to put the cap back on.  Cuss.  Squeeze blood out of puncture. Discuss diseases that you can catch from being stabbed by sheep needle. Decide that life is too short to borrow trouble and opt not to worry about it. Because we ran out of aerosol pink topical spray, decide to use bright purple spray left over from a mangled chicken. (NOT my fault/chicken lived - until the bobcat ate her two months later!)

Spray sheep's leg. Manage to coat injured sheep's leg with purple topical spray. 

Also manage to spray myself in the face. (yes, I actually had to go to work with purple dots all over my chin!)

Also manage to spray favorite sweatshirt.

Also manage to spray Dear Friend's boots. 

No, the purple stains do NOT come out.  Favorite Gray Sweatshirt will now be a constant reminder that some idiot hosed herself in the face with purple medicine.  ("Who?") Dear Friend's boots are now farm boots. (I bought her a buffalo burger for lunch and gave her a lamb!)

Other Half should be home in 3 more hours.  Hopefully I won't kill the sheep in that time.  I really don't look forward to explaining that sweatshirt and why I still have purple stains on my chin.