Farm Fresh Blog

When people visit it gives you the chance to look at your home through fresh eyes. In my case, there's always panic.

"How did the ceiling fan get so much dust in a week?"
"The dust bunny that just blew out from under the couch is bigger than a poodle!"
"How much time do we have to clean before they get here?!"

The house is never clean enough for me. The dogs and goats are never quiet enough. There are always unfinished projects still sitting out in the yard or in the barn that simply cannot be picked up. It is a fact of life that no matter how clean the house is, the cat will crap in the litter box moments before company enters the door.

But the joy of having company over is that after the initial "oh my gosh, my house is still a wreck," in addition to enjoying the visit, you get the chance to dust off your glasses and see other things for the first time in a long time. And with children, you get to look at your life in technicolor.

The grandchildren came through last weekend like a summer rain, breathing new life into everything around them. Although I never get tired of living here, it's still amazing how looking at the ranch through a child's eyes can bring so much more color. You don't have to plan things to do because the land provides plenty that will keep feral children occupied. Fresh eyes can change your perspective, making old things new and exciting.

 A simple ride around the ranch is no longer a journey for us to check fence or look at cattle, it's a Lewis & Clark expedition. The creek itself is a living thing and never fails to be the greatest of classrooms. It provides history lessons, geology lessons and murder mysteries. A hunt for fossils in the creek moves from the field of paleontology to expand and become a murder investigation as they search for bones of a dead calf. The bone theme continues as they poke through the woods in search of bones from a dead bull. The afternoon became an Easter egg hunt for bones.

The world is their classroom and it shows.

We went from learning to shoot from the top of the cliff

to climbing the underside of the cliff from the creek.

And they discovered roping is a lot harder than it looks.

These kids have their own goats, but feeding the goats and sheep was still a blast for them. I enjoyed this too, since doing chores is a lot more fun and a lot easier when you have minions. Grandchildren make great minions.

The Livestock Guardian Dogs were a big hit. No surprise there. The puppies were great with the kids. There is nothing quite like seeing your grandchildren playing with dogs bigger than they are to make you appreciate a good breeder who properly socializes her puppies with children. (Thank you, Ramie Carter in Oklahoma!)

Even properly socialized, a pack of Border Collies is not a good mix with a pack of grandchildren, so to protect the dogs and the grandchildren from themselves, we opted to lock the Border Collies behind bars this weekend. This left Dillon, the Labrador Retriever, to enjoy and be enjoyed. He was in heaven. Like Other Half pointed out,

"They are the same grade level."

 
As always, the horses are a big draw, and they made the most of liberal treats poked at them by little hands.

Once again, Joe proved himself to be a horse of great value. He isn't a fancy showhorse, or a skilled cowhorse, but he's the best kind of horse - your go-to horse, the horse you can trust to introduce another grandbaby to the world of horses.

You just can't put a price on a smile.

So the kids went back home, and the house is still a mess, there are still unfinished projects in the yard, the ceiling fan is already gathering dust, and the cat just hit the litter box again, but the kids left me with a renewed look at life here through their 3D glasses. They reminded me that there are more important things than a clean house. After all, we live in a barn with the animals, how clean is it ever gonna be? And ongoing, unfinished projects are part of ranch life. Kids are able to take you outside to view the vivid beauty of life and death on a ranch that pales a bit when you let yourself get caught up in the day to day humdrum of chores.  A child reminds you to live in the now, to enjoy the moment, to appreciate the cold sand between your toes as you walk in the creek.

Some days the wolf is literally 'at the door.'

Or in our case, it's the coyote. Fortunately we have dogs bred to hunt wolves and they are finally getting big enough to enjoy a coyote hunt.  Yesterday while on our morning walk to read our pee-mail and tag the rival gang's wall with our own graffiti, the call of a coyote sounded just beyond the trees.

The games a'foot!

The Livestock Guardian Dogs raced off, confident that they would finally catch the voices that taunted them in the dark. The Herding Dogs stayed right there. Clearly hunting wolves was not part of their contract.  The look on Mesa's face was priceless. She just stood in the road and looked first in one direction and then the other. Nope. Hunting coyotes as big as she is is not in her contract.

The bells of the Livestock Guardian Dogs faded in the distance until we heard nothing but birds as we continued our walk. Normally I call the dogs back when they try to run off into the dark after coyotes but on this crisp, cold morning, I just let that pony run. The neighbor has had a problem with a really large coyote coming up on his porch during the day. It's been sighted many times in the daylight, and if he doesn't start getting a healthy respect for humans someone is gonna shoot him.  I'd just as soon he not be shot because something else will just take his niche. Now if he's climbing into my sheep pen that's another story, but for now, it's easier to just educate the coyote. The bells of those dogs just might do that.

I didn't seriously believe the dogs would catch the coyote. In fact, if it had been spring, I would have thought the coyote was trying to lure the dogs away from a den. Regardless, the dogs finally got a chance to relieve the stress of just listening to the coyotes taunt them at night without getting to do anything about it, and the coyote began to associate those bells with a serious run for his life.

It's not by chance that my dairy goats wear the exact same bells.

When I called them back the puppies bounded up before Briar who had slipped under the fence and onto the neighbor's ranch. It didn't surprise me that this coyote went back there. I think he's been helping himself to free-feed dog food for a while now and he's pretty comfortable there. Briar reluctantly came back when I shouted a few cuss words at her.

This is the face of a dog who has just been outrun by a coyote.

"Sector 12 is clear!"

The pups gave her a hero's welcome,

and then they all came to me to present their workcards. Sector 12 was clear.

So we continued our walk. The pups played with Mesa, and Briar walked with a spring in her step, and cast a wistful eye back. I think she finally figured out a use for her minions.

They're pretty good backup if you're hunting wolves. Or coyotes.

The Anatolians are eight months old today and are officially taller than Briar.

Get her some smelling salts...

The other news is that since I'm officially retired now, I have started work on the books you've been asking about. Since retirement means a fixed income and a much smaller paycheck, the first book I'm working on is the book I think will sell the fastest to an agent and a publisher. That's the CSI book.  There are lots of ranchers out there writing, but there are not as many CSI writers. With a smaller field I think I have a better chance of being noticed by an agent. Unless an agent called me up out of the blue and just begged for a farm book which is not likely to happen, I'll be knocking on doors pushing the CSI book first.

The CSI book will include some old blog posts with a hefty addition of new stuff. Which CSI blog posts are ones that you feel must be included in this first book? Also, do you think the photos are important, or can we drop those?

After the CSI book is complete, then I'll start work on the farm book/books. My question to you is this. What kind of farm book would be of the most interest? There's a heck of a lot more material to work with and so I need to start figuring out which direction to narrow things. That depends upon you because you guys have seen the greatest sample of work. There are a lot of different directions I can take.

What are your thoughts?

The Not Ready For Prime Time Players are still doing a fine job of keeping predators on their side of the fence at night and all I need to do is step out into the barn aisle to find out why. They sound enormous. I mean, really, freaking, enormous. Yes, I know they're big, but deep-throated barks come out of them like sonic booms.

 Yes, that's a full size picnic table. Yes, he's that big now. Yes, he will be only 8 months old next week.

And they sound particularly loud right now. Perhaps it's just an environmental anomaly. The temperature, humidity, and terrain is just right so that sound is amplified and bounces off our very small mountain. We get an echo around here, particularly in the fog, and Judge spends a lot of time barking at the dog on the mountain who mocks him. He lets out a thunder bark, and the Dog In The Dark barks back at him, so naturally, he has to answer the mocking dog. This goes on for hours while Briar and Jury sleep. (Reason #57 for not living in a subdivision.)

The holidays are over, the Livestock Show has passed, houseguests have safely returned home, and the carousel of Life has slowed to a manageable pace. I'm still on the Merry-Go-Round but now at least the spin is a little slower and I have more time to focus on the animals going up and down around me. And yes, catch up on soap orders!

The sheep that made The Big Cut and are still in the barn are bagging up now so it's time to watch them a little closer. This will involve a lot more dog-juggling since the Anatolians are still big puppies and certainly Not-Ready-For-Prime-Time-Players during lambing season.

  The cattle are dropping calves now too. Although I would prefer giving them the run of the ranch, because of the predator load here, we want the calves up and moving fast before we turn this group back out. Until all calves are born and at least a month old, they'll have to stay near the house. This gives us the chance to monitor birthing and to have daily interaction with new calves. It certainly makes them easier to handle later. Not only does this pay off with the calves we keep, but calves that are used to being handled by humans don't freak out as much when they are sold and move on. Our calves are used to seeing humans, dogs, horses, and livestock chutes before they leave here. This means less stress on them. They then eat better and have better immune systems after they are sold. This gives them an edge over the calves who never saw humans before they were weaned in a cattle trailer on the way to the sale barn.

It's winter now and time to think about spring gardening and chickens. Yes, it's time to start hauling sheep and cow manure to the garden site for composting. The beauty of starting from scratch is that I get to plan my garden and my chicken coop a hundred times before I finally get to work. I'm sure that despite all this time and planning, I will still end up throwing up something at the last minute. That's life. That's me. BUT - here's the plan:

Imagine a chicken coop in the center of a yard, like the hub of a wheel. Small runs radiate out from the coop, separated by fences like the spokes of a wheel. The chickens don't have access to all the runs at once. Some of the runs are actually parts of the garden which the chickens will have partial access to. The full time chicken runs will later become highly fertile garden sites for the following years! The plan is just to rotate the runs, but leave the coop in place in the center. And ALL of this will be surrounded by the dogs at night, so the chickens will have the benefit of the Livestock Guardian Dogs without actually living with the dog in the pen. (Just in case Briar remembers that the next door neighbor's chickens tasted good.)

Not only must the chicken pen be behind bars, but the entire garden must be behind bars. In one afternoon sheep and goats can eat an entire garden. I have also seen what a Labrador can do to corn plants. It ain't pretty, people. It ain't pretty. Who would think a Labrador likes corn on the cob on the stalk?

At the moment, none of this has been built yet. It's all just a dream floating in my head, awaiting concrete plans, and a Home Depot gift card. So here's a shout out to all my gardeners and chicken folks, whatdaya think? Any ideas?

For the past week we've been caught in a whirlwind of events.  I've been a performer in a desperate circus of too many things happening at the same time.  You couldn't call me a juggler, because that implies that I could momentarily hold one object while the other was in the air. This week was more like being a plate-spinner, since I had to keep each plate moving in balance or it would crash to the ground.

This weekend was the start of The Big Livestock Show where we were showing dairy goats. The show site is about two hours from our ranch. This meant three days of rising before the sun was up and coming home well after the sun went down. At the same time we had the Fiasco Of Pregnant Ewe Lambs, heavily pregnant cattle, and new calves that need to be protected from coyotes. These cows must be kept close to the house. That means we have to haul feed to them twice a day. It made for long days.

Sometimes it takes a hurricane to make you to sort out your priorities. This was Hurricane Week.  I was forced to look into the future and decide which path I planned to take. The painful decision was made to sell the ewe lambs with full disclosure that they were pregnant. It wasn't my fault, but it was my problem. In addition to that lot we also sold some more adults and my spring crop of lambs. This effectively gutted my meat sheep numbers. I kept an old ewe (Ma), and a daughter of a favorite ewe that I lost this summer (Chuck), and a friend for them (Flower Pot). This was the only sentimental decision I allowed myself.

Raising Dorper sheep is profitable, but trying to raise Dorper sheep at the same time I am also raising Nubian goats and adding fiber sheep was too much. It was time to sit back and decide where I wanted to focus. My goal for the Navajo Churro sheep is to use their wool to weave saddle pads and cinches. While it's tempting to breed them now, I don't have to in order to achieve my goals. Since I'm most interested in spinning the wool, I can just buy a few more nice ewes to round out my fiber flock.

The Nubian goats have secured their spot in the barn. Although they are high-maintenance divas, they are also delightful members of the family, and they give plenty of milk which is used for soap. Profit from soap sales far exceed profit brought in from the sale of Dorper lambs. (and no one dies) It would take a lot more dorper sheep to equal the profit margin of just a few Nubian goats. I weighed all this and decided that instead of starting over again and rebuilding my dorper flock, I would just focus on the Nubians and the Navajo Churro.

The barnyard seems emptier now, but it does give me more breathing room to focus. It's easy to forget that a ranch has to make a profit or it's nothing more than a petting zoo which drains the bank account. Regular goal assessment is a must, and from time to time even though it's an unwelcome visitor, a hurricane has to come through to force you to prune the branches.

Her name was Smudge.

I try not paint a picture of ranching that looks at the farm through rose-colored glasses, because the reality is that nature is cruel and ranching can be heartbreaking. You can find the adorable calf that was so friendly yesterday stretched out and gutted by coyotes today. It hurts, and it's expensive. There is simply no way to steel your heart and your wallet against ranching tragedies. The worst part is that even if you set aside the Rules Of Ranching, forgeting the cost and your responsibilities to the rest of the animals, and let yourself be guided by your heart, sometimes it just isn't enough.

I tend to be a soft-hearted sort and want to save them all, forgetting that the money I spend today on an animal that won't make it anyway, cannot be spent later on a animal that will survive. Other Half is more practical. He's been ranching most of his life. In addition to that, he can be brutally honest with everyone, including himself. Most of the time I don't like his bluntness because it flies in the face of the warm and fuzzy blanket I like to wrap myself in. I've seen enough Death in this world, and if I can cheat the bastard just one more time, I will. Another reason I don't like taking Other Half's less than politically correct advice is because he's my arrogant husband, and frankly, I hate that smug look on his face when he knows that I've realized that he's been right all along about something. Ladies, am I right here? Can I get an amen?

That said, if I want to be truly honest with you and myself, suffering is worse than death, and so is the heavy weight of responsibility when knowing that your actions, or lack of actions, caused their suffering. This leads us to the last 48 hours.

Last fall I bought some ewe lambs to rebuild my Dorper sheep flock. Unfortunately some of these lambs turned out to be pregnant. This was a case of babies having babies. My vet has pointed out that I should have given them a drug to induce labor just to clean them out, but not only do I not like to mess with nature, I thought they were too young to be bred in the first place. I was wrong on both counts. I hadn't even planned to breed them myself until next spring.

I knew I was in trouble when I looked around and realized I had seven ewe lambs pregnant. I had noted they were smaller than average. Now I know its because all their nutrition was going to developing fetuses. By the time I saw we had a problem, the only thing I could think to do was wait it out and hope my babies could have their babies. It is my nature. I always want to give life a chance. What I failed to take into account was the suffering.

The first ewe, my favorite little Smudge, went into labor on Wednesday. Not only was this a case of a baby having a large baby, but it was a horrendous butt-first breech birth at the vet clinic. The baby died within minutes of her birth. She also had a mouth so deformed that she wouldn't have been able to nurse anyway. The vet recommended aborting every one of the remaining ewe lambs. Here is where things get dicey. To do so flew in the face of my "let nature sort it out/give life a chance" mentality, and it wouldn't save my ewe lambs the labor of a late term delivery anyway.

Other Half then also pointed out the cost. I was facing losing 7-14 babies plus their mothers and facing a hefty vet bill for each delivery. The vet assured me that if I chose not to abort that I would be in the clinic for every delivery anyway. Not only could I be out the price of the ewe lamb, but I would also have vet bills double the value of the ewe lamb. If I lost the ewe and the babies it was a triple whammy. Other Half saw that pretty quickly. I still refused to acknowledge it. Even though I didn't breed them at such a young age, I still felt responsible for this little group of girls. Other Half's advice was to sell them for slaughter before they went into labor. My mind vomited at the thought.

I chewed on it all night. I prayed on it.

"God, please take this choice out of my hands. I don't want this responsibility. Make it easy for me."

Be careful what you pray for.

The next morning I started calling sheep friends for advice. Some were more diplomatic than others about my options, but there  were still only three - either send them to a humane slaughter or induce labor and hope for the best knowing that I would lose some or all of the lambs and possibly lose their mothers, or let nature take its course, knowing that I would still lose some or all of the lambs and possibly their mothers.

I didn't like the options but if I sold them for slaughter then at least I could spare them the suffering and spare myself the massive vet bills which my vet had already assured me would happen. A fourth option arose in which a friend of friend, who is familiar with sheep and goats, might choose to take the chance and buy them. Since he had no problems with shooting and butchering a ewe that wasn't having a smooth delivery it was a viable option. It would give the others a chance.

I still hated all the above choices and felt like I was somehow betraying the ewes in their time of need. The reality was that if I had not bought them as breeding ewe lambs, these girls would have gone to slaughter with their brothers anyway. But still . . .

The decision was made for me last night when I came home. Because we'd been helping friends work cattle, we'd been gone most of the day. It was dark and as the sheep filed into the barn, I counted. Smudge was missing. I started out with a flashlight but I didn't need it. Briar led me straight to the body of the ewe lamb. Without the dog it would have taken me forever to find her under the tarped hay.  I stared at her stiff body in the beam of the flashlight and remembered how she laid her head in my lap and pushed so hard as the vet wrenched that baby from her. At the end of all that suffering was a dead baby, a dead ewe, and a big vet bill, and I was staring at six more times of that.

In the light of day when you are watching a sweet ewe lamb chew her cud, it's easy to vow that you will give each girl a chance on her own, but when you are standing in the dark staring at the bloodstained, swollen rump of your 'pie in the sky' decision, you are reminded that suffering is worse than death. Other Half refuses to eat lamb, and we don't have the freezer space, or I'd butcher them all for the dogs. We made the decision to either sell the whole lot of them to the man who wants to chance it and butcher anyone having a bad delivery, or sell the whole lot to be butchered.

Be careful what you pray for. God can make your decision a little easier. I gave that some thought as I stood in the dark staring a dead ewe and a despondent Livestock Guardian Dog. Briar doesn't understand a lot of things, but she understands suffering, and she understands death.