Farm Fresh Blog

Today I have some questions for you!

I'm slowly being dragged into the high-tech world and am learning to use Facebook.  I've set up a Facebook account for Farm Fresh Forensics, but I still have to learn how to put a button on the website so readers can find it and link to Facebook.  Do you guys use Facebook?

And Twitter? How many of y'all actually use Twitter?  It seems that the whole world is tweeting and I'm clueless about it. 

BIG NEWS!!!!

I'm on Day 6 with NO FRAPPUCCINO!!!  Can you believe it?  After over 13 years of drinking little bottles of Starbuck's Mocha Frappuccino like a crack addict, I'm finally kicking the habit!  Other Half and Son added it up.  Last year alone, I spent over $1600 on my frappuccino habit!  Eegaads!  It had to stop.  Do you know how many cattle panels I could have purchased for $1600!!!  Do you know how many sheep I could have purchased for $1600!!!  At 180 calories each, with 2-3 per day, do you know how many calories that is????  Heck!  I can lose weight without doing a thing but quitting frapps!!!!

(I am happy to report that my friends and family are no longer hiding under the bed because of caffeine withdrawal problems. Although I did note that Other Half worked several 12 hours shifts this week. . .)

New Addition Arrived Yesterday!

The new Angus bull arrived yesterday.  He is just a baby, but what a Chunky Monkey!  He's a short little dude too, but when bred to the maiden heifers, we should have no calving problems.  Little calves that gain weight fast works for me!  When this dude ambles across the pasture, he has so much muscle I start to drool. All that muscle on grass - YES!

Other Half started calling him "Bully" but I think we should call him something like Angus McBull.  Other Half doesn't get creative in the name department. 

"It's a bull. Call him Bully."  "It's yellow.  Call her Yellow Cow." "The horse is big, brown, and fat, call him "Bear."

B-O-R-I-N-G

On the other hand, perhaps I get a tad too creative in the naming department.  I name everything. I even name the goldfish in the stock tank.  Larry, Darryl, & Darryl.  (Those of you over the age of 40 might get this.  For the rest of you, google The Bob Newhart Show.  On second thought, nevermind, it's not important. It's just another example of the direction my twisted mind goes sometimes.)

Spring is finally here.

   The wildflowers are blooming.

The sheep are blowing coat.

Bits and pieces of wool are everywhere.

This leads us to our Useless Factoid for the day . . . .

   When dogs eat wool . . .

                                        . . .  they poop out felt.

(I know.  You could have gone a whole lifetime without knowing that particular bit of information.)

It's tax season and we're skating in under the wire again.  Tax time wouldn't be complete without boxes of crumpled receipts.  Eegaaads! It never fails to boggle my mind when we add up exactly how much we spend on feed, fencing, and vet bills! 

"Can we deduct this?" 

                      "Where's the receipt for that?"

                                     "Can we claim Border Collie as a dependent?"

This spawned an entire debate.  It appears that according to the tax man, Border Collie is a "SUPPLY."  Excuse me? How can she be a "SUPPLY?"  Border Collie is, at the very LEAST, skilled labor and could be considered a "CUSTOM HIRE," but how can such a talented Top Hand ever be considered a "SUPPLY?" 

I was embarrassed for her.  This was clearly discrimination.

 "I am NOT a "SUPPLY!"

I told you, Fate has a way of knowing when I'm trying to quit the Starbuck's Mocha Frappuccinos. Yesterday I announced that I was quitting. 

Other Half said, "Let me know when it's safe to come home." 

Fergus, my buddy at work, said, "Again?"

But I am determined!  This will be the time - the time I quit!

I greeted the morning with no caffeine.  The sun isn't as bright without caffeine, but I trudged onward. Turned the ewes out in the front yard. (cuz I don't want to mow or fight the poison ivy!)  That required walking them out the barn, through the driveway paddock, and into the fenced front yard paddock.  It was windy.  They felt good. Lush Spring grass was EVERYWHERE! They were very ill-mannered sheep.  Border Collie earned her Scooby snacks today. I threatened to sell them on Craigslist but they laughed at me and galloped off.  Border Collie brought them back.  (HAH!)

Locked sheep in the front yard. Fed the horses.  Took dogs for a walk.  Briar, the Livestock Guardian Dog puppy, spotted a group of white cranes in the pasture - trespassing.  She took off.  They flew off. I was slightly amused until she blasted through the barbed wire fence to continue the chase.  Technically, they were still in her air space, and thus, still trespassing.  She chased them all the way across the back pasture.  I began to see the writing on the wall.  She was determined to catch the Big White Chickens, but was now so far away, that in the blowing wind, I'm not sure she could even hear me calling her. A couple more fences and she could end up on the highway. That's when a tawny streak left my side to race across the pasture.

Kona, The Enforcer, runs a tight ship. He quickly assessed the situation and decided that his particular brand of justice was called for. He covered a tremendous amount of ground in a very short time and intercepted the giant puppy as she was hitting her second barbed wire fence. It wasn't pretty.

Briar was freight-trained. She got up and spit the dirt out of her mouth. The Enforcer started to trot back home. He looked back to make sure she was coming.  She was.  Slowly, but she was coming.

Disaster avoided, but I needed a drink.  I needed some caffeine. Unfortunately the day was still young.

Gertie, the black banty hen who, along with Remus, the banty rooster, were survivors of the Great Boogey Beast War (that we lost) a few months ago. Gertie and Remus were turned loose to survive on the farm and hope for the best. It came to my attention that Gertie was missing.  Since I hadn't found a body, I figured she must be sitting on eggs somewhere. I hunted for that nest. No luck.  Yesterday my mother reported that Gertie had popped her head out to eat and drink and then flew back to the barn.  So I searched the barn again.  No luck. 

While I was feeding the goats, Blue Heeler came trotting out of the garage shed with Gertie in his mouth. I screamed at him. He dropped her.  Too late. She was already in death twitches.  I was pissed. Much to The Enforcer's delight, I cussed out Blue Heeler. That's when Bloodhound walked past with an egg. Then Black Wolf walked past with another egg.  Then Briar walked past with an egg too.  Damn! 

I went to find the nest that I couldn't find before, and sure enough, there were eleven tiny eggs.  Damn! Damn! Damn! The Enforcer came up with Gertie's body in his mouth to remind me that I hadn't finished cussing out Blue Heeler and could resume that at any time as far as he was concerned.

Just then, I heard Fate laughing at me. As I threw the dead chicken out, visions of little glass bottles of mocha frappuccino danced in my head.  Determined to kick the caffeine habit, I pushed the vision aside and stomped back to the house.  Blue Heeler wisely stayed out of my way.  Bloodhound continued to eat eggs.  (She is definitely staying outside tonight!)

Border Collie studied me carefully.  Something was obviously wrong, but she couldn't put her paw on it.  Heaven help us if she ever figures out. She will have a cold Starbuck's Mocha Frappuccino by my bedside every morning.  Border Collies are just that way.  They like Order in their world. And if it takes a Starbuck's Mocha Frappuccino to bring Order to her little world, well then so be it.

What's in a name?

Being a ranch dog involves a lot of work and a lot of waiting in the truck, but there are perks to being a ranch dog.

For instance:

  Butchering hogs

Border Collie and Blue Heeler are best friends,

          buddies . . . 

                              who share . . .

                                                   most of the time. 

"HEY!  Wait one damned minute, MISTER!!!"

There's a reason they call them "bitches."

This is how it started -

 - two cow men hanging over the fence, cussing and discussing feral hogs that tear up the pastures. 

     These hogs grow enormous, have large litters, and can do a number on a hay field. So Other Half and Rancher-Next-Door hashed out a plan. A hog trap was set. Bright and early on Easter morning the phone rang.  Two wild (and very angry) piglets had been captured.  Suddenly our Easter plans changed.  Since Rancher-Next-Door had Easter plans that didn't involve butchering hogs, we got both hogs.  We called Dear-Friend-With-Vet-Husband and said, "HEY!  We know you probably had plans for Easter, but wouldn't like to butcher hogs instead?!!"   Fortunately they both were delighted with the prospect of filling the freezer with the ultimate free-range grass-fed pork, so a Pig Party was planned.

     Other Half went to the trap to shoot and gut the pigs.  I opted out of this step since I had to feed livestock and frankly, I didn't want to watch him shoot the pigs.  Because I have the remarkable ability to make a pet out of anything with fur or feathers, Other Half was happy to leave me home and go shoot them himself.

     By the time the rest of us convened under the Hanging Oak, Other Half already had a piglet the size of a German Shepherd hanging from the tree.  Border Collie saw the pig and stroked. This was her first hog butchering and after the initial shock of seeing a dead pig swinging from a tree, she involved herself in every step possible. It is a wonder that she didn't get her nose cut off. (Note: A ranch dog WILL attack a dead pig.)

It didn't take Border Collie long to get into the swing of things though!  In no time, she had figured out what to do with feral hogs who tear up hay fields.

"Stay out of the pasture PIG!"

 (Note the pork hanging from her teeth.)

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!