Farm Fresh Blog

The Old Woman Who Lived In A Shoe would have lost her mind if she had lived on a farm. While I have no little children bouncing around here, we do have so many dogs, cats, goats, sheep, and horses, that I feel like I have "so many children, I don't know what to do!" 

We just bounce from one drama to the next.  If you have enough pets and livestock, you WILL have drama. My Livestock Guardian Dog, Briar, was the big adventure for yesterday. Who knew that someone could get soooo melodramatic about a jolt of electricity?  I was so caught up in Briar's metamorphosis into a 747 jet jumping fences that Trace's adventure fell between the cracks.  After all, who notices a "foosa" when there's a white freight train hurtling across the pasture?

Anyone who has seen the movie "Madagascar" will recall that a "foosa" is a small furry meat-eating predator. (If you haven't seen the movie, then you absolutely, positively MUST rent it!  I promise you will laugh so hard you'll pee on yourself! But I digress . . . )

 Deep in thought, I opened a gate to allow sheep to move into an adjacent paddock. The sheep filed in and immediately came to attention.  (This is a clue that you should look behind you.) Lost in my world of hotwire and haywired dogs, I failed to remember that Trace is small enough to slither out of the back yard and follow me.  Thus the adventure began:

Note puppy sink into classic Border Collie crouch.  "I'm a Foosa!" he said.

Call puppy. Note puppy has developed a hearing loss. Puppy begins to slink forward toward sheep.  Sheep stare in disbelief. 

"Is that a Foosa?!!"

"Yeeeesssss!  I AM a Foosa," Trace assures them.

I attempt to scoop him up.  Despite the fact that he never takes his eyes off the sheep, he easily scoots out of arms' reach.  I spout UnChristian-like words. (Yes, the Lord knows my weakness and we're working on it, but progress is slow.)

The sheep continue to ask each other, "Is that really a Foosa?"

Like a suave python, Trace mesmorizes them as he gets closer and closer.  Again and again, I reach out and end up grabbing air. (very humbling) Rasta, the largest, nastiest ewe, gives him the "hairy eye" as he approaches.  Desperate, I snatch at air again as he assesses the problem.  Like David before Goliath, the puppy glares at the ewe.  Then he reaches deep into his chest and pulls out a Power Bark.

"YESSS!!!!!  It IS a FOOSA!" the sheep scream in unison. 

By now, Trace is drunk with power and slithers behind them as they file back into their pasture like obedient school children. I grab him when he turns to grin at me. 

"Gotcha!"

I hug him tightly as he wags his little windshield-wiper tail, still dizzy with his new-found Superpower. Then I remind him that he is Pre-schooler and will not be pulling out his "Super Suit" any time soon.  (and I found 5 new gray hairs on my head!)

   "What was he thinking?"