Farm Fresh Blog

This post is from last December, but for all our new readers it pretty much sums up why, with the exception of the Blue Heeler and the Labrador, who put up with her antics in good humor, everyone else in the pack would be happy to 'vote Lily off the island.'

Someone's in the pokey!

Poor Briar is also ready for Clover to have her baby/babies because until she does, Miss Big White Dawg is in lock-up. I'm just being cautious since I had a friend who was losing newborn lambs to an overzealous Livestock Guardian Dog.  Briar has always been great with baby goats and lambs, but I don't take any chances because she is a Very Big Dog.

 Big Babysitter

Once babies are born and mobile, I return Briar to the flock. She never fails to be a doting babysitter, but I still worry about how she'd behave when a ewe or doe is giving birth, so I err on the side of caution.

Therefore Briar stays in an outside kennel, in the back yard, or in the garden (which true to the neighbor's prediction, has become another dog run! I promise I will replant it next Spring!)

Now here's another problem:

Big White Dawg has recently decided that Lily the Uppity Border Collie can be killed as easily as a squirrel, a rat, or an oppossum.  YES! I KNOW! What is she thinking?!!!

A few nights ago Briar and I were doing a midnight check on the goats. As soon as we returned through the gate into the back yard, Briar launched an attack on Uppity Lily, who was waiting in the back yard at the gate. In Briar's defense, it is highly likely that Lily did a sneek bite to the back of her leg as this is a common behavior which Briar normally ignores.

Regardless of what started it, Briar grabbed Lily by the back of the neck and started shaking my beloved 30 lb Border Collie like a terrier with a rat. I had Briar by the collar but she was so powerful I couldn't get her off Lily.

Trace the Troll Dog zoomed in and attacked Lily's lower body while Briar shook her.  All I could do was scream for Other Half to come help me get Briar off Lily. (It is a very helpless feeling to realize that your dog is so big that you cannot control it.)

Other Half came in kicking and we got Trace and Briar off Lily. Except for having peed on herself, Lily was okay. She had not attempted to fight back, she'd just hunkered down and weathered the storm.

Holy crap! Although I can certainly understand why the rest of the pack wants to vote Lily off the island, (teacher's pet/dictator/uppity bitch), killing Lily is not an option. It's a fast way to meet a bullet.

Briar is slow to anger, but is a force to be reckoned with when provoked, and she is even more touchy of late because of the unrest in the flock. Since I don't want to lose Lily (or Briar, since Other Half would shoot her if she killed Lily) we must remain vigilant about keeping a grouchy giant away from a know-it-all-in-charge-of-the-world-pint-sized-dictator.

 "That's what I'm sayin'!"

This post is an old one, but I wanted to pull it out for droberts91 regarding the loss of a good dog. The really good ones become a part of your soul . . .

Step 1 - Step out into pasture

 "What??!!"

That's it. Just Step 1.

"What??!! Oh Helllllll no! I did NOT just run my pregnant self from 5 acres away for nothing! No grain?! No sunflower seeds?!! I don't wanna hear that you just came here to take some pictures. I want some freakin' alfalfa! Do you hear me?!!  ALFALFA! Now! Get to it, Biped!"

Since most of the country is shivering in the grip of frigid temperatures, I'd like to take a moment to share a sliver of warmer weather with you along with my new favorite quote:

"I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don't notice it."

Alice Walker

I share this tale not to frighten you, dear reader, but to serve as a Public Service Announcement.

Am in the shower believing that I'm the only one in the house because Husband and Son are at work. I am enjoying the well-earned ecstasy of hot water cascading down my spine after a bone-chilling morning doing barn chores when . . .

. . . . cue music from "PSYCHO."

                     . . .

                         . . . the shower curtain is ripped open!

                                                                 . . . from the bottom.

It isn't Norman Bates, but it is a psycho.

A red and white furry face appears. Trace the Troll Dog has his green Kong dumbell. He smiles at me and drops his toy in the shower. It rolls to my feet and rudely bumps my toes. He stares at me like Obi Wan Kenobi.

I wait for the adrenaline still coursing through my body to settle while he grins impatiently, then I reach down and toss the damned thing out of the tub.

. . . aaaannnnd a monster is born.

I don't even have enough time to reach for a bar of soap before he reappears in another cold blast of air. He tosses the cold green toy at me and disappears behind the curtain. It rolls to my feet again. I know what I've done.

The cold hard reality is bumping against my toe. And just in case I was uncertain, the shower curtain is ripped back again and his laughing psychotic little eyes order me as deliberately as a Jedi Master to a Star Wars Storm Trooper.

"Throw it," he whispers.

And helpless, with the cloudy mind of the feeble, I bend over, and toss the toy out of the tub.

YESS!!!!

The subject HAS BEEN TRAINED!

I take a sidenote to point out that the subject being trained here is not the dog. Life with a clever dog involves lots of patience and persistence on both sides. Be keenly aware that if you live with a Border Collie, they will spend as much time shaping your behavior as you spend shaping theirs. It is a fact of life. Don't fight The Force.

And here is the really sick part.

I stand in the shower, well aware that I've created a monster, or more precisely, I have just been trained by a monster and have cemented this behavior firmly into his repertoire of annoying yet charming job skills. After all, who doesn't want to play fetch while taking a hot shower?

Even as I toss the toy again I consider how I will explain this to the other members of my household. The toy reappears at my feet. I let it lie there as I shave my legs and consider the implications of my error. Obi Wan Kenobi runs out of patience and climbs into the tub himself to retrieve the toy. He then flings it up in the air and out the tub. I listen as he plays fetch with himself outside the shower curtain before it is ripped back again, and the toy once again rolls to my feet.

The little red leprechaun stares at me with laughing eyes. I know what he's doing. He's counting. How many times must he roll the toy to my toes before I toss it?  At what angle must it hit my big toe before he is rewarded? He is playing with the variables in his head. I continue shaving my legs. He wriggles into the tub, grabs it again, and flings it out. There is more bumping around as he sets himself up for his next try. He is a Tiger Woods on tour. He studies the slope of the tub and the position of my feet as I shave the other leg, and slowly, ever so slowly, he opens his mouth and takes the shot. It bumps my foot and I toss the toy out of the tub.

SCORE!!!!

He is now both a mathematician and a pool shark, counting tries and converting perceived angles in his head. I waste hot water and play fetch with him while I wash my hair. And even as I create, shape, mold, and fire the monster in the kiln of a hot shower, I am charmed. What a delightful little creature! What a terrifying little psycho!

What a mess we made on the bathroom floor!

So the lesson here is this:

If you don't want to be the trainee as often as you are the trainer, don't get a Border Collie, but if you are charmed by a leprechaun-pool-shark-mathematician-clown-into-world-domination, run, don't walk, to your nearest Border Collie rescue organization.

And if you do, buy lots of Kong toys and bath towels.

"A watched pot never boils."

And a watched pregnant goat doesn't have her baby.

Clover is so big now that she is wider than she is tall. (I think. I considered pulling out a tape measure, but that would be rude.) She is bagging up. Her lady parts (family-friendly programming) have a slight discharge. Every night I'm certain she's gonna have her baby/babies 'tonight!'

And every night I check her. I make Other Half check her. I make Son check her. And guess what! 

Chirp. Chirp.....

Crickets.....

Nothing. Nothing but a grazing goat.

 Yep, I used this picture already, but it illustrates the situation. She looks exactly like she did the last time you checked her.

I'm hoping to find THIS!

 Remember her last baby?  Little Hucklebery!  (I still wish I'd kept him. Oh well. Hopefully she'll have another cutie patootie!) At this point, I'm like most expectant grandparents. I just want healthy baby(ies) and a healthy momma.

Clover will give birth when she's darned ready to give birth, but the stress is killing me. (and by default, Other Half & Son, who are tired of my constant pleas for them to 'check my goat!')

 Yep, still looks the same. . .

I'm going to need a bigger dog!

 That's a big pussycat!

Dear Friend Clyde took this picture of a cougar's paw print. Clyde's ranch is about 25 minutes from our ranch. (faster as the crow flies, or the cougar trots.)

They posted this picture on Facebook and my first thought, honest to goodness, was . . .

"I'm gonna need a bigger dog..."

(Those of you who saw the original movie "Jaws" will understand that line.)

     If you don't like the direction our world is going, change it. Change it through our children. Change it for our children.

     The older I get and the more I see of this world, the more important I believe it is to understand that our future as a society lies in the hands of our children. If you want the world to be a kinder and gentler place, you can make it that way, one child at a time.

       I'd love to take credit for this idea, but I got in church. I simply twisted it to include The Blessing Box and make it fit my family. Grandbaby #1 is 4 years old. She is beginning to understand the concept of giving and blessings.  I took the idea of charity giving from the church and paired it with a tradition that can be passed down - The Blessing Box!

The box started out as a Whitman's sampler chocolate box from Walgreen's. (Hey! Don't judge people short on time and money!)  Anyway, I painted the box purple. Then I began a hunt for glue so I could stick on some sparklies that I've probably had stuffed in a craft box for 5 years (unopened!) I didn't have glue, so I stuck the sparklies in large globs of paint. (again, short on time and money!)

     I found a butterfly stamp and a world stamp, and some brown ink. Then I used an old bell, some old lace, and part of a horseshoe Christmas ornament. None of this cost money. I just wanted to make the box interesting to a 4 year old. It sparkled. It tinkled. And it was tied shut. What's not to love for a 4 year old?

She was pretty eager to get into that box. First the ribbon came off.

Then she pried it open.

  Inside she found . . .

A feather (found at the ranch!)

 Two bags of gold dollars (The bank still gives those out, but they are usually only used by toll booth commuters.) I included a bag for her and a bag for her little brother. (Just in case he was interested enough in her Blessing Box want to be included.)

The most important thing in the Blessing Box was this:

 She is an old Christmas ornament that I've probably had over 20 years. I got it from my mother. She's quite heavy. On her robe is a quote from Mother Teresa.

"We can do no great things - only small things with great love."

In the bottom of the box is an envelope.

 It already had a horse on it.

Inside the envelope I put two $5 bills.

Now here's the important part of the Blessing Box - she has to give away the $5 bills to someone else who needs them.

A 4 year old must think about the world around her and decide who needs that money the most. From an early age, she can learn the joy of giving, of being a blessing to others, of looking at the world around her and saying to herself, "Where can I help?"

The coins she can keep. In fact, she was most interested in the box itself, and the angel, and the feather, in that order. The money and coins were nice, but the box - well, it was a BLESSING BOX! That sucker had a lot more power than a humble chocolate box and some purple paint.

Lest you think she didn't get the message, I'll share this. We pointed at the cash and asked her, "What do you do with this?"

She looked at us like she was giving a tutorial and said,

 "You give that to someone who NEEDS it!"

So today as we all give thanks for the blessings we've received, I urge you to put down that second helping of turkey, and look around for ways you can spread God's blessings. Become the Blessing Box.

Note: In our family we've decided that every year at Thanksgiving, we'll give her another Blessing Box. The same angel ornament will be in each box, along with money that she is to give to someone else.  

When I'm in the city, I'm always on the look-out for 2-legged predators. When I'm at the ranch, I'm often casually scanning the darkness around me for lions, and tigers, and bears, but I almost fell over when I saw this:

 Do you see it?

Try some available light photography and he'll stand out.

Look again.

I was most relieved that the large creature staring at me in the dark turned out to be Bully. For some reason he was drawn to us that night. He just stood there in the dark, watching us.

We just assumed the girls had left him. They often wander all over the ranch and Bully pretty much confines himself to the west side which is much tamer. So we talked with Bully and he stood there, staring at the fire and watching us grill steaks. (sadly ironic, wasn't it?)  Bully stared into the flames like he was contemplating the great mysteries of this world.  I just assumed that he came to hang out with us because he was lonely.

And then Trace pointed out something on the other side of the fire.

 Clearly Bully was not alone.

The cattle at the ranch are doing just fine with bountiful grazing and lots of space to roam, but clearly they are missing something.  Us. Either that, or they are bored and we are the most interesting thing going on in 133 acres. Most of these cows were former show cattle and so they are a bit more social toward humans. As Other Half pointed out, they have always associated us with food and safety. Now they are free to roam, free to eat, and free to do whatever they want, but they clearly still want some contact with us.  This greeted me every morning when I woke up.

They became so pesky that we often had to have the dogs send them packing.

Still, I couldn't help but wonder why? Why does a cow even care about splitting logs, stacking wood, and building fires?

And what does Bully think of when he stares into the flames?