Farm Fresh Blog

Feeding the cows. Note that Border Collie is allowed to drive on the ranch.  No Driver License needed!

We just bought a new Angus bull today! (Actually, I just sat in the truck and coughed.)

(Not him.  This young fellow is the daddy of NEXT year's calves.)

My Favorite Calf of this year:  Miss Mocha!!  I LOVE this calf.  What a cutie patootie!

  And all under the watchful eye of the Ranch Manager!

After burying Barn Cat yesterday, it became painfully apparent that my day could only get better. Maybe. I was out of Nyquil. (And the sheep!  The sheep!  The sheep won't shut up! How can I ever get any rest if the damned sheep won't quit calling me.  I vow, and this is a promise - when I am feeling better, every time I pop my head out the back door and they start screaming to be fed, I'm going to take Border Collie out there and work them. Every single time! They just THINK they want my attention!  Well Ladies!  You are about to GET IT!)  Pardon the ravings of Flu Lunatic.

Despite the fact that I'd rather be beaten than go to the grocery store, I was forced to "cowboy-up" and go forth in search of Nyquil.  My stomach announced that it would ONLY be happy if it got a bowl of la'Madeleine's Tomato basil soupe . . . and some sourdough bread.  Since my grocery store had both Nyquil and soup, I let my stomach drive.

I would have been better off letting the Border Collie drive.

Get in car. Go back to house for car keys. Get back in car. Start engine. Decide it is too hot for Border Collie to come so she must stay home. Go back inside for purse. Leave disappointed Border Collie (who is vainly trying Jedi Master Mind Control Tricks on Helpless Flu Patient) Putt-putt down road towards grocery store.  Notice a bird on a fence. What a lovely bird on a fence. Is it Spring yet? AAACKKK!!!  Run off road while staring at bird. Am momentarily scared into sobriety. Grip steering wheel with both hands and forget about Spring. It's warm.  It's really, really warm.   Is it really this warm or is that the fever? Wonder if I still have a fever. Since I don't have a thermometer that hasn't been in a dog's butt, I'll have to continue to wonder about that one. Look in rear-view mirror and note the growing line of cars that is stuck behind me as I have been putt-putting down two-lane road.  They are not happy.  Speed up to something resembling the speed limit.

Finally reach grocery store. Do you know what would be a really good idea?  A drive-through grocery store!!! My mind races at turtle speed as it explores this concept. I find myself staring at a bundle of flowers. Too long. Uh Oh! I am holding up foot traffic. And that's when I saw them.  I was mesmerized. 

Like a baby staring at a mobile, I stare at the glasses.

I was in love. These had to come home with me!  A day like this deserved a set of pretty new glasses.  That's Woman Logic! If your cat dies you can pretty much buy anything you want the rest of the day. They were perfect.  They were plastic. They were cheap.  They made my heart smile.  (and after a dead cat, that's a pretty tall order!)

And right beside the glasses I see this!

A plastic pitcher! It doesn't match the cups, but it's pretty. It hops into the cart too. My cat died and I am sick!

And that's why I spent $129 at the grocery store and still forgot the cough drops!

Update on Border Collie's driver's license:  While several of you agreed with me that this WOULD have been a stellar idea, Other Half shot our theory out of the water with a perfect point. Border Collie and Blue Heeler would easily be able to drive the truck if Border Collie steered and Blue Heeler worked the pedals UNTIL they saw a cat and Border Collie drove into a ditch to chase it. Point well taken.

After you have bagged a dead cat, your day can only get better.

The Barn Cat died today. (Yes, my life is almost sinking into Black Comedy again.)  Karma, my Rat Warrior, announced yesterday that she wanted to come into the house.  I obliged and set her up in the spare bedroom.  She died. It was pretty much par for the course this week.

Last night I announced that I was tired of the flu and I was going to work tomorrow. (I said this in the middle of a wheezing, coughing fit.) Other Half informed me that was Not Gonna Happen.  HAH!  I would show him! So to PROVE to him that I was going to kick this flu, I went to bed without Nyquil.  After what seemed like an eternity of coughing, I realized that the only thing I was proving was that I was an idiot. He finally suggested I take some Nyquil. It helped for about ten minutes.  I still coughed all night, had the sweats, muscle aches, and was otherwise miserable in every possible way.

Other Half headed to work this morning and left me in the capable paws of Border Collie who assured him that she would not let me die in my sleep, but she couldn't do much if I aspirated on puke. I finally dragged myself up to begin feeding animals. First I opened the door to the spare bedroom to let the cat out.  Karma stared at me with dead eyes. You know your day can only go uphill from there.

I called Other Half to inform him that Barn Cat had died.  There was a silence as he waited for the water works, but I just didn't have the energy. We decided to bury her under the apple tree. Since I couldn't have a dead cat in the house until he got home, this meant that I actually had to dig said hole. Fortunately, the flu had not quite taken ALL my faculties and I realized before I buried the cat under the apple tree that there the dogs would have access to a fresh grave.  It didn't take my mind long to run that to its inevitable conclusion so there was a change of plans.  I would bury Karma under the Pecan Trees, in the Porch Ponies' pasture.

This sounds romantic until you factor in the roots. It took a while to dig the hole.  Then I threw up.  The dogs stared at me through the fence, fascinated by this new sport of digging and puking.  Faith, the fluffy calico, supervised.  When the hole seemed big enough, I went inside and got Karma. Bagging a dead cat is the low point to any day.

So I buried Karma.  I tapped the black clay tightly with the shovel, wished her Godspeed, and headed back to the house. On my way across the pasture, I happened to catch the sunlight dancing across the back of St. Napolean, the Porch Pony. It looked so warm. So I stopped a moment and ran my fingers deep into his warm, thick coat.  It was the hug that I needed. Then I picked up the shovel and left.

Vaya Con Dios, little Rat Warrior

     When you have the flu, you are not the only one who suffers. Everyone around you is miserable too. I went to work yesterday.  Duh!  Why???  Me! The person who will take off work in an instant if one of the dogs is sick, made the bright decision to drag her butt to the office yesterday.  (Other Half wants to go on public record to state that HE was solidly against this decision.) I lasted EXACTLY 33 minutes before my colleages and my boss sent me packing back home.  What was I thinking?  I guess the logic was that time off should be taken for farm chores only.  If you're too sick to labor on the farm, you may as well go to work.  (That's the Nyquil talking.) 

     As I sat in rush hour traffic on my way back home, I cursed my poor decision and prayed I didn't rear-end anyone.  A few people honked because I strayed into their lanes.  Oh dear!  Clearly I wasn't as "on top of things" as Nyquil had led me to believe. When you are sick, your one best friend in the whole, wide world, is your electric blanket.  I know. I know. You're probably right.  The electro-magnetic waves it gives off will kill me, but not as fast as the flu, and certainly not as fast as my colleages if I show up at the office again before I'm able to keep down food.

     So except for when I'm actually feeding animals, I'm living in an electric blanket cocoon. A dear friend just told me, "No one has time for the flu."  The reality is just the opposite. No one has time to actually "fight" the flu, but once you've lost the fight, and accepted that you've got it, you have nothing but time.  I slept for 20 hours one day and if the animals hadn't insisted on being fed I never would have crawled out of that bed. Which leads me to the other hapless victims of the flu - the animals.

     Farm animals don't care.  As long as food arrives in a timely manner, horses, cattle, sheep and goats don't care.  Dogs do. Dogs study humans like NASA studies space.  They know everything about us.  I'm sure Border Collie knew I had the flu long before I did. Herein lies the problem.  Dogs know when you're sick.  Dogs care.  (except for Bloodhound and Briar) Dogs want to be in the bedroom with you when you are sick, but all you want is uninterrupted sleep. Dogs cannot be quiet.  They won't quit checking on you. Thus, you are forced to hurt their feeling by announcing,

"EVERYONE WITH MORE LEGS THAN ME, GET OUTSIDE!!!"

     You stagger out of bed, cursing the cord on the electric blanket because it will not allow you to drag the blanket with you to the door. You toss everyone outside.  Just as you are about to slam the door, you see Border Collie staring, like a Jedi Master working Mind Control.

"I must be in bed with you. I only weigh forty pounds and don't take up much space.  I will be still.  I promise.  Plus, if you die in your sleep, I won't keep rescue workers from getting to your body like The Enforcer would."

     Your mind puzzles on that thought for a moment.  You decide she has a point, so you let her back inside.

(See? . . . crime scene investigators think of weird sh*t. Give 'em some Nyquil and there is no telling which direction the mind will wander.)

  We never actually "wanted" a mule.  Ruth was like an unplanned pregnancy. "Ooops!  Now we have a mule." As mules go, she's a beautiful creature. The camera just LOVES her, and I really enjoy taking pictures of Ruth.  Like a Sports Illustrated bathing suit model, Ruth is ever so patient about posing when I thrust a camera in her face.

But as much as I love taking pictures of my mule, it's not fair to keep her.  She is too nice a mule to be a yard ornament. The recent rains flooded her stall, leaving her an island in the back to stand on when she eats. I cannot put her in with the geldings.  They don't like Long Ears.  I obviously cannot put her in with the stallion.  I moved her companions, the two miniature horses, in with the goats, but Ruth is just too big to be with heavily pregnant goats. I don't want to throw her out with the cattle. So poor Ruth is alone. Although parts of her pasture are nice and dry, when the brutal north wind returns, bringing with it a cold rain, Ruth is left to trudge through mud to come stand on her island.  That's not how a Sports Illustrated Supermodel should live.  Therefore, Ruthie is going to a new home with a mule person who has promised a dry stall and lots of TLC. 

Her new home also comes with a new friend - another mule!  Ruth will finally have another Longears to hang out with.  The horses around here have always been a bit racist and never truly accepted Ruth and all her Long Ear splendor.  (their loss, not hers!)

I think she'll be a lot happier.  The horse trailer just pulled out of the driveway, and Ruth begins a new adventure.

So here's to Ruth.  Go with God, Little Friend!

On Border Collies & Nyquil

The problem with a head cold is that it seems to linger forever.  You have one good day and you think you've seen the end of it.  Wrong.  One good day means you act like business as usual, overdo it, and end up back in bed the next day.

The problem with a farm, is that there is no time off for head colds. You must stumble out and feed the ungrateful masses who will greet you, not with a "glad to see you this morning," but with a "what took you so stinking long?" (except the Livestock Guardian Dog - she is always happy to see you at whatever time you happen to stagger in.)

But have you ever noticed that once you are finally able to bumble through the chores, manage to come back inside and collapse into the loving embrace of your bed, that's when The Thought pops into your head. You know The Thought. (it comes with an ominous drum roll) Everyone with a farm knows this Thought. You have completed your chores. You had enough feed for today.  But there is not enough feed for tomorrow.  Some how, some way, you must drag your sniffling, sneezing, coughing, germ-infested butt to the feed store.

Your mind frantically searches for ways around the problem.  That's when The Thought springs up. In a Nyquil haze, your drug-addled eyes settle on the searching face of your everpresent farm dog. She KNOWS you have a problem. She can sense it.  All good farm dogs have this power. She wants to solve your problem. Nyquil convinces you to explore this idea further. The logic runs like this:

Since the feed store knows your dog, you can simply tie a list around her collar of the things you need. Then you can stay in bed. Yeah! That's it!

Logic rears its ugly head. How is the dog going to get to the feed store, Dummy?  Nyquil assures you that she is smart enough to drive the dually. Logic argues that she doesn't have a Driver's license.  Nyquil puzzles on this for a while. From there, Nyquil takes you on a little daydream journey of teaching Border Collie to drive the dually and take her Driver's test.  Your mind is momentarily hung up at the idea that she is too short to work the peddles, then Nyquil assures you that Blue Heeler can work the peddles while Border Collie steers. Generations of Farm children have already worked out this problem. Then Logic informs you there is NO WAY the state will give a Driver's license to someone so short that she has to have someone else work the peddles. Damn! Nyquil convinces you that the State has a prejudice against people with disabilities.  Nyquil further convinces you that Border Collie and Blue Heeler would look quite fetching as a canine version of Bonnie & Clyde as they motor down the highway in a large white F350, their tommy guns hanging out the window, with state troopers in hot pursuit. This image entertains you for a few minutes as you drift off to sleep. Suddenly, you are jerked out of your mushroom fog.  Border Collie cannot sign the form on the feed store farm account!  She cannot write!

Oh dear!  Nyquil can't seem to puzzle its way through this one. So you pull yourself out of bed, splash water on your face, and drive to the feed store.  As usual, Border Collie is riding shotgun. You sniffle and sneeze your way through ordering feed. Then you happen to mention that you wish you'd been able to stay in bed and send the dog.  The Feed Store Lady assures you that if Border Collie ever comes into the store with an order, they will know that it IS INDEED from you, and will let her make the purchase.  In the back of your mind, Nyquil whispers "Told you so!"

Other Half comes home today.  It has been three long weeks and it seems like longer. He has been all the way across the state (big state!) and although we talk many times each day, it isn't the same as having him here to actually share the drama.  He has had drama on his end too.  I fear he may have broken a couple of ribs, but being a guy, he will "cowboy up" and work through it.  He is a firm believer that a hot bath and Absorbine Jr. will fix whatever ails you.  Yeah right.

Anyway, he will return to fewer goats,

more cows,

and Briar, who has suddenly sprouted legs.

I very much hope he can come home to a clean house, one that doesn't have muddy pawprints all over the floors.  But the only way THAT is going to happen, is if I get off the computer and start cleaning.  On the other hand, I have a head cold.  He has a head cold. The floor might not get very clean today.  I've just finished my chores and I'm sapped. I feel a nap calling me. I'm not sure how much housecleaning is going to get done today.

Puppies will be puppies, and Briar is no different.  Her problem however, is that she is caught between two worlds.  She is a sheep, and she is a dog.  Sheep don't have needle-sharp teeth. Sheep don't wrestle.  Dogs do.  Puppies have to.  So on Saturday while I was selling goats and didn't have time to watch her, little Briar wrestled with a lamb and bloodied up his ears.  She was playing.  She was having fun.  He was not.  I pulled her out of the pasture and let her beat up on Blue Heeler for a while.  He is tougher than Hulk the lamb.  Blue Heeler can take the abuse.

Then I got sick, so yesterday I didn't feel like standing in the cold with Briar to supervise her sheep activities, therefore, she spent the night with the sheep, but in an exercise pen so they were safe from a bored pup.  So this morning, armed with a frappuccino, Briar, the sheep, and I headed for the pasture.

Briar was full of energy. She was like a little cinder block on meth!  Happy, happy, happy puppy!

She zoomed.  Well, she's a little big for zooming.  It was more like boucing and lumbering. She chased birds.  She chased chickens. (and got a bucket tossed at her) She chewed on sticks.  Then . . . she decided to play with her lamb buddies.

  And we are bowling for sheep!

   Mom screams, "NNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooo!"

  Briar drops to the ground.  "I'm bad?"

  "Awww man . . . I'm bad!"

She looked so pitiful.  She even closed her little eyes as I screamed at her.

"Awww man!  I wasn't gonna hurt 'em.  They're my friends!"

The sheep settled down.  They're not really scared of her anyway.  That's the really scary part.  They completely trust her.  The biggest, meanest ewe actually watched Briar bloody up her lamb on Saturday and gave no indication that it was happening.  Her attitude seemed to be, "Well it's Little Briar, I'm sure everything will be just fine." The ewes have completely forgotten that Briar is still a predator - a baby predator, but still a predator.

The problem was that no one has actually informed Briar that she cannot play this rough with the lambs.  They break easily. She was really upset that she got in trouble.  I chewed her out.  Then I let her up.  She ran over to sniff butts and make friends again.  

That lesson should last until she is bored again - about 5 minutes.  It's going to be a long 2 years until she grows up enough to trust her with them.  But she is trying, and that is really all we can ask.

After I sold goats yesterday I went to feed the cows.  This is what greeted me.

That is NOT bubble gum hanging out of the back of that cow.  Her name is Snickers.  She used to be a show cow. The little girl who showed her asked about her at the fair this year.  I REALLY don't wanna have to tell that child next year that her cow died giving birth.  The Rancher Neighbor had already called Other Half to inform him that the cow was in labor.  The neighbor on the other side of the property had already called Other Half to inform him that the cow was in labor and the calf was probably dead.  Oh joy. 

So I met with Kindly Rancher Neighbor who is my Rock when Other Half is out of town. He came over the fence.  His Blue Heeler, Deuce, crawled through the fence.  Snickers tried to run Deuce down.  Deuce ran to hide behind Rancher.  I had to laugh as Man Who Always Has Everything Together informed his dog, "Don't hide behind ME!!!" as a large, enraged black cow chased the dog. Deuce was evicted, but Snickers was not in the mood to be caught, so there wasn't much we could do. We had to wait until she got tired enough to let us catch her and pull the calf. Kindly Rancher Neighbor went home.

  We agreed to watch her and try it again in an hour.

I kept checking, but then I got on the phone with Vet's Wife to discuss The Enforcer, kidney failure, and selling goats. Thirty minutes later I looked out the window to find Kindly Rancher Neighbor propped against the fence, looking at this.

According to him I missed it by 5 minutes.  He had to pull the sack off her nose so she could breathe, but otherwise, his help was not needed.  Snickers had her first baby on her own, just fine thank you very much. No humans NEEDED! (I like cows like that!)

Snickers is a good mother.  This morning when I went to feed, the Wal-Mart Shoppers Mob knocked her calf over in the mud.  (I was almost hysterical as I watched this precious mocha baby get trampled!) Snickers, who is a sizable girl herself (she is a plus-size, full-figured broad!) saw red and rushed to rescue her baby.  Then she led little Miss Mocha away from the herd.  I finished filling the feeders.  While the Mob settled down to eat, Snickers checked her baby.  I sat on the 4Wheeler and cried. (I am a big help!)

The baby seemed to be okay. (good, because I have NO idea how I would be able to help her if her momma didn't cooperate.)  All I could do was drive off and get another bale of hay for Snickers.  The baby settled down beside her as Snickers munched.  She regularly reached over to sniff little Miss Mocha to make sure she was still okay.  

Snickers still has not passed the afterbirth.  It was hanging down to her ankles.  I was a bit worried so I stopped by Neighbor's ranch to beg for help.  (a woman left in charge of two farms full of cows, goats, sheep, horses, and a dog dying of renal failure is just one drama away from completely losing her mind . . .) I desperately needed to know that I wasn't wallowing in the mud alone and the cows would be just fine.

Kindly Rancher Neighbor wasn't at home, but luckily his dad was there fixing a tractor.  His DAD!  This dude knows LOTS about cows!  So we talked.  He assured me that Snickers and Mocha would be just fine. He would check on them.  Kindly Rancher Neighbor would also check on them for me. Thank God! I'm not alone! Help is just one farm away. 

And that, ultimately, is what country living is all about.  No man is an island unto himself.  We all need good neighbors and we need to be good neighbors.

Here is my Valentine!

  He is in deep thought about land and leases and doesn't know I am taking his picture.  Other Half is rather elusive when you have a camera pointed at him.  At the moment, he is up to his butt in snow.  I had some snow pictures of he and Oli that I FORCED him to have another agent take, but I can't get my blasted computer to recognize them in the email that he sent, soooooo.... here is one from a couple of months ago. 

We aren't getting to spend Valentine's Day together, but we are spending quite a bit of time on the phone this morning because I'm selling goats today. 

The conversations have gone something like this:

"I have 10 different people who want to buy goats, but I think most of them actually want to EAT my goats and the other half are just TELLING me that they want breeding goats but they are secretly going to EAT my goats too."

There is a long silence.  Then he says, "This is a business, sell the goats to anyone who pays cash. Don't let them negotiate. No deals. Full price for everyone. That guy who wants a deal on all of them is only trying to take advantage of you because you're a woman. Stand your ground. Full price for everyone."

(I secretly want to let them go cheaply to anyone who will hug them and feed them and ruffle their ears. He knows this.)

The first lady on the list lived 30 minutes away.  She said she was en route NOW!  The second guy on the list tried to buy them ALL over the phone.  I told him another lady had first dibs because she called first. She didn't want all of them.  He pushed harder, informing me that I could save myself lots of headaches by just selling everything to him. Nope.  The other lady was promised that if she got here first, she'd have first pick.  The third guy wanted to buy everything but wanted a package deal.  Huh?  He was #3 out of 10 people who wanted those goats. 

First lady arrives.  She has a stock trailer in tow.  Hmmmm . . . serious buyer.  She and Husband expertly select the best of the crop.  I am saddened to see Bubbles go, but know that she is one of the best and I don't "think" this lady is actually planning on eating these goats. They have a good eye for goats.  Pays cash and drives off happy.

Second man arrives - in a mini-van!  He snatches up remaining goats.  I ask him where he plans on putting them. 

"In the van."

Friends and Neighbors, I would have paid money to videotape that.  I sorely wished I had my camera, but decided that was the epitome of "unprofessional" and since for today, without Other Half in town, I was pretending to be the Rancher in the family. So I resisted the urge to run into the house and grab up the Canon.  Instead, I helped him catch and load goats. 

Here are the photos I didn't take that I sooooo wanted to share with you:

#1 - Otis in the driver's seat

#2 - Goat in front passenger's seat staring at me through rear-view mirror

#3 - Goat leaping from Mini-van when door was opened to remove said goat from driver's seat.

#4 - Goats staring at me through rear window of Nissan Quest.

#5 - Otis sleeping under steering wheel.

#6 - Children happily holding goats in back seat.  (They are not going to be any happier than I am if their dad butchers those goats.) 

So now I have money in my pocket and far fewer goats.  I'm a bit sad.  I don't want them eaten.  I know, they're goats.  Goats are born to be eaten, but still, I'm fond of some of them.  Other Half pointed out that if the coyotes ate them, they wouldn't pay for them first. Point well taken.

Briar is in BIG TROUBLE.  She was evicted from the sheep pasture this morning.  While I was busy selling goats, Miss Briar was busy messing with Hulk, the ram lamb we want to keep.  Now Hulk has bloody ears.  Briar is about to be thrown back into the x-pen when not supervised.  She is clearly still too young.  Her lamb buddies are just not as tough as other puppies. They break . . . And tear. And Mom gets pissed.

Do you know what THIS is?

No?  Here's another spot.  Take a closer look.

THIS is coyote hair caught on MY fence.  The first one is the fence on the South side of the back pasture.  The second one is the fence on the North side of the back pasture.  Coyotes are coming along the canal on the south side and using my property as a Superhighway to get to my neighbor's pasture.  They are eating his Barbado sheep.  He is officially "out" of the sheep business as of this week. 

The guy only had a ewe and a ram.  They were just stuck out behind his house.  No protection. A baby was born.  It survived for a while and then it was eaten.  This week they got bold enough to take his ewe.  He just gave the ram away before the coyotes ate him too.

It is cold. They are desperate.  Not much stands between these hungry coyotes and my little group of baa-baa-baas.

Not much, except this:

It's a very thin Blue Line.

The sheep are moved into the barn each night.  Briar is with them all night, but we do not expect her to provide much protection yet.  She is little. They are many. I am considering the idea that she needs another dog for back-up.  By next winter, she will be a forminable opponent, but she is still just one dog against desperate coyotes. It may be time to start looking for another puppy.  Other Half is gonna defecate a brick when I tell him that. But he isn't home right now, and he isn't looking at the empty pasture next door.

In weather like this, feeding cows is the least pleasant chore on the farm. This is because it requires a 4Wheeler to slog through the mud to carry hay and an 80/20 mix of cottonseed meal to very, hungry cows who mob you like Christmas shoppers the day after Thanksgiving. I normally like to have Blue Heeler with me when I do this to keep the cows off me, but then I end up with a wet, muddy dog too, so lately I've just braved the mob alone. 

It's not ALL mud out there, it's just a sloshy, mud-pit by the gate and near the feeders. Because I feel sorry for the cows, I have lobbied (successfully!) for a new pole barn out there where the cows with calves can get in out of the winter weather. Unfortunately we will have to wait until next summer to build the darned thing. So . . .  the cows and I will just have to endure the mud for another winter.

Yesterday was a typical morning of feeding cows:

A cold, steady rain is falling. The cowponies hear the chain on the gate.  Mean Cowpony has taken the only open lean-to stall and pushed his buddy, Sweet Mustang Cowpony, out in the rain.  While he is dry and warm, Sweet Mustang Cowpony is standing as close to the porch as possible to stay dry.  His head is dry.  The rest of him is soaked.  I go into barn to start 4Wheeler.  Didn't cover it with a tarp and now the chickens have pooped all over it. Note that Other Half will have a fit if he sees that. Coax machine to life in the cold.  Load it with hay and move it to barn door.  Sweet Mustang carefully squeezes through barn door to pass 4Wheeler and stand by his warm, dry stall.  Move 4wheeler outside.  Still raining. Go back inside and let Sweet Mustang into his stall. Mean Cowpony comes out of lean-to to raid 4Wheeler. Slings hay off 4Wheeler into mud. I grab rake and run out of barn while screaming like a Fishmonger's Wife. Horse is mildly impressed and trots away from hay.  Does he go into his nice warm stall?  NO!  He dances around me like a soccer player to come back to hay.  Consider throwing rake at him.  Scream things at him in a language used only by police officers and sailors. (my Grandmother would be so ashamed of me!)  Horse finally meanders into barn. Feed horses.

Still raining.  Load 80/20 cottonseed meal onto 4Wheeler. Re-load hay.  Putt-putt out to cows and calves in roping arena. They gather at gate like Wal-Mart shoppers on Black Friday. Stop at gate. 4Wheeler makes a wake in the 8" deep water at gate. Grab chute panel beside gate to help steady myself as I climb off 4Wheeler which has now become a ship in muddy waters. Accidentally hit gas pedal on handlebar with my glove.  4Wheeler shoots out from underneath me and slams into gate.  Cows jump back.  I fall in mud. More cussing. Thank God that at least I was hanging onto chute panel and didn't fall face first in mud.

Climb back on 4Wheeler.  Put that Bad-Boy in Neutral!  Climb back off 4Wheeler. (carefully this time!) Open gate.  Cows are watching with great interest.  Not only is there the promise of food, but it is a Dinner Theater!  They can get a comedy show with their meal. Perhaps the Human will fall off the Machine again!  Wise Cow informs the rest of them that this is only funny if Human falls off Machine when Machine Filled with Food is INSIDE the arena.  Not funny if food is still outside.  Other cows bow to this wisdom.

Another calf was born.  This is a little bull calf.  He is cold and wet and shivering violently but seems to otherwise be healthy.  We have GOT to get a pole barn up for these new calves! Calf that was born in the cold rain last week is motoring around pasture and quite pleased with herself.  She has mastered the art of moving in the mud and showing everyone how fast she can run.  At least someone is having fun. Since birth she has known no other world than cold and wet, so she accepts it with good humor.  Looks like she will survive.

Unload feed as cows are pulling it off the 4Wheeler.  Finally get all the feeders filled. Little Bull Calf has wandered away from his mama and is headed for opened arena gate.  WHY???  He sees me coming at him and sloshes through mud faster as he heads toward open gate.  Again - WHY??!!!  Move out at an angle to close gate before he can reach it. I make it to gate before he does.  (HAHAHAHA!)  Almost fall in mud closing gate.  (He gets to say, "HAHAHAHAHA!")

Stalk back to 4Wheeler.  The seat is wet.  Use an empty bag to cover seat.  It is wet too.  Damn.  I still have to go by feed store for dog food. My hair is soaked, my down jacket is soaked, my new leather gloves are soaked, my ass is soaked, my boots are covered in mud, and I STILL have to go out in public. Hose the mud off my boots and head to feed store.

Walk in feed store.  Girl Behind Counter does not look in the least bit surprised to see me looking like a muddy, drowned rat. (That's almost sad . . . ) She asks about Other Half.  I show her phone pictures of him playing in snow with New Police Dog.  He is playing in the snow.  I am stuck in the mud.  He owes me.  He owes me big. 

Oh, I almost forgot!  Underneath the wet leather gloves is a really cool Vogt silver horseshoe ring. So maybe he DOES know that feeding cows in the mud is a Major Headache.  Yep, he probably knows that already.

Woman Logic
 
Other Half has only been gone for over a week and a half. In addition to juggling work chores and farm chores, there have also been the emotional ups and downs of dealing with The Enforcer's kidney failure.  This has led to me being an occasional Cranky Pants Bitchy Bear. Some days are better than others.  This is an account of one of the "others."

Go to bed early because I am attending a mandatory class that starts at 8 AM. Wake up at 1 AM because The Enforcer is throwing up.  Clean it up and go back to bed.  Phone rings at 4 AM.  Other Half is calling to wake me up so I can do my chores before I leave the house at 6 AM. Although I am happy to hear his voice, I am MOST UNHAPPY that his voice means I have to get out of bed, tromp out in the cold, and feed the animals.

Walk through laundry room and remember that I put ALL the towels in the washing machine the night before. I FORGOT TO PUT THEM IN THE DRYER. It is 5:05 AM and there is not a dry towel in the house.   Oh joy.  Put towels in dryer. Decide that SOMEHOW Other Half must be responsible for this. This is Woman Logic.  If things go bad, somehow, some way, some man MUST be responsible for it. Since Other Half is not home, it is easy to blame him for EVERYTHING that goes wrong around here now.

Consider calling him at 5:07 AM just to wake him  up and inform him that he has ruined my day because I now have a boob smeared with cold chicken grease and NO dry towels.  Decide against it. I don't have the time.

Take shower. Dry off with hand towel. (Little hand towel + Big Butt = Pissed Off Woman)
Walk into bedroom. Old Police Dog has stepped in dog poop outside and tracked it through the doggy door,through the house and into the bedroom.  Oh joy, joy, thrill, thrill.  Clean up floor.  Clean up paws. Clean up dog bed. The Enforcer throws up again.  Clean that up too. Consider throwing up myself.  Consider calling Other Half to wake him up and tell him that this is ALL HIS FAULT for leaving me for 3 weeks.  Decide against it.  Don't have the time.

Gather purse and race out door. Wonder if I smell like dog poop. Step out back gate and stumble in a hole the size of a moon crater that Briar has dug. Turn ankle.  Cuss.  Consider calling Other Half to wake him up and tell him that this is ALL HIS FAULT for leaving me for 3 weeks.  It is 6:30 AM.  Decide against it.

Get in truck and head toward the Big City. All goes well until I reach The City Before The Big City.  That's when the tail lights ahead of me just stop. Surely this couldn't be happening.  There are tail lights as far as the eye can see.  Was there another hurricane evacuation that no one told me about???  Yes, that must be it.  There must be a hurricane in February and everyone in Texas is moving north to Oklahoma.  Oh joy. I was going to be late.
All "The Powers That Be" in Homicide will be in this class, and I am going to be walking in late. (yes, I AM in Homicide too, but I am not one of the Powers That Be.  I am one of the people who play Twister over Dead people.  We have no power.) An HOUR AND A HALF later, I slink into class like a whipped dog. No one notices or cares. (YES!!!!  God DOES love me!)  By 11 AM I am asleep.  How do these people actually work on day shift?

Make it through class and head back home. Call Dear Friend and chit-chat with her all the way home. Thank God she has AT&T too or we would both run out of phone minutes the first week of every month. Give her every agonizing detail of my life of juggling chores and trying to keep The Enforcer alive.  She reciprocates with details of her life and I feel better.   (You see! Women don't have to SOLVE each other's problems, they just have to LISTEN to them! Then everyone feels better - especially the men who DONT have to hear the women in their lives gripe in detail about their problems!)

Get home to find that I have a package.  A package???  A PACKAGE???  For me???  It is from Other Half.  He has sent me a precious card, a beautiful ring (the right size!), chocolate, perfume, and a PAIR OF LEATHER WORK GLOVES!!!  Wooo hooo!

He calls later and I happily gush about my package.  He gets excited."Did the gloves fit?" he asks. (Not "Did the ring fit?")

I point that out.  He laughs and informs me that the gloves are more important than the ring because they are WORK gloves and I NEED them to work on the farm. Hmmmm . . . Man Logic. While it is true that my other gloves have holes and I DID need new gloves, it still gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling to know that I have a new horsehoe ring under those leather work gloves. 

And THAT, friends and neighbors, is Woman Logic.

The Blue Heeler is the quintessential Texas Farm Dog.  No ranch in the Lone Star State is complete without one.  Our Blue Heeler is an excellent ranch dog.  Not only does he work cows, he is a good guard dog.

  Unless this is your dog, you don't really want to see this running at you.

But he has so many other uses:

   Holding down the ottoman.

  Border Collie Aerobics Partner

  Supervisor of coffee and do-nut breaks

His most unusual job has been instructor of the English as a Second Language Class for New Police Dog.  You will recall that she came to us speaking only Czech.  She needed some tutorials in English.  Blue Heeler proved to be the perfect ESL instructor.

  "Welcome to English as a Second Language Class!"

   The teacher tells the class to "stay" and walks off.

  "Hey!  Whut did she say????"

  "Shsshh!  Just do what I do!"

 "Yeah!  Yeah!  I can DO that!"

"See, English is easy.  Now we've gotta work on getting you a Texas accent!"

People ask me all the time how I get good shots of my critters.  The answer is easy, "Take a LOT of them!"  I have a Canon EOS Digital Rebel XT.  It's the same kind of camera that I use for work.  It takes great pictures but I also use to take great shots with my Kodak Easyshare too.  The camera is only half the equation.  The person BEHIND the camera is even more important.  Get a camera you are COMFORTABLE with and take it EVERYWHERE!  Trust me, mine goes everywhere with me.  I take lots and lots and lots of pictures.  Then I download them into my computer, edit them, and toss out a bunch.  Ultimately I'm left with a few good shots.  Digital photography is easy, fun, cheap, and keeps you off the streets.

Here are some shots I got when Blue Heeler and I were coming back from feeding the cows.  I had to edit his ears out of the pictures.

This hawk was just sitting there, minding his own business.  And then we came along.

  This is my one good shot. 

Then he noticed us and flew off.  I missed that shot because someone stuck his big blue head in the way!

   I wish this was in better focus, but it was a long way off.  The look on his face is priceless though.  He is just so offended!

"Freakin' paparazzi! Go away and get a life of your own!"

  This is Ice.  She is The Enforcer's sister.  Ice is concerned.  While The Enforcer seems to be doing better, he does still have bouts where he throws up.  Last night The Enforcer started throwing up again.  Over and over again.  Because he hates to be coddled, I lay in bed and waited for him to get finished before I got up.  (stone tile floors)  His sister became concerned and came to get me.  She put her front feet on the bed and said, "MOM!!!!  Kona is sick!  He needs some help!"

It was touching. 

There is an order to how things work on the farm.  It goes like this:

Feed livestock. Feed dogs. Feed me.  Because Briar spends all night with the sheep, I let her run and play with the dogs after breakfast because she wants to play rough games and the sheep do not.  She gets so enthralled with the lambs' games of chasing and mounting each other that she wants to play too.  This results in lots of running sheep.  Although she doesn't seem intent on harm, I don't want her running sheep.  Thus, I let the Border Collie and Blue Heeler get the zoom-zooms out of Briar before I deposit her tired little hiney back into the pasture. 

This morning there was a hitch in the plan.  Briar has learned to use the doggy door.  She went into the Laundry Room and stole a good long-sleeved white t-shirt.  Then she ran around the yard with my good shirt while her buddies chased her.  I happened to see a bright white shirt bouncing through the mud and became curious.  I called her.  She ran behind a rose bush with her prize.

Because it was muddy and I was sock-footed, I sent The Enforcer out in the mud to take the shirt away from her.  She growled at him.  Time just stopped.  The Earth stopped spinning.  The entire farm gasped.  Briar had growled at The Enforcer!  Was she crazy?  Cattle tremble at the mere sight of Blue Heeler, yet The Enforcer can glare at Blue Heeler and he pees on himself.  Who WAS this crazy woman who would GROWL at The Enforcer.  He stood over the puppy with the shirt in his mouth.  She wiggled her butt.  His eyebrows shot to the top of his head.  Rather than put her in the position where he would eat her, I called him back.  Then I put on my boots and tromped out in the mud myself.

"That's MY shirt!  Give it back!"

"Unhhh  uhhhhhhh!  Finders Keepers!!!"

I won.  She pouted.

It's about time to toss her back in the pasture with a bone. She is a delightful pup who is quite full of herself.  She is beginning to guard the pasture and it's quite comical to see her barking at something she believes is a threat. The sheep have totally accepted her now.  As soon as she grows up enough that she cannot fit through the squares in the cattle panels she will be able to be with them all the time.

This is what greeted me today when I went to take care of the cows.

No. We are not raising "low-rider" cattle.  She is standing in a mud-hole up to her knees to lick that syrup tub.

It's not all muddy though.  Fortunately this calf's mama found one of the dry spots to sun her calf.

The new calf is doing well.  I named her today.

   "Hi! My name is Mud!"

  "I am getting good at slopping through the mud. It's hard work."

  "But WELL worth the effort!"

  Look at our Sweet Tater Gator!  Girl Power!

This is what Other Half and New Police Dog are doing this month.  Our little Sweet Potato is having so much fun! She makes a convincing argument that a police dog doesn't have to be massive.  Since "Force = Mass x Acceleration" it stands to reason that a little dog running faster than a speeding bullet can hit just as hard as a slower moving, but larger dog.

  I LOVE this little dog! 

But it is very cold up there and I keep telling Other Half that we need to buy her a little sweater to keep her warm.  Perhaps something in pink?

Update on The Enforcer - the vet is coming to our house to give him IV fluid treatments to flush his kidneys.  He hates the treatments, but likes the boiled chicken he gets as payment for his trouble. His appetite is good. His eyes are bright.

Update on the New Calf - So far, so good.  I'll post pictures later.

    Things are looking better today!  After lounging around like a lazy-bones in a drug haze yesterday, I feel a lot better.  We are giving The Enforcer penicillin injections daily now.  Vet's Wife/Dear Old Friend is helping me.  I hold him and she pokes him. Then we pay him with boiled chicken.  The chicken is staying down now! Vet is coming over tonight to start him on fluids to flush his kidneys.  This should be interesting since I won't be there. (can't miss work two days in a row!) Vet and Wife are on their own.  (the sign of a good friend is someone who will come over even when you're not home to poke your snarly dog) 

Keep your fingers crossed that they love him as much tomorrow as they do before they try to give him fluids tonight!

Today is a "cocoon" day.  Woke up this morning and realized that I was officially "sick."  Felt it coming on yesterday.  Head felt like a football.  Eyes itched and burned.  Woke up this morning to find eyes almost swollen shut  (that was a pretty picture!  Exactly WHO was that troll in the mirror this morning?) and head was indeed, a football.  Border Collie let me sleep until 10 AM!  I don't think she had a choice.  I was awakened every 2 hours last night by animals and another storm roaring through.  Had to get up at 2:30 AM to settle sheep with more hay and make sure their area wasn't flooding.  I'm not sure what I planned to do with them if it WAS flooding because they won't fit it in the living room! 

The Enforcer is having a hard time keeping his food down.  He threw up his chicken and rice.  Retired Police Dog ate it.  At that hour of the morning I didn't even care.  It was one more thing I DIDN'T have to clean up.   Storm roared through at 4:30 AM.  Checked on stock again, shut top windows in barn, and fell back into bed.  Said a prayer that baby calf made it through the night.

Since Other Half's Son is doing Cow Duty today for me, I planned to sleep late.  Other Half called at 10 AM.  I informed him that Princess IS SICK.  He informed me that Princess needs to go on antibiotics just in case she has whatever The Enforcer has.  Hmmmmmm . . . Princess thinks that it's just the flu, BUT . . . it would be nice to know EXACTLY what The Enforcer has that is making him so sick. 

Decided then and there that today should be spent laying in bed under electric blanket with Border Collie and Enforcer.  Stumble out into mud to care for sheep, goats, and horses.  Feed dogs and coax Enforcer into eating more chicken.  Want to go to bed but cannot trust myself not to burn the house down while boiling chicken, so I figured it'd be a good time to update you guys on the latest happenings.  Thank you so much for all the emails of support and cyberhugs regarding Kona.  He is my Attila The Hun, but I love him and don't want to lose him.

Someone told me once that we are all on our own journey and must walk along our own path.  I think that's probably true. I am most thankful that at least for a little while, Kona's path walks beside mine.  

The sheep finished lambing, now it's time for the cows. This is the first calf of the year.  She's a pretty little heifer.  I'm really concerned because it's cold, windy, and wet.  Look at all this water!

Check out this wind!                                             

(That's Reggie the Hateful Rooster.  If I'm lucky, the wind will blow him into Oklahoma.) Look at the freakin' mud!!!! 

I'm so worried about this little girl.  They are predicting 2 more inches of rain this afternoon.  She is shivering.  I know. I know.  Cows are born out in this every day,  (I've already heard it from Other Half.) but I wonder about the mortality rates in those calves.  Other Half is out of town for 3 whole weeks.  It's cold, it's wet, the house is full of mud, the cows are calving, and the dog is dying . . . and all I want to do is sit at the kitchen table and cry. I know that if I just keep plugging along, things will get brighter. In the back of my mind I keep hearing that fish's voice in "Finding Nemo" - "just keep swimming.  Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming . . ."

  The Enforcer is in renal failure. The vet just told me that if he was a human they would put him on dialysis (sp)  {pardon me for not checking that in the dictionary right now} and give him a kidney transplant.  Obviously we cannot do that.  All we can do is bring him home and make him comfortable.  At the moment, he is still happy.  He is in some pain, but he works through it.  We suspected somthing was wrong because he was losing a lot of weight, his breath has a "urine" smell, and something just wasn't quite "right." His blood work was VERY Bad.  Because the vet is a friend, and married to my oldest friend, he is pretty straight with me.  Even with herioc efforts that we cannot afford, and wouldn't force him to endure anyway, we cannot save him. 

Sooooo . . . I cried.  And I called Other Half who is out of town at K9 training, and cried some more. And I called the vet's wife . . . and cried some more. And I called my former sister-in-law who is still "my sista" . . . and cried some more.   And considered calling my mom, but figured that both of us would be hysterical, so I put off that call.  Then I called his breeder . . . and cried harder.   His breeder is more optomistic than I am.  She says she's gonna "ride the Hope Train." 

I didn't pin the vet down to a number of how long he had, because I didn't want a number in my head.  We will take it one day at a time.  We will have fun.  We will work on a Bucket List.  For those of you who didn't see the movie, Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman were terminally ill patients who embarked on a grand adventure to finish all the things they wanted to do before they "kicked the bucket." 

So Kona The Enforcer, also known as Attila The Hun, will begin his Bucket List.  We will try to do everything except allow him to kill the Blue Heeler.

"Anger is like the hot coal we pick up to throw at another,

only to burn our own hand."

                                   Budda

Years and experience are teaching me that if I wait long enough, I will eventually see the good in a situation so it is pointless to fly off the handle.  Now Other Half may argue that I still fly off the handle pretty frequently, and he's right, I may still do it, but at least I "try" to recognize later that not only was it a waste of energy, but that God has a plan. I had one of those "Ah HAAA! moments" last night that forced me to sit up and marvel at how Things really work in Life.

There are certain things guaranteed to pull my chain.  Computer problems are one of them. I love my computer. I am a Bitchy Bear without my computer. These events led up to my Ah Hah, God Knows What He's Doing moment:

* Old Laptop got terminally ill last summer.

* Took Old Laptop to uppity rude, know-it-all computer guru boy who took my money and then informed me that Old Laptop was sick. The files were wiped clean and he could not recover anything. Too bad. My Loss.  "Learn to back up your files, M'am!"  I mourned the loss of many, many, many old photographs that were now completely lost.  These included some of my favorite photos of Bloodhound and Ancient Arabian Stallion.  Threw a fit. Got over it. Bought a new laptop.  Packed old laptop away.

* Found cool photoshop program for New Laptop. Loaned program to Very Responsible Dear Friend so she could play with it.  Very Responsible Dear Friend accidentally broke the disk.  She was almost hysterical. Program was already on my laptop so I was unconcerned about loss of disk. Very Responsible Dear Friend told me about another free photoshopping program called Picasa by Google.  I was interested but don't need it because I have a photoshop program on my laptop.

* MONTHS later (Friday) New Laptop gets sick.  Opt against taking it to Uppity Rude Know-It-All Computer Guru Boy who "fixed" old laptop and instead take it to Police Department Old Friend who is also a computer guru.  She finds virus and dispatches it. Accidentally leave my power cord in her office IN INTERNAL AFFAIRS over the weekend.  They are closed over the weekend. (unless of course I was to accept a bribe, abuse a prisoner, or get caught snorting cocaine on the 5 o'clock news)   

* Start to throw a hissy fit.  Bitchy Bear begins to emerge.  Then a thought popped into my head.  OLD LAPTOP!!!!  It's wiped clean, but it can STILL get on the internet. I dusted the cat hair off the case, plugged that puppy in, and it booted right up.  It was like the Heavens opened!  Trumpets blared!  Angels sang! (or maybe that was just the Windows Tune, but nevertheless, it was music to my ears!)

* Downloaded a few photos from digital camera into Old Laptop.  Realized I have no photoshop program to re-size them.  Hmmmm . . . Remember Picasa.  Download free Picasa from Google.  What happened next was almost frightening.

Every photograph I had EVER put on Old Laptop was ferreted out and uploaded into Picasa.  EVERYTHING! Picasa found photos I didn't even remember taking.  Five years worth of photographs were pulled out.  It was like I hit the payoff at a slot machine!  With tears in my eyes I watched the tiny thumbnails of photos load. My mind raced back to all the frustrating events that led up to this moment - everything that had seemed like a tragedy, or a least a major pothole, was actually a blessing - waiting like a bud to bloom.  

So I will sing it loudly from the rooftop, "Have Faith!  Everything will be just fine.  Just wait and see."

(That is true unless, of course, you are a pedophile and have kiddie porn in your computer.  Obviously no matter how hard you try to erase that stuff, Picasa would pull that crap right out and probably hand it to the police.  Thankfully, I am boring and only had 5 years worth of animal and flower pictures!)