Farm Fresh Blog

With the holiday season ramping up things are getting even more chaotic around here. I rode Joe in a Parade Of Lights Christmas parade on Saturday night.  That was supposed to be the blog for today, but, understandably, it got bumped.

Yesterday was a special kind of circus because I had to get Other Half off to work, finish up soap orders, load soap into truck, cook a dish for a party, feed the dogs, feed the horses, feed the sheep and move them to the yard, and get dressed for the party, pick up Dear Friend Mindy, drive to party, and then, well, party with The Girls!

And I accomplished all this . . . life was good, until this morning.

Here's how it all began to unravel:

Other Half calls me on his way home from work to see when I'm coming home. I'm still partying and so he stops and gets a burger on his way home. He lets Patrol Dog/Psycho Dog/Oli out to play in the dark for about 5 minutes. Brings Dillon, Lily, and Cowboy into the house. Turns Trace/Troll/Psycho Border Collie and Ranger/Blue Heeler into yard.

I return home around 8 pm and we watch television for a while and then go to bed.  Wake up at 6:30 am. An idea pops into my head. I forgot to remind Other Half that the sheep and goats were in the yard. Oh...Sh*t!

Turn to Other Half and say, "You DID get the sheep in last night. Right?"

"SHEEP!!! WHAT?!!"

We both spring out of bed. (Levitate is a much better verb here.) I run outside in my pajamas. Thankfully my neighbors are ranchers who are used to this behavior.  I swing open the door and race outside into the fog . . .

. . . and total silence.

. . . nothing . . .

"Trace?"

Nothing. Just empty fog. I start to walk around the yard. No sheep. No goats. No dogs. Nothing.

"Trace???"

A figure races out of the fog. Ranger bounces into focus. No Trace.

"TRACE!!!"

A little red figure emerges from the fog. He nods at me and races off. Okay. At least I have a direction of travel now. I head off after him. Plunk Ranger in kennel. Mentally prepare myself for the carnage. This is, after all, the unpleasant part of raising farm animals.

And so it was that I round the corner, and standing there in the middle of assorted tractor implements is a band of scared sleepy sheep and three disgusted goats. And standing tall with the sheep was one Big White Dog.

Trace is circling the band like a satellite. He is a red moon orbiting a fluffy confused planet (and three disgusted goats).

I call the little bastard. He ignores me.  I roar at him. He flicks an ear but continues his orbit.  He has waited all night long for me to arrive so he can work sheep and refuses to be cheated. The sheep are very happy to see me.  I wade into their grateful midst. They crowd around me and tell me all about their horrific night with The Psycho With Googly Eyes.  Trace continues his maddening orbit.  I order him to down, which he does. (Miracle of miracles! Then again, he had probably been doing this for 12 hours already.)

I walk over to him to scoop him up and note that he has lost his collar.  The sheep unwisely decide to make a break for it. He is on them like a duck on a June bug. Briar grabs him by the tail and football tackles him. The sheep run back to me.  Briar trots along with them. Other Half joins us and we check them out.  They are fine. All of them. Ever single sheep and goat is safe. Wonders never cease.

The whole band of us begin our walk to the barn.  All is good until they see The Promised Land (i.e. The Opened Gate)

They make a break for it. Trace breaks his down. Briar football tackles him again, and the sheep slide through the gate and run like Spotted Apes back to their pen. There is a sonic boom as they broke the speed of sound.

Other Half and I have the same argument discussion about Trace's less than stellar behavior with livestock.  He is the first dog that I've actually felt the need to use electricity on. It may be in his future. He MUST learn that 'down' means "down and STAY DOWN, DAMNIT!"

And then it hits me.  I'm mad at Trace for not calling off sheep, but I have completely overlooked the fact that a Psychotic Malinois/Proven Sheep Murderer was completely unattended with the flock for at least 5 minutes.

(translation: If Other Half tells you they were unattended for 5 minutes, it really means at least 15 to 30 minutes.)

 There is only one reason why I didn't find bloody bodies all over the yard:

Yes, Briar.

Briar has an intense dislike of Oli. (No, duh! Wonder why?)

Oli wakes up in the morning and says, "What small hooved mammal can I kill today?" She is a velociraptor on paws.
 
And Briar is . . . Briar.

She is a gentle mountain of a dog, slow to anger, but force to be reckoned with when pushed too far.

Oli must have decided that killing sheep wasn't worth going through Briar.

"Wise choice, Bee-otch!"

Sometimes I take my Big White Dawg for granted, but I thank God she was on duty last night.   :)