Farm Fresh Blog

This was a "4-Frapp" day. (yes, I'm drinkin' again . . .) There is not enough de-caf coffee in this state to get me through this day without killing someone, thus, I thank God and Starbucks for those little glass bottles of nectar.

Normally it takes two. Today it took four. In fact, I am sipping #4 as we speak. Imagine a wino sitting on a milk carton behind a convenient store chugging a 40 oz. That's me right now.

This is how a 4-Frapp Day begins:

Am jolted awake by the sound of thunder crashing and hard rain. Actually it is the sound of Ice trying to break down the muck room door to get into the bedroom.

But alas, since Ice gets scared of storms and pees on herself, she is not allowed in the bedroom despite her best "Home Invader" impersonations.  I feel bad, then I remember that even inside the bedroom she will still be freaking (and clawing my back) and so the muck room is a much better place for her.

Am thankful that I brought MY horse into the barn before I went to bed.

Other Half trudges out into the storm to bring his Very Grateful Mustang Cowpony into barn. He returns to bed wet but within minutes he and Dillon the Labrador are snoring in rhythm. The storm rages on. The electricity goes out temporarily, thus turning alarm clocks into paper weights.  Wake up at 7 AM to realize that Other Half is missing his 6:30 AM meeting. Rut Ro! So much for alarm clocks.

Push him out of bed and climb out myself to go meet farrier at Grandma's house to do ponies' feet. There is a blissful break in the storm. We have just enough time to trim two ponies and buy four boxes of Girl Scout Cookies. Return home to find that Son and Girlfriend have arrived. Oh joy! Help with the Blind Bull! It is 9:30 AM. Let the games begin!

Thus starts the dangerous sport of Blind Bull Bumper Car.

 Since Bully feels better because he is hydrated and has food in his belly, he is far more reactive than yesterday and much more dangerous. He is far too big, and far too wild. I find myself climbing onto a feeder and hanging onto the fence as he crashes below me. As I wait for him to slam into my legs and break something, it becomes apparent that we cannot continue this game with enough regularity to save his vision.  I do not want to lose the bull, but I also do not want to end up in the hospital myself, nor do I wish to see Husband or Son stomped into the mud, or become a Flat Stanley against a fence. Fortunately Girlfriend has more sense than the rest of us. She stays outside the pen, ready to hand us medication . . . and call 911.

Eventually we do get him in the headgate without having to pay a deductible. No sooner is this done, than the heavens open up again. Son braves the lightning to get a round bale of hay for the cattle while his father and I hook up the trailer to drive to the feed store and pay the mafia for two round bales of horse-quality hay. By now it is raining so hard that I can only drive 20 mph.  I strain to see through a fogged up windshield and wonder what people in subdivisions are doing right now.

By the time we return home, the roads are flooding and I am thankful for my Big Ass Truck.  Not only is it above the water mark, but if that Mitsubishi rushing down the road goes into a slide, I'll still be alive when they pull his dumb ass out of the ditch. (I'm just sayin')

Arrive at home and am thankful that I drove since now Other Half must get out and open gate.  (it's the simple things in life . . .) Park truck. The water is already three inches deep and rising. Border Collie informs me that she would rather stay in a heated F250 pickup truck than jump out into a lake. 

"Really?!!"

She blushes.

"GET YOUR ASS OUT IN THIS RAIN!"

She reluctantly leaps into the water with me. I hear her mutter something about not having rubber boots.

The rain continues. It is time to build an ark. I check on livestock. The water has risen so quickly that I fear the lambs may drown and we discuss the option of bringing them into the house.

"Where would you put them?" asks Girlfriend.

Son shares with her that the bathroom is not a stranger to baby cows in distress.  (Well, she might as well know now what she's signing up for with this family . . .)

Since I have no desire to juggle five lambs and eight dogs in the house, I wait. It continues to rain. We watch the news, and eat some breakfast. It is 1:30 PM. The rain continues to beat on the roof. I have lakefront property. Actually, I am living in a house boat. (there is a lot to be said for a pier and beam house) I make brownies and pretend that my husband isn't going out of town and leaving me with a blind bull, and a flooded farm. My phone rings. Life just gets better and better. I am expected in court tomorrow morning. Lovely. Just freakin' lovely. I will not have enough time to get chores down before I must be in court and then go to work. (am reminded of the old saying "If God leads me to it, He will lead me through it.")

Son notes that the rain is threatening the smaller vehicles. He sloshes out to move my 4Runner and Girlfriend's PT Crusiser.  I warn Other Half that he might want to move his police truck.  He smarts off that his truck is too tall to be in any danger.  Okie dokie, smokey, not my problem.

A few minutes later he looks out the window and decides that perhaps he should move his police truck. I take minor satisfication from this.  The rain finally starts to slack off. Son sloshes out to check sheep and gives me two thumbs up through the window. They are not happy, but not in danger of drowning. Fire ants are floating in stinging clumps and he battles them as they attack his bare legs. I worry about my animals. Ants just add insult to injury.

The rain subsides and we decide that since nothing more can be accomplished, a nap is in order. An hour later I rise to check on the animals again. There is 4-8 inches of water surrounding the house. I convince the dogs to wade through the water to get to higher ground on the driveway and go potty.  Dillon has never seen floodwaters and is delighted. To a Labrador, this is the next best thing to Disney World.

 "Splash Party, Dudes!"

 I stuff his chocolate butt back in the house and go check the livestock.  Return to find that he has climbed onto the stove and stolen an entire pan of cooling brownies.  All gone!  No more brownies! He is burping chocolate bubbles. I debate whether I should sit down and cry now, or wait until he has diarrhea on the carpet. Opt for the latter. There is no time to cry now.

We check on lambs. Everyone is miserable. The goats are standing on pallets. The lambs are crammed in a corner of the shed in wet shavings. Their mothers look at me in expectation. Surely I will solve this latest problem. After all, that's what Bi-peds do.  We drag goats through the water to put them in stock trailer. This gives the sheep more room. The goats are not happy, but they are dry. The lambs take custody of the pallets. It's not much, but it's the best I can do at the moment. A few wander out to the tiny island surrounding the round bale of hay.

I give dogs another potty break (waiting for the inevitable chocolate explosion from Dillon's Behind) and note that water has receded about 4 inches in places in the front yard now. Other Half starts packing his truck to go out of town. Briar begins to squeal and spin in circles. Run to her aid and see that she has a crawdad attached to her back foot.  These are mini lobsters that are known by various names: crawfish, mudbugs, crawdaddies, crayfish, etc. They are good eating when boiled en masse, but all of this is unimportant when one is clamped to your back foot. I try to pull it off, but its pinchers have a vice grip on Briar's pad. Other Half rushes in and stomps the creature. Its pinchers pop off its body, but remain clamped to Briar's pad. She whines as I pull them off. Trace stares in horror.

It is now 9 PM. I give up. I inform Other Half that despite the fact that the water has receded from 1/4 of the yard, all the dogs will stay in the house.  He informs me that Briar will be locked in the muck room. (Other Half believes that I baby Briar too much and cannot abide by the idea that my Big White Dog should be allowed in the house, whatever the circumstance.)  At this point, I throw up my hands and inform him that HE is going out of town and leaving me with this mess. I still have a pickup truck full of cow feed to unload, two round bales to convince Son to unload with the tractor, muddy dogs to juggle, ants, crawdads, (probably snakes) and defense attorneys! But since I am IN CHARGE, MY DOG IS COMING IN THE HOUSE!  End of discussion.

A very wet Briar limps inside. I have ceased to care that the house smells like mud and wet dog. I need caffeine.

I ice up a frapp and consider the words I've heard three times today.

"Well, we needed the rain."

So help me, the next person who says that to me will be strangled.

I'm just sayin'.