Friday, July 31, 2015

Must Love Creating

   
Whatisit?Whatisit?Whatisit?
(I can't tell you. It's a SUR-prize, SUR-prize, SUR-prize!)
#lovemyneighbors
     So I know I'm creative, but either I'm contagious or you just have to be creative to live on my street... (might be something in the water?)
     As if it weren't enough that I have the greatest neighbors in the world...
     --neighbors who know how to fix things...
     --neighbors who'll share their tools, or better yet, do it for me while they're out bush hogging' their own...
     I also happen to have very smart neighbors...very crafty...very creative neighbors...Neighbors who are good with math and figuring things out; neighbors with jigsaws who aren't afraid to use 'em!
      Cracks me up that one of my sweet neighbors went out and found a project all by himself that is so cute I can hardly stand it! (File this under: be careful what you ask for! If it turns out like I think it will, you're gonna want one too, I guarantee it!)
      You'll just have to stay tuned...
      (Don't want to spoil the surprise!)

Tuesday, July 28, 2015

Tuesday: Day in Need of a Press Agent

     I love Tuesday. But at the same time I'm sad for Tuesday because I think Tuesday gets no respect. Tuesday is the only day of the week that anything really gets done if you think about it. Tuesdays are when everything that's ever gonna be, starts. The best meeting day of the week is Tuesday, after all, Mondays give you heart attacks, Wednesdays mean you're halfway done. Thursdays are just practice runs for Fridays, and...well, we all know about Saturdays and Sundays. (You gotta use those days to brace for Mondays.)
      The origin of anything that's anything in our physical world today, I'm convinced, started on a Tuesday. Tuesdays are the silent, no-frills, gets-no-credit, has no identity, gets-no-slogan-of-its-own kinda day leaving it clear and free to actually be productive. It's the Jan Brady of work days... The Rodney Dangerfield of all days.
     When given a choice for scheduling meetings "out there" (as in not so urgent we must schedule NOW or this needs to happen tomorrow) do you not pick Tuesdays? I do. Tuesdays are safe days. When flipping the calendar page to a week with nothing on it, does not your pen just gravitate to Tuesday? Tuesdays are so safe they borderline boring, but don't be fooled. Tuesdays deserve more credit in my book...I'll even go so far as to say they deserve ALL the credit as far as work goes....Tuesdays may be the only real work day of our week when it gets down to it. Tuesdays rock. Tuesdays are stealth.
     Of course Sundays are God's day...the teacher's pet of days. (We know this because the Bible tells us so.) You can't get much loftier than Sunday. What's more, did you know there are more Sunday songs than any other day of the week? (I know. I just googled it.) There's "Sunday, Sunday" by Joni Mitchell, "Lazy on a Sunday Afternoon" by Sting...The Shirelles met him on a Sunday, a Sunday, a Sunday... and Kris Kristofferson wrote about "Sunday Morning Comin' Down" Why? Because all too soon it will be...
     Monday. Synonymous with heart attacks everywhere, in ever culture around the globe, Mondays are the shock-your-heart days when your peaceful, personal, weekend time collides abruptly with what pays for your peaceful, personal life. You don't book anything on Mondays if you can help it, that is unless you just like adding a layer of extra stress going in. Rainy Days and Mondays ALWAYS get us down. (And when it's raining ON a Monday...you might as well just go ahead and jump. ARGH!)
     Wednesday's used to be productive. But now they have a fan base and Twitter following all their own thanks to that goofy camel walking around cubicles asking "Know what day it is? Know what DAY THIS IS? MikeMikeMikeMikeMike"  It's HUMP day~  Yep. We've pretty much ruined it for Wednesday (thank you Geico reptile).
     Thursdays USED to be a lot like Tuesdays, but anymore, Thursdays are just warm ups for Fridays...precursor to the weekend you're already starting to fantasize about, which means, you probably don't want to plan anything TOO critical by way of your team's mental focus, not unless you've renewed everyone's Adderal prescription. Thursdays are just Fridays waiting to happen.
     And then there is ...(wait for it ....WAIT for it)
     (Thank God It's) FRIDAY!! Yep. The day we've all been waiting for. TGIF! We've got restaurants; We got songs. We got your Girl Fridays, your Friday Night Lights...Friday doesn't need our help. Friday has attitude all its own...after all, she's up against...

     S A T you are D A Y -- NIGHT!
     S A T you are D A Y -- NIGHT!
   
     I mean seriously. Saturday comes with its own cheerleading squad, THAT's how much we love Saturday. Songwriters love Saturdays. Home Depot loves Saturdays. All God's children love Saturdays, Why? Because we still have Sunday to sleep it all off.
     For my money, Tuesday is the best, most honest day of the week. It's the only real day, the only pure day. It's the only day of the week not caught up in its own hype. Tuesdays are the self actualized day of days as Tuesdays are perfectly content to go along/get along and be the incubator day to nurture all our working efforts everywhere.
     So here's to your happy Tuesday everybody. I hope you get a lot of stuff done. If you do, you have Tuesday to thank. (Don't forget to thank your day!)

Friday, July 24, 2015

Bee Still My Heart!

     (Editor's Note: Some weeks get more backed up than others; this was one of those weeks. With gardens coming in, new fencing underway, not to mention new births, the ongoing saga of Hix and TJ...blogging took a back burner for a few while I caught up with myself, which is why you see a few empty dates prior to this post. If I post an empty blog date, it means I plan to fill in blanks (key word: plan) You may want to scroll backwards from time to time as I'm no longer living in linear time/space at least when it comes to the blog.)

That said...
     Let the BEES begin...
My first honey! How pretty is this?
(It's honey-filled honey comb, so heavy it's falling into the broiler  pan beneath)

     To BEE clear, you don't harvest honey your first year out; beekeepers know this. I am learning. But BEEcause I wanted to know just how my honey was tasting, I asked Miss Margaret, my Master Beekeeper if I could sample the stuff...(Patience not being my long suit.)
   
Who can spot the problem with this picture?
Also titled: Why Blondes Should Not Do Bees!
For the record, I got stung. TWICE. First stings ever and they hurt like heck, but hey, at least I won't have arthritis in my hands. I was so excited I failed to suit up/glove up and I'm sure my energy was far from calming to bees, who, heretofore, have been BEE-having BEE-utifully. (Ok. I'll stop now; clearly the honey has taken hold).
     Because (oh so tempting) I wanted to know step-by-step how to gather honey the old fashion way, Miss Margaret walked me through it, pulling an entire comb (which was quite full) and bringing it inside. (You have to do this rather quickly, as the bees will follow you in if you're not careful. It's their honey, after all. They call it "robbing the hives" for a reason.)
     Safe and secure in the confines of my (not commercial) kitchen, Miss Margaret asks if I have cheese cloth. (I do not.) Might I have old panty hose? (Strangely, I do, though I wasn't sure but if they hadn't dry rotted, given nobody wears pantyhose anymore, and I've certainly had no need for them since farming, save for now, when we need 'em to mesh the honeycomb out.)
     Taking turns at the mesh (she was quite good at it; I was quite messy at it; and Pat meshed the best) I was elated to find we pressed an entire QUART! The comb, we next melted in a double boiler; (More on all these steps later.) The crystals in the main jar, having set overnight, have now risen to the top, where we will separate them out.
     I was likewise told what they look for when judging honey it at the fair. (Oddly, it's by color; I'm told it's not a taste-judging competition, which I find odd, but will CLEARLY do more research.)
     In short, it was a day to BEE-hold. (Sorry. It slipped in.)
     To those who tolerate me and my endless questioning mind, just know I am grateful. (Glad someone around here has patience.)

Tuesday, July 21, 2015

Whatever Happened to Hix? (The Hix Update)

   
     Having spent hours doing research (both on Pyrs in particular, and anger issues in dogs in general) ...having had lengthy conversations with vets I respect and fellow Pyr owners who like me, have raised the breed, lived with the breed and know this breed inside and out, the prognoses for dealing in one starting to show aggression run vast and deep.
     I was, three days ago, actually looking to find another farm for Hix ... (something I have NEVER in my life done, and something I would likely need counseling for if I chose to do so now, so unimaginable is it to me to give away willingly, something I love this much), but fear being what it is and a dog this size being capable of things I do not know, the most important thing I knew to do is pray...And so I have...Long and hard.
     For now, my update is this:
     Hix's challenges are understandable. He outgrew the alpha in our lot and is confused as to why the biggest dog shouldn't win. It was never my intention to keep him in the same pen with another male forever (TJ) ...He was to have his own herd someday.  That is my intention still.
     For now, Hix is a HUGE dog who has his moments; he has been particularly aggressive when new goat babies arrive. In hindsight I get that... Hix spotted things I as a human did not spot; that danger (the buzzard) put him on high alert.
     But at the end of the day Hix is family. He's my boy. I did not plan to keep him from the beginning, but life (God/Universe...call it what you will) had a different plan, and Hix is here for a reason.
     So with that, I have decided...real love doesn't quit when the going gets tough. We don't toss him out because he spooked me a bit. TO the contrary, that's when I need to love him more.
     I recall once volunteering in a kindergarden class. I was reading Dr. Seuss to the kids, when a little  pudgy boy in the back, turned bratty. He was pulling a little girl's hair. He was making all sorts of commotion. Personally, I wanted to thump his head like my daddy would've done me. At the very least I thought he should be in time-out... But then, a most unusual thing happened.
     The teacher, who was in the back of the room, saddled up beside this child, pulling him gently in her lap and started to rock him. At first the kid resisted, but then, slowly, he put his head on her shoulder and his thumb in his mouth. He was quiet for the rest of the read.
     As I packed up to leave (the kids now coloring) the teacher stepped over to thank me and plan our next visit..and I HAD to ask her "What in the world inspired you to do THAT of all things?" Her reply? He's new to this class. His mom's a single mom going through a rough patch...She's moved him three times in the last year. He's yet to form bonds or friendships...He doesn't know anyone, and he trusts even less.  His acting out is his cry for attention. Sure, I could've stuck him in the hallway, but that is more of what he's already feeling. What he really needs is love.
     That lesson has stuck with me for years...Isn't that true for EVERY life situation?
     When it comes to Hix, I'm taking that lesson to heart....applying it to my own situation.
     Hix. You're a good boy. And just like the rest of us, you have your moments, (don't we all). But real love doesn't give up, furthermore we're not going to let the fear win. You are loved. And I know you love me. So we're in this together Hix. You're my buddy. You're my boy. You're family. And family doesn't give up on family. We just don't.

Monday, July 20, 2015

Feral Cats I'm Trying Not to Love

Meet Sammy, Gracie and Hissy Missy.
Amazingly, these three came from the same mama.
(That's feral for you.)
     Thinking some of you saw this one coming, but a little background in my own defense.
      So I have 3 new cats. Why 3 you ask? Because I have a friend who cannot count.
     Background on these kitties: I got a panicky email a few weeks back; subject line: "HELP!"
...content saying his girlfriend started feeding feral cats around his place and in one big bad week, two mamas had big litters of kittens. (This happens with feral cats; it's why you spay and neuter--provided you can catch 'em.)
      Given the timing in my own animal kingdom (i.e. haven taken out a black snake, discovering mice mama and mice babies in my garage, etc) I had been pondering a barn cat. (Note:  "a" means one...not 3, but who's counting?)
     First response after telling my friend I'd give it some thought, I reach out to other farmer friends who know lots more about the subject. (Obviously when it comes to cats, I'm only experienced in "spoiled" and "worthless" kinds of cats....not those that actually have to work for their keep). Like all things involving areas I know little about, I asked a lot of questions...did a lot of googling. Come to find out, most everyone who farms has feral cats if for no other reason than to keep the mice at bay. (Cause face it...If you've got feed, you've got mice.)

     So for starters, (to my friend who shall remain nameless) "feral" by definition looks like this:

fe·ral
ˈferəl,ˈfirəl/
adjective
  1. (especially of an animal) in a wild state, especially after escape from captivity or domestication.
    "a feral cat"
       
    The cute kitties above? Not so feral.  How do I know this?
    a) You named 'em. (I've changed a couple; but folks don't normally name feral cats. These are not household pets.)
    b)  They purr. (Feral cats hiss. They run from humans. Yours run TOWARD humans.)
    c)  You don't "free feed" feral cats. (Of all the things I was told repeatedly about barn cats is that you don't overfeed, after all the reason you have a barn cat in the first place is to kill the mice. It's a nature thing. (I know. I was concerned myself. That's why it took so long for me to decide if I could do it. But once I did (after seeing more mice) I knew I was in trouble when your girlfriend said she free feeds. Heck, I don't even free feed my dogs. So now we have 3 more things to feed each morning, but hey...aren't the kitties cute?)
         So to my friend who doesn't know the definition of feral, your babies are doing fine. Grateful to you for having them clipped and tipped (See earlier blog on why the ears of these cat babies are cat-e-wompas.) I find myself laughing at just how this whole thing got out of control, but I applaud you for having both mamas and babies neutered. (Anybody needing a not-so-feral barn cat, I think they have 2 left.)
         I rest my head knowing I did my part.

    *To my feral cat friends, your name choices needed altering. "Sammy" (far left) is the only name we kept, (obviously named because it looks Siamese.  "GW" (your middle cat) I felt too political a name to stick on an innocent kitten. By the time I learned it stood for gray/white it was too late. Given she is more sweet than feral, she is now known as Gracie. And that one on the right? She's no Princess. She actually has feral potential. We have hope for her. I've never seen a cat hiss and purr at the same time, but this cat does and thus I have renamed her Hissy Missy. Your babies are doing fine. Next time learn to count and buy a dictionary. (#loveyoududes #ucrackmeup)

Sunday, July 19, 2015

Critter Updates (aka The DoLittle Daily)

     It has been brought to my attention I have left certain stories hanging in the balance. It's not that I meant to. Life has been absolutely, positively on full tilt now that the summer is here, goats are popping babies, rabbits are running madly, birds are pecking on windows and dogs are trying to figure out their placement in the grand scheme of things...
    And because I am simultaneously juggling work matters (cookbooks, writing projects, business) ... farm matters (heat & harvests, tractor maintenance, not to mention physical exhaustion)...nature in all her glory (new goat babies, new bird babies...even new cat babies) have me remiss in replying to those of you who so gracious extended both encouraging words and prayers regarding several critters dramas whose stories are not complete...So for you, a brief update:

     URIEL (aka the red bird)
     Upon naming Uriel (the bird that pecks my windows and follows me throughout the house, appearing at various hours at various windows throughout the day), I began focusing my questions specifically: Who are you? Why are you here? What is your message?  In research too lengthy to convey, I was told in mystical terms that a red bird showing up unannounced is a conveyor of messages, portending changes ahead.  I choose to believe that's a good thing. As a girl who plants by the almanac, I am all about signs. The sign I was told to watch for had a tie to numerology, with 12 seemed the "cardinal"number. (It's a Native American totem; I'm sharing what I was told.)
     So on Day 12 of Uriel's arrival, I was extra watchful to see if something out of the ordinary might occur. (Fortunately, it was a Sunday, so I was in a silent place already.)
     The morning of the 12th I awoke as I had for the 12 prior to, to the sound of sweet Uriel pecking at my bedroom window. Settling in to converse, I began asking questions. The pecks and flutters came in a sort of morse code, messages for which would mean nothing to you, but brought comfort to me...
     But here's where the story will matter.
     After a lengthy exchange in meditative mode, I braced for the day, changing out of sleep clothes and into my day's attire to feed the rest of my flock...As I walked down the stairs, Uriel (with familiar chirps now keenly etched in my ears) moved from side window to front (he normally moves to back, as brekfusses are prepared). I opened my front door, following his chirps, only to find Uriel back at his original perch...The chirping bird before me was Uriel's mate! With one to the front of me, one to the right...it was a double blessing I felt, UNTIL, I heard, next a third voice, then a fourth, then a fifth...
     Turns out Uriel has an entire family! His wife, not nearly as colorful and more camouflaged so as to protect her babies, which are smaller versions of her; same colors; teen-age birds...It was a sight to behold and a symphony to my ears...

Next up: Naming of the Twins
(Drumroll Please)

     The list of names suggested by my FB friends were both colorful and creative...For all the stresses of buzzard attacks, dog attacks, lost baby and the like, I held off on cute twin names until certain both twins survived. But while awaiting that fate, the love, thoughts and comic relief brought more comfort than time will afford me right now. (After all, all you care about is WHAT DID WE NAME THE KIDS?)

   

The "Made Me LOL" prize goes to...

          "Bruce and Caitlin!"

(That said, even I wouldn't do that to my kids, but it WAS very clever, and I DID LOL!)


     The warm and fuzzy "Love it Very Much" prize goes to...

          "Piglet and Pooh!"

     (I resonate strongly with this one, but I think Pooh and Piglet are same sex...I've never been quite sure, but either way, in today's political climate, it posed too much a dilemma in the commentary department, which I had no time to sort out, which brings me to...)

     OUR WINNER (by a landslide in the popular vote, which is how our elections should be held Don't EVEN get me started on why we need to overhaul the electoral college) ...But the babies shall be called.... (drumrolllllllllll)

      JACK and JILL!!

      While a perfect pair of names for the perfect pair of twins, I must concede that Jack and Jill have longer names, for naming of my kids is very personal, their faces, their antics, their little life stories all playing into the process...

     So with that, and on behalf of two of my dearest friends, and two of THE most creative souls on the planet, both writers...one of music, one of books, I give to you:

     JACKson Brown (author of Life's Little Instruction Book and inspiration for my original "I Didn't Know That" creation --not to mention priceless friend) and
 
     JILL Colucci (hit song writer, singer extraordinaire, and inspiration for my first foray into song-writing on top of the rest) ...

     YOU, my friends...Jackson and Colucci ...now have namesakes.

     I trust you will take your honors to heart...and your god parenting skills seriously, for these goats have been a walking storyline from the day they were born. It is important to me that they aspire to such creative genius as yours as they embark on their little goat lives!

     To the rest of you, my precious FB family, my heartfelt thanks for all for the suggestions. I marvel at the endless creativity that inundates my life~

Next up:

What Ever Happened to Hix
and
Feral Cats (I'm Trying Not to Love)

(Stay Tuned)

Friday, July 17, 2015

Tough Decisions

   
     It has not been an easy week.
     For all the cute pictures, all the precious moments captured, I do my best to convey not only the happier moments of this life, but the gut-wrenching, heart-breaking moments as well.
     While our founding fathers wisely noted "pursuit of happiness" amongst our rights, it was not happiness they found inalienable, but the pursuit itself. Pursuance involves a myriad of emotions ...I dare say it involves every emotion in the spectrum, and for sure more than sheer happiness alone, as any entrepreneur will attest.
     I liken emotions to colors on an artist's pallet. We may resonate to the bright reds and the cheery yellows, but leave out the richness of the darker tones...those deeper shades of wines and ambers... and your picture lacks depth. When it comes to the portrait of my own life, I've come to accept that sadness is a part of it. Fear plays a role. Stress...angst...even depression...They are right up there with the bliss of a new arrival or the immense relief of a lost baby found. To pretend it's all cupcakes and roses would be a facade. And while I don't always post the stressful moments in pictures, I DO try to balance the blend here in written word lest someone think my life became easy street for simply having upped and moved my body to a farm. (It is far from easy and the street is long and winding...more like a perpetual curvy lane.)

     Today's saga involves my beloved Hix (a.k.a. "Hiccapup") ...A name deserving an explanation...

     I didn't plan to keep Hix. I didn't plan to keep ANY of Rosey's babies. Most were spoken for before they were born. Sadly, owing to the size and working nature of Pyrs, this breed doesn't live as long as smaller breeds as a rule. Life expectancy is said to be 10 - 12 years; most farmers will tell you if they make it to 8, you've done good. They are working dogs and the work is hard.
     That said, Rosey came from a long line of goat-guarding dogs (not that they don't all do this instinctively, but Rosey came from particularly good genes--generations old--and raised with goats specifically.). Plan was to allow her one litter, then spay (which we did).
   

     Because Rosey was SO maternal a mother, I decided to keep Rosebud, rather than have Rosey endure the shock and depression of all her babies suddenly gone. Meanwhile, I also had plans to add a second goat breed to the equation. (Still do.) But the learning curve, I did not allow for. Life itself slowed the game plan just a tad. Given I prefer raising Pyrs in pairs, I then decided to keep a pal for Rosebud to guard their own paddock someday. (His name was Brando; I already had him picked out. But Hix said "Not so fast blonde lady.")
TJ and Hix Meet for the Very First Time
     One by one folks as came for their pups (all but one pup went out in pairs; the solo pup now guards an animal rescue farm; Brando became "Polar" -- It's the Bruce/Caitlyn of Pyrs, but in name only. There was no sex change.) Reason I kept Hix and not Brando? Well, therein lies the history of his name.
     Hix would break into hiccups, almost as if having a panic attack with each selecting visitor. He did this also when eating, so much so that I was concerned to the point of pulling him aside and feeding him separately by hand. (Note the manipulation.) When down to the final 3 pups (Rosebud, Brando and Hix (not yet named because I didn't plan to keep him), the last person came and like clockwork, Hix commenced to hiccuping, so I offered up Brando for fear it might be a health matter I dared not hand off. (For the record, Hix has not hiccuped since, which only made me love him more. He had no intention of leaving. His little trick worked.)
Rosey's pups first night outside...
(I recall the evening vividly as we could hear a litter of coyote pups in the distance.)
     Like all Pyr pups, they grow at warp speed, enhanced by growth spurts that can last from 2 days to 10 days at a time (wherein they act as if starving no matter how much you feed them). With TJ the established alpha, our family was fine, UNTIL Hix outgrew him in size and stature, which today, poses a problem. For the past few weeks Hix has maintained his acceptance of the submissive role, all the while looking to me as if to say "Explain this again...WHY is he alpha when I am bigger?" More recently, he's not asking, so much as he's challenging.
     Meanwhile, Hix has developed a series of stunts which are annoyingly cute...Things like tipping bowls over, dumping the other dog's food on the ground when they go for water, or hiding bowls all over the place (sometimes empty, sometimes full). But between this week's events involving goat births and buzzards, Hix's antics have taken an angrier tone, so much so that my trust of him is wavering.
Hix sez "Take that Rosey."
(She won't eat it off the ground, but he will...once he's done with his.)
     A lot of googling and many lengthy phone calls later, I begin weighing my options:
     Yes, we can have Hix neutered. Reason I haven't already: 1) For this breed, it is recommended you do so only AFTER they have fully matured (18 months - 2 years). Keep in mind, Hix is STILL growing. 2) There is some research suggesting to neuter before they are in full hormonal balance can lead to cancer. Furthermore,  most farmers would never consider neutering a male Pyr as you want their testosterone in tact for the sake of fighting off predators. (Of course, most farmers I know don't have 4 in one lot.) 3) Hix is out of Rosey. Rosey comes from a long line of goat protectors. Someway/somehow I intend to keep her line going. Could be Rosebud. Could be Hix or TJ fathering. Yes, this is my family. But I am also in the goat business and Pyrs are a big part of this equation. I love them as my family, but they do have a job to do. What's more, I will not sell a goat to anyone who does not have a Pyr or some goat-protecting breed on site. Fences alone won't cut it. Coyotes and foxes can jump. Furthermore, neutering does not necessitate a solution once a dog shows aggression. The alpha role is still a factor. In short, Hix needs to be an alpha of his own domain....(which leads me to ....)
     2) Return to the original plan and commence with the second paddock. Allow Hix his own herd of goats. Pros: this keeps Hix on familiar turf allowing him his alpha role AND with Rosebud who he's already bonded to. Cons: Fencing takes time. New shelters, new waterers, new facilities take time. Learning curves take time.
     3) Find Hix a new home. This is a time-saving/money-saving solution provided an ideal scenario is found, but it is not without its challenges. Will Hix adjust to a new setting? Are there male dogs on the premises or nearby (as this could exacerbate his frustration)...?
     Like everything else, I do vast amounts of homework, (which is why I have not been blogging).  
     The good news is, a solution seems to have presented itself. (For the record, you never go Craigslist with this sort of thing. Serious goat and Pyr people will research to the hilt. How NOT to give a dog away is to go with an open plea. It makes me cringe. It is also why so many Pyrs wind up euthanized, missing, tortured or worse. No. You only want to deal with a tight-knit network of fellow Pyr people who know the breed, know whose farm needs what, know fellow farmers and their set ups, their philosophy, etc.) I respect deeply the dog adoption agencies that home inspect and background check individuals before allowing an adoption. Taking in a life is a responsibility like no other. While some may base the decision on emotion alone (walk into a pet store and let's just fall in love with something) is not a responsible way to go about this.There is more to it than that. And when it comes to a pup I have literally held from birth, this is no easy decision.
     In the end, it is not my happiness that comes first, but Hix's.
     (To be continued....for now, I pray, and welcome yours if you're the praying type.)
And perhaps my all-time favorite ...
Hix and his best bud, Charlie 
   
   

Wednesday, July 15, 2015

Good Day for a Miracle

    It was a VERY long night.
    Did the evening critter check around 8pm only to discover my baby girl twin (born the day before) was missing. Cupid was safely tucked in her stall with her baby boy snuggly by her side; her lack of concern duly noted. I thought perhaps she knew where the baby was hiding, and given both TJ and Hix were resting peacefully...I decided to call it a day.
     Exhausted from the roller coaster of emotions ranging from bliss of birth to death of a buzzard, I went to bed early, but awoke around 1 am concerned for the baby, so I suited up and headed to the barn, flashlight in hand hoping to see Cupid back with her two. Sadly this was not the case.
     Heading out into total darkness, Cupid now accompanies me. Crying for her baby we do as best we can given flashlights and limited vision. Sadly, to no avail...By 4 am I return to bed.
     Morning appointments that cannot be rearranged has Pat arriving early. We do one more search while feeding all the rest. From 7 - 8 we scour the land...Cupid passes on her breakfast to walk by my side along the entire fence line. Baby boy twin tags alongside, likewise crying. TJ takes the counter trail. Still no baby girl.
     I think of the buzzard. I examine the gates. Could she have wriggled her way through the crack? Last I saw her it was around 6 pm when friends were holding her taking pictures.
     Second born, smaller of the two; could she have been puny and thus abandoned? (Not like Cupid who is one of my most maternal mama goats, but nature is nature. These things do happen.) Overnight with no protection is one thing. No milk for 14 hours is quite another for a 2 day old baby goat. Sadly my reasoning was overriding my faith.
     We arrive back on the farm around noon. With site visits at 1; Pat heads out first while I change clothes. He shoots me a text: Was it the girl that was missing?
     I race out the door to find TJ on the scene...trailing and nudging, sniffing and prodding our precious little girl baby back to her  mama. (The other baby, which Pat cannot see, is on my side of the goat house with Cupid. Seems she favors her boy.)
     For the life of me I have no clue what happened. And at some point you just stop and thank God for the miracle...The rest just leaves you in a perpetual state of awe. (Thanks to those of you who shared your support and prayers. It really was a miracle to behold.)
 

Tuesday, July 14, 2015

End of a Long Day (A Post Script)

   
TJ, my gentle giant, takes over...
(we've been too busy to name the kids)
    Earlier today I blogged about the odd behavior of one of my Pyrs, who managed to get to newly birthed goat babies before I did, and as a result, would not let me near them. At first I scolded Hix, but given his tenacity in the matter, came to realize he was simply doing what Pyrs do, and that is protect goats at all costs (even if it means offending the hand that feeds him).
     As the earlier post conveys, I entered this day to the sound of a mama goat's all too familiar cry. Lucky for Pygmies (I'm told it's different for larger breeds) most births take less than an hour, from the mothers first squawk to the newborn's shrill cry. ( In Cupid's case, she has it down to 20. I know, because today she proved it.)
      Grateful she had my attention, Cupid happily ate her breakfast separate from the others, after which she began pacing to find that perfect spot to have her kids. From her very first birthing (today marks round 4) Cupid has a favorite place. First of my original herd to give birth on my land, she created what I call the Birthing Bay--an area immediately visible from my kitchen window, nestled in a group of trees, making it easy for me to spot her and get to her quickly from inside or out.
     Her firstborn was Ari, and because he was our first,we went nuts with the camera, clips for which you can find on YouTube (most of which involve him jumping on my head). Next, came Stoli born mid arctic blast. Headed back to the Bay, Cupid got derailed because I locked her up due to sub zero temps. Still, Stoli came, likewise within view. (I call her my ambassador goat. She is more human than some humans I know and our bond quite strong.) This past January, she birthed "Biskit and Triskit" ...again, returning to her original Birthing Bay area. And today, when last I left her, I anticipated she'd wind up at the same spot again, which is why I was startled to find her back in the barn. (Thanks to Hix.)
      Thinking I had at least 30 minutes, I headed to the house, grabbed towel, journal and laptop (the phone I keep on me at all times, though most often silenced). I return to find Cupid, NOT in the Bay, but in the barn, where in a very dusty stall, she had already given birth to 2 beautiful, healthy baby goats (one boy/one girl). But unlike every other birth before, there was one obstacle: my 2nd in command, Hix, has body blocked her stall door, at times stepping IN the stall with her, so determined was he that NO ONE touch these babies. (Very odd; he's never done this before.)
     The ordeal I've already written about, so I shall not repeat it here. But what unfolds next shifts the paradigm completely.
     Shortly after noon, from inside my kitchen, I hear an odd noise and race out to find Hix and Rosebud fighting and grounding a very large buzzard in the very same area we call the Bay (now newly fenced). Had it not been for Hix, Cupid and was wired to head here. His aggressive behavior I now understood. Hix had a job and he was doing it...
   
   It honestly takes my breath away as I think now, with benefit of hindsight and reflection. In the moment, however, with adrenaline pumping --my animals' safety was my only concern.
    Oddly enough, other goats curiously wandered out to watch the commotion, not at all phased nor fearful (so trusting are they of their protectors). Getting them to safety was my first order of business. Seeing my Pyrs with blood-pecked faces, prompted my second wave of adrenaline (with a side of nausea).
     To be clear, there was nothing fun about this ordeal, NOR is it fun to contemplate why the predator flew INTO this area in the first place.
     As a matter of perspective to my earlier FB updates, I post a conservative clip of the scenario, taken after securing all goats in the barn with Cupid and babies and TJ (my alpha) standing guard. First responder to the scene was Hix, who was also first to bond to the placenta covered babies this morning and first to sense the danger perhaps before the babies were even born.  That he bolted from his watch, tag teaming it to TJ while he went after the bird...again, speaks to the power of nature and the bond between this breed and their charge. It also speaks to the reality of day to day life on a farm, which yes, some days (as prior blogs will attest) is not pretty.
     Much as I hate to see the demise of any of God's creatures, when I brought life onto this land, I took on certain responsibilities, number one being to care for, feed and protect my babies. As part of that commitment, I have Great Pyrenees. Today is proof positive as to why.
     To the one who asked, "Why must you film it?" I respectfully reply, "Because this is part of it. To pick and choose only cuteness, is an inaccurate portrayal of my life or any life lived on a farm. Did I want to see a bird die today? Absolutely not. (I've all but moved one red bird in with me, I am so taken with birds here of late.) Am I happy my goats were protected from things I did not see coming? An unapologetic and resounding YES."
     As one documenting her journey as a first time farmer, not to include days like today would be inauthentic...It would be shallow.  Yes, their faces are cute and my Pyrs I love to hug. But days like today serve to remind that life is not all cuteness and hugs. Life is not always tidy, and life on a farm, because it is real, often includes unpleasant things as I strive to tastefully share.
    As more and more people consider this proposition as a way of sustainably living (and based on the ever increasing requests I receive, I'd say the trend is rising), this is part of it. Had children been on the farm today, they would've seen this (and worse).
     If you want candy-coated,  I suggest you play Farmville. If you follow my writing, my pictures, my posts, I am sincerely grateful, but if you do, you probably know by now you're going to get the real with the real cute. And I make no apologies for that.

Monday, July 13, 2015

A Most Amazing Morning: Hix on Patrol

   
Hix...Mighty Keeper of the Kids
    You know it's a good morning when you head out to feed goats and hear that familiar cry in the distance. It means one's having babies or has had them already...Either way, when they don't come to eat with all the rest, (and when they're as ready to pop as Cupid was) you know it's bound to be a good day.
     Once I confirm her status (early pacing...enough to merit her "Bring food back here please, I'm not up for the hassle today.*") I get her her own bowl of chow, check her backside (probably within the hour) head into the house to get towel, journal and laptop, figuring a good play-by-play will make for a timely blog. But no such luck. Hix beat me to the proverbial punch and I ain't getting nowhere near his goat babies...Not for awhile.
     For the record, Hix has had a bad weekend. For reasons that make absolutely NO sense to him, TJ is flexing his alpha muscle in all new ways these days, so much so that Hix spent the past two pretty much curled up in a corner stall. (Granted it is cooler in the barn, but when he came out to eat Saturday morning, TJ jumped him ferociously, so much so I had to pull TJ off of him, which made Hix instantly lose his appetite, and tail-tuck it to the barn where he didn't come out for 36 hours. (I did take food to him, but had to hand feed him before he let go of his nerves long enough to realize I had locked the doors and TJ wasn't coming in.)
     At issue: testosterone and alpha rules. You see, TJ is one year older than Hix (and his uncle at that). When Hix was a pup it was no contest, but like the teenage boy that keeps on growing, Hix (who's been in a major growth spurt) is now surpassing TJ is both height and head-size, which TJ sees as a threat. As a result, Hix has grown more fearful and confused and hence, more aggressive. I'm not sure at what point he'll say "Enough already" and cease his belly-up submissive posture when he realizes," Hey, I'm bigger. Why am "I" the one going belly up?" (Not sure it works that way. The eldest may always be alpha once established. I'm researching it and calling all sorts of vets, but it's enough to keep us all on our toes, with Rosebud ever the peacekeeper. She's the Jan Brady of my lot.)
     I will say after Day 2 of this activity, I had a long talk with TJ. While dogs are keen on learning words like "Sit" and "Stay" and "No" I'm into the eye-to-eye, hold-the-gaze technique of touching each dog and talking to them like the loving family they are and reasoning with them as to why we have to all get along. "Fam-ly" was our word of the weekend..."Fam-ly" I'd say, as I'd try to hug or touch as many as I could in one grouping. (ie. there are individual teachable moments, and group teachable moments. It may sound crazy, but last evening when I went out to take cookies, all 4 dogs came out playfully jumping and running; no one fought once. Not saying they won't fight again. But it wasn't as permanent as I feared and Hix was back to being his big ol loveable self, playfully scuffling with TJ as if they were brothers. Still, I'm researching the subject and watching it closely.)
     So back to this morning...
     By the time I hit the barn, Cupid (best of my mothers, making kid-bearing look like Ned in the First Reader) has plopped out 2 babies in less than 20 minutes. Hix is now IN the stall with her, growling in fierce protection. I keep his focus on me while Pat pops in the stall next door to ensure that everything is moving. (Would hate to have a baby goat trapped under placenta when you've got a 150 pound dog refusing to let you near it.)  Fortunately, Cupid had it covered. Licking her babies clean is her joy in life. Once I say to Hix, "Good Boy Hix...Good Boy..." his demeanor changes; his ferocious growl now drops to instinctively protective scowl; it's clear he's torn between loyalties. Still, I know not to challenge it; in this moment nature takes the side of the babies and Hix got there first. But with my voice now calm, he seems to grasp we're on the same team. About that time, the smaller of the babies (second born, the one less licked) staggers to him in search of its mama, and rather than nudge the kid over, Hix starts to lick the baby himself (only with a tongue about 10 times the size of Cupid's).  End result will make for one VERY protected kid, and one of the deepest bonds of loyalty found in nature. 
     Once Pat leaves the barn, Hix returns to the stall next to Cupid's, monitoring through the cracks as the babies begin to nurse. "You can enter, but you can't stay" is the obvious interpretation of the slower, more guttural moan. I do as he says. Try to snap a pic (too dark). Pat brings everyone water, and we commence with our morning. These will be Hix's babies for the time being. He's had a rough weekend. He deserves the prize of being first on the scene, so we'll leave him to it. (At one point he re-enters the stall, only to have Cupid poke him with her horns as if to say "Thanks guy... got this covered...Could I have a little space please?")  In Eeyore like fashion, the massive, but victorious Hix galumps  his body back to his own stall, where he plops his huge body down, placing his massive head on the threshold, perfectly poised to pounce if needs be.
     I gather my things to return to my day, when on the outside of the barn, I spot TJ, securely nestled on the outer side of Cupid's stall. In the end, she's got dogs to the left of her, dogs to the rear...leaving her, "Stuck in the middle with two!"



     *For the record, chow time is half eating, half competitive sport as the goats run in circles  from bowl to bowl checking to see if someone has more.  The babies position themselves beneath the fray where the crumbs fall, leaving them less likely to get poked and allowing them to eat constantly while the others dart about. Because babies consume slower until they are weaned, the arrangement works perfectly.  For mother's about to give birth, they won't risk the run-about...Too chancy they'll get butted in the belly, causing harm to the baby, so they hold back and squawk until you feed them separately....All the more reasons I find nature so fascinating and goats some of the smartest critters on the planet.

Sunday, July 12, 2015

The Difference Between Frogs 'n Coyotes

     Thank God they're better with big, furry, scary things...
          (Otherwise, I think this frog deserved to live)

Wednesday, July 8, 2015

Running of the Bulls

   
     Instead of counting sheep, I decided to count bulls for a change. One good thing about insomnia is that you can watch things you would otherwise never care to see, such as the live coverage of the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona, Spain.
     It's a commentating role I'd be lousy at, though I did find the bull of the announcers as entertaining as the bulls in the streets. Describing things such as the reason for the steers (ie. the brown and white bovine mixed in with the bulls, there to "steer" things along --go figure) ...the formations (it was a 2-2-2-3-1 at the finish of the third) and of course, the carnage (which I suppose is why everybody watches this sport in the first place), these guys had it made in their lofty perch, high above the maddening crowd.
     The guy in the middle (picture to the right) got gored in the leg last year and came back to do it again...(Why, I do not know, but it got him on TV. The announcer called the incident "the worst Gore since Tipper" which explains the expression on the other announcer's face).
     Unlike Daytona where I hear folks go for the wrecks, I never like to see things end badly (which is why I don't watch racing), but in this race, I confess: I was rooting for the bulls. (Run Little Bulls, RUN!)
     To better appreciate Hemmingway I confess to once attending a bullfight while in Spain and despite the sparkly costume of the matador, it wasn't pretty.  I can say "been there/done that" (and I did not want the T-shirt).  I can also say: Ban this sport already...or at least, let the bulls run to green pastures and not to the fate that awaits them.

Tuesday, July 7, 2015

My Doggone Weekend

   
    Adding another layer to the whole "unintended consequences" of farm life, my Hakuna Matata circle of life is on full tilt, ramifications for which now leave me with busted knee, neck, knuckles and you-know-what. Ouch doesn't begin to describe it.
     Life changes when the garden comes in. Veggies wait on no one; once it starts, things must be picked daily, then pickled, canned or frozen in short order, leaving little time for anything else and the kitchen looking like a bomb went off as a result. Scraps and peels and pulp make for hearty composting, which (I'm starting to notice) seems to have affected my bunny population. (They were everywhere before. Now they are really everywhere!) As a result, the big dogs are going bonkers. (Toss holiday fireworks into the mix and it was the perfect storm before the real storms rolled in.)
     Going out for my nightly check o' things, I flipped on the porch light, which (cue the bunnies), threw Rosebud into a rambunctious burst of focused determination. In an instant she leapt right through the gate (yes, through the gate...there is a narrow opening near the upper fourth that Rosebud, being somewhat thinner and loads more wily, fit perfectly through... who knew?)
     After a brief romp of the yard she returned to the porch, so rather than risk it happening twice, I brought her in with Rosey for the night. By morning, we'd resume our morning brekfuss ritual, she'd go back in to eat as Rosey does, and I'd be out a little time for a little extra dog hair, but better that than losing a dog~ (Ah, but I was thinking like Rosey, not Rosebud, who was clearly thinking, "There's rabbits in them-there hills, and rabbits make nice brekfusses too.") With food bowls in hand I opened the door, and BOOM! Off bolts Rosebud through flowerbeds and trees.
     Four hours she was gone, and Rosey with her. Thought they might just do a short run, a little yard inspection, then come back to eat, but no such luck. I tended to the others, carried on with the goats and the watering. Then returned to the house where every 10 minutes I'd open the door and holler loudly.  (Note: Certain efforts are futile in these first couple of hours as 1) they run away, not towards you, when being chased (this is a very stubborn breed of dog) 2) they were not trained as pups to get into vehicles 3) it takes 2 - 3 people to lure and lift even one dog. I was talking 2. 4) This was a holiday weekend...Bothering friends was not high on my agenda...
     Eventually they'd tire. Plus they had not eaten. Two facts in my favor. Otherwise, I acknowledged my helplessness, lit a candle, got centered, and prayed: God please bring them home safely, which eventually God did.
     It's a tough call to make, once you finally hear that familiar ka-thumping of two very large dogs returning to your porch, "Do I scold or do I hug?" is the logical question...In the end, relief wins out as gratitude overtakes you. The first expression upon opening the door can make or break you, after all these are stubborn, but sensitive dogs. One scowl could send them backing down the steps.
      It was an easy lure in (after all they had a loving mama, their food, and a/c on this side of the door) Not so easy getting Rosebud back out. I waited till dark, attached leash to collar. But just as we hit the porch steps, another rabbit and I'll be derned if she didn't drag me across a steps, chairs and a rather large log of a planter before we finally got her in.
    Next day, first order of business was to re-wire the gate, reinforce the get-away gap and make sure Rosebud was well secured, as I do not care to fall for this again.

Monday, July 6, 2015

Would You Like A Cookie, Rosey? Would You Like A Cookie?

   
   
     At 130 pounds, she weighs more than I weigh.
     And when I got too busy,  I accidentally bought "small" dog treats, instead of large.
     All this to say Rosey could GET her own cookie any time she pleases.
     Instead, she waits for me to reach for it...hand it to her...say those token words: Would you like a cookie, Rosey? Would you like a cookie?
     After which she lifts her very large body up off the floor, pads over to the cookie jar, casts her eyes upon me as if to say "I thought you'd never ask."
     (Hand it already...Just hand it.)

Sunday, July 5, 2015

Birds and Bees

   
Couple more days and I'm naming him. I thought it might be Minks.
I'm now thinking it may be Teddy (bird) Bart...
(From our Beyond Reason days we always said we'd send signs.)
     My mornings begin earlier than ever now that I have a new bird alarm. The tap, tap, tapping begins around 5:30 and the singing is incessant. I now have white dogs, a black cat, a blue (betta) fish and one red bird who, for reasons unknown, starts at my bedroom window and follows me throughout the house as the day progresses. (Oh, and let's not forget the 50 shades of grey goats. I'm like a walking Crayola box of critters over here...)
Boo ponders the bird.
     Re: the bird, responses have varied from "It's seeing its reflection" to "It's there to eat your bees" but because it goes from window to window as I go about my day, I'm convinced it's here to see me, so I shall continue to study it, speak to it, ask it why it's here, etc...(If it does more than sing, I'll let you know.) As to reflections in the glass, he's definitely seeing in as he gets annoyed when I turn my back or do something as to ignore him (as I did several times while on a call yesterday...ticking the little dude off immensely).
     I'm told he's a Summer Tanager (http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Summer_Tanager/id) and that he likes wasps (good news) and bees (not so good news, though I've not seen him on the bee side of the farm).  I do have wasp nests near where he is, so he is free to knock himself out (on wasps that is...preferably not my window pane).
     Meanwhile, if it is bees he's after, he's in for a smorgasbord~ My keeper was by two days ago to check the hives. Seems we have very happy bees, which should come as no surprise. They not only have a veggie garden in full bloom, but a lavender grove and wildflowers now in their immediate proximity. Seems they've doubled in population since arriving on my scene.We've double and triple stacked the hives and anticipate adding more. (Nothing like happy birds and bees amongst your flowers and your trees and your moon up above....and that thing called love!)

   
   

Wednesday, July 1, 2015

Signs and Messages: Red Bird at My Window

      I awoke to the persistent pecking of a rambunctious red bird. Curiously, because my home is a church, (with many windows to choose from) he found the one window closest to my bed and the only one visible to me while lying down. As I got up to check him out, he flitted back to his perch atop my lovely tulip tree. I reached for my cell to take this video and like a scripted actor, he fluttered once again in mid air, pecking at the window, performing in one take, as though happy he finally got my attention.
     There are numerous legends about birds in general and red birds in particular, the most common being they portend death. (Please God, no more deaths.) A bit more digging and I find Egyptians believed a bird in the home (as in flying in, which this bird would do if it wasn't such a pane) is the soul of someone recently passed, returning to ease your sorrow. (Right now, that could be one of several; then again, it could be Minsky.) Other legends associate such scenarios with angels... even spirit guides--something with a message from the other side.
     There are also ties to prophecy. Not death per se, but a foretelling of something major to happen. Birds fed the prophet Elijah. St. Francis's conversion involved a bird leading him out on a ledge, after which he heard voices and decided to leave his worldly father to follow his heavenly one.)
     (OK. Cue the Beyond Reason music here...I am now downstairs writing and in this very moment, the bird, who has been tapping on the same window for the past 3 mornings, flies to the opposite side of my home, to tap on the window above where I write.)
     Oddly enough, Boo (who loves this sort of thing, and makes a chattering noise when he spots a bird or a squirrel) is totally unaffected. He sees the bird. He is un-phased by the bird. (Very odd, as this much activity normally sends his curiosity full throttle.)  It's as if he knows this being. He treats it like an old glove. This is simply not registering like other things outside our windows that perk his ears up. (Scrap Beyond Reason theme, cue Twilight Zone.)
     I stop, look at the bird and ask,  "What are you saying? Who are you?" He flits back to his tree and begins to sing. I return to type and he's back to pecking.  (It's official. Bring the net. I am now playing charades with a bird...Or maybe I'm talking with a friend...If nothing else, I'm allowing myself to know Minks is ok, and I'm good with that...Truth be told, I'm not sure what this is, but he has my undivided attention and shall continue to have it until we come to some understanding as to what I am supposed to hear.)
     As a girl who plants by the almanac, I'm all about the signs...
     And as my daddy used to say, "Don't ask if you're not ready to listen."
     (OK Bird. I'm all ears.)

Matters of the Heart (an update from the girl who's had open heart surgery)

         Seems a good time for a blog...      I am happy to report I am home from the hospital, new ticker in tact...resting and on the ...