How We Roll . . .

     I said goodbye to a friend today. Like every farm-visit request I get, I anguish over the time.
     But given tomorrow, she moves to another country, I concluded we may never pass this way again.
     Before setting sail, her life packed in boxes, she drove miles out of her way to have one last authentic take on farm life in Tennessee...my world in real time, otherwise pretty in pictures on Facebook.
     She arrived just as I was meeting with the county. When they come to check your fences, you don't leave 'em waiting.  I had workers on the clock who needed me to sign off on things....make a list of materials we'd need on site by tomorrow.
     While she waited, my goats jumped on her and dogs slobbered on her nice pants. But if authentic is what she was after, authentic she got. Farm work stops for no one, and though our time was brief, I was happy we were able to grab a few minutes...Long enough to eat a tomato sandwich.

   
     So here's to you, my fellow traveler...Etch it ever in your heart.
     Here's the garden that I write from ... Those two poles, they mark the start
     of the rows I've still to harvest ... Rosey ever on patrol
     Skies behind us roll with thunder...as I hum, "Then sings my soul"

     Godspeed on your journey. May your time spent in these parts be forever in your heart. And heartfelt thanks for all the joy you've brought to ours.

Contemplating Kitties

   

    On the one hand, the last thing I need is another mouth to feed...(much less 2).
     On the other hand, I killed a snake 3 weeks ago and the next day found a mama mouse with 5 suckling babies in my garage. (Sure don't need that snake's mama coming after me.)
     On the other hand (I have too many hands) Boo left me 2 mice just last week (which means they got in! Probably from the basement.)
     Feral cats are a "cat"egory all their own; one I've never quite embraced as these aren't the kind you get to cuddle. Basically all I know is they're wild as haints and breed like bunnies.
     When a friend called in a panic saying he was overrun with cats (he had not one, but two litters of feral babies born within a week of each other because his girlfriend started feeding the mamas)...well, suffice it to say the man is rich in cats.
     Big trick with feral is to fix before you commit. Cat babies can take over in no time and while there are stories out there that'll make your skin crawl, conservative estimates say a female cat living a 12-year average lifespan can be responsible for some 3500 descendants.
     Every farmer I've spoken with agrees: You got chow. You got mice. And if you don't want snakes, a cat is the other alternative." (And yes I know. Black snakes are our friend...They take care of mice and other rodents while keeping poisonous snakes away. But much as I want to believe you, it's in my DNA to scream every time I see one, so while I work on my snake-loving skills, I'm thinking it's kitten time for me.)
     One more round of questions and google searches and I'm probably adding to my menagerie. But like everything else around here, it's gotta work for its keep.
     (Anybody else interested in a tipped* and snipped barn kitty, shoot me a message on FB. As for my friend, it'll be 2 down, 9 to go come next week.)

*Eartipping is the universal symbol for a spayed/neutered feral cat. The procedure involves removing about a quarter-inch of the cat's left ear in a straight line cut, done while the cat is anesthetized for spay/neutering procedure. Think of it as kitty-ear-piercing. For more information go to: http://www.nashvillecatrescue.org/feral-stray-cats

Life on the Farm (is far from laid back)

    We interrupt this blog to bring you a garden...
    If I've learned nothing else, it's that time and Mother Nature won't wait when the crops come in...
    To my friends and family who've witnessed my past 3 gardens, you  know not to take it personally when I go MIA.
    To those who have written, "That's impressive" may I just say we use "impressive" and "exhaustive" interchangeably around here...  
     Rewarding? Yes. But not for the faint of heart.
     (Nor is it a solo sport...Thanks to the team who helps keep it green. Pat, that would be you.)
   
   
   

Unintended Consequences

     I gave myself permission to take all the time I needed to grieve Minsky's passing....and to say goodbye to Layla...
     The house is now quieter. Two girls have moved on to new forever homes--one with God, one with a family, so bursting with love when they met her it made my heart burst too. I was at peace. The healing had begun. All  that's left is time...
     But just when I thought I was ready to move on...more lessons to live...more love to feel

     I hear a soft, murmur of a whimper. I stop what I'm doing to listen closer. It's coming from Rosey. I speak her name and she sighs. I get up, check her paws, check her collar... It doesn't appear physical, but it's pain all the same.
     Lethargically she turns, drops her head and then readjusts her huge body on the floor... One big sigh, and then small whimpers again.

   

"They're not coming back, are they?"

      Unconditionally here to absorb our pain, but who absorbs theirs? How can I even come close? In my distracted sadness seems I failed to take note of just how deeply this would hit her, after all, she not only lost her best friend, but for Rosey this is her identity, her job~
     Pyrs are protectors by nature, but Rosey's wiring runs deeper yet. Having babies changed her ...it deepened her focus... expanded her heart. That her babies spent their first weeks within these walls changed her boundaries. If it comes through these doors, it's on Rosey's turf. And she takes the job very seriously.
     The outside guys each have their charge. Each even has his/her own favorite goats. Rosey's guard was Minsky, then Lilly, then Layla. Today it's down to Boo and me. Boo comes down the steps and Rosey lifts her head to take note (but even Rosey knows you can't herd a cat).
     Only now does it hit me...
     On the one hand, there's nothing so helpless as watching someone you love hurt. On on the other, this IS love...how we cope and move through these life moments are what make for bonds. More than meaningful..it's life encapsulated...a microcosm of what the whole thing is about.
 
     I stop what I'm doing, get down on my knees...With her head on my shoulder, I hug her as hard as I can. She rolls belly up ...puts a paw on my heart...she pushes as if needing to look in my eyes... At arm's length we stare and we stare and we stare.
      I recently read dogs hug with their eyes...Scientific research reveals there's a release of oxytocin when dogs hold eye contact with their human.  I recall the study all over again, and I hold the stare for as long as she wants.
     "It's ok girl," I tell her "It's ok...It's ok..."
      I hold her. I rock her. Then together we give it one more good cry.
   
   




   

Dog Guilt

     I have a dear friend who loves animals...dogs, cats, goats...you name it...She has lived on farms, in communes, worked in shelters...she's done it all.
     As I grew to know her better, I realized how deeply she missed all this life in her life so I invited her out to share mine.
     As you might imagine, she was a hit with the goats, and especially good with the dogs (both the big white fluffy ones on the outside and the little cute grey one on the inside). I could tell as she reminisced about living with hers (all past tense) this woman was a dog woman through and through. She didn't live on a farm anymore, but a dog person minus a dog, is like picker without a guitar. And this was one angel of a dog person, I could just tell...When she told me she no longer could have one it simply broke my heart.
     I assumed it something physical...Allergies? Fixed income?
     "Oh no. Nothing like that" she replied "I have dog guilt."
     I laughed, but she was serious. She might as well have said emphysema.
     Anyone who's had a dog knows dog guilt. It can happen with cats, but nowhere to the extreme. Dogs require our human interaction. Cats can take us or leave us. But with dogs no matter what you're doing, how much you're spending, how responsible you are, there is this thing called dog guilt that comes with the territory. (Can I get a witness?)
     I recall an interview we once did with a man obsessed with his dog. So for Fido's 15th, he set out to create the greatest birthday ever by asking himself "When is my dog happiest?" (Answer: When I walk through the door!)
     On Fido's special day, the man alerted his secretary, re-arranged his schedule, and mapped a plan to walk through his own back door every hour on the hour...8 brilliantly timed love gifts dispersed in hourly increments culminating in what could only have been grilled filets and a Lassie marathon.
     While obsessive, it was creative. (I was a little jealous I'd not thought of this myself.)
     Just then, a caller came on the line asking, "Did it ever occur to you what makes your dog saddest?" (Such as, every time you walk out the door?)
     All this to say, whether you rescue, foster or are simply a decent, responsible dog owner there is always room for guilt. You are not alone. You could be the Mother Teresa of dogdom (and I am not, but I have friends who are) guilt comes with it.   I have a lawyer friend who takes his dog to "Doggie Day Care" on his way to work, and picks him up for "Pup Scouts" after... Super guy. And one of the most guilt ridden people I know. All to say money and education have nothing to do with it. You got a dog, there will be guilt. It comes with the dog. . . No, I take that back. It comes with caring.
     When I asked my dog-loving friend how she overcame it, she said "I had to get rid of my dogs."

     I share this to say there are no easy answers. You know the day you fall in love with a puppy this day will come. Personally, I have dog guilt in spades. And if you feel dog guilt over the little things, you can only imagine the angst of those final days and the bitter guilt and pain when the options dwindle down.
     It begins with "Who am I to make this choice?" countered by "Who am I to let her suffer?" We are accused of playing God when we take up this topic, but I contend we play God every time we fill a prescription. That we can now extend life with steroids, pain meds, steel rods and surgeries.... is magnificent. But at what point does all this give way to what is most humane?
     To love something is to suffer. Anyway you cut it, there will be suffering...Theirs. Yours. Those who love and hurt for you in moments like these. It's a side effect of caring. The deeper the love, the greater the pain. But given the choice of all this vs. never loving at all...what options do we have, but to love and pray for strength.
     The gut-wrenching anguish of our past few days I must weigh in the balance against the love, the joy, the wisdom of the 15 years we shared.  I turn to my Rosey, my TJ, my Hix, my Rosebud...I have a choice as I feel this pain...Do I distance my heart lest I be here again? Start now to hold back now as if I could minimize future sorrow?
     Or do I open my heart up full throttle...loving even deeper and even harder, knowing every day  is but one more chance to live life more fully and to experience love in new ways... at new depths.

In My Father's House

   
     My dad and I used to laughingly say if we ever made it to heaven, it would be easy to find our mansion as it would be the one with the pee-stained carpets...

     On a day set aside for remembering, I think not only of daddy, but all the dogs we've loved before (someone should really do a remake on the Willie Nelson song~)

     To Daddy, to Darby, to Biskit and Dumpy...
           To Ike, and to Bella, and now my sweet Minks
     Here's hoping you're peaceful, the dog treats eternal
            Go romp in those lilies, enjoy those gold streets!

     Happy Father's Day in heaven, Daddy.

     Wanted to get you something special, so I asked for God's help...
     I thought and I thought and only today did it hit me... Nobody loved pups like my dad...
    Why that's where this whole thing began~

     I didn't see the plan unfolding but seems now to make sense...Like the first day I met her, Minka said "Pick me!"

     I trust she arrived safely.  I know how much you loved her. Please give her a hug from those of us back on earth. It brings my heart great comfort to think of her arriving just in time for Father's Day...and her forever home being really forever!
     
     Here's to the reunions that await us and love that surrounds us still...
     (And to shifts in perspective otherwise known as miracles.)

The Lessons of Layla

   

     Last week, goodbye to Minsky...This week, goodbye to Layla. As obvious as it would seem you'd keep one to replace the other, it doesn't work that way...What's more, for all Layla's been through, she's in need of her own brand of attention...Therapy walks for her leg, now with steel rod removed...Lots of space to run, a yard of her own without big dogs intimidating her. Someone to give her undivided attention and a forever home of love.
     Will it be sad? You betcha. Not only have I grown to love this girl, I've grown to admire her. Her strength in healing, her determination and focus in overcoming the pain....She is my hero in these, but most of all it's her faith and her trust that I marvel at most...Time after time I've tried to imagine the fear, her unknowns...her future in God's hands...her care left to the kindness of strangers.  From her perspective I can only imagine...each stage brought a different twist... unknown settings, unknown people...
     

     First a broken leg...the excruciating pain...Will I limp this way forever? Will I lose my leg entirely? And who will love me then? Who will take care of me? What if I can't protect myself if I need to run and hide?
     Next thing, someplace strange...Were you getting rid of me? Did I do bad? I tried to be good...oh please don't leave me. It made me shake and cry. Next thing I know I'm in a strange room, lots of lights, feeling drowsy. I wake up to a cold, steel rod coming out of my hip...What is this? Things were bad enough...now they're worse! I walk worse, I sit worse. What is happening to me?
     Then the crate...the dreaded crate! Days and days in dog years in that crate. Am I being punished? World's longest time out...How much longer? What comes next? Will I never run again? Tight quarters. Short walks. Some dogs like me, one dog hates me. I lose my little bud, Minka...
     I'm trying so hard to be good...I'll do anything, ANYTHING, just don't leave me...Who would take care of a broken dog? Who will keep me fed? Who will me love? Please promise me it's going to get better. I promise to be good

     Yes, Layla. I promise you all these things. That you've been here through some of the deepest losses of my life these past 8 weeks, is not lost on me. God must've thought we needed each other...I not only got an angel, I got a daily reminder of what real faith looks like every time I looked in your eyes. Layla girl, you've touched a lot of hearts...and you'll forever be in mine. We've got a lot of folks to thank...and you've got a lot of folks who love you. For a little girl with a broken leg, you sure pack a lot of lessons and love.
     You will be missed like you won't believe,  but you will be loved like never before. The life that awaits is ready to spoil you rotten. You'll be safe. You'll be loved....and you'll never go hungry again. I promise.
     I love you Layla, and will miss you with all my heart...But I will never forget the gift of YOU in my life...God never gives us more than we can handle they say...Guess that's why he sent me you. Thank you for your presence in my life. You have touched my heart at depths I didn't know existed...and I'll always cherish you always...my Layla, girl with the forever smile~

Farmers Unite!

   

     Don't know when your label shifts from gardener to farmer, but 4 years into the sport and you start to hear (by reputation if nothing else), of fellow farmers whose operations have become synonymous with getting it. (And by "it" I mean the juggle of it all...There is more to this farm living stuff than meets the eye. For a career so wholesome on the outside, I take small comfort in knowing it is just as pressure filled for everyone I meet who is likewise driven to farm, but stretched too thin in doing so.)
     Fortunately, there's a wealth of support through things like UT ag campus and extension offices. And there are non-profits, educational initiatives and cooperative efforts like Master Gardeners and Pick Tennessee on top of networking opportunities and field days to keep you up on the latest and in touch  with others. If anyone needs a support group, it's farmers. I keep thinking there should be a 12-step program...some Farmer's Anonymous to keep us sane through drought and blight and heat and bug infestations, but who would have time to attend?
     It was an early morning drive that I nearly talked myself out of, owing to the fact that I was behind on a number of things having cried my weekend away over the loss of a pup. But we rallied, we fed critters quickly and we made it to beautiful Spring Hill just in time for kickoff of the "Fruits of the Backyard" symposium where we met and talked with other Tennesseans specializing in everything from blueberry farms to canning to land trusts.
     I come away from these things in a state of sensory overload, marveling at the depths of knowledge it would take 10 lifetimes to absorb and the genuine people whose lives make it possible for us newbies to even think we have a shot at figuring it out. Like today, I start out wide-eyed and hopeful, looking for some tidbit of trivia to help me better maintain the balance of growing and learning...  some sage wisdom from the masters bestowed upon an ambitious though naive weed hopper like me. While I learn something, the constant take-away is an even deeper sense of awe and respect for a profession too often taken granted and a renewed sense of overwhelm for all there is to learn on top of all that waits back home just waiting to be weeded.
   

Love of All Time

     There is nothing like the bond between people and dogs. No one knows us like our dog knows us... They see our every mood...know our every flaw and secret, and they keep it to themselves. That they love us anyway...and not just love/love, I'm talking deeply committed, PURE, unconditional love.  I can think of no other thing...no other person that comes close to embodying this capacity.That they love us like they do despite our human frailties is why they grip our hearts so. It's why we grieve so deeply. I'm convinced it's as close as we'll ever get to experiencing unconditional love on this side of the clouds...And the hole it leaves when they're gone is unfathomable...

     City dog/country dog, Minsky lived both/loved both...adjusted well to any setting
     In the city, we had our parks... our play dates...our pals.
     Country life's more laid back as I had Rosey to share in the duties...Each morning I'd let Minsky out, instructing Rosey: "Go with her girl..Watch out for Minks" (I'd say the words purely as ritual. You need not tell Rosey to protect and certainly not her Minka. Like me...we're turf. What's more, we're family.)
     I would stand and watch Rosey follow her down the steps and into the yard, which would in turn trigger the big dogs to start pacing and barking alongside her from their side of the fence. All this would in turn, trigger the goats who'd come galloping out of the barn. Minsky's morning routine meant the day had begun. She was wake up call to our world. Like a conductor tapping his baton on the stand cuing the music, Minsky's first step out the door was the "instruments up" signal to a symphony of critters...critters who'd come running her way at this point, because Minsky's  morning pee and poo meant food's coming next. But to Minsky it meant "They love me. They really love me!" (And they really, really did.)
     Minsky loved taunting TJ. Something about her 18 pounds turning his 150 into pure submission brought her great joy. As committed as Rosey to her protection, but with a big honking fence in between, TJ would whimper like a baby when Minsky hit the grass. Lord did he want to play. Minsky did too, but TJ's intimidatingly large body and jowls the size of her head made her cautious. One fence inspection just to confirm no gates left open and it was: game on. Walking right up to his face, nose to nose through the fence, she would jump. He would jump. She would pounce. He would pounce. A few rounds later, he'd whimper again. She'd look to me as if to say "Are you catching this Mom? Look what I can do!" He'd  look to me as if to say "Why? Why? Why can't I be Rosey ?"  Something about knowing she had the power to turn this white fluffy mass of muscle and testosterone into a whimpering wuss, really made her happy. She'd hold her tail high as if to say "Sniff this big boy. Sniff it and weep." And he would. Sadistic I guess, that she loved his frustration so, but hilarious to witness. These are the things I cherish.
     To know her was to love her. Minsky never met a stranger. Around here, she was the was the queen bee. Smallest only in stature, alpha in every other way...One bark I'd open the door...knowing Rosey had her back.  Another bark later, Rosey had her herded back to the porch.
     From the garden to the flower beds, down lavender lane, Minsky would wander. I'd go to hoeing, plowing, digging...She would walk the rows, check the plants...If I needed to go grab a tool, I needn't worry. All I had to do was spot the big white dog and look down...
     At the end of the day, same rituals in reverse...nothing more beautiful than the garden at sunset...
 When time to come in, I'd whistle... once again to see one big angel guarding one little angel ...
 (An image forever in my mind...)

     Today one little angel guards us all...
 (An image now and forever in my soul)

Rest in peace Minka-girl.
There's a hole in my heart so big I can't stand it, but I wouldn't take anything for the journey...
I love you more than words can say...and thank you so for the love, the lessons, the life I was privileged to share... You're a good gurrrrl...