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.)
 

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.

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.

The Difference Between Frogs 'n Coyotes

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

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.

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.

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.)

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!)

   
   

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.)