Denise Domning's Blog, page 4

Oops

So the ram lambs are getting close to grown up now that they are almost 6 months old. How do I know that? Because they’re playing their two lamb games–“headbutts” and “mount you”–in earnest these days. These days the two lambs do more than simply touch their foreheads. Instead, they back up a considerable distance and launch themselves at each other. You’ve seen this in nature films. It’s as bad as it looks on TV.

Sometimes they’ll try a threesome, which is awkward. What hasn’t happened yet but is certain to occur soon is that one of them will soon launch himself at me. I’m guessing that someone is likely to be either Headbutts or the Albino.

Why them? Because they’re the friendliest of the five. Rams. They only hit the ones they love.

This is Headbutts, standing next to the unfortunate Blackleg, showing off his friendliest expression. Look at those pretty little white teeth. By the way, they only have bottom teeth. That’s not really a smile. Instead, what he’s doing is sucking in air and tasting it with his Jacobson’s Organ. If you don’t know what a Jacobson Organ is, here’s Wikipedia’s definition:

“The vomeronasal organ (VNO), or Jacobson’s organ, is the paired auxiliary olfactory (smell) sense organ located in the soft tissue of the nasal septum, in the nasal cavity just above the roof of the mouth (the hard palate). The name is derived from the fact that it lies adjacent to the unpaired vomer bone (from Latin vomer, plowshare, for its shape) in the nasal septum. It is present and functional in all snakes and lizards, and in many mammals, including cats, dogs, horses, cattle, pigs, and some primates; in humans it is present, but is vestigial and non-functional.

“The VNO contains the cell bodies of sensory neurons which have receptors that detect specific non-volatile (liquid) organic compounds which are conveyed to them from the environment. These compounds emanate from prey, predators, and the compounds called sex pheromones from potential mates. Activation of the VNO triggers an appropriate behavioral response to the presence of one of these three.”

I emphasized that thing about sex pheromones. That’s right. Headbutts is breathing in the smell of estrogen, which is increasing his need to hit something with his head. As I discovered to Blackleg’s misfortune, this apparently works both ways with sheep, that ewes breathe in the smell of testosterone and react with equal violence.

You see, there was this “oops” moment, or rather day, back in late October or early November. Of course, I didn’t write down the date! On that fateful day, whenever it was, a gate that should have remained closed was instead left open, and boys and girls mingled. I didn’t realize what had happened until sunset, when separated them, praying that the boys were too young to have done the deed.

As the days and weeks passed, I went back to idly thinking about bringing in a ram to make more lambs. But every time I’d get close to serious about making the call, I’d catch myself and remember that one day. More to the point, as the weeks passed, my girls continued to expand in that tell-tale way.

Perhaps it was the need to tie up all of 2019 into a neat little bow, but this past week I found myself determined to get to the bottom of this pregnant/not-pregnant situation. But how to know for sure without calling in a vet and doing a pregnancy test? I decided the best way to test this hypothesis was to put one of the ram lambs in with the girls and see what happened. Given that I wouldn’t have a chance to separate them if one of the girls was in heat, I chose the prettiest and largest of my little guys, Blackleg.

Blackleg is Milly’s son and was born almost two weeks after Rosie’s little girl made her appearance. Despite being the youngest, he’s the largest of the ram lambs, and he’s gorgeous. His head is perfectly proportioned, his chest is broad, he has killer eyelashes and is just a general, all-around pretty guy. He’s also recently become more friendly with me, wanting head pats and chin scratches along with Headbutts and the Albino.

What I thought would happen was that the girls would ignore him–and he them– if they were pregnant. If the girls were open (ready to be pregnant), he’d go for them and they’d be happy to see him. I herded him into the fenced alley ways where the girls spend the night. For an instant, he was startled to find himself separated from his buddies. But there, ahead of them were the six more sheep. At first, he trotted slowly toward them. Then he paused, lifted his head and curled back that upper lip, tasting the air. And he was on the move…going for Rosie’s little girl and Mari’s little girl, who are almost 6 months old and capable, if not ready, of being pregnant.

I cursed myself for an idiot. Why hadn’t I separated the ewe lambs from their mothers?  I rushed forward to see if I could grab Blackleg and prevent a catastrophe.

Tiny beat me to him. Her head lowered to its most damaging angle, she hit him in the side. He fell off Rosie’s girl without satisfying his genetic imperative. As the ewe lambs beat a hasty retreat, guarded by Mari, Blackleg foolishly circled around Tiny, taking in her female aroma, then tried to mount her. She was off like a shot. Blackleg followed with his mother Milly and Rosie on his heels.

The four of them stopped in the farthest alley way. The three ewes surrounded him, their heads down, and began to batter at him. It only took a few hits before Blackleg had lost all of the rosy glaze caused by female pheromones and understood these ewes meant to hurt him. Meanwhile, I’m working my way around three angry sheep, each probably weighing close to 200 pounds, trying to find an opening to rescue the poor guy.

It took what felt like forever but was probably only five minutes before I had Rosie and Milly in their own alley, locked away from Blackleg. Tiny took more convincing. She was set on doing damage to the pretty boy. But with only one ewe after him and now fairly panicked, Blackleg let me push him into another alley. I slammed the handy panel door behind me as Tiny tried to follow.

His chest was heaving. His mouth was open as he panted.  I apologized, then he followed docilely as I led back to his buddies. He was still panting ten minutes later, after the flock of ewes had been reunited.

Well, I think I have my answer. At least three of those girls are pregnant, and I’m really glad I didn’t rent a full-grown, dangerous ram. I’m not sure I would have gotten into the middle of that level of kerfluffle. More to the point, it would have been downright embarrassing to have to return the poor bruised and battered ram with the explanation of “Oops, they were already pregnant.”

Ah, the importance of farm and ranch gates. The rule is always to leave a gate just as you found it. Open should stay open and closed should most definitely stay closed.

I may have lambs in March. Or maybe April. We’ll see.

 

A Christmas Storm?

I’m sitting at my desk, looking out the window at thick dark clouds. Rain, or even snow is predicted for Christmas day. That has me thinking about moving my truck across the road. This is because I didn’t move my truck last year when we had an unusually heavy snowstorm for New Year’s Eve. I was stuck on the property for three days because snow became ice and my driveway has a steep angle.  Not that being stuck at home is a hardship. This year, I took the prediction seriously and stocked up for everyone. Lord knows I won’t starve to death, and neither will my animals.

Not that little Rupert won’t assure me constantly that he’s starving. With each day he gets stronger which means he and Radha play harder, going full out until they both drop. Dropping means time to cuddle. Yes, that sign was indeed an omen and I came home with the right dog.

I’ll be interested to see how the rabbits do in their new homes during the storm. I decided that the Solstice was the perfect day to put the girls with Buddy and let him “do the deed.”  Let me say I think it’s a good things rabbits are small and furry. If they were large and covered with scales, watching their mating “dance” would be pretty darn scary.  You do not want to mess with an irate and/or excited female rabbit!  Both girls grunted, scratched, pounding their back feet as they played hard to get. Buddy, however, remained undaunted by their aggression. When they finally agreed that he was their guy, he proved to be seriously confused about how to get it done. I had to lift him off Babs’ back and turn him 180 so he was facing the right direction.

After about 15 minutes they’d done this mating ritual three times, which included him falling off Babs three times. That was what the book said to watch for. And yes, he literally fell off her back, sliding down to lay on the ground as if stunned. (Insert your own pithy comment about this here. Lord knows I did.)

Bitsy fought a much longer battle but she finally gave in and presented her tail to him. Buddy went through the motions, but he never fell off. Thinking I may have expected too much of Buddy for one 24 hour period, I decided to put her in with him again the next day. This time, they more or less ignored each other. Since there’s no way for me to tell if she’s pregnant for a few weeks, I’ll do what the book says and put her back in with him in a week.

However, if Buddy did manage to make babies, both of the does should deliver on the 19th or 20th of January. That means it’s time to start building the bigger rabbit tractor, the one where the young rabbits will spend their days, eating grass and growing fat in the sunshine until, well, you know.  Being trapped here by a winter storm would give me time to finish cleaning up the barn. I need to get the screws and smaller things put into drawers and generally making space so I can work on the pile of recycled wood I’ve claimed from the remodel. Once the nails are pulled and screws removed, there’ll be plenty of wood for new coops and garden gates and things I never dreamed I’d dream of making.

Huh, it’s beginning to feel a lot like Christmas around here. I’ve already gotten some really great presents–the perfect puppy for Radha, pregnant rabbits living in homes they enjoy, and a pile of wood. I think maybe snow on Christmas day might turn out to be the icing on the farm, especially since I brought home milk for hot chocolate.

Happy Holidays to all!

Happy Puppies and Bunnies

It’s official. Rupert is here to stay. Just as I expected, a full week plus a few days on the farm has made a world of difference for him. Between his new anti-inflammation diet and the Hyaluronic Acid, he’s s now able to hold his hips where they belong as he walks. Even better he no longer drags his front paws and I’ve watched the swelling in his ankle joints diminish day by day. Best of all, I swear he’s already grown at least two inches taller.

As for Rupert, he’s staying no matter what I might want. Nor would Radha ever let him go. She loves her new puppy! Because Rupert is still small enough to slip through the gates, he spends his nights on the porch (in a very well insulated and comfy crate). Radha waits eagerly for him to appear in the morning. It’s hard to believe, but she’s more excited to see him than she is her food, and that’s saying something for Radha. This morning she was so intent on Rupert that she entirely forgot to eat. To promote this puppy love, I’m allowing Radha (and Bear) in the house during the day. She and Rupert keep us on our toes, chasing cats, stealing shoes and racing after each other. When Rupert tires, the two puppies curl together in a chair and play bite at each other. Now that’s true joy!

Speaking of joy, Christina and I finished the third rabbit tractor last night and just had to move the rabbits into them. While Christina held the cat carrier, I snagged Bitsy. I grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and then–mistakenly–tried to put her into the carrier head first. You know, those rabbits have sat on their feet almost the whole time they’ve been here. I’d forgotten just how LARGE their feet are. As I got her head into the crate, she splayed those big back feet over the edge of the carrier’s opening, and there we were–stuck. Cursing mightily, I pulled her out, praying I didn’t lose my hold on her, and turned her to lower her butt first into the carrier. Since she couldn’t see the opening, she didn’t move her feet. Aha! Gotcha!

Unfortunately, Babs was now on alert. Even before I opened her cage, she was dashing this way and that. But it is a cage, and really, there wasn’t any escape for her. I had her by the scruff in a moment and put her in her crate. We decided –well, I decided, since I was sure Buddy was going to be the hard one– it was better to move the girls first, rather than try to juggle three carriers. It took the girls about 3 seconds before they realized what was up. They instantly began to explore, smelling the grass beneath their feet, and taking in their little private area. We locked their lids and left to them touching their noses to those of the dogs, who had come to “help,” and went back for Buddy.

Even more unfortunately, he’d not only seen what had happened to his girls, he’d had time to consider his escape plan. I steeled myself for battle, fully expecting to be scratched. Much to my surprise, I managed to get a good handful of his scruff on my first grab. Then just like that, he was traveling to his new home as the sun was going down. Unlike the girls, he immediately dashed into the back of his home and hid while we installed their feeders and waterers.

When I went out at dawn I was thrilled to see all three of them in the front to greet me at dawn, despite the cold. When I opened Buddy’s lid to add food to feeder, he gave me the stink eye and hurried back to hid. The girls both stood up to look up at the sky as I fed them. Because of Buddy, I left moving them until midday. By then, the sun was shining and it was almost warm. All three of them were sitting in their front area, sprawled in the sunlight, something that made me grin. I grabbed the rope on Buddy’s tractor and slowly wiggled his home forward. He again dashed back into his hideyhole, but the moment his home stopped moving, he was out again. Both Babs and Bitsy sat in their doorways and watched as their view of the world changed by three feet.  Bitsy went back to sunning herself while Babs explored her new bit of ground by tasting each and every one of the leaves that had appeared beneath her feet.

Yay! More than yay! My home-made, home-designed rabbit tractors are everything I wanted them to be, both for me and for them. So I guess the title of today’s post should have been “Happy puppies, happy bunnies, happy human.”

And now it’s time to clean the barn in preparation for the next project–a baby bunny rabbit tractor.

Rupert

Well, I did it. I got Radha her own puppy. This past week Bear hasn’t been able to play with her at all and she was clearly bored. Since a bored Radha is not a good thing, I gave in and told the Powers-That-Be that it was time for a new dog. And, as often happens with me, when I ask, things happen. In this case the thing that happened is that I went to Tractor Supply and noticed the sign for the Humane Society shelter on Mingus, the side road.

I figured that was a “sign”–in the omens and portents sense of the word. So after I picked up the wire mesh for my rabbit tractors, I went to visit the shelter. They were closed to the public just then, but I met a volunteer walking a dog outside. We chatted briefly about my situation, which was that I needed a companion and partner for a livestock guardian dog. She mentioned that they had a four-month-old German Shepherd puppy. That sounded interesting to me, so I made an appointment to come with Radha and meet the pup.

We were both disappointed. Not only was the puppy “shy” (that’s another way of saying “feral,” I think), but her unnatural crouch practically screamed hip dysplasia. Startled–because I was sure I was supposed to find “the dog” here today– I put Radha back in the truck, then wandered through the kennel area. None of the dogs felt right. Once back in the lobby, I glanced over at a glassed-in cubicle. In it sat a black-and-white puppy. Actually, I thought he looked like Nipper, the old RCA mascot, or maybe a Jack Russell Terrier. As I watched him, he met my gaze. There was brute intelligence in those eyes.

I asked why he was isolated. It turns out that the little guy had had a nearly fatal reaction to his first set of vaccines. This had left him temporarily paralyzed and with Hydrotropic Osteodystrophy, or spaces (inflammation) between his bones and joints. I was assured, however, that he was steadily improving.

I almost laughed as I understood why the Big Guy in the Sky had sent me here. Who better to take a vaccine-injured dog than me, whose children had both been vaccine-injured? I know the drill. Support the liver as you chelate out the adjuvant that caused the damage, keep the food clean and fresh. Nothing artificial, no pharmaceuticals. He’ll be right as rain soon enough.

I asked to see him with Radha, so off we went. The two dogs didn’t interact much, but they were calm together. By the end of that walk, I was certain enough to take Rupert home.

We were hardly down the ramp to the barn on our maiden walk when Rupert noticed my ewes. They’d all come rushing to the fence to check out the stranger. Just to see what he might do, I opened the gate. Rupert was off like a shot, nipping at their ankles, driving all six of them toward a corner. Aha! There’s Heeler or Border Collie in him somewhere!

Chasing the sheep set off Radha. She began bouncing around him, trying to convince him to play. I can’t blame the little guy for hesitating. She’s three times as big as he is. Although she understood he was saying “no,” she refused to accept that or to stop bouncing around him until he gave in. They tussled for just a moment then he came back to stand between my legs. Too wound up to quit, Radha raced for Bear. She hit him the way she always does, like a freight train. Then growling as if she meant to kill him, she buried her teeth in the big boy’s thick fur.

Rupert burst into motion. Barking like crazy, he raced toward Bear as fast as his little legs could carry him. I thought he meant to join in the play, but no. He put himself between the massive Kuvasz and the rambunctious eighty-pound Anatolian, then did his best to protect Bear from that nasty Radha. I almost fell over, I was laughing so hard. This was definitely THE dog. Small and fragile he might be right now, but man oh man, has he got heart!

It took a little more than twenty-four hours of Radha taunting and tempting him before Rupert finally let down his guard. They were in the kitchen, he doing his best to hide from her between my legs . At last, she rolled onto her back and looked up at him. The little tart knew what she was doing. Rupert instantly threw himself on top of her and grabbed one of her ears. The bout lasted for at least half an hour. When it was done, it was clear that I had me a new dog.

Today, I watched as Radha led Rupert along the path on the wild hillside. She kept pace with him, only occasionally moving down a hillside as if to show him something, looking over her shoulder to invite him to follow. And follow he did.

Yeah, there’s no doubt. He is the perfect dog for her. It’s going to be good for both of them, and what’s good for them is good for me. All I’ve got to say is Thank You.

 

Rabbits and Bunny Tractors

I finally got the first rabbit tractor finished! Is it perfect? No, it’s definitely a prototype, although I fully intend to house a rabbit in it. However, it has square corners and is solid, and light enough to be pulled easily across bumpy ground. And it is so completely covered by wire (some of it pieces I hand wove together) that I can’t imagine any predator in the world breaking into it. This includes Radha the puppy, who is at the top of my predator list.

This project was a huge learning experience for me. As you, my plucky readers, will know, I’m not power tool savvy.  But each project brings improvement, like “do not unwittingly tuck your fingers inside the circular saw blade cover.” Yes, I did it but the damage was minimal, requiring only a bandage.

Rather than the rectangular tractors I saw on-line, my version morphed substantially when I realized I couldn’t lean in and grab a rabbit with that design. That resulted in a new triangular design. The back end, where the rabbits have an enclosed house/hiding area that’s (hopefully) weather-proof, is about 20 inches tall. The woven wire floor is lifted about 4 inches off the ground which should keep paws dry during wet weather. The front end, which started at almost 4 feet tall is now 30 inches tall. The roof slopes backward to shed water, hopefully shed water, anyway. I didn’t get it done in time to rain-test it last week. The horse fencing that covers the bottom of the front section is at ground level, and offers holes big enough for nibbling on the grass and even sinking bunny toes into the ground without allowing digging.

The nicest part about this first tractor was that I didn’t have to rush. I’m so glad I didn’t breed the girls! This gave me time to mull over what didn’t seem right until I figured out what I didn’t like about it. After that, it was just a matter of taking it apart ONE MORE TIME to fix it. Let me say it’s a miracle it’s as solid as it is.

I take that back. The nicest part of this project is that I now know exactly how to build the next two tractors. In fact, Christina and I had the framework put together for number 2 in just a few hours. Talk about solid! The next two will last forever and if I can get the right wire, I may have all three done by next week.

In preparation for moving the rabbits from their hidey-hole by the back barn, I started a petting program. That’s because my first experience with Scaredy Bunny resulted in scratches for me and terror for him, something  I’d rather not repeat. Now when I go back to feed them or offer them fresh greens (right now they’re gaga over my apple tree prunings), I stick my hand into their cages and…TOUCH THEM. (Oh, the horror!)

The back doe (girl rabbit) who I am tentatively calling Bitsy Bunny (just because it’s alliterative) was the first to submit. She’s a sucker for forehead scratches and ear rubs, to the point that she’s now more interested in being petted than eating. The doe in the middle cage, who hasn’t yet got a name alliterative or otherwise, is the smarter of the two. She watched her sister get man-handled, assessed the risk, then carefully submitted on the premise that she might be missing out on something good. She now also greets me at the front of the cage. We’ve even touched noses, which is a pretty good sign.

Scaredy Bunny, the buck, has been much harder sell, however  even he’s giving way, or so says the way his eyelids slowly lower when I scratch his hind quarters. Of course, the minute I move my hand away from him, he tenses up again. But we’re getting there.

I’m looking forward to seeing them in their new, larger, sunnier, dirtier, grassier homes. As for me I’m already reaping some benefits from having rabbits. I presently have all my chickens and turkeys locked into the back barn/chicken coop. The chickens were getting way too creative about where they were laying their eggs, including on a six-foot high shelf off which the egg always rolled. Locking them in the barn for a while will force them to form new and safer egg-laying habits. My turkeys joined them because Tom is now clearly blind. I don’t know how much longer he has, but I’m determined he will go in his sleep. To give the girls something to do while they’re locked in, I’ve shoveled two months worth of hay and rabbit droppings, along with leaves, chicken poop, and dirt, into one corner of the barn. The girls, even the turkey girls, are having the time of their lives turning that pile for me.

Compost turning made easy! Huh, I might be onto something here.

Brave Little Lamb

For the record, vacation was wonderful. My sister and I shared a cottage on Tomales Bay, which is an inlet between the coast of Marin County and the peninsula that is Point Reyes National Seashore. Point Reyes became a favorite holiday spot for my parents and siblings after they all moved to California. (I had already left home by then.) The few times I joined them on vacation at Point Reyes was enough for me to fall in love with that stretch of sand, sea and wind–lots and lots of wind. Vacation consisted of hiking, talking, eating and reading. However, the vacation almost didn’t happen. The night before I left, Bear began to act sick. He didn’t want to play with Radha and he didn’t want to eat. I coddled him for a few hours and he improved enough that I felt comfortable leaving him. He still isn’t good. Today, I watched as Radha came running at him, ready to tussle the way they’ve been doing since she arrived on the farm. Instead of engaging, Bear dropped his head. She slowed down to walk with him, licking at his face, then turned away. That she checked herself speaks volumes. The reality is that the Kuvasz is a very large dog and at eight years old, Bear is well into his dotage. I won’t be surprised if I’ll be saying good-bye to him as well, doing so sooner than I like.

Thank heavens for Mr. Headbutts! Without her best lamb buddy, Radha would be lost and lonely. As Bear slows down, Mr. HB is stepping up to take his place, in very unexpected ways. Last night, or rather this morning is a great example. Bear started barking around 8 PM. The fact that he barks all night is not a bad thing. Last week, there was a young coyote over on my neighbor’s property, warbling away. When Bear didn’t let up, I figured it was probably that same coyote. I had slaughtered chickens and turkeys yesterday and I’m sure it could smell that.

At 1:25 AM (yes, 1 in the morning) I couldn’t take it any more. I dragged my heaviest coat over my robe and jammies, stuck my feet into my Wellies, and with flashlight in hand went down to walk him and his protege Radha around the edges of the property. He often calms down when I do this and she needs to smell what she’s supposed to drive off.

In a perfect world, I’d leave all the pasture gates open so both dogs could do this on their own. Unfortunately, Radha remains far too slim and has discovered every gap she can slither through to reach the porch, where she begs to come in with polite yips. I’m grateful she goes only as far as porch and doesn’t try to leave the property. At any rate, it’s easier at night to keep both dogs trapped with the sheep who feel safest in the first two pastures.

By the time I hit the front pasture gate Bear was hurrying toward the gate at the far end of the second pasture. Yep, there was definitely something out there. As for Radha, she was more interested in dancing around me, hoping I might be bringing breakfast a little early. Mealtime is her favorite part of the day, and she greets the arrival of her food bowl with Cirque du Soleil-worthy acrobatics. This is pretty impressive now that she’s almost as tall as Bear.

By the time I reached the far gate, Bear had veered toward the exterior fence. His tail was curled up above his back, which is how he shows intensity. That caught Radha’s interest and she turned to follow him. I started to loosen the chain on the gate. Something pressed up against my side. It was Mr. Headbutts. He was ready to race through the gate. His ears were alert, his gaze intent as he stared toward the back of the property. He looked like a new recruit, ready to assume guard duty.

a pack of three…dogs?

I moved my flashlight behind me, worried that his cousins, the other ram lambs, were also on their way. They weren’t. Instead, they remained where they’d been when I arrived, curled on the frosty grass, chewing their cud, as yet more frost settled on their woolly necks. I couldn’t help but laugh. He’d left his cousins to follow his best bud and his best bud’s best bud–he was following his pack.

With a pat on his head and a quick chin scratch, I gave him the bad news. “Sorry, Headbutts, you’re a sheep. You’re what that thing is hunting. You aren’t allowed to come with us.” Cracking the gate a sliver, I let Bear and Radha slip through then followed. We walked the entire fence line, then returned to the upper pastures.

Headbutts was still waiting at the gate. Brave little lamb. Dog. Sheep. Whatever.

 

Best Buds

First, an update on the plans to build a rabbit tractor. I have the frame assembled! Not too shabby, considering how often I stopped, took things apart, re-measured, decided the iteration wasn’t going to work, and started over. This first one will be done in a day or so, then I’ll start the other two. It is now three feet wide and 2.5 feet tall at its tallest point. There will be an enclosed back end for a “burrow.” The others are going to be so much easier!  As for the rabbits, I’ve begun bringing them a good handful of greens every day. So far they’ve turned their noses up at cabbage, but they love mulberry leaves–even the frost-bitten ones, honeysuckle leaves, kale stems, and have begun to develop a taste for comfrey leaves, which I’m excited about. My research into raising rabbits says you can replace about half of their processed foods with comfrey leaves, and comfrey grows like a weed here on the farm.

Now, onto Radha and her best bud in the whole world, Mr. Headbutts. It’s a miracle! Radha is growing up. It’s been like someone flipping a light switch. She’s gone from impulsive overreactions to considered reactions. The other day she startled a chicken and it flew into her face. Not only did her mouth not open in response, her ears didn’t even rise. She just walked on by. She’s done the same with the turkeys, ignoring them rather than chasing. I’ll say it once again. You can train a dog that has killed chickens not to kill chickens. This is my second success doing it, and if I can do it, anyone can.

Her new calm behavior has not quite translated to how she treats the sheep. She’s much better, but given a chance, she just can’t stop herself. She has to run after them. I’ve decided this must be because Anatolian Shepherds are not just a livestock guardian breed, but also shepherds. Hence the name, duh. Clearly, Radha is herding when she puts the ewes and ewe lambs into a corner. Then, she’ll cut out the one she wants to chase, usually Milly because Milly is foolish enough to panic while everyone else holds tight to the herd.

Radha would do the same thing with the ram lambs, except for Mr. Headbutts. The minute she starts to chase the little boys, he breaks from the herd and comes dashing for her. With one swing of his head, he tags her, then turns and races away as fast as he can run. She chases him, often running wild and incredibly fast circles around him, then slows up long enough to give him another chance to headbutt her and run away.

The other day they were playing in the middle pasture. The other ram lambs went to the farthest corner, where they huddled, watching the wild running and chasing in serious disapproval. Bear mistakenly got involved when Mr. Headbutts “tagged” him. It was a PTSD moment for Bear, as he’s had a number of bad experiences with head-butting farm animals. Not only had Cinco, my previous ram, hit him a number of times, so had Dixie, one of my Jersey cows. She took great pleasure in sneaking up on Bear and swinging her massive head into him to send him tumbling. One touch from Mr. Headbutts and Bear yelped then escaped to the front pasture.

That left Radha running in circles around her best bud. Mr. Headbutts broke for the big white chicken coop, which I have adapted into a winter doghouse. He dashed up the ramp and into the big square structure. I could hear his hooves tippy-tapping on the floor.  Radha followed. Now I could hear some serious sliding and wrestling. Mr. Headbutts leapt out of the coop, ignoring the ramp, and started that ecstatic jumping that all lambs do. Radha followed. He gave another swing of his head and –Tag!– she was it again.

I love this! Not only is Radha growing up into a wonderful, well-behaved and very sweet dog, but Mr. Headbutts is making sure she is forever bonded to the very species I expect her to protect. All this because youngsters need to play, no matter their species.

 

Regarding Rabbits

I’m presently in glacier mode–moving very slow and feeling incredibly lazy. Post-book vacation, which thus far has consisted of reading other people’s books. This is something I haven’t done in a really long time. If I had known I’d lose my ability to read fiction upon becoming a fiction writer, I’m not sure I would have decided I wanted to write a book.

But downtime has given me the space to review where I am on the farm at the moment. The little ram lambs are all going strong and getting bigger every day, but I have three more months before I need to think about what comes next for them. (Not on the list yet.) I’m not certain I need to hire in a ram, given the break-ins I wrote about last week, but I probably will.  (On the list.)

This set of Cornish Cross chicks are doing exceedingly well considering we had three 18 degree nights over the past week. It’s now settled into a balmy 27 degrees at night. I rigged up some insulation panels and doubled up the lights, and went out several times in the middle of the night to see how they were faring. That they were up and walking around–not all huddled under the lamps–suggested they were warm enough. Whew.  Now I’m sorry I didn’t reorder the Red Rangers. They turned out to be a far bigger win for me than I expected. Although they took 2.5 months to reach their full weight rather than the Cornish’s 2 months, they gained far more weight in those last 2 weeks, doing it by eating mostly grass.  More importantly, they were completely feathered at 30 days. The Cornish never actually get all their feathers. So I’ve decided the Red Rangers are actually a better deal for me, not to mention I had a number of roosters who topped 10 pounds. (Order Red Rangers from now on–on the list.)

And that brings me to the rabbits. I’ve been having an existential crisis over my three rabbits. Oh, the bunnies are doing fine. They get more attention than they like, I think. The sheep are constantly putting their noses up to sniff them or, more likely, sniffing for any good hay they can steal from the bottom of the cages. A number of the laying hens get a kick out of flying up to sit on top of the rabbit cages. Radha dances around under their cages, giving that bark that says she very much wants to “play” with them. I’m sure that would go well and I’m pretty sure they’re not interested in having anything to do with her.

But I look at the three separated creatures in their lonely little prison cells and cringe. You see, everything on the farm free-ranges, albeit sometimes to their detriment. Perhaps you recall the eagle eating my laying hens earlier this year?  That doesn’t stop me from thinking keeping rabbits caged like that just isn’t right for me.

Three days ago, I decided I was going to sell them, or even give them away.  I just couldn’t bear it any more. Of course the next morning, SB (scaredy bunny–my male rabbit) greeted me by dashing around his cage and throwing his half-chewed toilet paper tube around as if in joy. Big girl, the larger of the two does, gave me the stink-eye, which is her usual greeting, then she put her toilet paper tube in her water. Little girl, the other doe, touched her nose to my finger in greeting. Well, dang it. They’re my rabbits now.

So the next step? (Top of the list.) Build a three-rabbit tractor for breeding rabbits.  I found pictures and plans on-line. I have a bunch of ready-to-reuse wood in the barn. Vacation’s over. Time to get back to work.

Sheep-tastrophe

This post is late because, although the writing is finished, the rest of the work has now kicked in. I’m formatting the print book now that the digital version is live. Now onto yesterday’s unbelievable craziness.

Hey, if cats can have their own word for a situation gone seriously wrong, then sheep certainly deserve a word to describe yesterday. It all started out normally, calmly. I put my five little ram lambs out in the front pasture where they’ve been now for a couple of weeks. They’re doing a great job of mowing and cleaning, I might say.  As for the moms and ewe lambs, I sent them to the back pasture.

Then on a whim, I decided to open the gate to the wild hillside. I’d done that for the boys a few weeks back and they had a blast. There’s nothing little lambs like better than skittering up and down rocky slopes. The boys enjoyed themselves so much that they didn’t want to come in at night. They’re doing something similar here in the front pasture, crossing the bridge over the ditch to reach the mulberries and elderberries. Although it’s not was wild or large a space as the back hill, it’s plenty rocky and steep.

Oh no! Girls mingling with boys!

Believing everything was in hand, I went back to the computer to build the print book. About an hour later, I glanced up. From my computer I can see the top of the front barn and the massive cottonwoods that line Oak Creek, and a tiny slice of the front pasture…where Tiny was standing.

WHAT?! I jumped up out of the chair and dashed onto the porch. It wasn’t just Tiny. All six girls were now in the front pasture with the boys. The boys who are now perfectly capable of making more little lambs! This was a complete catastrophe. I had no idea how long the girls had been there. More importantly, I had–and still have–absolutely no idea how they got there. I’d walked the hillside to the forward gate, just to be sure it was locked. So were three other gates between where they’d been and where they were.

This was no time to be castigating myself over what had gone wrong. I needed to stop any more wrong from happening. Down I raced and into the barn I went to grab a half a flake of hay.  A few short steps took me to the gate between my property and my neighbor’s middle pasture. By then, I had eleven sheep all looking for a handout.

Fortunately, nothing stands between my four ewes and the potential of a snack, including their babies. I opened the gate. Tiny bulled her way in, Mari and Rosie close on her hind quarters. Milly’s little boy Blackleg made a dash for it and I slammed the gate on his neck. He backed off, but so did Milly. She remains my shyest ewe. A little more cajoling and gate fluttering resulted in Rosie’s little girl in the pasture, but that was as far as anyone was willing to go.

I stepped inside the gate and stole back a handful of hay. Since both Milly and her sister, Mari’s new little girl, wanted to be with their mother, I threw the hay back of them for the boys. And just like that, I again had separated sheep–although who knows if I have “open” (not pregnant) ewes.

Since what was done was done, I went back to work and suddenly it was time for evening chores. I rose from my desk and looked out at the front pasture and…the gate between Al and Elena’s pasture and my property was wide open.

My jaw dropped. That wasn’t possible. I had chained it myself. I knew without doubt that after what had happened earlier, there was no way I’d missed anything.

I looked around the front pasture. No sign of sheep. Down I ran from the house to the barn. (The ramp that crosses the ditch and leads to the barn is some serious crossfit machine. I run up and down that incline a number of times a day. I figure if I can run up and not lose my breath I’m in pretty good shape.)

Stopping in the open gateway, I look to my right. There, chewing their cud, were all eleven of my sheep. Fortunately, it was afternoon chore time, and that meant Tiny and her girls were once again waiting for hay even though they’d already had their portion for the day. With Christina’s help, they were once again separated and settled for the night. Lately, I’ve been putting the girls in an alleyway and leaving the little boys free to wander and graze.

This is because if Radha chooses to chase the boys, Mr. Headbutts chases back. Watching them play tag is pretty funny. He headbutts her and dashes away. She follows, running circles around him, then dashes away. He follows her and headbutts her again. She had a bone a few nights ago. The lamb kept coming up to her, just trying to smell it. You know, just in case he wanted some. It became a game of “keep away.”

At any rate, that’s my confusing, bizarre, impossible story for this week. I have no idea how either thing happened and I suppose I never will. But I will know in five months if any of those girls were in heat. Sigh.

A little something

This week’s post is going to be short. This is because 1) I’m tired and 2) the book is almost finished and 3) I’m written out and can’t think of anything really interesting to say.

So here’s what I have for today. The ducks that made it through the cull have learned how to come when called. Everything–except Radha when she thinks coming to me might not be in her best interest–here comes when I call and I call everyone the same way so it’s a miracle that everything doesn’t come at the same time. I saw a video some time back about the old way to call home your cows. As if that’s necessary. If it’s milking time, the cows are home.

In this video, a beautiful blonde Nordic blonde woman dressed in white lace (seriously? in a pasture with cows?) called out an ethereal series of syllables that echoed in a gorgeous Nordic canyon. Their bells ringing, her cows came drifting across the fog-cloaked pasture to nuzzle her gently.

Oh right! As if. Mine were either trying to lick the hair from my head or sneezing snot all over me. Needless to say, my calls are a little more prosaic. I clap my hands and shout in my hoarse, old woman voice, “Sheep, sheep, sheep!” Or “Turkey, turkey, turkey.” Or “Duck, duck, duck!”

Hmm, maybe that should be “duck-duck-goose.” Maybe not. There’s someone across the creek from me who has a goose. I wouldn’t want to confuse it.

So after a few days of calling for ducks while clapping my hands, then resorting to a long stick and stepping into the ditch to chase them home, the ducks have yielded. Yesterday, they stood as far from their pen as they could while still watching me. They craned (ducked?) their necks, watching as I filled their water tub and food bowl. Then I turned and clapped, calling “Duck, duck, duck.”

Much to my surprise, they came running and flapping until they reached the chicks in the tractor. The chicken tractor confused them because all of a sudden their pen had disappeared. They stood on the blind side, discussing this odd shift in the space-time continuum, all of them doing that neck thing they do. Meanwhile, the chicks have all rushed to that side of the tractor to watch the much larger ducks in startled surprise. I’m thinking this was the highlight of their day. Now that it’s getting colder, they spend a lot of their day sunbathing, stretched flat out in the grass in a way that has me thinking they’re dead.

After conferencing for a few minutes, one duck took a risk and walked to the end of the tractor. He or she, I’m not certain which, looked back at the others and announced, “You silly ducks! It’s right there.”

That sent them off on another flapping race which needed several slight course corrections before they found the doorway. Even this time, without me herding them, one of the ducks missed the doorway and had to walk in a circle for a moment.

Five ducks and one of them always misses the doorway every day. And no, it’s not the same duck every time. Grateful, I closed the door knowing I’d have two duck eggs in the morning.

And that’s a little something for this gorgeous Autumn Monday.