Molly vs. Lolly

Anyone who has read my blog knows that we have the best neighbors, period.  Recently we've had a run of sheep getting loose.  One of the fence lines is weak and has been breaking when the ewes rub up against it to itch their wool.  Then they push through to get that green grass.  Four days in a row this happened and each day my neighbors helped get the sheep back into the pastures.  The last day I came home from work to find Eric out with wire trimmers and fencing fixing some holes.  Thanks to him and his wife Lola we got the sheep taken care of (but not before the girls munched my new starts in the garden - grrrrr!)

About a year ago Eric got a rescue dog Molly.  She is a golden labrador retriever and was rescued from a puppy mill.  It took her a bit to warm up to us, but she has always loved Jordan and now she will come to see me and Jeremy as well.  Although the cats don't like it when Molly comes over to our yard, Molly doesn't chase them so we don't mind when she comes lobbing over, tongue hanging out.

Memorial weekend we went on a little trip away from the farm.  (My parents come over to do chores.)  We got home Monday and promptly when down to visit all the animals.  We had just started giving oats to the sheep when Eric came over, with Molly.

Lolly following Speckles along the pole barn

Usually when Eric and Molly come down, the chickens are in their run.  But Monday night they were still out free-ranging.  Eric said, "Hi, are the birds getting into your garden?"  And then Molly took off!  She tore down the driveway, past me and after two chickens who were pecking loose oats around the pole barn.  The chickens freaked and ran behind the bard towards the thick snow berries around the creek and culvert.  I could see them flapping and trying to get away from Molly.  Everyone was yelling "Molly, drop it!"  "Molly, get back here!" "MOLLY!"  She came tromping out with Lolly, our Australorp, in her mouth.

Now Molly is a retriever and I don't know if she was ever trained to act as one, but she literally retrieved Lolly and brought her right to me (the closest human).  And it didn't even phase Molly that I was red faced and scream "Drop that chicken now!"  Molly did and Lolly took off down the creek bank squawking the whole way.

That's when Molly realized how much trouble she was in.  She headed back into the snow berries in hopes that we wouldn't be able to grab her.  But Jeremy was livid and went right in after her.  He grabbed her collar and brought her over to Eric who apologized
and drug a reluctant Molly home to spend the night in the dog house.

I went over to see if any other chickens were still in the snow berries and found Henrietta.  She was attempting to make herself as small and still as possible.  I reached down and picked her up - she was stiff, holding her wings and feet in tight.  I put her in the run with the other four, the smart ones that automatically ran into run to escape the dog.  Then we started looking for poor little Lolly.

There wasn't any blood anywhere.  Another good trait of retrievers is they have a very soft bite when getting the prey for the hunter.  But there were feathers.  I followed the trail to the last feather next to a large clump shurbery.  Jordan and I poked around calling for Lolly.  But it's hard to see an all black chicken under thick vegetation.  We looked around for about 10 minutes and then decided to give it a break and hope she would come out on her own.

An hour later we went down to check and Lolly came out.  She followed me back to the run and then let me do a once-over.  There were no puncher wounds but there were some bald spots on her shoulder and wing.  And when she tried to hop up into the coop she couldn't really flap up.  So I lifted her in the for night.  The next morning she decided to not come out.  She kept peeking out the door and then deciding to stay in.  On day two Jordan and I forced her out to eat and drink water, but she then went right back in (with help, still no flapping up).  On day three when we came down for morning chores Lolly was out of her own choice and up on the outside perch, meaning her flap came back.

Lolly feeling all better :-)

Why Junior Scares Me

Junior is the nicest ram ever! He is a mix of Tunis, Suffolk and Katadhin and he loves to be loved. When people go on walks they all stop to say 'hi' to Junior and he will coming running from the furthest end of the pasture if he sees he has visitors. Sometimes when we give Junior oats, if he is feeling particularly lonely, he will skip devouring the feed and opt for pets instead.

This is all well and good as long as there is a fence separating you from Junior. But if you go on the other side of the fence, it is a totally different story.

Rams don't come by there name accidentally. They actually do ram, hard. When we first got Junior he came with is brother Buddy. As they started growing up and going through sheep puberty they started a game of back up and ram each other as hard as is possible. After coming home one day to both bloody we decided it was time to choose one ram for keeps and one to eat. Junior had a better temperament, so we kept him.

Without his playmate, Junior has to invent other things to ram the hell out of. We learn the hard way that if the hay trough isn't secure you'll find it broken to a few dozen pieces and laying in the middle of the pasture. Sometimes he gets so desperate he'll be out there attacking the vine maple. So you can imagine that if anything as big and interactive as a person goes in with him, you become the play thing.

One afternoon there was a knock on the door. I opened it to find Lola, our neighbor, standing there with her arm in a cast. "What happened?!" I blurted out. She said "Well, I'm embarrassed to say because I know better, but I have to tell you." Ok, that's a weird intro to a story. Here's what followed ...

"The neighbors on the other side of Junior's pasture - Ryan's aunt and uncle - hired a landscaper to come trim their laurel bushes along the fence. Lots of the branches fell into Junior's side. They thought of going in to get the branches, but decided not to because of Junior. They came to ask you if you could move him but you weren't home so they asked me. I said sure. I could just move him through the gate onto our upper pasture." Long pause while I shook my head. "So I grabbed a scoop of oats to entice him and opened the gate to our pasture. Well, he charged. The oats went flying and knocking me over. As I got up he charged again hitting my arm. At that point I ran backwards and slammed the gate before anymore damage could be done. I told the landscapers to leave the branches and you'd take care of them when you got home. Then I asked Eric (her husband) to drive me to the hospital."

"I'm so sorry Lola!" Was all I could think to say. "No, it's not your fault. I feel so stupid. I know better than to go in with a ram. I shouldn't have even tried it. I should have just told them to leave the branches."

Since that day I only going in with Junior when Jeremy has grabbed him around the neck and I can halter him and chain him to the fence post to do work. Even then, Junior has almost crushed my hand by pinching it between his jam and the fence.

Moral of the story - rams are called rams for a reason and you'd do well to give them space to do what they will do, lest you end up with a broken arm and bruised pride.

Extra Chicken

We share our driveway with two other houses. It's not as strange as it sounds. The driveway is pretty long and then forks into three private drives leading to the respective houses. One of the houses is owned by Eric and Lola. They've been out here for at least 30 years. And they are the kind of neighbors you hope to get when you buy a place out in the country. The first week we were here our water line busted and Eric helped fix it at 10pm in the driving rain. They always watch our animals if we go away on the weekend. And they make some of the best homemade wine.

When we first moved in, Lola was keeping Araucana chickens. Jordan was 2 1/2 at the time and Lola invited her over to gather some eggs. Araucana's lay eggs with blue shells - very pretty. Jordan got so excited about the eggs that she dropped one. She started to cry until Lola handed her another and said "don't worry, there are lots more where that came from." But after a few years the chore of chickens was getting to be a pain for Lola and she got rid of the chickens. This was about the same time we bought ours (not Araucanas - we have Buff Orpintons and Light Brahmas).

Now that I've had chickens I truly couldn't imagine not having them. They are so fun. Really. They are. They come a-runnin' when they see me, hoping to get some kitchen scraps. They follow me around while I do chores, talking to me the whole time. And they produce food! So it didn't surprise me that Lola only lasted two years without chickens. She bought a group of mix-breed layers last fall. Seven total.

Last night the phone ran. Lola said "This is going to sound strange, but do you have an extra chicken?" She went on to explain that one came up missing the other day. She and Eric looked around for signs of it being eaten by a coyote, but there was nothing. Since our chickens roam about, she thought that perhaps one of her's got out of its run and joined up with ours. Jordan ran down to check and we still just have eight. I hope there isn't a chicken robber out there! I happen to like all my chickens and don't want to loose any.

Lamb Fun

One of the really frustrating things about lambs is their propensity for escaping.

Escape #1: On Sunday, when we were getting prepped for the coming week, Jeremy took a shower and opened the window to let the steam out. He heard a lot of bahhhing; a sure sign something is up. He went out the back deck and saw Mr. Speckles on the opposite side of the pasture and on the wrong side of the fence. The others, including his mom, had headed back to the pole barn and Mr. Speckles was frantic. It was easy enough to get him cornered between the two of us, pounce on him and put him back over the fence.

Escape #2: This morning, I had just gotten out of the shower and, like Jeremy, heard lots of bahhhing. But this time Jeremy was already gone to work and Jordan wasn't up yet. So I quickly threw on jeans and a flannel and headed out. As I opened the door there was a women, in a bright orange vest, standing at the door ready to knock. Turns out her and a friend were out for their morning walk and saw Mr. Speckles (aka "a white and black lamb") on the wrong side of the fence. I went down with her to the end of the driveway. Her friend had a small dog and Mr. Speckles kept thinking the dog was another sheep and heading over to him. But we pushed him towards the stream, I cheetah-pounced, tackled him into the stream and set him, nicely, back over the fence. Glad I wasn't already dressed for work yet - I don't need more adventures in heels and a skirt.

Escape #3: I came home today to Lilly alone on the back pasture and the gate separating that pasture from the front one, which all the others were grazing on, was closed. Lilly was clam but trying to figure out how to get back to the correct side. I'm not sure how she got there, but getting her back was as simple as opening the gate - she walked right back in. After Jordan's swim class there was a message from Lola, our neighbor. Apparently, around 3pm she heard lots of bahhhing (seeing a theme) and when down. Fawn, the 2nd born light brown lamb, was in the back pasture and freaking out. She was ramming into the gate. Lola opened the gate and Fawn went through, but Lilly, for some unexplained reason, went the opposite way to the back pasture and started eating the lush grass (it has been growing, unmunched, for a few months). Lola had no idea how to get her back, so she left Lilly there.

Tonight I moved Patches and Cookie out to the pasture. So now we have another lamb who will probably escape. Then Notag and little Tag, or Bubby, will move out. I'll be spending all my time cornering, pouncing and putting lamb back over the fence.

ROUS's

An unfortunate part of living in the country is rats. (I know there are rats in the city, but I never saw or hear them when we lived in town.) I'm not squeemish about much - mice are fine, I can pick up a snake or frog, spiders (if out side and not in my house) are great, cockroaches do bug me fortunatly we don't have those here. But rats! I really don't like rats. Disease ridden, beady little eyes, nasty worm tail, jagged teeth - yuck! (The hairs on the back of my neck are standing up while I type this.)

Jeremy just came up from feeding the animals and said "It's lucky I fed them today, not you. You won't believe what I just dealt with." My first thought was poop - 50% of the 'you won't believe this ...' are about pig, sheep or chicken poop. Not this time. He continued, "I was grabbing the chicken scratch. Between the container and the large gate door." (We keep feed in large garbage cans and against the gate to the pig pen.) "Was the biggest rat I've seen here. It was about 10 inches long, not counting the tail and it was fat - like half the size of Rosa." (Rosa is our fat cat - see picture.) "It was dead, so I got the shovel to get rid of it. I'd guess it weighed about 7 lbs." That is just disgusting! So glad I didn't do the afternoon feeding today!!

The other rat story is less icky. Eric and Lola had a dog named Cassy. She was old and she considered our yard her's. She was sweet, so it was fine that she hung out with us. One day I was out in the yard. I had just moved some compost on to the garden so the fencing across the compost bin was open (see picture to right of compost bin after it was emptied this spring.) Rats love the compost and I'm OK with that since it is far from the house and I usually don't see or here the rats. Anyway, I turned around and Cassy was head first in the compost, up to her shoulders, trying to get the rats. Her tail was wagging. Cassy, being old, was deaf so I had to walk up to her to get her attention. She backed out and turned towards me - she was actually smiling through the rotten food, hay and poop. She was covered in stink and goo, tail still wagging away. I had to take her up to Lola. I felt so bad "here's you dog, she needs a bath"

Births in the Rain

March 2007

Lambs during the first 48 hrs of life don't produce their own heat. They have to stay close to there mom to stay warm, particularly during cold nights. For this reason, and after the first time lambs were born in the rain, we now breed so that lambs are born in May or June, when the weather is nice and warm. But when we purchased our first sheep we had no idea, at all, what we were doing.

It was March 2007. I had done research and wanted to get a rare, heritage breed of sheep - American Blackbellies. Beautiful - brown with, you guessed it, black bellies. Good moms, but skittish. I found a local breeder and headed out to buy a ewe and her not-quite-one-year-old lamb. The seller said about the ewe, during the course of our conversation, "She may be pregnant." Thinking back, that should have been a big, huge, bright red stop sign, with blinking lights and maybe a siren. But I was excited and there and ready to bring home some sheep.

They were lovely looking out in the pasture, but they wouldn't let us get close. Every night for two weeks, we'd head out to the pasture with oats and tried to coax the ewe in - no luck.

The next Saturday, the day before Easter, it was pouring down rain. I had an early morning class aobut soil. As I was leaving, I saw that the ewe was giving birth. I went back to inform Jeremy and Jordan. And I left.

How could I have left?! Great question! Faith in what I had researched, I guess. I had read that sheep don't generally need any assistance with birthing. (3 breeding season later, I have found that to be true - usually.) So, I figured I could go to the class and Jeremy and Jordan could watch the miricale of birth - right!

After class I was headed directly to a family Easter celebration; Jeremy and Jordan were meeting me there. I got to the party and no Jeremy or Jordan. They called to say that it was going badly with the lambs.

Here is what had happened while I was at class - Like I said, it was pouring down rain and about 40 degrees. The ewe birthed three lambs, one of which was still-born. Jeremy was removing the body and the noticed that the rain had knocked down one of the other lambs. Lambs can "freeze" in cold, rainy weather. Jeremy ran to Eric and Lola's to ask for help. Lola came out, got the lamb and put the lamb inside her shirt.

They knew they had to get all the sheep, including the yearling which wouldn't leave mom's side, under cover. I should mention that the pasture the ewe was on did not have direct access to our barn. The adjacent pasture - on Eric and Lolas property - was just one gate away and they had a pole barn. Problem was that the sheep just bolted when Jeremy got close. He couldn't coral them towards the gate. So, Lola got their temporary fencing (a big, plastic roll - very useful stuff). At this point, with all the running around, the other lamb couldn't keep up with her mom and got knocked down by the rain. Lola had to switch lambs in her shirt. After about an hour of getting ewe, yearling and lamb moving towards the gate just to have one escape, Jeremy, Jordan and Lola were finally able to get the sheep through the gate and into the pole barn. This is when they called me.

I got home, way to late to be of much help. The first lamb that was knocked down wasn't doing well. She kept laying down and not being able to get up; a death sentence in the cold weather because she couldn't stay next to her mom. So we brought her inside. That night I bottle fed her and kept her inside my flannel for about 3 hours. She was the most adorable little thing ever and baaaaed at me when she was hungry. My maternal insticts were in full form.

The next day she spent in a laundry basket with a space heater in the spare bedroom. She seemed good when we got home. Drinking vigorously from the bottle, running around in the living room (and pooping in the living room - nice!). We were concerned that if we kept her inside too long her mom wouldn't take her back and we'd have a bummer to bottle feed 4 times a day for the next 3 months. So we decided to put her back with her mom. The little lamb ran right over to mom and started to nurse. Perfect. We checked on them 5 times before going to bed. Everyone was doing great.

Next morning, Jordan and I went over to check on everyone. The little lamb was down. My heart stopped for a second and tears whelled up. I flew into the pen. She was dead. I wanted to be strong for Jordan. This is all just part of living on a farm - some animals don't make it. But I was devistated and the tears were already on my face. We found a box and put her body inside and in the garage until after work. We burried her that evening. It was the first and not the last death on the farm.

The one remaining lamb was strong and grew up well. We named her Baby. She birthed a lamb, Pixie, the next spring.

Essence of Sheep

September 2009

Got to work this morning and realized I smelled like wet sheep. Not surprising ,the morning I had.

Mornings are crazy. Wake up - shower, dress, make-up, remind Jordan to brush her teeth, breakfast (most important meal of the day), backpack, keys, out the door within an hour - let the chickens out the coop, toss 'em some scratch, give the sheep oats - Jordan on the school bus and me off to work. There is no time for any "problems".

7:30am knock on the front door, which is really strange when you live in the country and generally means something is wrong. It was Lola. Eric and Lola are our neighbors across the driveway. Eric has lived here for at least 30 years. The first week we were in our place our waterline broke. At 9pm Eric drove past Jeremy on the side of the driveway, knee deep in mud. Eric rolled down his window and asked what happened, then drove on to his house. 15 minutes later he was back, in work clothes, with a shovel and said "Bet you'd like to have water in the morning." Good neighbors are priceless!

So Lola was at the door. She said that one of the sheep was out down by the road. She wanted to stay to help but was late for work. I said no problem, Jordan and I could handle it.

We ran down the driveway - a sheep in the road could be bad, for the sheep and the car that might hit it - in full work regalia, including black pumps. One of the yearlings was out; she had pushed under the fence (because the grass is always greener). She wanted back in with the herd and was making a lot of noise - baaaaing at the top of her lungs. The others were ignoring her and just grazing about.

I asked Jordan to stand near the road and be big - arms and legs out - while I approached from the other side, slowly and saying, "It's just me. I want to help you get back in. Don't panic." (I think I was saying it to me more than to the sheep.)

Patches, that's the sheep so named because of the brown-colored fur around her eyes, started pacing. She jerked toward Jordan, who some how got bigger - good girl! Patches jerked back towards me. I pounced and caught her. Now what?! Over the fence? Better than trying to carry the 60 lb sheep back up the driveway to the gate (note to self - a gate down by the road may be in order.)

I told Jordan to help me get Patches' legs over the fence so we wouldn't get tangled up. I heaved, Jordan pushed legs over and dropped her on the other side. Patches was a little jolted. I swear she glared at me like this was all my fault but turned and, very nonchalantly, started nibbling some grass like it was just another morning.

Jordan's coat and backpack, of course, where back up at the house. We started jogging up the driveway and heard the school bus drive past. Fantastic.

I dropped Jordan off at school and raced for I-5. Got to work 15 minutes late - not bad. I rushed to a meeting, sat down, took a deep breath and noticed the faint smell of wet sheep. Great!