Broken Bones & Broken Fences

Here's the thing about having critters, it's the worst. The actual worst. I love them, they hate me. I feed them, they break my ribs. They're bastards the lot of them. After the first days of chaos having Jo home we thought we had it sorted. The yaks were in one area, the cows in another. It seemed to be working and we thought things would settle. Why do we always think things will be okay? They never are. Dylan arrived home one night to the three adult yaks and JoJo in the wrong side of the barn. The human side. Eating the hay we have all stacked up for winter. Bridget, Brisket, Walske and baby Jack were still in the pastures. They are our only good animals, though I'm sure Jack would have also left had he been tall enough to get over the fence shards. The yaks or JoJo had broken the fence, it is unclear who and they will not cave to my interrogations.  Dylan and I had the brilliant idea of blocking them in the barn with our trucks and then just opening the animal side so they could go back within the fences that were still standing. HILARIOUS. We always come up with these plans, in our heads they go smoothly and in real life they are a hot mess of chaos and frustration. Of course as soon as I got near the barn with the truck they scattered. Don't worry guys, I had another brilliant idea. Lead them with oats. How many times do you think it'll take me failing in my oat bribes before I fully and entirely comprehend that they can only be lead with oats when they feel like following? The oat thing didn't work (likely entirely unsurprisingly to you all, though somehow a bit surprising to me at the time). The yaks took off toward the driveway. I carried my bucket of oats, apparently I still had some hope that they'd change their minds and suddenly want the oats. They didn't. Fairly quickly I realized I had gotten myself in a bit of a pickle. Cameron stood in front of me, Mary and Elizabeth to my left and right side, and my tied up bastard dogs behind me. Dylan was down blocking the driveway. I stood there for a moment knowing I didn't really have a direction to go. Towards the dogs and we'd likely have a dog vs yak battle. The dogs would lose. To either side, a me vs. yak battle. I would lose. Forward, same thing. Normally with yaks you carry a large stick, because for some reason they're less likely to attack if you've got a stick, but if you're complete shithouse at being a rancher like I am, all you have is a bucket of oats. I held the bucket out to Cameron he stared at me. Then he lowered his head and I knew he was coming at me. He did. I moved out of the way mostly, so he just clipped me with his horn. It knocked the wind out of me instantly. Fortunately he only came at me the once, then he backed up. Dylan had heard my one or two swears and came up. He had a pitchfork. Somehow we managed to get back behind the yaks and guide them back towards the gate. I spent some time chasing baby Jack around in hopes that he'd start to do his little yell for mom and get them all rushing back. It only kind of worked. Jo and Elizabeth just casually strolled to the broken fence and went back in. I opened the gate and eventually Mary and Cameron sauntered back in as well.
Dylan and I were feeling pretty proud of ourselves. It was all good until the adrenaline wore off and I realized that I was in an exceptional amount of pain. For a day or two I just waited hoping it would get better, eventually I went in to see a doctor. Broken ribs. Endless joy. So now I'm essentially a useless garbage pile. I can't do any of the farm things that need doing. All of this for some entirely ungrateful little jerks?!
Sometimes you're the windshield, and sometimes you're the bug. I was the bug this time.
I spent a couple of days being pretty bitter towards the yaks but I have begun to forgive them. Though they are entirely rude, I do have to respect them for being tremendously powerful and majestic animals. They're just animals, just doing their animal thing. I suppose getting an ass kicking is just to serve as a reminder to me to never ever forget that they are more wild than tame and much much larger than I am.  Hopefully I will never again try to boss them around without the proper tools.

"Look at me, I am the captain now"

Things have settled down now though, Jo is staying within the fences and getting along with the yaks. We got our first snowfall that stuck so I guess winter is here now. Next month the sheep go back in with Walske and the herd. Cher have mercy on our souls.
Somedays we still ask ourselves what the hell we're doing and fantasize about selling it all and going back to living in a city. I don't think we're entirely serious about it though. Depends on the day I suppose. Most days it's 70% joking, somedays it's 70% serious.

Some mornings the farm looks so peaceful and lovely when I wake up in the morning I can't help but love it. Even though I know there is immeasurable chaos and frustration lurking just beneath the surface. I have experienced nearly every emotion since we started this journey, joy included. Though I have not yet found endless joy in the way I was looking for it. It always seems to come to an abrupt halt the moment I start to think we've got it sorted.

The Cow Jumped Over The Moon

My girl JoJo is home. Sunday morning I was leaving my house, in a rush to get my nails done. I got to the end of the driveway and knew that I would end up being late. On our road, going past our driveway was a very large cattle drive in full swing. Can you imagine me uttering that sentence last year? For real though, a cattle drive on a sunday morning just casually down our road. no big deal. As I sat in the truck waiting for what seemed like a hundred brown cows to run by me I had to laugh at my new life. I texted my nail lady, " Hey, I'm going to be late, theres a cattle drive down our road and I am behind it." I watched them go by and boom, right there in the middle was a long haired horned black cow. I jumped out of the truck started yelling and waving my arms like a maniac. " THATS MY COW THATS MY COW THATS MY COW" Of course I was yelling at a bunch of running cows and a guy way ahead of me in a tractor, the people at the back hadn't yet come near me. The cows did not care. I was able to get to the people, they laughed a little and said, "yeah we know it's yours we'll bring her back after we've driven them home." I followed the herd down the length of our road before I was able to turn off being so close and yet so far from our girl was an interesting emotional journey for me. I'm sure the seasoned cattle farmers that had our girl found us hilarious getting so worked up about one cow.

This blurry gem is a picture of the cattle drive

JoJo had joined a herd of cows up behind our neighbours property, we had looked through the area she was in, but somehow we had missed her. She had been hanging with their herd since July. The people had asked around about who was missing a highland, but being as we're new to town, and they aren't on facebook they found no answers. Similarly we had asked the few people we know if they had heard anything about anyone finding a highland. We were just one degree of separation from saving ourselves months of agonizing over our lost cow. The couple that found her in with their herd are just as perplexed as to how she got in as we are as to how she got out. They said that they had checked their fences multiple times trying to find a hole where she could have entered but found nothing. They are far more experienced than we are, so I felt a tiny bit of validation.
The lovely couple brought JoJo home to us yesterday. We expected a beautiful reunion between Bridget and Jo. Somehow despite all of the missteps over the past months we have still not learned to expect the worst case scenario when dealing with animals. Instead of a heartwarming reunion and a beautiful display of cow friendship what we witnessed was three yaks and one red highland gang up on our girl. Cameron our bull got a bloody nose, Jo got him right in the face. Jo and Bridget chased and rammed each other for a while. Things started to settle down after a bit and Dylan and I decided to go back to work on our fence. We had barely gotten started when I looked up to see JoJo at the driveway sniffing around our sheep pasture. The sheep were much happier to see her than the bovine bullies. Jo used to be crazy for oats, she was our resident maniac. She has been without oats and humans for months now though, so she didn't care at all about my bucket of oats as I tried to lure her into the sheep pasture. Eventually though we got her in. The sheep all gathered around her sniffing and bleating pretty happily. So at least we aren't the only ones here to be thrilled to have her back.
After about an hour I went to check on the critters, Jo and Bridget were both at the edge of their respective pastures mooing mournfully at one another. Like they longed to be back together. GIRLS, YOU HAD YOUR CHANCE!

Jo's welcome home party

We plan to put the sheep and Jo in the main pasture with Walske, Bridget and the yaks in December, hopefully by then they'll all be settled down and willing to get along. Little bastards.
Jo is most likely bred now, to a red angus bull so it sounds like this spring we'll have a little mixed breed calf. This of course isn't ideal as we didn't really intend on calving next year. We were hoping to wait until we had a better setup and knew more. Hilarious how I always make these plans like I think things will just go according to plan. We had been hopeful that Jo would have had a calf this year, as she had been bred but she didn't. That disappointment was minuscule in comparison to the joy of seeing her back home (on the right side of our fences). I have to start over again in my quest to get her to accept me but that is a small price to pay. I had given up hope that we'd ever know what happened to her. The mystery of the original escape remains unsolved. Sort of, we know she jumped out of the pasture yesterday, it seems our girl is not only beautiful but also a highly skilled jumper. I imagine she got out the first time and into the other pasture with a  few big jumps.

She is beautiful and majestic and I am over the moon to have her home

YALL, I had to pause while writing this blog because I looked out the window and JoJo was standing on the wrong side of the fence against the pasture where Bridget was. This is my actual life.

I coaxed her into Bridgets pasture with apples and oats, so now I have the two Highland haters and Baby Brisket together. Fingers crossed Jo and Bridge can make up and not cause another jump to freedom. She's done two in less than twenty four hours, so the odds are not good. 

JOJO, why must you do this to me?!!??

I've spread oats and apples throughout the pasture in hopes that it will keep them distracted long enough to mend their fences. (pun not intended but not regretted). 

They look so lovely and sweet, but they are making me crazy. 

I'm going to rename JoJo to something more fitting like, "Hell-ga", "Jumping Jenny", or just "Bane" because she is the bane of my existence and also the villain of Goldie Acres. I love her dearly, but she's quickly becoming what will certainly be the death of me. Maybe she's just a city cow, just trying to make her way off the farm where no one understands her and into the city where she can start a new life of champagne brunches with the girls and I am the evil stepmother forcing her to stay on the farm. Maybe I am the villain.

Creature Comforts

Once upon a time if I heard gunshots while sitting at home I would most assuredly call the police, inwardly panic and avoid going outside. This, like nearly every aspect of my life, has changed dramatically. Now, if I hear gunshots, I immediately go outside, text the neighbors, let the dogs out and check the animals. 

I used to be horrified at the idea of keeping guns in the house. Keeping them locked in a safe in the house eased that, but admittedly not a lot. Now we keep a gun near the door. 

Most of the time my life seems fairly mundane, aside of course from the curiosities that consistently occur. For example, the other night dylan and I came home to two sheep in the driveway. Calpernia and Molly had escaped and wandered around through the day. Scout and Polly remained in the pasture. How odd that they were separated. Typically they never go more than a few feet from each other. I'd expect if two got out, the other two could have as well. While we were staring at the sheep pondering the situation we realized that we had about fifteen chickens out as well. Not all of them, just some. Again, why some but not the others? How is this happening?!?!?

My life seems mundane, until I take a moment to recognize that six months ago I was grossed out by the idea of getting mud on me and today it seems a mundane day to be literally knee deep in poop/dirt/hay. I keep my talons long and sharp just like I used to, though now I often have to scrape all kinds of weird unmentionables out from under them. My clothes all have some kind of mud (or worse) and grass stains on them. I now accept this as normal. Possibly I'll start a fad. 

I haven't even looked at a pair of heels in months, but I don't miss it as much as I thought I would. I like coming home to a quiet home and giving all my little critters a snuggle. I like it far more than I ever expected to. This started as Dylan's dream, but it's become mine too. 

I hate cleaning the chicken coop though, that is not my dream. As a human race we have invented self cleaning toilets, ovens, cat boxes, robot vacuums, folding machines etc. Why is there not a self cleaning chicken coop. How do I invent one? 

In other chicken news, our chicks have grown up. They are finally integrated in with our other hens. They haven't started laying yet, but every day I get more anxious to see their pretty blue and chocolate brown eggs. If they don't start soon I'm sure I'll die of anxiety. 

Our yaks and cows have integrated nicely as well, in another month or so we'll put the sheep in there as well. So fingers crossed for another smooth integration. 

The leaves have begun falling, there's frost overnight and some people are saying we'll have snow by next month so I suppose we're about to find out if we're as ready for winter as we think we are. If the past six months has taught me anything, we are not. We're hoping that keeping all the animals together over the winter will make things easier. Though I'm beginning to accept that there is no such thing as easy when you are as inexperienced as we are. Cher have mercy on our souls. 

I wonder if Jack & Diane ever made it?

I used to spend Wednesday afternoons knitting and watching housewives, shopping and/or patio drinking with my friends. That's not how I spend them anymore. Not anymore. 

This past Wednesday afternoon I was on the phone with my dad wandering around having a nice little chat when I heard Bridget making some very unusual moos. I watched her for a while and she was just running around the fence mooing like mad. For a moment I thought it was some peculiar way of seducing our yak bull. I had a nice little chuckle. I got off the phone and soon realized I had a loose calf. I stopped laughing. Brisket was terrified and running around all frantic on the wrong side of the fence and mama Bridget was just as frantic on the right side of the fence.  

Dylan wasn't home and I, as mentioned earlier, was just wondering around having a nice chat. This means I was lounging about in shorts, a tank top and flip flops. Not ideal attire for chasing cows through the bush and the mud. Despite this I climbed that barbed wire. I'm not good at climbing barbed wire so of course I cut my leg a number of times. I chased him around for a while thinking I could get him back through the fence. Turns out, a calf is faster than me. I also lost two pairs of shoes in the horrendous mud. You may be thinking, "Rachel, why when you got the second pair didn't you put on a pair of boots?" To that I say, " because I am the queen of dumb moves."   

I tried a new approach. I sat down and he came over for scratches as he usually does. While I was cuddling him I had the brilliant idea of just picking him up and putting him over the fence. Again, dumb move. So the thing about picking up a calf is that if they're very young, that's all good. If they're four months old, it's not good. I got my arms around him, and surprisingly was able to get him off the ground. Which is when the shit hit the fan, or more literally my legs. He kicked up a storm, made some scared calf screams which of course made Bridget lose her mind. So now I've got a calf in my arms about an inch of the ground, a mama cow that is going to come through the fence and skewer me, poop/mud all over me and I came to the realization that if I'm struggling to get him off the ground an inch, I'm not getting him over our fence. So I put him down. He ran away. 

New approach. 

I went and got some oats. I also got a dog leash. Still no boots. Still running around the mud and bush with bare feet. ( So many dumb moves) he came over for oats and I got the leash around his neck. For some reason I thought I could just walk him through the fence. Hilarious. I could not. Once he realized he was being led he jumped around, kicked and ran like hell in the opposite direction, me dragging behind. I let go. 

New approach. Wait for Dylan. 

These are my legs while I waited for Dylan. So glamorous. 

This is Brisket, with Rockys leash around his neck. 

This is the distance in which I had to move him. Only a few feet. Which made my endeavour all the more frustrating. So close and yet way too far. 

Finally Dylan arrived home and he held the fence open while I led our baby Brisket through the fence. With two people it took approximately four minutes and was pretty much hassle free. My Queen of the farm ego bruised beyond repair. Also my body. 

RagTag Bunch

It's been a busy month but I'm going to tell you all a little story of two and a half city kids tagging sheep (Dylan is half a city kid because he grew up outside a city but is still kind of a city kid). 

My friend Jake came to visit which was gloriously refreshing. Jake and I met in Vancouver and he's just a little bit more of a diva than I am. Despite this, before he came I had already gotten him to agree to be our sheep and lamb tagging helper while he was here. I had researched how to tag, and if there were any alternatives to piercing my animals ears. There are not. I thought I was prepared. I was not. 

The three of us ventured out in the morning, ready to capture sheep after luring them to us with oats. That worked well for the first sheep. Calpernia was the first up. She is the tamest and easiest to catch. Once we had her munching away on oats I was able to grab her by the horns, pass her off to Jake and Dylan and get the tagging started. The two boys held her still while I prepared the tag gun and her vaccination. I did the vaccine first, one shot into the armpit. That went smoothly. Then I found the spot on her ear where I wanted the tag to go and got ready. I was unprepared for the accompanying crunch. My hands immediately started to shake. I pulled the gun away and for half a second was incredibly proud of myself for getting the tag on. Backwards. 

Scout was next, not to be fooled now by our oat tricks she would come close to the bucket only if we were kneeled down. Once again we learned that you must fully commit to catching a sheep. Fully commit I did. My favourite pair of jeans remains a casualty of our adventure. There are grass and poop stains I'm sure will never come out.  Once we had Scout firmly held I did the shots and the tag. The tag went on the right way and I was once again feeling quite proud of myself. 1/2 is a pass. Polly was next. Fully committed we caught her relatively easily. I had to herd them back from the opposite side of the pasture after Scout because they were absolutely no longer going to be fooled by my meager offerings of oats. Polly got her shots and tag done. 2/3 tags on the right way now. Molly was next. She peed on poor Jake but he had dedicated himself to the role of "Farm Jake" for the week so he only made a few complaints. He was a champ and remained in place holding her still while her tag went on. Backwards. 2/4 back to that 50%. 

Tags are on, half right. Now they all have pretty matching earrings

We had to take a little break in between the ewes and Walske. By this time I wasn't sure whether I was on the verge of tears or hysterical laughter and my hands were shaking so bad I had to sit on them to keep them still. Poor Jake was covered in pee. We needed a beverage break. We had earned it. 

Next was Walske. He was a great deal more difficult to catch because he is both bigger than the others and more aggressive. It does not help that he is a part of the yak herd and our yaks don't love having us come in and mess with their crew. I brought a bucket of oats in with me and Dylan to run interference, (we advised Jake to stand on the other side of the fence) eventually we were able to lure him away from the yaks and finally grabbed a hold of his horns. Normally when I have to grab him and move him anywhere I grab him from the back and then kind of walk him to wherever we need to go. Mistakes were made. I grabbed from the front. He immediately bowled me over. There I am, on the ground in front of him, his big horns still in my hand. Very very aware of my mortality. Fortunately Dylan and Jake were able to step in and rescue me. Walske has bigger horizontal horns than the girls and smaller ears making getting that big tag gun in the right spot a tricky venture. I was finally able to get the tag on though, the right way! 4/6. 

Jake and Dylan held Walske, much to his dismay, while I tagged

The bucket of oats was sacrificed to the herd when I caught Walske and he was happy to return to it.
He went back to the yaks to finish off the oats and seems to have forgotten that I was mean to him. Either that or he's plotting an elaborate revenge. Very difficult to say. 

Of course as it turns out, I used the wrong kind of tags. So all of our efforts were for nothing, we have to do it all again with the right kind of tags in the other ears. Clearly I should have spoken to my farm friend prior to our little endeavour. Once again he reiterated that I should stop googling and start talking to real people like himself. I would save myself a great deal of time. I like to think that this will be the last time I do a terribly silly thing like tagging the wrong tags though it's unlikely. 

Jake and I were able to squeeze in a couple rounds of cow searching though we still have been unsuccessful in finding our missing cow. Previously I would have been astounded at the idea of losing a cow. It's a giant 1000+ pound animal how is it possible to lose one? I am the queen of the farm and also queen of doing ridiculous things so I managed. JoJo our beautiful black highland has been missing for  nearly two months now. One day she was home and happy the next day she was gone. We still don't know how she got out. There remains a small hope within me that she will return. Though it's seeming less likely with each passing day. 

Cattle Drive Us to Drink

Dylan and I are never going to be rodeo stars. I've been told that if you raise livestock, you're a rancher, crops and you're a farmer. Though I'm not sure the two of us are qualified to call ourselves ranchers. On Sunday we had to move the cows from one pasture to another we didn't really consider the logistics of this. I figured I'd lead them out the way I lead them around the pasture. A bucket of oats and they'd follow anywhere. Not accurate. 

We opened the gate oats in hand and the pandemonium began. The cows took off with the sheep close behind. We opted to chase the cows and worry about the sheep later. The thing about driving cattle is that they run faster than we do. Also, they are three and we are two. Two people isn't really enough to move one cow on the loose, let alone three. Despite this we tried. We chased and crept and ran and yelled and did our best to herd them away from the woods and back towards the pasture. After what felt like an entire lifetime we got them into the pasture. Low and behold our beloved sheep followed. For a hot second we were feeling pretty proud of ourselves. Until Calpernia and her lambs casually stepped through the fence and back into freedom. 

Neither of us have ever considered ourselves anything for mutton busting. Good thing, turns out we're trash at it. What we learned however is that in order to catch a loose sheep you must fully commit. A half hearted or wary leap towards them will not be successful. At last I fully committed. I leapt onto Calpernia managing to grab her with one hand tightly gripped to her wool and the other held fast to her back leg. I held fast as she drug me around the chicken coop until Dylan was able to get her around the neck. Finally I was able to get her haltered, which I thought would make pulling her to the sheep pasture easy. I was able to halter and lead the sheep quite easily from the lambing pens to the pasture just a couple short months ago. Turns out it was relatively easy only because they wanted to go that way. It is more difficult to pull a sheep that is determined to go in the other direction. While I was pulling her Dylanwas attempting to herd the lambs behind us. Until the moment Calps leapt up from the ground and managed to ram me with her horns. One in the collarbone and one in the throat. She managed to kick me in the stomach at the same time. From this I have learned that my sheep are possibly not ruminants as I once suspected and are more likely trained assassins. Despite my shock I managed to hang onto the lead though I very quickly rethought my decision to lead her through the pasture and tie her in the shelter. I decided that right where we were was as good a spot as any to let her off. Fortunately her lambs quickly came running to her side. 6/7 escapees were now captured. Scout was a touch more difficult. With Calpernia I at least had the benefit of her not hating me entirely allowing me to get relatively close to her, something I did not have with Scout. I am not a superhero so I could not leap the distance I would have needed to in order to catch her no matter how committed I was. Though there were a number of failed attempts by both myself and Dylan. I'm nearly certain my knees will never recover. I also discovered that Dylan is a touch less reckless than I when it comes to the possibility of catching a horn or a hoof to the face. We had long passed the point of leading her with oats. The frustration and stress of spending hours chasing animals around was getting quite intense. They say most couples divorce over money stress. I'm not so certain. It's possible that escaped critters are the leading cause.

Eventually we were able to work together, myself at the gate and him slowly guiding her towards the other sheep we were able to get our final prison breaker back where she belonged. 

We were tired at this point and ready for bed. But it was just past noon. Precisely wine o'clock if I may get specific. We had planned to also get our tagging and vaccinating done on Sunday. We did not. There comes a point when one must recognize their limits. I was fairly certain that if we spent another moment with our animals they would all end up in the freezer. Sunday our yaks were our most pleasant animals. 

Today I came home from work to discover that one of the lambs was out of the pasture. She had somehow managed to get herself tangled up in the fence and in the process broke off one of her little horns. Bloody mess. 

Catching a lamb much like the mature sheep takes a significant level of commitment. Though you must be more delicate as they are smaller. A difficult balance to achieve. Eventually I caught her and in my infinite wisdom I decided it would be far easier to carry her to the house with me than to put her in the pasture, get the BluKote and try to catch her once again. 

Molly and Polly are not like my little Nugget was. They are bonded to Calpernia and are most full of joy when I am leaving them alone. They are also far larger than Nugget was. They are easily forty pounds. Forty pounds doesn't seem to terribly difficult to carry until it's struggling in your arms the entire way. Molly was fully determined to escape. I knew if I let her down I would never recatch her, so I struggled the entire way. Finally we reached the house and I was able to get her wound sprayed. I sprayed my hands, legs and arms in the process. This is nice because I was always very curious what it would be like to be a smurf. I figured I'd halter her and walk her back to the pasture. Hilarious. The halters were both back at the pasture having been used and discarded during Sunday's escapade. Carrying her back. Endless Joy. One benefit of farm life is that I guess I'll probably get fit, or killed.

After getting her coated up and back to the pasture I checked the time. Wine o'clock again! 

Here are a few pictures. I love that whenever Bella goes to the cow pasture Brisket comes over to give her a little kiss. Melts my cold black heart every time. Also, it's possible that Brisket is the cutest calf ever to live. He knows it too, little bud is all too happy to get right up for a picture. 

Good, Bad & Ugly

I'm beginning to learn things that I suppose are important to learn but that I really would rather not. 

My little Nugget died last week after a heartbreaking 50 hours. On Tuesday morning she was her normal self, we did our farm chores. She followed me around while I fed the animals, raised hell with the chickens as I collected eggs. The norm. We went in the house and she had a little nap in the kennel while I made her bottle, when she got up to eat she was lame in her back leg and shaking. I held her under the heated blanket while she ate and shivered. I made the choice then to take her to the vet, despite the fact that they were closing and it would be an after hours emergency visit. We went, and the vet figured she had a fracture she sent us home after some antibiotics and painkillers. I knew it wasn't a fracture, and I should have been more assertive in my opinion. I explained how that seemed impossible to me, I would know as she's never further than about ten feet from me. Ultimately I figured the vet knew best and I must have been wrong. Nugget and I got home and slept snuggled up together, by the morning she was lame in both legs and not even getting up to pee. We went back in. The vet said it was white muscle disease caused by a selenium deficiency we gave her a shot of selenium and took her blood for further tests. We hoped she would improve. That evening the vet called me to go back once again, Nugget had no white blood cells in her sample which indicated that somewhere internally she had a massive infection. I drove to the vet as fast as my little car would go to get the antibiotics. We started her treatment but by the next morning she had no movement in any of her legs and her little neck had gone rigid. I laid beside her giving her cuddles and pets all night but by the wee hours of the morning I knew she wouldn't make it. I cried my little heart out. For the next hours I lay beside her trying to keep her as comfortable as I could while I waited for her to die. It broke my heart. I had become so confident that she would live a long healthy life as our little pet sheep, I knew she'd likely never be big enough to go back out with the others but we loved her the same as our dogs. A part of the family. 

Speaking of our dogs, while all of this was happening with Nugget, our baby Bella had disappeared. The dogs took off in the morning on Tuesday and were gone for about an hour when I started calling for them. Rocky came home but Bella did not. I started driving around calling for her, then Nugget and I walked down our road calling for her, nothing. 

We went back home. Dylan didn't go to work on Wednesday so that he could look for Bella. I made posters and began putting them up. I called the spca for the second time to finally learn that Bella was indeed there. She had been brought in by a neighbor. We have a very aggressive pyrenees in the area who has been chasing cows and bison and led to a number of calf deaths. Our little baby Bella had been mistaken for that dog while she was out visiting. So the neighbor caught her, easily of course. Bella is just a pup and a very friendly one at that so upon the neighbors approach she rolled over looking for some tum rubs. Our neighbor then took her into the spca. So our baby Bella was labelled as a bovine terrorizer and spent the night in puppy prison. I was hoping that had cured her wanderlust but this morning I put them out and she immediately took off down the road, so it seems her night in jail did her no good. 

It was a stressful three days between looking for Bella and looking after little Nugget. 

Here's the thing I'm learning but would rather have not. Antibiotic free organic livestock raising is what I had thought was the ethical thing to do. What I learned from Nugget is that especially in lambs, disease and infection are easy to prevent but near impossible to cure. Had I given all the lambs a shot of antibiotic when they were born and then again at a few weeks old, Nugget likely would have been okay. Previously I thought I was making the ethical choice, not putting unnecessary injections into my little baby cows, yaks or lambs. Now I'm trying to reconcile the morality of letting some die from easily preventable things rather than treat healthy ones unnecessarily. It seems to me that letting some die is not the ethical thing to do. 

This is a side of raising livestock that I had never really thought about. 

In other farm news, Bella is now living the grounded life, inside or tied up. This is not her favourite thing, but the chickens sure are happy. She killed another chicken last week, my one consistent layer. My chickens are the worst. Sometimes I have too many eggs and they lay like crazy, other times, they give me maybe a few eggs a day if any at all. Though probably Bella is causing them some stress. We've adjusted the coop and run though, so they appear to be much safer! 

Jo-jo, Bridget and Brisket (the cows) have really warmed up to me. Brisket comes right over for cuddles and scratches, he loves a good ear scratch. Jo-jo is an actual maniac. She is crazy for oats. If I go in the pen without oats she licks me. From my feet to my head. It's so gross. The first time it happened I thought I was going crazy. "No way she just licked me!!" I thought. The girl will barely tolerate pets, I figured getting close enough to lick me of her own free will would be out of the question. It was not. She will lick and lick until I either leave or give her oats. She is okay with either but prefers the latter. Have y'all ever been licked by a cow?! It's a most jarring experience. The thing about it is that she's about ten times my weight, which makes it nearly impossible to push her away. By "nearly" I mean entirely. So that has become her thing now, no longer am I afraid of being skewered, just of being licked. Particularly frightening if I'm wearing shorts. Bare leg licks are incredibly gross. 

She is beautiful, and I love her but the licking is a bit much. 

My other two lambs, Molly and Polly are doing really well. They're growing quickly and are super active. Neither of them particularly like my company however. I've been trying to win them over with oats. I am never above bribery. 

My little yak calf, Jack is also getting big! He's growing well and quite curious about me, much to his mamas dismay. I haven't yet braved the wrath of mom and tried to pet him, but my day will come. I will win his love. 

Did you know that sheep and cows love to eat leaves? They climb up on the tree trunks and eat the leaves. They'll even bend or break branches off trees or break the entire tree down if its small enough. They're all psychos. 

Look at this maniac. Absolute craziness. Never a dull moment. Yeah 

One, Two, Three, Four

As most of you know, surprises are not my thing. I do not like surprises even a little. It is entirely necessary for me to know when things are going to happen so I can efficiently stress over all the minor details and possible scenarios ahead. Since moving to a farm this is especially true. We've found that surprises on the farm are mostly, SURPRISE, the yaks escaped, you have a bottle lamb, your dog at the chickens, theres a cougar/coyote/bear in the vicinity. Today however we got a very different surprise. A yak baby. 

 Dylan and I were really fortunate to have spent the weekend remembering why we bought this land in the first place. Since moving in at the end of March it's been a steady stream of stress and things going wrong. Things were getting pretty tense out here. Dylan was able to get the weekend off work and we spent some time exploring our property, something that we hadn't yet done with the exception of looking for yaks. Turns out 160 acres is a lot. It's so much more land than we know what to do with. While we were out there though we came across a few spaces that we'll keep in mind as possible build sites. It was really nice to have a couple of days to just enjoy the things we've been working so hard for/on. The stress over animals lambing and calving is done, the lambs are here and healthy. Little Nugget is doing super well, growing like a weed and being a huge pain in the ass. Calpernia's lambs are rambunctious and fat very healthy little ladies. Everyone is out in a pasture which is nice for me because I don't have to feed and water them a bunch of times a day, they can handle that on their own. Dylan fixed our kitchen sink last night so we finally have a functioning sink which feels like a luxury after so long. We enjoyed a nice little fire and Sunday night and despite the number of times we've regretted this move we were happy.

Our little Sunday night fire

On Friday our highland cows arrived. Two beautiful heifers and a little perfect steer calf. I always said that hell would freeze over before we got cows, but hell ain't frozen and we've got three Hairy Coos. We first saw Highland Cows in Scotland a few years ago, and even I had to admit, they were pretty damn cool looking. So now we have some of our very own. They are even relatively tame, I may be able to pet them at some point!

Meet Bridget (Ginger), Brisket (Calf) & Jo-Jo (Black w/ Bieber haircut)

Last night we wen't to bed thinking that all of our animals had either been delivered or been born and we would have no new additions until next years batch of lambs & calves. SURPRISE! NOW WE HAVE FOUR YAKS. Last night before we went to bed the yaks and Walske were in the back part of the pasture, not terribly unusual as it's thickly treed back there and makes a nice retreat from our billion degree days. This morning, they still weren't up at the front. Clearly I'm still dealing with yak panic after their last escape because not seeing them at night or in the morning sends me into an immediate panic. Out I went as fast as my little legs would carry me to circle the pasture and ensure they were still home. As I rounded the corner a tiny black and white spotted thing ran into the trees. More panic. My initial thought was that one of our lambs had gotten out of their pasture and into the yak pasture. As I was thinking about how I would possibly get the little one out I realized that there was no way I had an escaped and lost lamb and an entirely calm Calpernia. It was then that it came out again and I realized that in fact we had a yak calf. I think I've mentioned this before but yaks are more time costly than cattle to breed, they don't typically come of breeding age until they are nearly three years old, very rarely will they come into season at two years old. They only breed once a year, and being as our girls are just two years old we anticipated breeding them next year and getting calves in the spring of 2019. They don't breed the year after they've calved so you typically end up with one calf every two years after they've hit three years old. This is a significant bonus for us. Now we either have a yak bull that we can raise with our cattle and breed HighYaks for meat, or we can band a bull calf and raise it for meat. If it's a girl, we have a third female yak to use as breeding stock for our lovely bull Cameron. Either way we're happy little farmers today. I of course can't get close to it at all so the sex is still a mystery. Mama Mary (C20-2) is terribly protective which although painful for me because I just want to snuggle it, is a good thing.

Mary and her new baby (also Walske)

Every day is an adventure y'all. Someday we'll look back on our first year of farming and we'll hopefully laugh. So far every day is a new surprise good bad or lovely, we take it one day at a time.

Cabbages and Kings

It's been an eventful week! We have a new farm hand, I call him farm hand Cody. Actually I only called him that once but it was good while it lasted. With Cody's help we were able to get the fence done. The barbed wire has been tightened, new posts pounded, farm fence attached over the barbed wire, and the gate attached. We are now ready for the sheep and lambs to be moved into their new pasture where the cows & calves will also be. A little nursery pasture if you will. 

I have been sick the last few days, I believe it's little Nuggets fault, because I didn't sleep well for the first week and a half of her life. 

Animals are entirely unsympathetic to my illness. They're a bit selfish really. I guess just farm life in general is a bit uncaring whether you're sick or sore or tired the work goes on. 

Despite having the plague I went out and attempted to plant the garden. Here's the problem. Y'all know I'm a cactus killing expert? I can take a thriving plant and kill it within days. It's one of my many secret talents.  I also don't know my weeds very well. The previous owners of this place have the garden set up into six different beds. Each of those beds seemed to serve a different purpose. Which is fine in theory, and if you know what's in there. I however do not. So I'm digging out dandelions and the dead stalks from last year when I begin to realize that there are a number of things other than dandelions growing and I'm not sure whether they're weeds or veggies/herbs. Years ago a friend of mine, our yak bulls namesake Cameron, had mentioned that there was a Shazam like app for plants. When he talked about I mostly just tuned him out, for two reasons; 1. I hate plants and nature and don't care about nature related apps 2. He was always telling me about a cool new app that I would never learn to use

This tidbit though I was wishing I had paid more attention to. I google "Shazam for plants" and download the app, Maybe the app would be really helpful if you knew more about plants. I took a picture of my questionable plant and my results were the least helpful. I'll post a screenshot. The top picture is my weed suspect. That's it though you guys, just gives you a name for a possible match. Then if you're like me and don't know shit you have to go to google and google the plant to find out about it. As it turned out, none of those plants the plant app came up with were the same as mine, so I'm probably watering a weed now. 

 

It's fine though, I suppose I'll find out later on. On the plus side, one less thing I had to dig up, so that's a win for me. 

I am too ginger for this life though. It was 30 degrees and super sunny when I was out murdering plants/weeds and getting terribly dirty and sweaty. I had coated on some trusty spf 90 and when I went in the house I still had a bright red sunburn. Turns out I moved to a land where seven months of the year it is barren and a person is sure to freeze to death and four months of the year your face will melt off the bone from the unbearable heat. There is a nice two weeks on either end that are pretty nice. So I've got that going for me. 

Our little Nugget, which was just a nickname I gave the lamb but has now become her name is doing well. She's 16 days old and going strong! She sleeps through the night as long as she gets a good feed right before bed and very early in the morning. This is also nice. Her and our dogs have started to become friends, Rocky for the most part just ignores her, he got very excited about her once and jumped up, I yelled at him and now he just stays away. Rocky does not like to be in trouble, which is why he's been such a good dog. Bella on the other hand absolutely does not care about being in trouble. She is obsessed with Nugget and licks her constantly, despite both mine and Nuggets protests. But they do look hella cute together! 

 I've been working on trying to get Nugget to eat grass, with no luck. By working on, I mean I've been picking tiny pieces of grass and putting it in her mouth, she typically spits it out with a little shake of her head just to let me know she finds it entirely repulsive. Yesterday I even pretended to eat grass in hopes that she would "learn" from me. Calpernias two lambs (Nuggets aunts) were eating hay and oats by five days old. Our girl is far behind. She does however love to eat my hair, which her aunts have never gotten into, so maybe she just dances to her own beat. It's really hard to say. 

Walske is doing well, and ruling the pasture. I expected that King Cameron would put him in his place and he would stop bossing around the yaks, but he hasn't. Now he just bosses around all three of them. They make a pretty cute/weird looking herd though. 

 

As a collective I would say things are going relatively well. Though we have days of crushing stress and complete chaos we make it through. The sun comes up on a new day and we try again. Rinse and repeat, just rinse and repeat my dudes. 

Here is a list of the critters we have or have coming:

-6 Jacob Sheep, 2 ewes, 1ram and 3 ewe lambs

- 3 royal yaks

- 3 highland cows, 2 heiffers and one steer calf

- 25 hens & 2 roosters (8 white leghorn hens, 17 mixed breed hens) 

- 10 chicks (still living in the house, Cher help us) 5 marans & 5 americauna 

- 2 potbelly pigs (though they haven't arrived and I'm unsure if they ever will) 

And of course two of the cutest dogs in the world

 

King Cameron

It's not even 10:30 and I've already had a day full of excitement. 

I started out noticing that my dearest Walske was limping. A couple of nights ago he got baler twine somehow caught up in his back foot and around his horns. We cut that off and thought we were in the clear. We were not. Today when I noticed his limp I also realized that the twine had wedged itself in between his hoof and wrapped around it. Which obviously poses a significant risk for our boy. So I went into the pasture, which is in itself a significant risk to me with our grumpy yaks. I got him to follow me around with treats but he soon realized I intended to put him in the pen. He did not leave a nice review the last time he stayed there, so he was having no more of my treats. Which meant I would have to wrestle him in. Wrestle him in I did. The thing about that is that Walske is about 350lbs, and has four horns to skewer me with. So wrestling him is quite the procedure. First I have to grab his two vertical horns in order to prevent him stabbing me, then I have to straddle his back I have to simultaneaously pull him forward and nudge his back end with my foot. It's hard to do, but I imagine it's hilarious to watch. I was finally able to get him into the pen and then attempt to get the twine cut off. Even though I was trying to help him he didn't care. He was still quite displeased. Eventually with some help to hold him I got it off. Now he'll have a few days in the pen to help him heal. Not his favourite place. He gave it a 0 star review. 

The yak bull is here. At last a boyfriend for my girls! He's so beautiful and majestic. I'm sure the girls will think he's very handsome! He's much bigger than the girls but the same age, they're all 2 years old. He's also a bit more tame, not in that I can pet him, just in that he probably won't charge me if I look in his direction, only if I go near him.

 

Hopefully sometime next year, or the following year we'll have yak babies. I hope to at least tame one of the babies so that I don't take my life into my hands every time I go near them. Yaks are seasonal breeders, unlike cows so they only breed once a year when the time is right. Once they calve they don't breed again for two years typically. It'll be a slow process to grow a big herd! I think we're going to call him Cameron! In another fun councidence I was worried about having to change their tags, because you know, they'd kill me. But, the farms we bought them from both used similar tag systems. So we can just keep the tags as they are and use the same system for any future yaks we get! 

The bottle baby is doing really well, she's five days old today and almost the size Calpernias twins were when they were born. Apparently if she makes it to ten days we're in the clear. Five more to go! 

 

 

The first picture is our bottle lamb yesterday (4 days old) and the second is one of Calps babies on the day they were born. She's not quite as big, but nearly! 

Calps lambs are doing well! They're plumped up and so full of vigor. They run and jump around like maniacs. They, like their parents, DO NOT LIKE PETS OR SNUGGLES. I have a difficult time trying to get them used to it because Calps is a very protective mama, so whenever her babies make the sound of an unhappy lamb she's right there to beat the source (me) until I stop. Which is immediately. 

 

My chickens are doing fairly well, I've kept the mean hens and the young hens separated for quite a while now, but I've put a barrier in between them so they can get used to seeing and hearing each other. I'm hoping to integrate them back together within the next few days. It has to be fairly quick because my little chicks are growing quickly and will need to be integrated into the flock fairly soon as well. 

Everyday is an adventure! 

Who Have I Become, My Sweetest Friend

My home is not only a full fledged construction zone but is also now a baby animal barn. I have all ten chicks still on the dining room table. I also have little nugget (which is not her name, I decided not to name her until after ten days so as not to get attached.) sleeping in the living room. I've got baby bottles, baby chicken food, lamb milk etc spread out through the house. I was told to expect a couple of the chicks to die after the first day, they said, "if you hope for twenty chickens buy twenty five." I hoped for ten, and I'm nearly there! In another week or two they should be ready to get out of the house and into a special baby chicken coop outside. I still have to build that coop, fingers crossed it goes more smoothly than the last one!
The lamb is doing shockingly well, far better than I imagined. She's eating lots and easily. Last night I had a bit of a scare, she hadn't pooped for a while. I googled, as I do. I terrified myself with all of the possible things that could go wrong, I massaged her little bum hole (WHO HAVE I BECOME), I wiped her down with a warm cloth. I was ready to give her a baby enema when I remembered my grandmother saying about her dogs who occasionally faced the same problem, "Give them a little bit of vegetable oil, it'll get em moving." I will admit, I didn't ever follow her advice. I have never given any animal or human a spoonful of oil, until last night. HOT DAMN, Grams was spot on. Thanks little Gma for yet another pro trip that saved me!
Within about twenty minutes she gave me some poops to clean up. I nearly cried with joy. Apparently my entire life will now just be me worrying about what goes in one end and comes out the other. I'm unsure if I'm still a normal person or not if I can get so fired up over having to clean up a lamb poop.
I have to get her a little suit or something to wear, I would like for her to be outside sometimes enjoying the sunshine and the grass but she gets too cold. Grams always said that there was nothing better for a sick baby than some fresh air and sunshine, except for me of course. I was allergic to the sun as a baby.

We had a two minute adventure outside before she got chilly

She is a precious little thing, I'm trying not to get attached but this morning after her 7:30am feeding we had a nice three hour nap together on the couch before her next feed. So I'm not sure if I'm doing the "emotionally distant" thing the right way. How can you not fall in love with a teensy tiny baby that cuddles up under your arm and puts her head in your hand to go to sleep?! You would have to be dead inside, and though I have moments that I believe/wish I was, clearly I still have a tiny grinch heart beating because it is full of love for her. 

In other news, our yak bull is coming tomorrow! How exciting is that!? Maybe next year we'll have little tiny baby yaks running around, though I hope with all of my heart that the moms will be the raisers, not me. I haven't had a decent sleep in so long. I'm constantly tired. The difficulty is that none of the other animals understand/care that I have a tiny baby to look after, they're just like, "bring me treats human servant!" They do not cut me any slack, none at all. Calpernia and her lambs are doing so well, the babies have fattened up and are spending their days climbing all over mom. Next week I think they'll be ready to leave the pens and head on out to the pasture! Not with the yaks of course, their own little nursery pasture. Mostly I'm just waiting for the babies to get big enough that they can't fit through the holes in the wire sheep fencing. 

It's been a roller coaster out here on the farm, some days I feel like I can do anything, and somedays I feel like I'm terrible at farming. Today though, I have kept a baby sheep alive that the vet said would probably die, so I'm feeling like a damn QUEEN! 

Sleepy little baby, this is probably my favourite thing she does

Our Sweet Baby Angel Sheep

Yesterday we welcomed a new little lamb. Into our home. Inside of our house. 

I went out yesterday afternoon to feed and water the ewes and there in Scouts pen was what I thought was a dead baby. Head buried under hay in the corner of the pen, folded in half only her back legs and tail were visible. I was heartbroken. I picked the baby up, and though she was cold to the touch and covered in dried birth goo (I'm fairly sure that's the official term) as I walked out of the pen with her in my arms I realized she was still breathing. I ran to the house with her as fast as my little legs could carry us. I warmed her up and cleaned her off, desperate to get her going enough to get some much needed colostrum into her. Once she was clean and warm I took her back out to Scout, where I quickly learned why she ended up crumpled in a corner. Scout had rejected her entirely, when I took her in to try to get her to nurse Scout tried to head but her away. So I tied Scout up and held her against the wall. It was to no avail. The baby had a head that was all swollen from a difficult lambing and was unable to suck. I tried to milk Scout myself which is when I realized that she didn't have any milk. Her udders were small and empty. 

I realize that I'm going to have to bottle feed the store bought colostrum. Baby lamb and I run back to the house. I mix up the colostrum in a frenzied almost manic way and get the bottle. She can't suck. She can't stand. I tear through the house ripping apart any and everything in search of a medicine dropper, nothing. I find a turkey baster, that doesn't work well. I tear through the house again and find an old visine bottle. Tear it open wash it out and start the drip feeding, 15mL at a time. 

I know that I need to get more in her and fairly fast because I don't know what time she was born and the colostrum is best a few hours after they're born, without colostrum in the first 24 hours she will die. I call the vet. Rush her in, the vet tube feeds her and shows me how to insert the tube through her mouth and into the esophagus. The vet gives her a shot to help with the swelling but tells me not to get too attached as she's very small and has a number of hurdles to overcome already. Her legs are so swollen from being crumpled up and cold that she may not be able to stand without splints or wrapping. Her face is swollen, she was hypothermic. 

I pick Dylan up and we head home with our fragile little baby. Before we go home we stop and pick up diapers for her, and some smaller baby bottles hoping the smaller nipple will be easier for her. I clearly look a mess, my norm these days. The lady at the till says, "oh, I remember these runs" as she rings up my baby supplies, "I do not miss that at all." "It's for a lamb." She stares and I realize that I've made her feel weird, but I'm too tired and stressed to care. We are already attached. The moment I realized that I may be able to save her we were attached. I sleep on the couch with her in a bin on top of a heated dog mat, I give her my most coveted possession. My heated blanket. I wake up every couple hours to feed her, we've been able to get her to to suck on a bottle a few times so we're making progress. 

Scout at this point has still not let down any milk, so now we're on a hunt for people nearby with nursing sheep. I've taken some from Calpernia, but the vet advised me not to take too much as she has twins and may have difficulty producing enough for all three. 

I thought it would be so cute and fun to have a bottle baby. It is neither cute nor fun. I am a puddle of love and dread. If love alone will save her, she will be okay. 

Dylan, Mr. Tough Guy suggested at what point we keep her in the bed with us. Which was the first time I laughed all day. He won't even let our dogs in the bedroom, let alone on the bed but he's willing to let a baby barn animal in there with us. He refers her as our "sweet baby angel sheep". It seems neither one of us have heeded the vets recommendations. 

 

 

In case you were wondering, that is a sock that I've cut up to put on her in hopes of keeping her warm. One of my fuzzy warm socks. Another one of my treasured possessions. My life has gone to the sheep it seems. 

I would do anything for love, but I won't do that

Another glorious day out here on the farm. Of course by "glorious day" I actually mean a new day full of new horrifying things. Monday from hell up in here.
Yesterday was shaping up to be a relatively decent day. We ran out of water over the weekend, so I was looking forward to the water guy coming and being able to take a shower for the first time in days. That's just the kind of life I live now.
I enjoyed my coffee, and went out to check on the critters. I was greeted at the door by Bella, our beloved Pyrenees puppy covered in blood. All over her face, her mouth, her paws, everywhere. Goodbye happy day, hello and good morning day of horror. It's like the prom scene from Carrie, except Carrie is Bella and I'll find out later it ain't pigs blood. At some point maybe I'll stop being entirely horrified and surprised by these types of occurrences. Or maybe if we ever figure out what the hell we're doing the incidents will cease, could go either way.
I steeled myself to find the source, sure that she had impaled herself on something, or been attacked by the yaks. I readied myself for an emergency trip to the vet once I finally found the source of all the bloody mess. Nothing. Not a scratch on her. This happened with Rocky the other day, so I was curious but not entirely alarmed. Figuring maybe she had gotten a rabbit or some other kind of small wild creature.
I do my rounds, check the yaks and the ram, check on the ewes and the lambs. Still no baby for Scout. Then the chickens.
Remember that poor little chicken that had gotten nearly pecked to death by my mean old lady hens? Sunday night I put her in the barn because they kept going after her and I've put a significant amount of time and effort into nursing her back to health. I look in the barn to see how she's doing and ensure her wounds haven't gotten infected. No sign of her. Not unusual as our escaped chickens normally just circle the coop searching for a way back in. I go to the coop. She's still not there. This is when the cold harsh reality fish slaps me right in the face. It crosses my mind that maybe it was her that Bella got. I quickly shove that thought from my head. She's a guardian dog, and she's with chickens all the time, she never goes after them. Shame on me for thinking that.
NO, SHAME ON BELLA!!!! As I'm thinking all of these things about my precious sweet baby Bella, the little bastard comes trotting over with a mostly eaten chicken wing in her mouth. She lays down and starts chomping down on the feathers so nonchalant. I am shocked and horrified. Rocky immediately knows they're in trouble, so he slinks down and starts to whimper. Bella stares at me while I'm yelling at her and wags her tail. She's a psychopath. I take it away and she immediately runs to the spot where she has buried the few remaining parts of the chicken. BELLA HAS EATEN MY WOUNDED BABY CHICKEN. This poor chicken, she just couldn't catch a break, despite my best efforts. By this time I'm a sobbing ball of hysterics, because 1) I don't know what to do 2) I have to pick up chicken pieces 3) I'm sad for the little hen 4)I'm afraid we'll have to get rid of Bella.
I decide to tie Bella up and leave the chicken remnants for Dylan, because I will do anything, except that, or so I think in the moment. Turns out that I will do that. I can't leave her pieces out there, it just doesn't feel right. So I pick up the few remaining pieces of Baby Blue, which is what I named her because she was so sad and small and all the hens were mean to her and because I had to put a blue ointment on her wounds to prevent infection.
Then I get to work on researching what to do with a Pyr puppy that kills and eats chickens. I find lots of info about dogs killing chickens but not eating them. I go further into the google search results. PAGE 4! Honestly I'm not sure I've ever even gone to page 2 before, but I'm desperate for some answers. Finally I find a person out of Saskatchewan who deals specifically with rehabbing and training "failed" LGDs. (LGD = Livestock guardian dog)
I spent nearly two hours on the phone with her finding ways to deal with the situation. Here is a fun fact I learned. LGDs will instinctually kill and eat sick/injured flock members in order to keep predators away from the healthy flock members. Horrifying right? She gives me a lot of insight into Bella's instincts and prey drive. She says I have only one option if I'm willing to give Bella another shot. Put a healthy chicken outside the coop, if her prey drive is what drove the first killing, she will kill this one and I will have to find her a new home without small animals, or children. If it was an aspect of her guard instincts she will not kill this chicken and I will be able to train her not to kill and eat sick and wounded animals.
SO NOW I HAVE A SACRIFICIAL CHICKEN. So far Bella has left her alone, fingers crossed this chicken remains safe. It is incredibly hard for me to align myself with this experiment morally. I'm not sure I'm even doing it correctly, I watch Bella like a hawk. Hoping that if I see her going after the chicken I can prevent another death and still get my answer, but she hasn't even gone near the chicken when I'm around. So I'm unsure whether that's because she is a good dog or if it's because I'm an overbearing chicken & dog mom.
On the positive side of my farm life, my yaks have remained home, no more adventures for them. They've even begun to accept Walske as a member of their herd, which is good in that they don't constantly fight, but bad in that Walske now won't even come near me for oats, let alone let me pet him.

Casual grazing as a little peculiar herd

Calpernia and the babies are doing so great, she will sometimes even let me touch them. Sometimes, is the key word. Most of the time she headbutts me until I'm done giving them their daily checkup. My legs are covered in bruises from my feet to my hips. Glamour everyday.

The two little babies

Getting LIT at the milk bar

My little baby chicks are growing up so fast! One of them is nearly twice the size as all the others, I'm fairly sure she's been sneaking out at night to juice on the side. We call her ChickZilla or Biggie Smallz.  Their little feathers are growing in and I'll admit that I'm a bit sad to see the fluff going away. I've been calling the all girls, but I wont know for several more weeks if they're roosters or hens. Fingers crossed for hens, that are not old lady mean. Some of them have wing feathers that look almost too big for their little bodies which I find endlessly entertaining. Awkward gangly chicks, pure gold.

You may think the black one in the back is nearly as big, she's not. She's actually the smallest, she's standing on her sister

My quest for joy out here has been hard the last couple of weeks, but I catch glimpses of it every now and then. I'm getting there.

Rocky Didn't Even Get Me A Card

It's Mothers Day today, I had planned to be in Prince George visiting my mom, and Dylan's mom but alas, I live in a land of eternal hell so I was unable to go.
Turns out that was for the best because not only have I rattled some important things loose on my car with all the dirt road driving I do now. It has been raining for three days. Not a happy springtime sprinkle, but a brutal massive flooding type rain. Our road is washed out in two spots the creeks near us our totally flooded. People near us have had to go pull their cows and calves out from the creeks and over flowing dugouts on their property.
I mentioned previously how my chickens are mean to each other, they have not improved. I have improvised a short term solution. Part of which involved me building a secondary chicken coop. which needed to be done before my chickens drowned in the rain. I planned to do it myself because I am an independent lady.
I pride myself on being able to do most things on my own. My mother and grandmother taught me pretty early on how to use tools and I like to consider myself relatively handy. Dylan is a carpenter so since I've been with him he does all the handiwork. Not because I'm incapable, but because I am incapable of doing things that are up to his standards. Fair enough. The chicken coop I figured would be fine for me to do on my own seeing as I was making it out of all the garbage lumber that was discovered beneath the snow on our property. So I got to work.
Task #1 9:00am
Locate the tools I would need.
I could not find the tools I needed so I found a hand saw, a hammer and nails, and that's it. I had also found a drill and screws, but I couldn't get the drill to work and Dylan always tells me not to break his tools, so I was afraid to keep screwing around (pun intended) with it in case I ruined it.
Task #2 9:15am
Gather up the garbage/"material"
This involved me ripping pieces off of a
tree house, pulling things out of dirty mud holes covered in slugs. My life is so glamourous.
Task #3 10:00am
Get to building
Things were far more difficult than I anticipated, if only I had found a drill I knew how to use and some screws. I hammered and nailed until my little arms felt like jello. I sawed materials until I truly believed my back was going to just break off. But I got it finished. It looks like garbage, because it's made from garbage, but it does the job. Keeps the chickens out of the weather, and gives them a place to lay their eggs. I start to walk to the house and I realize that my little legs can barely even move. I'm not sure when I was this physically exhausted before. It's a small coop, three nesting boxes. Its just big enough for me to give the six mean chickens a place to go.
I'm trying to walk back to the house, willing myself to start dinner so it's ready when Dyl gets home, I assume it's about 3:00pm.
I'm sitting down on the porch when Dylan drives up. This means it's actually 7:00pm. WHICH MEANS IT TOOK ME NINE HOURS TO BUILD A TINY COOP OUT OF GARBAGE. He looks concerned because I look exactly as good as I feel, I tell him about my coop. He is a good man, so he says, "I saw it, it looks good." We both know he's lying. I tell him about how tired I am after using the handsaw to cut all the material. He is not sympathetic. The worst part about him being with a carpenter is that he does that kind of thing all day every day so when I have to do it one day and whine to him, he hasn't a shred of sympathy to throw my way. We go in the house together where he can see immediately what tools I've used. He's not even through the door and he starts laughing.
"OH MY GOD, RACHEL, I'M SO SORRY. I FEEL SO BAD FOR YOU." He yells through his laughter.
I'm beginning to feel vindicated.
"THAT IS NOT A SAW FOR WOOD! Thats a hack saw, it's meant to cut through small pieces of metal, plastic etc. I used it for pvc pipes. It's barely got any teeth on it. You seriously cut every piece of material with this? HOW?!"
I feel less vindicated, much more embarrassed. But alas, the coop is done and my mean old granny hens have a place to lay their terribly infrequent eggs and stay warm.

They don't use it. They lay their eggs in it, not in the nesting boxes, just on the ground in it. They stayed outside during the apocalypse rain. I worked so hard to build it for them and they'd rather stand outside looking like drowned rats. I thought maybe they didn't like it, so I set up tarps for them to go under to get out of the rain. They didn't like that either. I've now given them four different options to get out of the rain, they choose none of them. They are terribly ungrateful.

Just like Rocky, he's an ungrateful little mutt too. This is the third mothers day that has passed and once again, he has not given me a card. Just a little bit of drool on my pants. He's very generous with his drool. I love him despite this.
Happy Mothers day to my mom, who taught me how to use tools, but apparently left some learning for me to do on my own. Happy Mothers day to all of the incredible women that have shaped me into the hot mess of a farmer I am today. I've been fortunate to have had a village of strong and intelligent women guide and support me through my life.

Teensy Tiny Babies

Calpernias first baby, the easy one

Okay guys. Last night was bonkers.
I had checked Calpernia relatively obsessively for a couple of days. Ultimately I decided that I must have been way off in my lamb predictions and quit checking every couple hours with all the gear I may need for lambing. So last night around five I went out to chase a circling hawk away from my chickens. On my way in I figured I'd stop at the lambing pens and check my girls. THERE WAS A BABY. I was immediately relieved that lambing had gone well and stayed to make sure she got up to nurse. Then the second one started, the relief left me rapidly, I did not have my gloves, my bottle of colostrum in case she wouldn't let them nurse, I HAD NOTHING and Dylan wasn't home. At first I thought I could see the baby's nose. That was alarming, sheep are supposed to come out front feet first, then more of the legs appeared, I relaxed. Then the tail appeared, and I realized her sac hadn't broken I was petrified. I was frantically texting my farm friend during this. He tried to call, my phone froze up, I knew it was bad if he was calling and not just "loling" at my paranoia. I pulled the baby out, she was still in her sac so I had to break it, she had already done a kick when her head was still inside, but she wasn't breathing after I pulled the sac. So I opened her mouth and checked for any sac remnants, then blew on her nose. She started to "baa". Calps quickly got her all cleaned up, but the little baby wasn't getting up to suck. Shawn texts to say, you've got to get her suck, hold mama down if you have to. So hold Calps down I do. Its not an easy task at the best of times to hold a sheep down, let alone with one shaking hand while the other tries desperately to get a lamb to latch on. I was so terrified that the little nugget was going to die on me. Within a few hours everyone had settled in and the babies were happily sucking and doing their little clumsy walk.

The little one with the black ears is the one that I had to help get out, up and going. She's my little miracle baby.

Now if someone had said to me six months ago that this would be a thing that I would do in my life, I would have laughed and named at least one hundred other people more likely to assist in sheep birth than I. I'm a bit squeamish, or I used to be. I don't like to get dirty, and I especially don't like blood. Those and other things are present in significant ways during lambing. I got right up in it. There was blood, poop and who knows what else from my feet up into my hair. 

Though I had done some google research, and thought I would know what to do if things went wrong. In the moment however I forgot everything I thought I knew and was just winging it. Fortunately for all of us it turned out okay but hot damn guys, I'm not sure if my little heart will ever slow down. 

Scout is still awaiting the arrival of her babies. I'm hoping there'll only be one and no one needs assistance. Fingers crossed guys.

By the time yesterday was over I was so exhausted, I felt like I'd been run over by ten trucks. I thought it was solely from the adrenaline of it all. Now I think it may also be from Calpernia's endless attempts to kill me while I tried to get her baby on her. 

This little baby will always have a special place in my heart