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

Counting Sheep

Things are getting busy. 

Yesterday morning I noticed Calpernia acting a bit anti social, she wouldn't even get up for treats. After some frantic googling and texting my farm friend I concluded that lambing has begun. The thing about that is that it can often take a couple days between the time it begins until we have babies. So all day yesterday I didn't leave, set alarms at two hour intervals to check on her. No babies. Then came bedtime.

I "slept" on the couch because I didn't want to wake Dylan up every two hours when I went to check on Calps. 

I have ten baby chicks set up on the dining room table, as cute as the little babies are they do not create any kind of nice sleeping environment. They peep non stop, and quite loudly sometimes if their siblings have upset them. So when I say I "slept" on the couch mostly I mean I layed on the couch listening to chicks and googling what to do should lambing not go smoothly. 

 

Earlier yesterday morning I went out to collect eggs from my hens and discovered that my older hens had pecked one of the younger hens nearly to death, poor girl was barely moving and covered in blood. I googled what to do, most things suggested I kill her, but I was home without Dylan and I don't have the heart for that (clearly I'm not a real farmer yet). Instead I cleaned her up, disinfected her and mashed up some chicken feed and water and fed it to her. I'm happy to report that although I'm not entirely sure if she'll make it she is now up and moving and separated from those mean old granny hens. 

Calpernia still hasn't produced any babies. Im both excitedly awaiting their arrival and hoping she never has them so that I never have to deal with any possible lambing problems. Shoving my hand up a sheeps vagina is really not something I ever imagined myself having to be prepared for. So fingers crossed I don't have to. It also may be the one activity I actually can't do with my long witch nails. 

Sometime between four am and six am I had two hens escape, and my dog got into a fight with some kind of creature. So there I am, six am looking like some kind of sleep deprived mud witch running around chasing chickens. I was only able to get one back into the coop, so I guess now I have a free range hen. I checked all the chickens thinking maybe that's where all the blood on Rocky came from, it wasn't. So somewhere there's an animal that clearly lost a fight with my gentle giant, who is obviously not so gentle anymore. 

Today we plan to manually drive a whole lot of twelve foot fence posts into the middle of our main pasture to seperate the yaks from the Highland cows we just bought. Get y'all selves ready for some "hairy coos". 

I'm wishing I had worked out more in my previous life. Remember the days when I wasn't constantly muddy and smelling of poop? Those were nice times. For the first few weeks, when I had to run into town I'd shower, change, do my hair etc., now I've run out of time and shits to give, I go into town in my muck boots all covered in mud and pick up whatever weird new thing I've discovered I need for the critters. That's just who I am this week. 

The Fall and Rise of Goldie Acres

My goodness. I made a mistake when I said "my days are simple" in my last post. I tempted fate I suppose. The day after that the yaks, Mary and Elizabeth took off. We are still stumped as to how they escaped, we checked the fence and neighbours checked it. There are no holes but people keep saying that they couldn't have jumped it. Clearly my girls (like so many other women) have been grossly underestimated. They got out.
So let me tell you how things went down.
Sunday 20:00
"It's weird we haven't seen the girls come up to the barn"
We discuss how cute it is that every day at dusk they venture into the barn to settle in for the night, we talk about how they must be doing it later tonight because the days are getting longer.
You know how there are moments you wish you could do over again this is one of them. I should have been more insistent.
"Maybe we should check the pasture"
"No, they didn't just run off, let them be"
Monday- 05:00
"RACHEL, GET UP THE YAKS ARE GONE"
We spend the next six hours searching our property, for tracks, yak poops, any sign of them really. We're mostly on foot but come up empty. Not a single track outside the pasture, its as if they teleported. We drive the roads near us. I post on facebook, we continue searching. I call the SPCA & Conservation. We continue searching.
- 17:00
We find tracks in a neighbours property. It's raining, we're cold, wet, muddy and panicked. By this time we're on the quad, and we've spent more than a few hours getting mud thrown all over us while driving through the marshy areas behind our property. I'm randomly checking facebook, I throw out where the tracks are in hopes that someone has some kind of idea where we are. I don't check facebook again.
- 19:00
"DYLAN I FOUND THE YAKS. SHIT."
"Shit"
We laugh at our absurd selves, we both know that we haven't a single clue what to do now.
You see Dylan and I had spent so many hours just searching we hadn't actually thought about what we'd do if we found them. Sometimes I wear cowboy boots, but I am no cowboy. I don't know how to drive or rope them. But we tried. They were in the bush, so the two of us pushed them out of the bush and into a small trail in between two pastures. We thought maybe we were cowboys.
This is another moment we wish we could do over again.
-20:00
We've got them nearly in the trail. This is an important lesson in communication.
"We should just push them home."
"Yeah, you drive the quad behind, I'll go in front."
We had the trail blocked off on one end and me on the quad behind. We thought we had them.
Had I looked at my facebook messages, I would have seen that we had a plethora of people at the ready to help us drive them home. I didn't. I thought we were on our own. We didn't know what to do, so we tried to catch and rope them in this trail, we are not cowboys and it failed miserably. They ran right through the barbed wire fence into the empty pasture. I called the guy who owns it, he told us to push the yaks into the pasture across from that one because it was smaller, had horses in it and would make it easier to get ropers in.
-22:00
We attempted to drive them from one pasture to another, however because now they know how easy it is for them to push right through barbed wire, they bush up again. We follow for a short time. It's dark, raining and we are exhausted. We leave them for the night.
Tuesday 08:00
We take the quad out and search again for hours, we follow their tracks into the actual woods. Real life wilderness, not the well groomed "woodsy" trails I'm used to. It's not cute, it's not fun, it's not the "getting outdoors having fun" vibe I'm used to. We're trudging through swamps, snow and mud on foot because it's too deep to get the quad through. Neighbours have organized a search party on horseback in the same woods, we're all searching. We all lose the tracks.
20:00
We give up for the night, the neighbours have gone home. We all know the vicinity they're in but they walked into swamps and we can't find their tracks in any direction after the swamp.
Wed 06:00
Dylan returns to work. We've decided to stop the foot searching. I get on the phone to a neighbour with a helicopter. I call one of the Hutterite colonies and hire their tracking hounds and herding dogs. I want them to go with the big group of people that are coming on the weekend to search the woods. I plan to use the helicopter to locate them, and the dogs and people to herd them out of the bush. I've hired ropers as well just in case we can't herd them home. Dylan and I are flipping back and forth between wanting them back and accepting that we aren't capable of handling them.
10:00
I've purchased baby chicks that need to be picked up, farm life rolls on despite my missing yaks. I marvel at the idea that things are still continuing even though I'm in the middle of a farm nightmare. I bring the chicks home, work on their setup and continue with the daily chores.
16:00
I come out of the chicken coop and nearly piss myself. LITERALLY. The girls are home. They're in an empty pasture that is just barbed wire and has had the gate removed. A million things run through my head. How do I herd them by myself. Will the dogs spook them off? What will happen if I get them in their pasture? Will they immediately take off again? Who can I call? WHAT THE FUCK AM I GOING TO DO!!!!!!????? WHY DID DYLAN GO TO WORK?!
I'm shaking and my heart is a thunderstorm in my chest. Then I see two neighbours. They've herded the yaks from their field along side our property. The girls were just hanging out when they got home. They tell me that they've called another neighbour to help herd them into the pasture. She arrives, the four of us easily walk them into the pasture and close the gate. It takes about five minutes. It's super easy and painless making my previous absolute panic seem entirely absurd.
The neighbours walk the fence with me, just to be sure I haven't missed anything. I haven't. They don't think they could have jumped, and they can't find any tracks outside the pasture either.
Present
The yaks have stayed with us overnight, though we're both terribly paranoid about them leaving again. I have to go into town to get fence materials, as we are going to build a bigger fence despite people saying we don't need it. Clearly we do. I'm currently a bit terrified that they will no longer be here when I return.
I've put Walske in the pasture with them, they don't get along particularly well, but I'm hoping they'll be so distracted with hating him that they won't jump out again. I wish I knew yak psychology.
There is a beaver in our dugout making short work of the clearing of cattails chore that I was so regretting so, thankyou little beaver. He's a weird little guy, hes just cutting down the cattails and hauling them into the woods behind the dugout. there is no body of moving or still water there. He's been at it for hours. Little buddy has a stronger work ethic than I do.
Yesterday I found a grouse just hanging out with our chickens in the coop. The chickens we're unconcerned, I at first didn't even notice him. Eventually he flew away. Do things ever just settle down?!
The sheep are very near lambing, we expect it to happen this week. Apparently they don't care that I'm tired from searching for yaks and working on fixing their pasture. So I've been obsessively checking on them every couple hours. I am both excited for lambs and petrified because I haven't a damn clue what to do if things don't go smoothly.
The chicks are doing well, though they are also a lot of work. Terribly high maintenance for such tiny little creatures. They are setup on our dining room table. Farm life is lit fam. Despite all the goings on in the last few days my witch nails are still in good shape, though one has a chip. Not bad overall. Today I find endless joy in my superior nail strength and my returned yaks. I am not Queen of the Farm today, but I'll get there.