A Dog's Life

Whoever said “It’s a dog’s life” didn’t know Cider. His enthusiasm for all things gets him in a heap of trouble sometimes. Baby animals are there to be licked, loved on and flea bitten until they fall over, start screaming or someone comes to their rescue.

 All things able to be carried in a mouth are to be delivered for throwing so the process can be repeated over and over, ad nauseum. If you don't partake, he will give you either the 'magnum stare' or a very sad, pitiful face.

All bodies of water, no matter how big or small, are to be laid in, played in and enjoyed. 

Cider was a Christmas gift from my youngest son and a friend, and has been with me for 10 or 11 years now. He has been my therapy against the devastating condition of empty nest and is the Prince of the house.

He is my 24/7, faithful, constant, bosom buddy. No matter how crabby I am, how scary I look, or how bad I screw up, he still loves me with his whole being.

When he was a pup, I did some clicker training with him. The accompanying book warned to only work a dog about 15 minutes a day, to prevent burnout. Well. Cider didn’t burn out. He has ADHD and all he wanted to do all day was play with the clicker. So he learned to crawl on his belly, turn around in the direction my hand indicates, back up, bring me items I request and put his toys away in the toy basket. Most of this was in 2 days time, as he is very smart for a dumb dog.

I used cheese as a reward. Unfortunately, the day after our incredible sessions, he was really sick. He laid on his pillow refusing to get up. Normally he is at my heels everywhere I go. I suddenly realized I had not vaccinated him yet for that year and I panicked that he might have distemper. The lethargy sure did suggest it. I called the vet whose receptionist said there was NO way he could see him until the following day. I told her it was important, I wanted him in first thing in the morning because he was VERY sick and VERY lethargic, which is NOT like Cider.

The next morning, as I was getting ready to take him to the vet, he drug himself out to the back yard and took a 10 pound poop. He suddenly felt worlds better! That’s when I thought about the cheese...I took him anyway, as he had a chipped tooth I wanted looked at. 

We entered the vets office, Cider’s tail wagging like the rotors on a helicopter, as he skidded around the tile floor. The receptionist checked her chart and with a puzzled look over the counter said,

“He’s lethargic??”

To which I replied,

“You should see him when he's feeling GOOD!”

Live and learn. Now he gets cookies for treats at least half of the time.

He still puts his toys away, and if I ask him to bring me a pillow and blanket to the couch where I am sitting, he will promptly bring me the tv changer, a checkbook, random tools, coins and sometimes a candy wrapper. That is to 'prime me'. Then he chooses which toy he wants me to throw. Once I accept the toy, he brings my pillow and blanket and I throw it for him. Yup. That clicker method is really something. It worked great  on  for me.

Empty nest syndrome is the best way to ruin a perfectly good dog. Cider has his own chair at the dinner table.

 He used to sleep on the bed, until a grumpy Randyman kicked him off, so now he has a bed of his own. 

We wound up buying a crew cab truck so he had his own seat. 

He has a basket of toys. He's very good about sharing them, but he lives in fear of every dog on the ranch stealing and gutting his toys. They are obsessed with taking the stuffing out. Otherwise, they last him years.

His favorites are stuffed animals, but he's not averse to the real thing either.

Which brings to mind the night we slept with the back doors open and he invited a skunk into the house. We even locked his doggy door after that.

Like most Golden Retrievers, he is a great family dog, and loves kids. He's a great babysitter.

Even the Maremma's know Cider is the Prince. They sometimes even pretend to be afraid when he tries to be tough. Most of the time, Cider wants to best Cletus. Cletus is willing to engage him playfully, but Bruno always sneaks up behind and jerks Cletus' legs out from under him, thus protecting Cider without injuring him or his pride.

Cider doesn’t know he is adopted, but he does know he loves water. I had a beautifully landscaped yard when we lived in California. Nothing was sacred. Not the koi pond, not the horse troughs, not mud puddles, not the whiskey barrel waterfall. He thought that had been placed there for his enjoyment, as his own personal spa.

Our surroundings have changed a bit, but not Cider.

He has spent his summers here enjoying his various personalities as the Alvord Alligator, River Rat and Wildly Wet Whiskey Barrel Bad Boy.

Yesterday was the most pitiful thing I have ever seen him do. The waterfall is dry.

Cider climbed in, all ready for a refreshing spa experience but it was still dry. He waited patiently for someone to fill it, to no avail.

He waited patiently.

He was certain help would come.

He tried so hard to believe.

Doesn't ANYONE on this ranch with opposable thumbs have a hose??

As you can see, it’s tough being a dog.

 Good boy Cider.

Deja Vu

Miss Scarlett has gotten rather wide.

Animals have their own way of communicating. Often, they speak with their posture, tails, or facial expressions.

This face says “Does this collar make me look fat?”

Last nite Scarlett’s ligaments were pretty much mush. I knew she was going to have her kids rather soon, so I put her in the goatshed with the camera on, and I stayed up and watched “GoatTV”. She spent a miserable restless night. I catnapped.

This morning, while we were feeding leppies, I heard a pitiful groaning that sounded familiar. I stepped around the corner and sure enough, Scarlett was delivering kid #1.

Bruno and I went in to see if she wanted company, help, or someone to choke.

She was just happy to see #1.

Bruno helped clean him up. It was interesting to see Bruno and Miss Scarlett interact on this offer. He entered and approached her cautiously. She looked at him and he stopped while she thought it over. As soon as she looked back at her kid and began to lick him off, Bruno recognized her acceptance and stepped up to assist.

Once he had been dried and massaged off by the two of them, he ordered breakfast in bed.

Scarlett started back into labor again while Bruno took a nap between contractions. It was not necessary to watch her flanks to see the contractions, I only had to watch her ears stick out. Please note her facial expressions. They are JUST like people!

Her efforts were not in vain. Kid #2 arrived without too much fanfare.

Bruno babysat kid #1 while mama cleaned up kid #2 herself. It's always nice to have someone keep the older ones entertained when you are busy with a newborn. I remember when my Cody was born. There was no one around to do that, but my Matt, who was 2 1/2 was a huge help to me. What great kids I have! 

Kid number 3 came soon after, in a fashion much like that of Glenda, the GoodWitch of the North, in his own little bubble. It's pretty neat. They show up all wrapped up and packaged, albeit a little slimey.

There is just something heavenly about giving birth. It is surely one of God's most winsome acts of creation.

So, the ranch triplets graduated High School this year, Prissy had her triplets the same day. Today Scarlett had triplets on ranchkid #5's  birthday. I told her it was Scarlett's gift to her, but she declined. My friend and neighbor, "D" made it over in time to see #3 born. After we had decided they would all manage without us, we went to the octopus tree to visit the rest. Prissy's little trio has grown a lot in the past 2 weeks and were having a good time. That is how it should be. 

Happenings

Last year, when Prissy had her first set of triplets, she immediately rejected them. I had to hand milk her twice a day to feed them. Priss was never good to milk. I spent hours, days, weeks with bloody knuckles, milk dripping from my hair, my chin, my arms, trying everything from crooning to her, begging, cajoling, to belting her until she finally pushed me over the edge and I actually BIT her! It has pretty much been a unanimous consensus here on the ranch, that Priss is a pretty horrible goat and better off replaced...BUT she gives 1 1/2 gallons of milk a day, with a cream line! You just don’t see that in a goat that often, so I put up with her, milking her for 8 months, with a semi successful system of putting TWO sets of hobbles on her, and chaining her hindfeet down to the stanchion.

I had to try hard not to take it personally, when she allowed Moose the calf, to nurse with nothing on her. I wondered just how bad she was going to behave this year.

Once again, she had triplets, only this time, she didn’t totally reject them. They have, however, had a difficult time nursing because she has one teat that is ‘blown’ from over engorging last year. I have to milk that side each day until the kids are big enough to figure out how to use it. The first night I got a half gallon...out of the one teat. It wasn’t completely empty yet, but I wanted to try teaching the babies to nurse that side, hoping that if they could keep after it, it wouldn’t get so full and be so difficult for them. I set the bucket down and went to grab a kid to help it learn how to grab ahold of that side. Once I captured one of the slippery little runts, I turned around to see that Priss had drank all the milk already in the bucket! I guess we are now into recycling.

Bruno and Cletus went in and thoroughly checked over their new charges.

Right now I am actually getting a break, because EmmaLouMoo is dry, until she calves again in July. That means I don’t have to milk her, make cheese, butter, and all that goes with that, for awhile now.

I do have to milk Priss until the babies can do that for me. Then I will only have to separate them over night and milk her when I need some milk for soap or for us. There are bottle calves to feed and thankfully Randyman helps me with that, as the 9 of them tend to get tangled up and steal bottles from one another and such. I do occasionally have to feed one by stomach tube and give some shots or pills.

Our weather has been running the gamut from sunny 70's to freezing 40's with hail and high winds. I have 3 leppie calves that have come down with pnuemonia. One little feller we thought was dead this morning. We went out to feed and he was laying proned out by the fence, not moving, while the rest stampeded over us for their bottles. I went to check him and could see he was still breathing, but too weak to move. The inside of his mouth was cold and so were his lower legs, which usually means they are shocky and on their way out. I went ahead and lifted him onto his brisket and fed him by stomach tube and gave him a shot of anti biotics. I honestly expected to find him dead by noon, but when I went to check him, he was on his feet again so I was able to move him into the sick pen with the others. It started hailing again this morning, so we ran all the other little fellers down the alleyway to Em's old corral so they could stay in her tent.

There are 50 little chicks in the brooder in the milk barn that I have to keep an eye on, but that doesn’t take very much time. I check in the morning to see they have food and water, and turn their light off, as it gets pretty warm in there. I also make sure no one has “pasty butt’ which is when their vent gets blocked. A little chicky sized sitz bath and vaseline helps a lot in that case. I check them again in the evening. I lost a couple of chicks the first few days, but it was from the stress of shipping. Everyone seems to be thriving now, and I hope they will be outside in a couple more weeks, once they have feathered out enough...where to put them, and how, is a question I haven’t yet answered. I definitely need a Maremma to bond with them tho. I’m thinking perhaps a portable shelter and they can live in one of the pastures then.

I try to take my daily de-stress trip out to visit the critters during their siesta. They all have a little party under the octopus tree. The sheep, goats, cows and Maremmas. All of them. It is like a 'block party'.

 I strolled down and noticed Annie was missing. I walked all the way around the tree, looking in the tall brush, but no Annie. The dogs didn’t seem to be unduly concerned so I figured she was ok and they knew where she was. I took a seat and suddenly felt chips of bark falling on my shoulder from up above. Annie was up in the tree. I have no idea why I didn’t look there. Glad I didn’t have to call the fire department. 

Emma looks as though she is very tired of being pregnant. She has always had a flair for the dramatic. I don't know who was more distressed...me, when I saw her laying like this, or her, when I woke her by screaming her name...okay, maybe I am a little dramatic myself. Not much, just a little. A teensy bit. Hardly noticeable.

Scarlett doesn’t seem to mind pregnancy. She just waddles around looking for handouts and neck rubs.

Mr T needs to be passing out cigars. Mrs B, the Buff Orpington has baby chicks! She was sitting on several eggs, but after the first two hatched, she jumped out of her box and they followed her. As they were not able to follow her back up again, she had to abandon the other eggs.

Oprah, my Black Australorpe hen is sitting on 14 eggs. (Not one of which is hers.) I snagged her and locked her up in a dog crate with food and water so she doesn’t have the same problems. 

It was warm the other day, so Wimpy and I went for a little spin. There were wildflowers blooming and trees leafing out, the grass is growing taller and the calves are getting fat.

It was good to see something besides the pasture behind the house and it felt good to be back in the saddle again. Maybe this will be my summer.