A Feast for the Eyes

"When weeding, the best way to make sure you are removing a weed and not a valuable plant is to pull on it.  If it comes out of the ground easily, it is a valuable plant."~unknown

It’s an astonishing morning. After days and days of dreary gloom and drizzle, the sun came up this morning to a breathtaking array of colors.  The cobalt, powder blue, burgundy&cream and butter yellow iris all stand high above the boulder in the back yard surrounded by sky blue flax. The pansies in my water trough/planters are now peeking above the rim with the white alyssum and bacopa starting their spill over the side. The shrubs and creepers against the rock wall stand out in contrasting hues from wine colored barberry to lime green trumpet vine. The smell of newly  mowed lawn wafts around my head as the hummingbirds zip in and out around their feeder on the end of the porch.

Even the most simple of combinations make me happy when they are in a pot or basket. There is something special that flowers do.

 Beyond, I can see Thomas, his bright white feathers setting off the red, buff and purple blacks of the laying hens. Buffy struts around proudly, in motherly fashion around her lone chick.

The sheep are grazing in the corral with the Maremmas laying about keeping an eye on all and the seedlings in the vegetable garden are stretching and muscling their way up toward the sun and out across the ground with a promise for tomorrow.

I prepare to put bread in the oven and make some notations of additional seeds I want to buy to start in the greenhouse for next summer. Iceland poppies and petunias are two I would like to get established earlier next year than this. It’s a good day to be alive.

Still recovering from over 2 weeks of being incapacitated with a back injury, I try to keep my bucket list small. Having mowed the lawn already, I add weeding around the corner of the house so my morning glories don’t get choked out before they have a chance to take hold. 

We moved the meatie chickens out of the brooder. They have outgrown it in just 3 weeks. There was hardly room for them to move around in there anymore. We put up a "Club Meatie" with 6000 sq feet of pasture and a 120 sq ft of shelter for them in the orchard. Bruno is currently living with them to provide security from any hawks or owls who may think of making a quick meal of them day or night.

 There are tomatoes and peppers, potatoes and cabbage, brocolli, lettuce and cauliflower up in the garden and the corn and green beans go in this week. Two lambs are ready to come home from freezer camp, a steer is on his way in and the chickens will be ready to process this summer.

Nourishment for our bodies is pretty much assured, but for now, I will continue to marvel at creation, and revel in the flowers and let them feed my soul.

Workin' Like A Dog

The Maremmas are responsible for keeping ALL my animals safe, in multiple locations. It’s an awfully difficult assignment, but so far, they have been successful. They accompany me each time I feed the 56 chicks in the milk room and look in the brooder to familiarize themselves with the little critters. They  stand by while I feed the leppie calf and then position themselves for the rest of the day where they can see the sheep in the lower pasture, the chickens who roam the upper pastures, our yard (which would mean "me"), EmmaLouMoo and Mister, my Paint horse, in the south pasture. Nothing gets past them very easily and if someone or something new comes by, they wind up out front, checking things out.

I finally turned out the little guinea birds with the chickens. They seemed to be smart enough to stick close to the rooster for the most part, but if they get to lagging behind they tend to wind up trapped or lost somehow as they are not smart enough to walk AROUND  a gate, or to the END of a fence line to get to the other side where their friends are and tend to panic. I do like how they flock up though, traveling as a little pod. They are a little noisy, very flighty and erratic in their movements and of course, they have been locked in a small brooder for weeks so the Polarbears, aka BWDs (big white dogs) have not really seen them, because they were not in the milkroom brooder with the rest of the chicks.

Randyman and I were working on putting up a fence for the rams and noticed only 4 of the 5 guineas were around. Soon after, I headed off to find something and he went to the pasture and saw that Cletapotamus had a dead guinea between his front feet. Now this could well have not been Cletus' fault. It IS possible that a hawk or something originally nailed the guinea as it was headless. Cletus never did kill a chicken outright as a pup, but would pin it and lick it naked until it died of shock, but this bird, he was being very possessive of. Randy came and told me.  I asked if he had taken it away to inspect it. He said “No, he was growling at me and wouldn’t let me near”.

Well, I know Cletus very well and the dogs respond to me and but not so much anyone else. Cletus is VERY vocal and always has been. He moans, he grumbles, he howls. It’s all bluff, but I would never want anyone besides myself to test that theory and I don't blame Randyman one bit for not following through with taking the bird and disciplining the Potamus, who has the size to do a considerable amount of damage to a person, but that really isn't his temperament. He's 'all bark and no bite' so to speak. 

I approached Cletus and he grabbed up the bird while making loud, throaty growls that were admittedly pretty blood curdling.   Being possessive and guarding something from ME is a bad decision, no matter how the bird got killed. I suspect he was the culprit, however. I told him the bird was NOT his and he was NOT to grab any more of them. His growling became even more aggressive so I grabbed him by his scruff and gave him “what for”, while taking the bird away from him. I then showed it to him, said "NO" again, popped him across the muzzle with it, with another resounding “NO” and marched to the back yard. First he looked surprised, then he groveled submissively, clearly mortified by my behavior toward him, but still he continued looking for the bird, as he slowly followed my path, sniffing around, hoping to find and consume it. I gave the bird to Cider to enjoy and ignored Cletus, who I then locked in the lambing shed by himself for the afternoon, to let the whole experience sink in. It was easy to see, later, that he was, indeed repentant. 

However, unwilling to risk having him repeat his mistake, diminishing his effectiveness as a poultry guardian, I got the remote spray collar and fastened it to his neck. He was TOTALLY devastated. Nothing deflates these two dogs more than having to wear "THE COLLAR". He moved cautiously, head down, attempting to be  invisible and was thoroughly humiliated and humbled. 

These two are highly intelligent and very 'soft' dogs. Cider would have just wagged his tail and nabbed another bird in his enthusiasm over being free. I have found that my Maremmas learn faster than any breed I ever had, they just respond differently. Things like basic obedience and recall are not high on their list of priorities...mostly just things related to their job of guarding, but their relationship with me is still a high priority and it's obvious that my displeasure affects them deeply.

I really believe it was just too much of a challenge seeing these noisy, erratic little birds who were strangers to Cletus, running through my flock. It is also a strong possibility he didn't realize they were OUR additions as I had no opportunity to show them to him personally. These two are masters of discretion and can tell in the herd in the back, which are my cows and which are ranch cows. I know Cletus would not intentionally do anything wrong, as he is really a big, sweet clown. Since then, the guineas have been free to run by him, over him and under him and he pays them no more attention than any of the other poultry we have and they are now as safe as a bird could possibly be.

It’s amazing to me, that all these dogs have to do is understand something is OURS and they protect it with their lives, even against their own desire to capture and play with or dine on it. Their sense of honor is almost incomprehensible. We could learn much from their example.

It’s very hard for me to resist these two. Their eyes are very expressive. They communicate more through looks and body language than people can with a whole host of words. I don’t always understand what they are trying to tell me but they are most definitely telling me something, nearly all the time.

 One of the things I can read clearly, however, is the overwhelming power of affection they possess. If I am overwhelmed or in a lot of pain, it is a comfort just to walk into their presence. Bruno is my solid and dependable protector. Even from his spot in the pasture, he is always aware of where I am, what I am doing and is at my side instantly if something happens or someone new appears. When the kids come to visit he immediately takes the grandkids under his protection. His quiet strength and steady devotion give me courage on some of my darkest days.



(Watching over Abby, whom he sees only 3 days a year)

  Cletus has a way of always making me laugh at his antics and silliness, or of slithering over my lap so most of his weight remains on his hind legs while he ‘hugs’ me with his enormous head. It’s one of the best feelings in the world, second only to holding a child.

Much of their days are spent sparring and wrestling. It can be very intimidating to watch but it makes it easy to see these dogs were developed and equipped to repel wolves in the Italian Alps. The blood curdling roar, apparent viciousness and speed with which they take one another down is chilling, yet they have never drawn blood on one another. They have an uncanny ability to 'pull their punches' and I have witnessed Bruno do so many times when disciplining stock that tries to steal their dogfood or commit other such felonious offenses, never so much as leaving a mark. It looks 100x worse than it ever is, when used on 'friendlies'. I shudder to think what it would be like, however, to be a coyote or other predator foolish enough to  challenge them.

And yet, with their charges, they are incredibly gentle and longsuffering.

After 3 years of observing them, I am still amazed by their behaviors.  Each day I ride the 4 wheeler out to the pasture where Emmalou grazes and drive her to the milk room. Yesterday I was in a lot of pain due to aggravating an old back injury. The dogs, who always precede me and clear everything out of my path, this time ran far ahead to EmmaLou and attempted to bring her in themselves. Bruno ran behind her and pushed, Cletus was in front of her trying to coax her to follow. She has no respect for them so they were unable to garner her cooperation. Still, I was impressed by their attempt and it IS the thought that counts. When I  bring the sheep in, the dogs are pretty quick to pick up on that and lead them in before I have to drive them, as the sheep willingly follow them. 

It would be nice to have an actual herding dog to send after Emma, considering my physical limitations will increase.  
The four dogs we have now are really more than we ever planned on having, but Scottie (#4) sort of just got dumped here. Nevertheless, I have been putting thought into who will come to fill the incredible void Cider will leave here with his someday inevitable passing. 

My needs are certainly different than they were when my youngest son got him for me as a Christmas gift years ago. He was the perfect solution to my needs at that time. These days, however, I could use a dog that can help me with some of the chores and still be a service dog. Cider has been a champ about bringing me pillows or blankets when I am incapacitated, picking things up to hand them to me when I cannot bend down, or if I drop them, and other helpful tasks. Whoever must fill his pawprints needs to be able to learn those skills and some others as well, such as occasionally helping me up and doing a little light herding work.

I realize that is a pretty big order, but I know there is a breed out there that is perfect...and I believe, thanks to my readers, I have found it. Thank you all for your input!


There is nothing on earth, quite like a dog.

Fowl Play

After many valiant attempts, Thomas has accepted that he will not be permitted entry into the house. He has, instead, chosen to sleep on the arm of the wicker love seat, the same one Bruno prefers to sleep on. It didn’t strike me as a pet bed when I purchased it, but it’s not the first time I have been mistaken.

His obsession with my fingers has not subsided yet. I have been reminded more than once not to stand idly by with my hands hanging down, as he latches on to one at every opportunity. Randyman’s fingers, apparently, do not hold the same appeal. I got so tired of being vigilant about my hands, I tried to evict Thomas from the yard. Out into the big pasture we went, with the sheep. The Maremmas kept watch over everyone, as they usually do.

 I even hoped Thomas would take up with the chickens, in spite of the risks they hold for him. They were not interested in making friends with the big galoot. He followed me out into the pasture, noting various bugs.

 After I got him down there a good long way, I sped back to the gate, leaving him waddling in my wake.

 He spent hours pacing the fence trying to get to me. I finally felt sorry for him and dumped him in the pasture next to the back yard so he could at least see me. He resumed pacing THAT fence. I picked him up and carried him to the pasture gate while I let the sheep in. They all ran by except for Rosemary and Thyme. I set Thomas down, assuming he was now safe from the thundering herd. Thyme proceeded to chase him all over the corral. I never saw sheep attack before, but Thomas was having a very, very bad day. I caught him up again, tucked him under my arm and returned to the back yard while he sniveled and whined about my earlier abandonment of him. There seems there is no alternative to his being  a yard bird.

The 56 meatie chicks have arrived and are doing extremely well in the brooder. Randyman put screening over the top and on the front of the milkroom which is great, because it not only keeps the cat and birds out, but flies as well, for the most part. Other than 3 of the Red Rangers dying the first two days because of injuries during shipping, all the chicks are thriving. I am really tickled because the  CornishX chicks are usually not so likely to do well, especially early on, in my experience. Maybe this will be a good chicken year, even if it was not such a great turkey year.

Miss Buffy is setting on 10 eggs again. She went broody in the nest box again, so after marking all her eggs and taking out the ones I refused to let her have, I moved her into a soft kennel in the lambing shed where none of them can jump out, causing her to abandon the rest of the eggs. True to form, days after I moved her, my black hen went broody on me as well.

At the end of the day, I grabbed a small bucket of grain and called Sushi from the far side of the back pasture. To my surprise, she jumped the ditch and ran to me. Locking her in the small paddock earlier this year paid off. She’s smart enough to know her name and greedy enough to come for candy. It looks like we will have a bright future ahead of us. 

After I finished the outside chores, I baked, cooled and sliced my whole wheat sourdough bread for this week’s sandwiches. I love this recipe, because I can mix it the night before and let it rise all night, then just bake it the next day. This time, it 'over proofed' so I kneaded it down and let it rise a third time and it baked up perfectly, with 2 big loaves.  Still warm bread, fresh from the oven with fresh homemade butter...a great way to end a 'fowl' day.

Talking Turkey

It’s been a whirlwind of a week!  Poor Mrs Turkey passed away. We were not taken by surprise as she had seemed to be quite sickly from the beginning, never gaining much size. As a result, Mr Turkey has turned to me and suddenly become strongly bonded. He becomes ecstatic when I step out to the green house to water or repot the seedlings.

The rocket car people volunteered to come do a barn raising for a barn that has been in the planning stages for quite awhile. The migratory birds are arriving on their way through. It always intrigues me how the Maremmas can discern between predatory and non predatory birds. They allow the Canadian Geese and others to rest in our pastures unmolested, but if a hawk, crow or owl show up, the battle is on. They will actually leap in the air and try to catch them if the birds tease and get too low. They've always had an uncanny sense for who is benign. Take Cider for instance. He is allowed in the pastures although he is closely watched. If he wants to play or touch any of the animals, he is immediately body blocked by Bruno and if that isn't enough, a verbal warning is added to the mix. That usually does the trick. Occasionally he takes flights of fancy and imagines himself to be an LGD, but of course he can't be, because they are a specially developed genre of dogs that have different instincts, behaviors, and prey drive from any other genre of dog. A half bred or non LGD cannot do an equivalent job, but Cider takes pleasure in pretending, just the same.

Cabins had to be cleaned from the winter and readied for their arrival so the boss’ wife, myself, and the other 3 women on the ranch plus a couple of cowboys went to work for a couple days. They finished up, while I attacked our house in anticipation of our very own company, as my niece and her family were due to arrive on Friday night. They’ve never been here so this has been a long awaited and very exciting event for us.

They got here right on time and it wasn’t but a few hours before a return trip was already in the plans, maybe even a kidnapping of my brother and his wife to bring them along. In just 1 day there has been a lot of activity. We had sourdough waffles for breakfast with home-milled whole wheat, homemade butter and Mrs. Butterworth’s. We milked EmmaLou, played with the sheep, toured part of the ranch, visited Mister, gathered eggs, made soap and homemade ice cream and they went dirt bike riding on the lakebed. Everywhere we went out back, Mr Turkey followed in our tracks. At one point he was in the way so much, I had to pick him up and tuck him under my arm. He seemed perfectly content to be carried that way. Earlier in the week, I had some 1 gallon plants to put in the ground. Randyman dug the holes and I got down on my hands and knees to put them in. Mr Turkey came to help and supervise the operation. He got too close to the hole and fell in. I plucked him out and set him back on my feet. He fell in again. I removed him a second time and shoved the plant in it’s place in hopes to keep him out. As I tucked in dirt around it, he pecked at my fingers continually. I flicked his beak. He grabbed my fingers again. I was getting flustered with him, continually demanding that he stop doing that, and wondering just exactly WHY was he attacking my hands? I then threw dirt over his big feet to discourage him, but his toes stuck out. He promptly bent down and grabbed his toe...that is when it dawned on me...he thought they were WORMS!! Big, fat, tasty worms. What a score my fingers must have appeared to be. He could shove one in his pantry and survive off of it through the winter. That revelation behind me, I found some colored gloves and he no longer harassed me as the worms seemed to have disappeared.

He followed our little group on its long trek from the milk room, through Emma’s corral, through the big corral, down the lane and into the milk pasture where Em and Mister spend their time. One the way back, he took a liking to my niece’s long legged husband and kept trotting to keep up, while we snickered from behind. He’s turned out to be surprisingly entertaining. I have had to resort to putting up a doggie/baby gate to keep him out of my house when I leave the door open.

Last night, he finally had enough of being ignored and treated like a lesser citizen of the ranch. As we sat at the table, talking, laughing, visiting with the Maremmas, Cider and Scottiedog, who took a tumble out of the pick up truck last week and is badly bruised, Mr Turkey had made plans. I washed my hands in the back bathroom and as I walked through the bedroom back towards the kitchen in the coming darkness I was startled and horrified by the specter of  ...

A PEEPING TOM!!!!!

He had perched himself on the small table outside of my bedroom window and was peering in. Feeling violated, I scurried to the kitchen table, only to find him now perched on the large can by the back door where we keep the milk replacer for the bottle calves. He was staring in through the top of the door at us. As we all stared back at him, laughing, he launched himself at the window and SPLAT!! Slid down the door to the ground. A few minutes later he dusted himself off and made a second attempt with the same results...and a third...I am beginning to thing he belongs in Washington DC as he has yet to learn from any of his mistakes. At least now he has a name. Peeping Thomas.

(video courtesy of Ky and his iphone)

We  had a great time with the family. They rode across the enormous lakebed and over toward the desert where the cows winter. We ALMOST got to play Pictionary, (my very favorite game)  but we were so busy talking and enjoying each other it never happened. We had homemade ice cream and a lot of other good stuff to eat. We talked about pretty much everything and think so much alike we could be relatives...but then, actually...we are! They packed up today and headed back home after saying goodbye to the polar bears, turkey, Cider, Scottie and ourselves, with a promise to return before summer's end, with plans to do some good eating and some shooting.

 New chicks are on the way, 50 meaties, so the guineas had to be captured and shoved into a smaller pen until they are old enough to turn loose. It’s going to be a full and busy summer. I hope there will be lots of family to share it with!

Milkin' It

I woke up and the sun was shining in a cloudless sky, the temperature was pleasing and the barometer was holding steady. The pain in my body had eased to a point I could almost forget it was there. I set about cleaning the kitchen, feeding the sourdough, putting some jerky on to dry and putting a couple of roasts in the crock pot with seasonings to be canned up later for burrito meat or taco salads.

I grabbed the last bucket of oils I had pre measured for soapmaking, along with a jar of lye solution. The resulting soap was poured into log molds and set in the back room, insulated with towels to begin its cure. It will first ‘gel’, becoming very hot and translucent, then the insulation will be removed allowing it to cool slowly and to prevent overheating and cracking. The next day or so, it will be removed from the mold and cut into bars to begin its second state of curing. I still have a long way to go to catch up on my inventory.

I headed outside to check the surviving turkey poults, my little “birdbrains”. Unzipping the door to the green house I stepped inside to check the seedlings. There were a few that needed to be moved up to larger peat pots so I did that, then filled the birdbrains’ water jug. They were hiding in their little sleeping quarters, but curiosity got the best of them. Making little peeping sounds they stepped out and investigated me. I went back outside deciding that today was as good a day as any to start tilling the veggie garden. I knew this would come at great cost to me, but it has to be done and it was supposed to be nice all weekend. That is one of the things about having Ra and its related companions, when I CAN do something, I need to get it done because there is no telling when I might have a good day again.

I grabbed the heavy electric cord and plugged in my little tiller. I have a tiny electric one because I am not strong enough to start a gas tiller engine and it’s small enough for me to handle as Randyman doesn’t have the time to help me with the yard. It is not without its problems. It is so small that it bounces and tends to beat me to death and also makes a very narrow swath. This is a good thing for weeding between rows, but not such a good thing for getting  a large garden ready to plant. As I drag it into position, I notice the bird brains are following me. I turn it on and both birdbrains stop. Instead of running, they squat and watch. I start a row that will pass them within inches. Instead of leaving, they both lay down in the sun, necks outstretched and take a nap, the roar of the little engine drowning out any other sounds.

When I have done all I could manage, I walk to the house for a hose and both birdbrains jump up and run after me. I squat down and pet Ted, the larger one. He seems to enjoy it. I drag the hose around the yard, watering my little fruit trees and the perennial plants that survived an unusually hard winter. I notice the parsley and thyme are actually thriving and the strawberries are springing back to life. I groan as I take in all the bare dirt around me, wishing I had the money, strength and time to get my landscaping up to a standard that is satisfying to me. It is a high priority on my list that has, for obvious physical reasons, not been accomplished. There are many times I miss my old yard...my house...my kids and not in that order...

The weather is clouding up suddenly and unexpectedly and I can feel the results of that. So much for a long, constructive weekend. Sunday I am down all day.

Monday, we jump up and head to town. I have been pushing EmmaLouMoo’s milking back to 8 p.m., as I still have no relief milker and we have to try and make it back in time to milk  her.

We leave at dawn and 2 hours later Randy blasts right past our normal doughnut stop, to my dismay, as I had been slavering thinking about the fresh maple bars we would finally get to eat...then he blasted right on past the big truck stop, where I could get a cup of coffee. We got into town just in time to pick up a special delivery of wheat berries and other things at a drop point. Afterwards  we picked up 5 little guinea fowl at the hatchery. Hopefully they will grow up to be well behaved and eat lots of ticks and bugs. They sure are noisy little campers! A few more stops and we finally get to eat dinner before the long drive home.

Discussed treatment options with the doctor and thankfully received an injection that really helps with the pain and inflammation. It was a short trip, as we left home at 6 a.m. And got back by 10:30 p.m., only 2 1/2 hours past Emma’s regular milking time. She wasn’t very happy with us, but the Maremmas were beside themselves. As I sat on my stool next to Emma, I suddenly found two very large, heavy, white, hairy legs ending in enormous polar bear sized paws around my neck while someone licked my ear. Cletus could not contain himself. I extricated myself from his hug and gave him a big squeeze. When we got back to the house he climbed up on the couch next to me and growled and grumbled at anyone who threatened to come near me. It’s nice to be loved.

Pain has come and gone according to the barometer. I seem to keep rallying every time high pressure comes back in, which is unusual, but exceedingly welcome. We had picked up 40# of potatoes in town so I canned a bunch in chunks and about 8 quarts of ham and potato soup which is our favorite. I also canned 8 qts of apple pie filling and have a boatload of apples left so while the peels and cores from the pie filling are turning into vinegar, I need to find time to make and can some applesauce.

My niece and her family are coming to visit for the first time and I am very excited! I think they will have a lot of fun here. It is incentive to get the house straightened up more as it tends to fall into chaos when I don’t feel well, which this year, was most of the time. I’ve been doing pretty good, with the exception of a few mental lapses, such as forgetting I DID put bread in the oven. Four hours later, it made a remarkably durable toy for Cider to fetch and run around the yard with, once it cooled.

The grass is beginning to come on nicely so it was time to rotate the animals around. Emma was kicked out into the old milk pasture, below Mister, so nothing can nurse on her. Sushi and Chuck were released out into the lower pasture with the sheep and a couple of calves the boss kicked out in there. 

That night I slept in the chair, again, because of the issues with my hips and back. Randy let the “polar bears” in and I woke up to Potamus hugging me with his head. He had managed to slither about 80 of his 120 pound body up onto my lap, only his hind legs reaching the ground. He moaned in ecstasy as I hugged him back and rubbed his ears. It took about ten minutes for him to get his quota of huggin’s before he was willling to get down and let me up. Then it was Bruno and Cider's turn. They are not so needy. 

 I spent a good day with the critters, working on the house and yard. When I went out that evening to bring the sheep into their corral, I noticed Sushi was up at the top with everyone else...but something wasn’t right.

I walked out closer and found Sushi on her knees, trying to nurse....

THE RAM!!!!

Yup. She was desperately searching his bag for a spigot, determined to find one.  She has been watching the lambs nurse and I guess she figured that since he wasn’t spoken for, she’d just belly up to the bar.

I guess it’s time to tell her about the birds, the bees and the sheep, after I get her into a 12 step program for milk addicts.

Winter, Spring, Winter...

It’s been a challenging couple of weeks. New ranch hand moved in with an intractable dog. The little turkeys were outside the greenhouse enjoying some sunshine on their first day out in the world, running from place to place, enthusiastically exploring while the Maremma’s stood guard. The new dog, a large lab/pitbull cross decided to force his way into our yard. The Maremmas frantically charged the gate and were trying to dissuade him. As the altercation ramped up, Mr Peepers and his lady friend, ever curious, ran to see what all the fuss was about, and were crushed to death in the melee.

R.I.P., Mr Peepers. I will miss your antics.

The survivors miss him too. I'm pretty sure even my seedlings miss him.

In an attempt to make nice with the new neighbors, I offered a chain to secure said dog while his master was not with him, ie: when she is at our place visiting or playing with the critters, where he under no circumstances, is to be allowed. He broke his collar. She locked him in the house. He chewed up their stuff. Clearly this is not going to be an easy or happy situation. The back side of my garden is shielded from the chickens with 9 ga. kennel panels. I talked to Randy and asked if he would please take them down and put the kennel back together to contain their dog when it is necessary. We will have to go to the trouble and expense of putting up a different, more permanent fence back there. These people won’t be able to afford a kennel that would hold this dog so it’s up to me to make sure things go smoothly as possible. I’m hoping that this is going to be the least of our problems.

SushiMoo is slowly sweetening up. Greed is a virtue in an animal, a vice in man. You can train a greedy animal to do just about anything and Sushi is no exception. I can finally get her to come to me as I sit down with a bucket in my lap and she will happily eat grain as I work on petting her and doctoring her warty patches. I’m really glad for that, as she is the milk cow I had been hoping for...most likely low maintenance, decent amount of milk and cream and beefy calves.  The best of both worlds. I am looking forward to her getting bred this fall. It should also give me some real milk to feed some of the leppy calves, at least the ones who aren’t thriving. Real milk makes such a huge difference. In the past I have taken the weakest, poorest looking calves and grafted them onto Emma’s mama and in weeks, they were the most robust of the group. I still miss Dolly.

EmmaLouMoo is improving as well. I was concerned because even after a second trip to the vet, her milk was not straining as well as I would like to see. She had also cut her production in half again, giving me only a gallon to a gallon and a half per milking. Bear in mind, I had a goat that gave me 2, so this was pretty disappointing, especially in the light that she is not pregnant. Last nite she gave slightly over 2 gallons and it strained very well except for a couple of little goobers which may just be milk fat. That is actually a good thing. I will keep praying and watching over her to make sure all continues to go well and hope the boss will be able to loan us a bull in the spring, before he turns them out to cover all the ranch cows. 

I am slowly getting soap re-stocked for spring sales. I’ll be trying to put a batch together today as well as can up some burrito meat I made in the crock pot for future meals. Monday we head to town for medical stuff, livestock feed and to replenish supplies. We need to buy chicken feed as I have 55 meatie chickens coming on May 6. Much needs to be done to get ready, even though I ordered them months ago. Time flies when you’re having fun.

I went out to visit the critters yesterday. Bruno was kicking back where he could easily see the critters all down at the bottom of the pasture. I sat with him for a few minutes and he was in perfect bliss. 

 He even did some impressions of "Flipper".

Mr Potamus was nowhere to be found.

Now, normally, Mr Potamus watches over them by day while Bruno sleeps off a long night of patrolling. Potamus also usually stays close to the stock while Bruno runs security checks. Only if he is needed or all is clear do they travel together. It is unusual not to see Potamus during the day. I began to wonder if he was okay. No blood was on Bruno, so I assumed there had been no confrontation with anything large. I called several times, but he didn't show.

I headed out front and called some more. No Potamus. I got on the 4 wheeler and headed down towards the horse pasture. Bruno saw me and came through the fence, preceeding me all the way down the lane and across a couple of pastures. Still no sign of the Potamus. I came back and checked the front yard again. Nope. I headed up to ask Randyman if he had seen him all day. He wasn't sure. He said he thought he saw him sleeping by the gate, but that is where I found Bruno. so I figure it was the wrong dog. I headed out into the sagebrush where they often seem to alert to things and saw Bruno had returned to his spot overlooking the sheep. He ran over once again, through 2 fences to join me. I asked if HE knew where Potamus was. He turned and headed off through the sagebrush. Now, when I ask Potamus himself where something is, he always takes me directly to it. Weird, but true. So I assumed Bruno would too. There are places a 4 wheeler just won't follow a dog through heavy and overgrown sagebrush, so after an hour or so of getting stuck, backing up, going around and trying to follow we found ourselves down at the cattleguard. I could have taken the road and been there in a couple of minutes. I pffftted at Bruno and left him behind on my way home. Potamus was happily sitting out front, with blood across his muzzle. They had obviously found another coyote kill and he had been cleaning up. I should know better than to worry about them, what with their size, no collars and all. I'm just glad he was ok. Bruno pulled up, his tongue hanging out about 3 feet from the long run. These dogs are built for sprinting and fighting, not for long distance running. It showed. They went back to the pasture where fat happy sheep were grazing alongside EmmaLou.

I went to fix dinner.

Here’s hoping spring makes it to all of us soon and we can all revel in the glory of sunshine and flowers soon.