Life on the Farm

e. e. cummings wrote a poem entitled In Just which I tend to think about a lot in spring.  The poem starts, “In Just spring when the world is mud-luscious.”  Mud-luscious.  Is there really any other way to describe things around here this time of year?  Because even though it’s not official “it’s spring when the world is puddle-wonderful.” 

I absolutely loved this time of year when I was a kid.  I’d put on what I call my swamp trompin’ boots and head outside to carve channels and rivers out of melting piles of ice and snow.  I’d divert waterways with sticks and rocks and wade through ankle deep water in the puddle-wonderful place that had once been our yard and was now someplace out of imagination. 

I tried to recapture that feeling several days ago as I chiseled channels through the three or four inches of ice hidden beneath the now steadily melting snow to divert some of the water and accumulating muck away from the sheep shelter and small arena.  Somehow it just wasn’t the same.

What had changed?

Okay, beside the obvious fact that I’m no longer ten years old. 

Is it simply the fact that I’m (theoretically) an adult and carving channels and riverways is now a chore and not an outlet for a child’s wild imagination?  The mud-lusciousness of the sheep yard and alleyway would have kept me entertained for hours as a child.  Now I scowl at it and add to an ever-growing tirade of inventive curses.  Of course, as a child I never had to try and back a 4-wheeler with a trailer down a rutted, slush, mud and ice covered lane so that I didn’t have to carry the two seven gallon water jugs any further than necessary.  Nor did I have to tote 30 pounds of hay across the uneven, slick ground, hoping I don’t trip over a lamb on the way.

We lose so much as we “mature”.  It’s the price of growing up, I suppose.  Some of it is probably good for us to lose.  Some of it, I’m not so sure.  I wonder if I invited my friends over, told them to bring their swamp trompin’ boots and come play in the puddles with me, if they would even remember how and not merely stare at me as if I’ve finally gone round the bend.  In all honesty, I think some of my friends would be all for it.  They’re the ones with either dogs or children.  Dogs and children remind us what it’s like to be uninhibited.  To live for the moment and all those types of things.

Mostly they remind us how to play. 

So I think I may just put on my swamp trompin’ boots and go out to that mud-luscious, puddle-wonderful place that exists in my backyard.  And when Dave gets home from work and asks me, “What are you doing, woman?” I’m going to answer, “I’m playing!”

This morning, as with every morning, I grabbed the mega-watt, high powered spotlight and headed out before work to check on the girls.  Everyone was out in the small arena and alleyway and were all looking toward the shelter.  A dead give away that someone was lambing.  I peeked around the corner and there was another of my first time moms busily cleaning off this adorable girl.  Yeah, I know all lambs are cute, but she has the “it” factor.  The same thing Harry Flash exhibited when he was born.  And she seems to have decided I’m someone special because she followed me around when I was feeding and if I hadn’t looked back at the right time she would have followed me right out the gate.  There are some more pictures of her and her mom on the Photos page.

When Dave did his lamb check before work we had another ewe lamb on the ground.  What he didn’t realize was the ewe was having twins.  So as of dinner time tonight we have three new ewe lambs.  (Let’s hear it for the girls!)  Once again this year I’m finding that twins here are, without exception, born in a combination of one solid white and one colored.  This is one of the girls born this morning.  Her twin wasn’t being very photogenic so I didn’t get a shot of her. 

Right now the lambs really aren’t relating to each other too much.  They stick close by mom and when mom’s eating they curl up next to the feeder.  Soon, though, they’ll take more notice of each other and then the games will begin.

Every book I have states that 95% of ewes lamb with no difficulty and need no assistance.  Of course I have to delve into the 5% category.

Last night around 9:30 Mother’s water broke.  She appeared in no hurry to lamb however, so I kept checking on her to make sure there was no need to step in.  While all this was happening, the cold/flu like thing that’s been brewing in me since last week erupted full force and knocked me out cold.  I woke up this morning and high tailed it outside to check on Mother, certain she would be dead, the lambs dead, basically beating myself up for not making sure I stayed awake.  There were no lambs on the ground and Mother wasn’t dead.  In fact she seemed quite alert and was extremely perky given how long it took me to catch her.

I made a quick call to the vet to come pull the lambs even though I was now beginning to wonder if I had actually seen her water break.  She was certainly not in distress nor, apparently, in hard labor.  Dr. Jeff even gave me a second look when he hopped out of his truck.  It was some time around 6:00 a.m. by now.  Too long, I figured, to pull live lambs from Mother.  Hopefully not so long that we lost her as well.

Dr. Jeff went to work, reaching inside he could definitely feel the twins and they seemed to want to come out together.  He needed to push the twins back a bit, then sort out which head belonged to which legs and which body.  We were both certain it was bodies he would be removing.

As he pulled the first twin free, a largish brown & white ram, we stared at each other in an instant’s amazement.  It was alive!  I cleared its head and mouth and Dr. Jeff gave it a good swing or two through the air to clear its lungs and really get it breathing.  He laid the ram lamb across Mother’s back to keep it warm and allow me to work on it and keep Mother still as he pulled the second lamb.  She let us know as soon as her mouth was clear that she was not only alive but royally ticked off.  With both lambs draped across Mother, Dave (who only just showed up on the scene) was sent running after some towels.

Dr. Jeff looked at me in amazement.  “I love these sheep,” he declared.  A woolie ewe, in his estimation, would not have survived, nor would the lambs.  So with the rising of the sun, glinting off the snow covered fields with a hint of spring to come, he clambered back into his truck and left me to help Mother see to the twins.

Now, I know I swore I wasn’t going to name lambs this year but I just had to name  Mother’s twins Jugs and Speed.  I intend to keep a close eye on them throughout the day since I’m home sick from work.  They are far from out of the woods as far as I’m concerned.  It was rough getting into the world, I want to make sure they stay a while.

Lambing season has officially begun.  Oddly enough, on exactly the same date and manner as last year:  A single ram lamb born on 2/26.  He’s just a little guy but this ewe seems to throw small lambs.  I’ve taken a couple mug shots of him.

His mother is very protective of him, keeping him out of trouble as best she can but the little guy is determined to adventure out.  The other ewes and the yearlings are all very gentle with him and very conscious of where he is.  When he was tottering around one of the feeders I saw one of my least favorite ewes gently put her head down and guide him back to his mother.  Another ewe gave up an open spot at the feed bunker because he had chosen to lie down next to it.  It’s sometimes amazing to watch.  I’ve even noticed that he is “checked up on” by various ewes when his mom is feeding. 

As I’m writing this, Mother is looking a lot like she is going to be the next to deliver her lambs.  I’ll add photos to the photo page as I start to gather more.  Once they’re all here I may even put up some video of their antics so you can all sit back with your drink of choice and practice my form of stress release.

They truly can. 

I teach a couple agility classes at Dawgs in Motion.  Quinn usually goes along to be my demo/proofing dog and because he really needs one-on-one time with me.  Plus, I enjoy agility and Quinn had been almost to the point of trialing several years ago.  You know, the years before all the sheep.  On Fridays Shaine goes along as well and gets in some swimming when I’m done with classes.

So today I pop Shaine in the back seat of the truck (the bed of the truck being currently occupied by 500#s of grain), pop Quinn in the back seat of the truck and go to grab a couple leashes.  When I turn around, Quinn is attempting to mount Shaine, telling me she wasn’t nearly as far out of heat as I thought.  So out of the truck with Quinn, much to his dismay, and into the truck goes Rowan. 

Now, I did have second thoughts about taking Rowan given that her motto has always been “shoot first and ask questions later” in regards to just about everything.  Right hand chore dog she is.  Easy-going, mild mannered, love everyone even if you get in my face demo dog she ain’t.  But I had worked Rowan in agility as well and it seemed to suit her.  The fast paced style of it is pretty much a perfect match for her inability to focus on things longer than a nano-second and she had always enjoyed it.  I really didn’t expect her to remember much though.

Here’s where the surprise comes in. 

She not only remembered a whole lot more than I even remember teaching her, she didn’t react when a young poodle got all up in her face with a lot of tooth showing.  When I took her off lead to demo starting weave poles she didn’t once think about going to start something with the other dogs.  Although she was rather fascinated by Griz. 

After class I worked her on a few obstacles.  She not only did them all with enthusiasm she even remembered her two-on-two-off for her contacts.  Then we got to the one obstacle she always had trouble with.  The tunnel.  I know, most dogs love the tunnel.  Rowan loves the tunnel also.  Only Rowan would prefer to not go through it, but rather run along the top of it.  Yes, the whole length of the tunnel.  On top.  So I took some time to explain to her how to actually perform the obstacle correctly.  A tennis ball whipped through it did the trick.  After a few runs through she had it down pat.  Even did it on her own, carrying the ball, as I put the equipment away.   

Not bad for a middle-aged gal.  Rowan, not me. 

Regardless of what Puxatawny Phil says, and the fact we received more snow yesterday, springtime in Wisconsin is not all that far off.  I know this because the sheep and ducks have told me.

First there’s Reegan.  For a normally mild mannered ram he can do some amazing airs above the ground.  Yesterday and today he’s been just full of piss and vinegar.  I think he’s got his son a little worried as to dear ol’ dad’s sanity.  Reegan has been launching himself skyward, springing straight up and kicking out his hind legs like a Lipizzaner.  He’ll land with a twist and a buck, romping across the ram pen as though possessed.  Which is usually Harry Flash’s cue to hightail it into the shed.

The pair of wethers and one or two of the unbred ewes are showing similar enthusiastic behavior.  Bucking and romping like spring lambs.

The ducks have taken over an area of swamp grass and hillocks outside the fence (why they haven’t been eaten by something is still a mystery to me) eggs are being laid wherever they fall as seems to be their habit and ducky relations are taking place all over.  I’m not a huge fan of ducks but they are interesting to watch this time of year.

All the creatures here seem to think spring is in the air.  My money’s on them but maybe that’s wishful thinking.  Only time will tell.

We have officially entered what I call our Lamb Watch period.  Any day now we’re scheduled to start lambing.  That means extra trips out to check on all the girls.  One of the reasons I chose Katahdins was their ability to pasture lamb with little to no assistance.  They mother up quickly and take excellent care of their lambs.  Working full time outside the house makes those qualities essential.  Still, I trundle out one last time before bed, make an early morning check at 4:30 a.m. before I head off to work, Dave peeks in on them before he leaves for work and then they’re on their own till I get home.  I’m guessing, sheep being sheep, they’re going to hold off lambing until the weekend just because Dave & I will be at my god-daughter’s wedding and our friend Dawn will be farm sitting.  In their own little sheep minds that will prove to be great entertainment for them.

This is really one of my favorite times of the year.  Lambs have got to be one of the most adorable creatures ever and they are a complete riot to watch play and romp.  It’s almost as good a form of stress relief after work as a good, stiff drink.  And, many’s the time I combined the two.  Work can really be a pain at times.

Drag racing was a favorite past time of last year’s lamb crop.  All 15 would run about half way up the alleyway, turn around, line up side by side and then, as if someone were saying, “ready, set, go!” they’d come flying back down the alleyway, take a lap around the ewes and sprint back up to the starting line.  They’d repeat the race four or five times before moving on to a new game.  And I never got tired of watching them.

I wonder what antics this year’s crop of lambs will invent.

I’ll make sure I get pics when the lambs start arriving and will post them on the photos page.  Maybe I’ll even get some video of them doing what lambs do best, entertaining, oblivious to the world around them and living in the sheer joy of the moment.

Wow, almost make me wish I was a lamb for a day.

I don’t intend to pick on old dogs.  Really.  They just open themselves up to it and seeing as I have been on the receiving end of Lace’s brand of humor many times over the past 15 years I’m going to say “fair’s fair”.

We were heading back to the house after our walk today, Shaine, Lace and myself.  As walks go when a stir crazy 1 1/2 year old and a  plainly just crazy 15 year old are involved, it wasn’t all that eventful.  Lace actually managed to stay with us right up to the final stretch.  That’s when she found something incredibly smell-worthy beside the wood burner, did a sudden u-turn and planted her nose at the corner of it, oblivious to all else.  I managed to get her attention and motioned her toward the house, Shaine doing circles around me at the end of her leash.  I spun myself out of that, glanced over my shoulder to insure Lace was with us and headed off.

When we arrived on the deck there was no longer an old dog in the group.  I took Shaine into the house,  popping her into her crate before heading back out to find the Old Lady.  My guess was she had gone back to sniffing whatever had caught her nose earlier.  She can be very single minded at times.  Half way to the burner I saw her, standing behind a blue spruce, staring at it as though she expected it to move out of her way.  I called out to her and she cocked her head, looking up at the spruce with an expression that clearly asked, “Did you say something?”  I kid you not.

“She thinks it’s a person,” I muttered as I started walking toward her.  I waved my arm and called her again.  This time Lace peered around the spruce, gave me a quizzical, blurry-eyed look, looked back at the spruce, at me, then up at the spruce again but this time with a sudden air of suspicion.  Then she side-stepped around the tree and came trotting in, not without a look or two over her shoulder, I’m guessing to insure herself the oddly costumed person standing in the back yard wasn’t following.

Not for the first time I find myself questioning Grady’s future as a working dog.  Granted, most if not all of his shortcomings are most likely my fault.  But he will be five this spring and I’m wondering if I can rectify what went wrong and bring him around.

Yesterday was his turn for chores.  I took him in off lead, a mistake only from the standpoint that he was more interested in just about everything besides the sheep.  He didn’t push them off me and it was rather like feeding without a dog’s help.  He wouldn’t even look at the sheep, not directly, but skirted around them and avoided them at all costs.  Still, he was excited beyond belief to be going in with me and daily tries to find ways into the pasture.  When the snow was still piled high he clambered up a snow bank and launched his 60 pound self over the fence to come in with me.  Yesterday it wasn’t until we had been in and out several times and I was taking the first load of hay in that he “clicked”.  Bad timing.  But up to that point he really hadn’t shown me anything.

So when do you say a dog just doesn’t have it?  I’m giving Murphy another chance because I let him down.  I think it’s only fair I give Grady another chance because I screwed him up.  But I’m not sure how much of a chance.  Last year he was wishy-washy at best.  The type of dog that truly annoys me, what I term the “slash and burn” dog.  Dives in, does some “work” then darts away.  But I didn’t really work with him all that much and a lot of time in the pen was spent arguing because he didn’t have a down.  Goes back to working on things off stock.  I think it’s either a respect issue or a confusion issue.  Because of who his mother is (Rowan) and who his grandfather was (Duke) I didn’t trust him 100% and came down on him when I shouldn’t have.  So I’ve got my work cut out with this boy.

I only hope we’re both up to it.  This is my year of evaluation, observation and attempting to rectify.  Should make for an interesting year, hey?