The Nose Knows

When I pick up Dewey Kitty, I bury my nose in the scruff of his neck.

Today, he smelled of the sun-soaked tomato plants he'd napped under.

This is a change from the previous few days, when he smelled of alfalfa hay.

This summer, as Dewey has taken to spending his days outdoors, the sniff of the neck has become a ritual. It tells me where he's been, and is always some delightful summer smell.

I don't put my nose near the Border collies, though.

For they are dogs.

They like to perfume their scruffs with sheep poo, raccoon droppings and decaying rabbits and birds.

Meanwhile on the farm: In early summer, it never seemed to stop raining. However, in the past few weeks, the rains subsided, and I found vegetables in the garden, and caught up with mowing.

This week, I also said good-bye to Trick, the best barn cat ever. This cat saw the other farm critters as his playthings. You could count on him to do things, like lying in the arena when you were trying to lunge a horse; or pouncing on a Border collie who was running out to gather sheep, or wrapping his legs around lamb necks and licking milk off their mouths.

Well into his teens, he'd gotten arthritic in the past few years. I'd set up steps to his feeding table and left some stall doors open so he could move about without having to leap four feet or encounter dogs. Last month, he developed a tumor near his eye. But the vet and I agreed he wasn't ready to check out just yet. His weight was good, he was eating and still enjoying life.

Earlier this week, he ate breakfast as usual and then took a nap on his hay bale. He never woke up. And, I thought, how lucky is he? He lived a life, full of humor and fun, and had a quick death.

Here's a photo of him a few years back. Jack loved to stare at kitties. Trick said, "Whatever."

Here's a photo of Dewey Kitty and Trick in the garden several years ago.

And, I leave you with the photo of the Big Red Dahlia. My friend gives me tubers in the spring and I plant them on the dog graves. The flowers have been especially impressive this year.

When Breakfast becomes the Bed

After raking hay from the barn floor, I place it in a tub. It'll be breakfast for Lily, the pony who believes no blade of grass should be wasted.

The barn cats, though, have another idea.

Trick and Roxie snoozing in the tub.

The tub makes a perfectly warm nest when overnight temperatures drop below freezing.

So, I let sleeping cats lie and feed Lily other hay.

Barn cats find many spots to snooze. They settle on top of the hay stack where they can overlook the horse and sheep stalls. Sometimes, they nestle in a crevice between the bales. But their favorite spot is the tub filled with hay. 

As days turn to weeks, their spots in the tub begin to resemble nests. They become deeper and deeper, and now their bodies are level with the hay.

 I no longer consider turning their bed into Lily's breakfast.

In the dead of winter, when days are short, and when pandemic and rioting fill the daily news, I take great comfort in seeing the barn cats curled up and warm in their nests, like two yolks in an egg shell.

I tell the cats they can nest there until mid-March. That's when I'll need that tub to be both bed and breakfast.

When the Morning Walk Turns into a Run

"Cats," I said, when I saw two sets of eyes looking at me from the picnic table near the pond.

But they were kittens really. Just a pound each, and probably six weeks old.

They were also in danger.

I was on my morning dog walk around the pond with two cat-chasing Border collies and one loves-all-things-stinky Border collie.

I got the two cat chasers on leash as the kittens saw me for what I was: human.

They came running toward me.

The dogs strained on their leashes to get to the kittens.

Bad things could happen if they met.

So, I turned and ran toward home. Dragging two 40-pound Border collies behind me and with two kittens chasing me, I called for the third Border collie, Bubba, the lover of sheep poo, dead turtles and fish goo, who was meandering around the pond.

How fast and far must one go to outrun two kittens?

Turns out 100 yards will do it.

After securing the Border collies safely at home, I returned to the pond and found the owner of the kitties. The kittens are now safely home. They, being kittens, pay no attention to property boundaries and had wandered over to the pond when relatives camped there over the weekend, and did not know how to find their way home.

The Problem Child

With dogs, sheep, horses, chickens, a llama and cats, finding a house sitter can be a challenge.

When  leaving for vacation, I write detailed instructions for the house sitter, noting which dogs are snarky with each other and which horse is the master escape artist.

I worry about Raven, the Border collie, not coming when called; and about Lily, the Haflinger, being pushy.

The care list for the sheep, llama, horses, chickens, dogs and cats goes on for two pages.

But when we left on vacation, I never anticipated Dewey Kitty being the problem child.

On the second day of vacation, we received a text about Dewey Kitty opening the bedroom door and pouncing on the house sitter in the night. She reported she was putting a chair by the door so that he couldn't come in. Instead, he threw himself against the closed door at  night.

The next message reported Dewey Kitty darting outside in the middle of the night and not coming when called.

And then of him ringing the bell by the back door, asking to be let out. When the house sitter opened the door, he looked outside and then walked to the dining room.

In just days, Dewey Kitty had gone from being a sweet, smart cat to a royal pain. When we returned home, the house sitter was giving Dewey Kitty the evil eye. Dewey was plotting how he'd steal her lunch.

With us home, Dewey settled into his routine.

And the house sitter sought revenge. I received this cat video from her.

No Snow = Bad Pets

On this morning's walk, I paused. Was that a whiff of incoming snow? Or just wishful thinking?

No snow means gray days that don't seem to be growing longer.

It also means misbehaving pets: dogs pooping in their crates, dogs whining and pacing more, and Dewey Kitty at his worst: begging to go outside, begging to come inside, knocking over trash cans, knocking over my cup of tea.

The dogs are getting more exercise this winter than during the cold, blustery, snowy winters. Every day, I take them on their 1.5-mile trek, and several times a week, Jack and Niki herd sheep. Dewey Kitty is spending more time outside than is typical in winter.

Maybe the cats and dogs are like me. When the cold, snowy weather hits, I go into semi-hibernation mode; I stoke the fire, make a cup of tea and settle in with a good book. Dewey Kitty does the same, though he sleeps rather than reads.

Warm weather signals our bodies to do something, but we aren't quite sure what that should be.

The Blanket Wars

On this January morning, with freezing weather and a dusting of snow approaching, the cats remind me what I already know: wool is warm.

I've long been a fan of wool, wearing wool socks for many months of the year. In the wintertime, wool long underwear are my go-to garments when working from home.

At night, I sleep under flannel sheets and a wool blanket and cats who love the wool too. During the day and at night, they choose the wool blankets over the polar fleece blanket and the polyester-filled comforter.

There are some moments though, when Dewey Kitty abandons his wool blankets for a warmer spot.

70 Degrees in March

The temperatures jumped into the 70's today, and the breeze blew, and the sun shone, and the yearling ewes forgot they were adults now.

When I sent Raven, the Border collie, into the pasture to gather them, the young ewes responded by bucking, splitting into three groups, head butting each other, leaping onto each other, dashing and darting about.

Meanwhile, the cats, Trick and Dewey Kitty, played their own games of chase, tag and tackle in the yard.

The critters didn't have to read a weather report to know that sunny, warm days in March are a rarity, that days of rain are on their way.

And so for a moment, I followed their lead, threw back my head and kicked up my heels. For the sun was shining, and the warm breeze blew, and spring is on its way.

How the Barn Cat becomes a House Cat

Step 1:
Arrive in the summertime, origin unknown, when you are 6 weeks old and oh, so very cute. When picked up, make sure you purr, purr, purr.

Step 2:
Always be underfoot, begging for attention when the people try to clean the stalls, work in the garden and split wood. When picked up, purr, purr, purr.

Step 3:
As the weather gets colder, hang out with the other barn cats at the back door. When the door opens, dart inside. When picked up and carried outside, make sure to purr, purr, purr.

Step 4:
Become a nuisance. Follow the people to the garage and run under the cars. When they retrieve you, purr, purr, purr--and then dart under the cars again. Eventually, they will throw you in the house, so that they can leave.

Step 5: 
When the weather is freezing, adopt the frozen-paw walk and pitiful cry. Stand at the back door and dart inside whenever the humans go outside to get firewood, walk the dogs or feed the livestock. Once inside, make sure to purr, purr, purr whenever they are near.

Eventually, you will wear them down.

The Bad Boy Returns

For a day, Dewey Kitty lounged in his chair and slept.

He didn't eat; he didn't follow me around the house; he didn't shred tissue paper.

So off to the vet he went.

"There's something seriously wrong with my cat," I told the vet. "He's being a good kitty."

One look at his mouth revealed inflamed gums and throat.

"Once this clears up, a dental is in his future," she said, giving him a few injections and sending him on his way.

A day later, he awoke me at 5 in the morning.

He demanded to sit on my lap and pay attention to him.

When I ignored him, he walked on my keyboard and sat in front of the monitor.

He perched atop the scanner and stared, stared, stared at me.

When noontime approached, he reminded me of his 3 p.m. feeding. And, when I eventually gave into his demands, he ate all of his food.

I was so happy to have my bad kitty back.

Perfecting the Stalk

Roxie, aka Little One, aka The New Barn Cat, is honing her stalking skills. Whenever I looked up on this bright November day, I found the 7-month-old cat.

She perched on a tree limb as I gathered kindling. When hanging blankets on the line, she watched with interest.

When returning with the Border collie from the sheep pastures, I looked up and spotted her atop the chicken coop.

Is this climbing and perching a new phase for her? Or does she realize how precious sun in November can be? Was she forever climbing higher, hoping to meet the blue sky and sun?

The Critter Thermometer

I expect cold snaps in winter, but when they come early and late in the season, they seem especially cruel.

When cold hit in November, it seemed to catch us by surprise. We didn't have the water heaters in place, the gloves dug out from storage, the body used to the cold. And when it hit this past week, I was already photographing dandelions and looking for shades of green in the grass.

I don't keep an outdoor thermometer. The critters tell me when temperatures have dropped below zero.

That happened yesterday when:

Dewey Kitty went outside and was crying to come back in after four minutes.

The horses, usually hanging out in the pastures at night, were standing in their stalls in the morning.

Llambert the Llama had icicles hanging from his eyelashes.

The Border collies dashed outside for their morning walk, but 300 yards into it, three of the four were lifting their paws in that ouchy way.

The sheep ate their first-cutting hay without complaint. (The girls get first cutting to nibble on throughout the day and get the third-cutting alfalfa in the evenings).

And, it's even colder this morning. How do I know?

Dewey Kitty didn't even ask to go outside. He's lounging on his polar fleece blanket, content in watching me.

No thumbs? No problem.

When I saw Dewey Kitty lounging on my laptop keyboard, I darted across the room. I intended to grab him and toss his orange furry butt into the laundry room.

But he was quicker than me.

He hopped from the keyboard and left my computer screen looking like this.

I studied the keyboard. What did he hit to make the screen go sideways? (For the record, this is the same cat who hit the return key during an online Scrabble game causing me to "play" an 8-point word.)

I hit keys. The screen remained sideways.

Being the tech genius that I am, I turned off the laptop and turned it back on. Surely that would take care of the problem.

Nope. Still sideways.

I resorted to searching through the control panel. To do that, I had to place the laptop like this.

It made typing difficult.

But I finally found the way to turn the view from portrait to landscape. I was back in business.

And, when Dewey Kitty got top billing as Worst Pet Ever (poor Niki thought she had a chance after dog obedience class last night), I relayed the story to a co-worker, who said:

"Control-Alt-Arrow."

That's the shortcut key for switching from landscape to portrait view.

We studied her keyboard.

He could do it with three paws, maybe two.

I did not call him Genius.

The Shortest Day

The sun came out to celebrate the shortest day.

I reveled in sunshine as I moved hay.

Dewey Kitty and Trick enjoyed watching from above.

Meanwhile, Nik the pup, played in the mulch pile.

And the hay.

When she found my glove, she snatched it and ran around the yard.

She finally surrendered it for a treat.

On the shortest day, the hen supervised from her perch on the stall door, while the horses looked on.

Raven, the Border Collie, herded sheep -- but had no photos taken because I can't direct and shoot at the same time.

Meanwhile, Caeli and Tag wrestled and played and rolled in the grass. Their paws reached for the sun.

And the chickens, they searched for bugs and grass, and settled for scratch grain.

Blame Dewey

When the temperatures dropped, Dewey parked himself indoors by the fire and spent less time playing with Trick the Outdoor Cat.

And Trick is bored.

The young chicks have grown weary of his antics and no longer ruffle their feathers when he walks by.

And the lambs would rather hang with the older ewes now, instead of playing the Follow-the-Trick-Game.

But Trick still has Niki, the Border Collie pup.

I thought he would tire of her when she outweighed him.

But he takes great joy in stalking her until she engages in play.

I worry sometimes that she plays too rough with him.

He yowls and makes the most pitiful sounds.

And then he comes back for more.

While they're having a grand time entertaining themselves, I'm noticing that walks are taking longer and longer.

And the temperatures keep dropping.

If I always carried my camera...

I could capture those moments that make me pause and shake my head and smile.

I could post daily photos, asking, "How did this come about?"

And giggle at the answers.

But, if I did, would the cats, dogs, horses, chickens and sheep try too hard to get photos of themselves on the web?

Would the photos look staged?

And would the farm seem less magical if I shared it all?

Readers: I'll let you guess the story behind the photo.

Finally, Some Respect

We hope that Niki grows from a hoarder to a herder.

For Niki, a cat is not a cat.

The 12-week-old Border collie pup knows that Trick the Cat will play, but he has claws and teeth, and she'd better approach him butt-end first.

Leslie the Cat has claws and doesn't want to play. Niki may give her a chase, but she keeps her distance.

Louie the Indoor Cat and Niki have come to an understanding: they'll ignore each other.

Dewey Kitty made the mistake of running when he first met Niki, and now Niki wants to give chase.

Until last night.

I heard a yip and Niki came running from the entrance hallway.

Apparently she'd cornered Dewey Kitty and he fought back.

The telltale sign was the claw stuck in her forehead.

This morning, she was keeping her distance and approaching Dewey Kitty butt-end first.

If only the rabbits were like Louie...

My grass-growing project is going amazing well.

This morning, I brought the grass container inside so that Louie the Cat could graze.

After Louie ate Lily earlier this summer (click here for blog), I grew a plot of rye and wheat for Louie's dining pleasure.

It sits on the back porch, next to the containers of basil and spinach. Once it grows several inches tall, I bring it indoors and present it to Louie.

Over the course of a few days, he grazes it down to a few inches tall.

Then I take it outdoors where it grows again. We've repeated this process three times in the last month.

If only the rabbits could graze like him.

This morning, I went to water the lettuce I planted a few weeks ago. When I reached the spot between the asparagus and parsnips, I stopped.

Where was the lettuce?

I oriented myself -- a necessity when the sunflowers and tomato plants are taller than me.

Yep, I was where the lettuce was supposed to be. Kneeling down, I examined the ground and found little green stems even with the dirt.

I will have to plant again... or learn to love wheat and rye.

Louie Ate Lily. I am now growing grass.

The lilies are blooming.

But I'll just be enjoying them in the flowerbeds.

Last week, in a moment of domesticity, I cut several and brought them indoors.

Louie, the indoor cat, ate them.

Lilies are toxic to cats.

While he threw up lots of lily leaves, I had no way of knowing if he regurgitated all of them.

So off to the vet we go.

He is fine.

I am now growing grass.

The indoor/outdoor dogs and cats leave the lilies alone. They have a smorgasbord of green (and other unmentionables), so they have no need to eat lilies.

Louie doesn't have an opportunity to eat greens.

So, I researched what is in the "cat grass" that is sold in pet catalogs and found it was a combo of rye, oats and wheat.

So, I pulled out an old litter pan, filled it with potting soil, and planted some landscape mix (50% rye grass) and threw in some oats from the chicken's scratch grain. The wheat will have to wait a few weeks... as it's ripening in the field.

Louie's little plot of grass is germinating on the back porch. In a few weeks, I'll bring it indoors. And, I'm hoping he'll find it more palatable than lilies.

Lamb Training Begins

"Here, here," Trick the Cat calls. The ewes are eating hay and paying little attention to their lambs.

A few lambs leave the feeder and move toward the cat. Soon others follow.

And so, the lamb training begins.

Each spring, Trick the Cat teaches the Follow the Leader game to the lambs. According to his rules, he is always the leader.

But this year, one of the lambs, Edith, the first born to the flock, the only born to her mother, has different plans. She wants to be the leader.

Only time will tell if they will work it out.

Rambles of Spring

Even though the ground won't dry for weeks, I ask the husband to get out the manure spreader. It is 40 degrees and sunny, and I can  stand the winter mess no longer.

Listening to Fannigan's Isle, The Orange and the Green, I begin the task of cleaning out the barn.

Trick the Cat is happy to have someone in the barn, and he's quite intent on putting on a show.

He's taught the twin bottle lambs to give him belly rubs. When they get too rough, he teaches them about claws on noses.

There is enough manure in the horse paddock, sheep stalls and chicken house to fill the manure spreader again and again. But I focus on areas where it matters most -- in front of doors.

My goal for the day is to have the stalls ready for lambing season. That means I must clean out the horse stall that we've used for hay storage all winter. When doing so, I discover what my rogue hen has been doing.

The manure spreader is filled, and the sun is still shining. So I turn to another cleaning task.

I grab the hairy beasts, scissors and curry combs.

The birds will be happy.

And so am I.