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.

Why Should the Birds have All the Fun?

It's that time of year when fields burst into yellow dandelion blooms and balls of fluffy sheep hair. The sheep are in full shed and rubbing against fences.

Birds are swooping down and gathering bits of white, tan, red and black fiber for their nests.

This year, I gathered some for myself and used the sheep hair for container gardening.

I grow herbs in pots near the back porch. While big pots of herbs look impressive, they can be back-breaking to move.

When foam packing peanuts were used in packaging, my mother reused them at the bottom of pots. They were lighter than soil and allowed for drainage.

This year, after seeing a posting on Facebook, I decided to give sheep hair fiber a try.

I put it in the bottom of the pots and then poured potting soil on top.

Last night, frost was predicted. As I was carrying the pots inside, I thought, "Coats! I should have felted the plants some coats."

Photo of hair sheep in various stages of shedding.

While Others Buy Bread and Milk...

The weather forecast predicted single digit temperatures, up to 10 inches of snow and 45 mph wind gusts later in the day.

So, I took an extra long dog walk in the morning. The dogs didn't seem to mind the freezing rain and ice pellets piling up on their backs.

Emma was too busy hunting rabbits to notice the freezing rain.

Caeli, now 13+ years old, loves the daily walks.

Jack says working sheep would be more fun.

If the weather forecast is correct, they'll be spending a few days hanging out in the house.

I let the horses out into the pasture. The Haflingers are designed for the cold, and only come to the barn for feeding.

Emma and I then drove the sheep out to the hay feeders in the pasture.

I then went to work preparing for the storm. I moved hay feeders under the barn's overhang and set up a wind block for the sheep.

I brought in armload after armload of firewood.

And, then I grabbed a book and made popcorn.

Who eats break and milk during a snowstorm?

Preparing for Act 2

The snow gave way to mud today, and I prepared for Winter: Act 2.

The only certainty about Ohio winters is that just when you think you can't stand another day of mud, or snow, or freezing temperatures, it gives you something else.

So, after a few weeks of below freezing temperatures, it gave overcast skies, 53-degree temperatures, and mud.

I spent the day cleaning up from The Freeze and preparing for The Snowstorm.

That involved moving more hay from the storage barn to the sheep and horse barn.

And removing 2+ weeks of manure from the horse stalls and loafing shed.

And musing at the chickens. The Buckeyes ventured out and about during The Freeze. The Silver Laced Wyandottes opted to hang out in the hen house until the snow melted.

I moved more firewood indoors and cleaned out the wood-burning stove. And, of course, I worked the Border  collies, who think The Freeze or The Snowstorm is a silly excuse to spend time indoors.

How Many Border Collies Does it Take?

The sun was shining. Temperatures were in the 50s. I had the day off work. It seemed the perfect time to plant my spring-blooming bulbs--and to spend some time with the dogs.

About five minutes into the project, I was questioning the wisdom of gardening with dogs.

While tucking crocuses into the ground, Gael, the 4-month-old Border collie, snatched my glove and darted across the yard.

Glove retrieved and crocuses planted, I moved to a different spot where I attempted to dig. Gael was front and center, right where I wanted to dig.

Then she wanted to participate. She dug in the dirt,upsetting recently planted bulbs.

Meanwhile, Emma stared at the cat.

And Raven stared at the back door, hoping some dog would exit.

Because I'm planting so late in the fall, I don't know if the bulbs will come up in the spring.

If they do, I'm sure they'll have that natural, fall-where-they-may look, and that they'll make me smile and remember the day I attempted to plant bulbs with Border collies.

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.

Zero Degrees in the Barnyard

When temperatures dip below 20 degrees, people ask how the barnyard animals are handling the cold.

The horses, sheep and even the chickens handle the cold weather better than the hot weather. For, with winter coats and a wind break, they only need extra hay to warm up.

And they love extra hay.

Last night temperatures dipped below zero degrees Fahrenheit, but the winds were calm. So the horses spent the night in the pastures, pawing through snow for grass, rolling and snoozing.

For the dogs, temperatures below zero mean shortened walks. Old paws feel the cold in sub-zero weather and after five minutes or so, I few of the dogs begin tiptoeing.

The sheep have hooves instead of paws, so after eating their hay they mosey to the pasture. Their thick coats and low stature handle the cold just fine.

The chickens venture outside, but not as much as when it's warmer.

The Buckeye chickens were developed to handle Ohio winters. They have short combs and heavy bodies. They don't let a little snow keep them from roaming.

After lunch, when temperatures finally reached double digits, I took the dogs on their daily walk around the hay fields.

Jack came back with icicles, and Niki, with a dirty nose.

Both seemed disappointed that herding training wasn't on the afternoon agenda.

But 20 degrees is when the human works the dogs on sheep.

The One New Year's Day Regret

I spend part of New Year's Day doing activities that I'd like to do throughout the year. Lucky for me, the sun came out and the temperatures climbed to the 40s, so I could spend hours outdoors.

 Pictured from left are Tag, Raven, Niki, Jack and Caeli. This was taken right before I released them so they could run in the fields.

I started the day like I do most, with the dog walk. But on this day, because the sun was shining and because I had time, I extended the walk to the far hay field and lingered as the Border collies hunted for mice, rolled in the grass and chased each other.

I followed that up with several rounds of herding training--a treat when the weather is warm, the ground is soft, but not muddy.

I took time to admire the horses, soaking in the afternoon sunshine.

Lily, like always, is front and center. Jet is behind her.

Noticing their bushy bridle paths, I took them in the barn for hair cuts, grooming and lots of peppermint treats. Is there anything more soothing than listening to the barn radio and the swish of scissors while standing over a horse? 

And, while being lulled by the horses, I made my New Year's Day mistake.

I addressed the chicken issue.

For months now, I've been squabbling with the hens who insist on sleeping in the horse barn, rather than the chicken coop. Carrying hens from the horse barn to the chicken coop has become a nightly chore.

I decided to put a stop to that and move them to the other chicken house, the chicken house that has a fenced yard and no direct access to the sheep and horse barn.

I spent New Year's Day preparing the chicken's new home. I cleaned it out, spread fresh straw on the floor and stapled plastic over an opening to cut down on drafts. That evening, I carried 2 roosters and 16 hens to their new home.

This morning, they roamed their new yard and gobbled up butternut squash seeds and apple cores.

They seemed happy, they seemed content.I was happy, I was content.

But as dusk approached, one hen flew over the fence and into the yard. Another flew over the fence and marched to the horse barn.

And so this evening, I did what I'd done on New Year's Day: I moved a chicken from the horse barn to the chicken coop.

What they teach us...

While cleaning out a desk, I came across these photos of Rambles, our first Border collie pup.

She arrived on our farm in the spring of 1998, just weeks after we moved to the farm. The old farmhouse was in a state of renovation, with no doors or woodwork. She stayed in the mudroom during the days while we were at work, and tagged along with us everywhere in the evenings.

On this particular evening, she was helping my husband, Randy, plant pine seedlings. She had a grand time following behind him, pulling up the seedlings he'd planted and racing around the fields.

She was the dog that made me fall in love with Border collies, and she was the dog that began my dog-training journey. I taught her obedience, agility and so many tricks.

Rambles died nearly nine years ago--and many of the seedlings planted that spring are nearly as tall as the house. We now need two hands to count the number of Border collies that have called our farm home: Rambles, Jack, Tag, Caeli, Mickey, Raven and Niki.

Today I visited the young Border collie, Niki, who is at sheepdog boarding school. While she was working the sheep, and the trainer was correcting her, I realized that this dog-training journey will last a lifetime.

Earthworms on Christmas Eve

I'm singing Christmas carols to remind myself that it's Christmas Eve.

Ma Nature is telling me otherwise.

It's been a warm winter, so far, with several 60-degree days. We have yet to turn on the furnace. Fires in the wood-burning stove keep the house plenty warm.

We still have lots of wood in the shed--and lots of hay in the barn. The horses and sheep are still relying on pasture for most of their calories. It takes little effort for them to find green grass.

This morning, thanks to yesterday's thunderstorms, I saw hundreds of earthworms while walking the dogs.

But I miss the cold weather that encourages me to spend evenings reading by the fire.

And I miss the frozen ground that keeps the horses and dogs mud-free.

And I miss wearing Christmas sweaters.

But I'll keep singing Christmas carols and dreaming of a White January.

Merry Christmas!

Star-Filled Walks: Part 1

In November, I mourn the lack of sunlight for dog walks.

Now, most of our walks are under a lightening sky, a darkening sky, a dark sky.

Our 5 a.m. greet-the-morning walk, though, always takes place under a dark sky. At this time, the world seems the quietest.

The coyotes and other night creatures have gone to bed; and most humans and day creatures have yet to awake. I hear very little engine noise and see fewer, if any headlights.

Warmer-than-usual temperatures and calm winds have made these walks pleasant and unhurried this fall, and I find myself looking up at the sky, the clusters of stars, the stars that outshine the others.

On so many mornings, I've watched a star shake loose from its moorings, fall and fade.

As I wish on those shooting stars, I think how lucky I am and wonder if someone, somewhere, is doing the same.

Different Agendas, Same Result

When we depart, I on skis, the dogs naked except for the collars around their necks, we're enthusiastic. Five inches of powdery snow, calm winds and temperatures in the teens make for excellent trekking weather.

But, when I stop to admire the frost, I realize we have different agendas.

I admire how the frost clings to the fences, and turns the pines Christmas-card perfect.

I study the weeds, looking for seeds that the birds may scavenge now that winter is nearing its end.

The dogs see no point in looking up, for their joy is under the snow. It's on the ground where they may disturb a rabbit or mouse.

And, so we move along, each taking our own walk, each enjoying the winter morning as we travel around the fields.

And though our agendas are different, we're in the same state when we reach the 1,000-foot marker, We are tired and happy and thankful for a winter walk together.

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.

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.

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.