A pie in exchange for hundreds of barn shingles

Photos:  Our barn, built around 1920 (check out the second photo of the old roof--these rather brittle shingles are on top of the original cedar-shake shingles), and the hay delivery that started the pie-for-shingles conversation I've been buying feed and other supplies from a number of sources:  The all-too-familiar one being Farm and Fleet.  Next potentially familiar one would be Tractor Supply.  The chicken feed comes in 500 pound batches from Union Feed Mill, where I sometimes buy water-conditioner salt or other feeds, too.  Sometimes I stop at Lake Barrington Feed, where Jim is especially helpful, even more so than usual when you ask him about poultry (he judges poultry at many of the county and state fairs around here). There's a feed and garden store in Woodstock, but it's kind of pricey.  I only go there for one-bag purchases when nothing else is open.  They specialize in riding gear, so the chicken feed isn't the main draw for their customers. My favorite stop is becoming a community resource for us as well:  Harvard eggs and Feed.  It's run by a very friendly couple--the husband grew up on the farm.  His parents built a smaller house on a slight hill, while Bruce and his wife Sue have lived in the big old farmhouse.  I stop in for things that I want better quality from, like ground corn, alfalfa pellets, beet pulp shreds, or dog food.  (The corn, alfalfa and beets go into the dairy-cow grain mix that Bessie gets).  Sue and I chat for the whole time I'm there and then some.  Bruce has taken to fondly calling me Sarah, because I remind him of another customer and it took him a long time and a lot of teasing from Sue before he remembered that I'm "Laura".  Now he does it on purpose, and I threaten to call him "Bob" or "Bub" or some such thing in return. Bruce was an answer to prayer this past summer in the hay crisis.  Remember how panicky I was feeling when the prices were soaring, the supply was practically non-existent, and I asked for all of you to pray along with me for our winter hay supply?  It was the very next day that God answered that prayer with a full load of clover/grass hay, sitting in the turn-a-round drive of Harvard Feed, freshly harvested, and not spoken for.  At a decent price--still $7.25 a bale, but less than most.  Not only that, but Bruce also had a wagon of grass hay out in his field, meant for his daughter to come and pick up, but now it had been rained on lightly (not much rain this past summer to ruin anything!) and it looked like she wouldn't be coming after all.  $2.25 a bale.  Average that out, give the cows sections of both types of hay daily through the winter, and it worked.  The clover hay is the cows' FAVORITE. Another friend, Jonathan, had volunteered his truck if I found hay, and he willingly worked in a hay-pick-up after work that next day. Bruce had another load of alfalfa later in the season that he delivered right to our barn, because my Trailblazer MIGHT not have been tough enough to pull the loaded hay wagon (whether my car would have done it or not, my driving would have been the bigger problem!) So, many times in the course of the last year, Bruce and Sue have either offered solutions, or just chatted, or made suggestions.   When Bruce delivered that last load of hay, we were talking about our barn and outbuildings, and I mentioned being a little worried about the leaky barn roof (the hay was being stored on the 2nd floor, where small leaks were becoming bigger leaks.)  Bruce suggested metal roofing, and, when I had to tell him that we can't afford that right now, he squinted up at the shingles on our barn roof and declared "Well, I have stacks of those up in my old barn.  And we put the metal roof on ours, so we'll never need those shingles.  You're welcome to them!" A few weeks later, he called to make sure I wanted them.  I said that I didn't want to take them for free, and asked what he wanted for them.  He said nothing, and then, at the end of the conversation, he rather shyly suggested "Well, if you want to make a PIE in exchange for the shingles, I'd be OK with that."  ;)  My response might have been hard for him to understand, because I started laughing and choked out "Bruce, I can DEFINITELY make a pie for you". Found out later that Sue was listening in and chuckling in the background. We established at a later visit to the store that he likes apple pies, and then (non-assumingly, again) he added "Oh, if it's apple, I like LOTS of cinnamon with my apples".  Another chuckle from Sue. Fast forward to yesterday.  I cleared off the kitchen counter and made the pie.  It was really sweet--probably too much sugar.  It was cinnamon-y, but maybe not enough.  The apples cooked down so much that the top was no longer nicely rounded.  The crust was kind of pathetic, but that's how most of my pies turn out. Jeremy and I brought it over, and Jeremy hid behind me as we walked up to where Bruce was working outside the store.  I said "We brought something for you."  Jeremy peeked out and held up the tin-foil-wrapped pie.  Bruce's eyes lit up, and he commented on how the bottom of the pan was still warm. Inside the store, he and Sue carefully peeled back the tin foil and oohed and aahed and declared that the pie would be dinner (it wasn't really that great, but hopefully I acted gracious!).  Then I said "It might be too sweet, and I don't know if there's enough cinnamon for you, Bruce.  If you don't like it, I'll make you another one." At which Sue and Bruce IMMEDIATELY switched gears from appreciation to laughing "I don't think we like this one at all.  You'll have to bring another one".  I walked right into that one. Anyway, after setting up Friday afternoon as the time to get the shingles, rain or shine, Sue told me about all the pears they had canned that week.  Their Bartlett pear tree is over 100 years old, and Bruce's mom used to make pear juice.  They offered that we could come back with buckets and take as many pears as we wanted, because they'd started just throwing them out into the field. I know I don't have time to skin, process, prepare and can pears UNLESS I make them into fruit butter or juice.  That's where the food mill comes in handy.  No time to do all the meticulous peeling of pears right now. So there's another bonus of getting to know folks out in the country.  I bring them one pie, not even a great one, they give us several hundred shingles (the old kind that I'd be hard-pressed to EVER locate for roof-repair), and on top of that, the pears left are free for the taking. And I'll return the favor--whatever I make, I'll bring some back to them, especially if it's pear juice.  It might not be exactly like his Mom used to make, but it would be a fitting thank-you for not just the pears but for everything else. Laura http://dykstrasfarm.blogspot.com/

Bessie fashion choice

Photos:  Lying among the piles of straw-manure in the cow pen, and Bessie protesting my criticism of her new "style" With the rain last week and the week before, the cow-pen is still drying out, slowly.  During the summer, I would clean the cow-section of the barn every day, wheel it out to dump in the cow-pen area, the chickens/ducks/geese would scratch through the piles of straw and manure to scatter it and the sun would dry the bits.  When the manure was dry to the point of looking and feeling like peat-moss, I would rake it up and shovel it into the wheelbarrow, to either put into the garden beds or spread out on the pasture.  That worked really well, and I kept up with it on a fairly regular basis.  Now I'm looking at the slop out there and realizing that, even though I THOUGHT I had a good manure-management idea, when the ground is wet it will NOT work that well.  Since the rain started (post-drought, after all the crops were stunted), the manure piles have just been scattered but not dried.  In the cow-pen, the depth of manure is rather asounding. Out in the pasture, it's a perfect scenario.  The ducks gleefully swish wet cow-pies through their beaks and (in no time) a sizable plopper is distributed for several feet in each direction.  The concentration of cow-pie to pasture-area is good--not too many manure piles so the manure that IS deposited out there can be spread out reasonably by the eager poultry. In the cow-pen it's another matter.  It's now a matter of excavation.  Bessie walks through the wet portions and sinks in as far as her ankles.  Her hooves are caked with manure, and that cloven hoof thing harbors a lot of mushy stuff that squishes out as she stands for milking.  That can't be too comfortable!  But now I see why the cows were in what seemed like such cess-pools of manure at the farm we bought them from.  It's quite inevitable, it seems. The rain has washed manure OUT of the manure-straw piles that have been hauled out of the barn, and now the low areas of the cow-pen desperately need to be dug out.  The rain-water pooled there first, and then the wet manure slowly crept downhill to form a bit of a lagoon. I have been working on it, but the words of my brother-in-law are running through my head:  "You'll need to come up with a different system for taking care of this manure, or you'll need to get a tractor and scrape it out of here".  That was said back in May or July, so someone with more experience could see what I wasn't able to see as the future scenario.  Sadly, we're almost to the point of needing a small bull-dozer, and we have the whole winter to go..... So I've been digging, and raking, and using the manure fork to lift soggy or dripping sections, and trundling barrows-full of cold, wet gunk out into the pasture to deposit randomly in the areas with the worst bare spots or holes.  Still, there is ankle-deep muck in the cow-pen, the kind that wants to suck your boots right off your feet. Bessie, fashion-conscious cow that she is, decided that she couldn't resist the enticing mud-bath and beauty treatment waiting just outside the clean barn-bedding, so she's been lying in the wet stuff almost every night.  Not in the dry areas, that would be too easy.  She is resting and sleeping where her rump and udder and tail can be literally coated (and re-coated!) with manure. Her back legs and thighs are clumped with dried liquid manure, and her udder needs to be meticulously cleaned every morning to keep small clumps of feces from leaping into the milk that we are supposed to drink.  All of this is gross, but my more morbid fascination was with her tail. I noticed yesterday as I milked her that, if her tail switched towards my face, it would really hurt!  Because, even though she has an old-cow tail tipped with coarse, stringy hair (Lucy's was youthfully full and silky and even the tuft-hairs were curled just right), now it could be classified as a lethal weapon.  The coarse hairs at the end of her tail are about 8 inches long, but are no longer hanging individually.  There are distinctly 5 or 6 "clumps" of dread-locked tail-hair waiting to whap me in the eye!  Bess is now sporting dread-locks.....on her tail.  It's a good thing that fly-season is nearly over, or I'd be getting hit repeatedly with rock-solid manure as she switched her incredibly fashionable tail-do through the air. This brought to mind the fascinating National Geographic magazines that I would pore over as a kid--the article(s) about African women who braid their hair with manure.  Not sure why, not sure if it would be healthy for your scalp, not even sure if that's outdated information.  Our dear cow Bessie seems to think that the fashion statement is current, and has adopted this stunning new look for the coming winter months.....let's just hope that her daughter Ruby is more up-to-date and more concerned with cleanliness than her mama is!  Maybe (as is the case with my daughter and my own "fashion-sense"--or lack of it), Ruby will have a quiet little talk with her mama and tactfully tell her that her choice of style is NOT a style at all.  If Bessie's lucky, Ruby will go through her closet with her and make a pile of all the fashion do's and dont's, along with the advice to NEVER dreadlock your tail-hair with manure!!!!  It's barnyard-fashion suicide.  ;) Laura http://dykstrasfarm.blogspot.com/

Rocky's new playmate

Photo:  Rocky the husky Rocky met a hot little vixen yesterday morning.  Shadow didn't want to go out in the morning (not surprising.  When she willingly goes to the pasture with Rocky, he dashes to and fro and body-slams her repeatedly).  Rocky was practically prancing around with his need to be let out AND his excitement to patrol "his" acre after a night of who-knows-what had prowled around out there. I brought him out like usual, left him there and got things ready for milking Bessie, checked on Shadow (who STILL was sulking in her crate and refusing to come out).... Rocky was sniffing a pile of cow-pie when I came back out to the barn, so I left him in the pasture and went in to get the milking done.  At some point, I heard Rocky yipping and whimpering, which usually means one of two things:  "I'm all alone out here!  Won't somebody PLEASE come out and get me" or "Hey Shadow, stop minding your own business, I WANT you to be annoyed with me!" I yelled out to him to be quiet and kept milking.  I let Ruby the calf out of her stall after I got the family's share of milk from Bess, and she stopped to peer out the door and perk her ears forward at whatever commotion was going on out in the pasture.  The waiting milk from her mama was a stronger pull, and her curiosity was pushed aside as she nearly dove underneath Bessie to reach her udder.  For a calf who is already 2/3 as tall as her Mom, she does a good job of getting down low enough to drink from Bessie. Continuing with my schedule, the barn cats got their saucer of warm milk, the chickens got their feed and fresh water, and the milk buckets were brought in and filtered and stashed in the back of the frig. That's when Jeff appeared at the patio door with the rifle in his hand, looking quite excited.  I think my mouth must have fallen wide open..... This is what I could piece together:  Rocky had been "meeting" a coyote which was on the other side of the fence.  Rocky's usual dash-away puppy run and whimpering was apparently his invitation for her to play.  (My first thought--coyote packs will send a coy female to lure a big male dog away from safety, and then the whole pack will take him down). Jeff got the gun and bullets and went out, but by then the coyote was halfway across the empty soybean field.  By the time Jeff got out into the field, the coyote was at the edge of the still-standing corn on the other side of the soybean field, quite a distance from our back fence.  Jeff reported "It looked back at me as if to say "Yeah, good luck finding me NOW" and disappeared into the field.  Jeff shot into the field, and a dog at another farm was barking by then, but the coyote was gone. Michael rounded out the story a bit later by saying that he heard the pack of coyotes out by the Barnevelder coop at about midnight.  I realized that Spartan (one of the barn kitties) was outside last night and not in the barn, and breathed a sigh of relief as I remembered that he had come in for morning milk and was safe.  Mental tally:  All the birds were closed in for the night, one barn cat was inside the barn and the other made it through the night in safety, Sly the house cat was inside like he was supposed to be, cows were safe..... Rocky, on the other hand, should have known better than to pal around with a strange canine, and luckily she (or he) was on the OTHER side of the fence, so that Rocky couldn't clue-lessly follow.  Big husky male that he is, he should pose a threat to a lone coyote, but....he could easily be overpowered by a pack of them, possibly concealed just inside the corn-field. Things made a bit more sense, then, as I thought a few things through from the past week or two. *The cows had been tolerant of both dogs until about the time that the soybean fields were harvested.  At that point, both big cows started to charge the dogs if they happened to be in the pasture at the same time.  At one point, I hid behind a tree as Lucy came thundering and bucking up to Rocky, who was taunting her from the end of the leash that I was holding!!!  I made a quick get-a-way and left Rocky to tire himself out or be trampled. *Lucy had started sleeping out in the open, where she would have a good vantage point of the pasture and all around it.  She usually slept near Bessie before then, usually inside the barn. *Bessie had been uncharacteristically standing inside the barn room every morning, looking out towards the field, but staying close to her baby.  This wasn't good for a number of reasons, one being that her milk seems to start flowing when she's up off the ground in the morning, and the longer she stays lying down, the more milk there is when I come out to milk her (up to an eighth of a gallon is wasted when she stands and lets it stream out, by my estimate!) *With Lucy gone, Bessie took up the spot where Lucy was sleeping every night--the good vantage point under the spruce tree.  And Bessie had started moo-ing a warning to Ruby every time the dogs were running in the pasture. *Ruby started to NOT want to go into the stall at night, since about the time that Lucy left last week. *Ruby had begun to trot forward to the barn entry with ears perked forward, every morning BEFORE happily trotting over for her nursing time.  So, maybe.....the coyotes have been hanging around for a few weeks.  There WAS a chicken which spent the night out in the pasture, where it was potentially safe but still detected by hungry predators.  That night Jeff heard the coyotes outside in the empty field, maybe trying to get at the chicken? Maybe the cows are agitated with the dogs because of the coyote-threat.  Maybe the coyotes will be bolder now that there is only one older cow out there, and Lucy is no longer there to be the spunky watchman. I'll have to do some checking into coyote habits, and whether they would go after a full-grown older cow inside a pasture with an electric fence.  Or whether Ruby is more at risk being left free in the cow-pen with Bessie or being confined in a stall inside the barn (but with the cow-entrance wide open).  Maybe coyotes won't bother with cows at all, which would be the ideal thing to discover. Whatever I find out, there will be extra-care taken to close in all the birds every night, to call the barn cats into the barn and keep them there, to call our house-cat into the house and not let him slip outside again until morning.....any of those could be an easy snack for a pack of coyotes. Rocky, clueless young male that he is, will NOT be allowed to run the pasture unless Shadow has been out there first.  Somehow, the idea of Shadow trying to PLAY with a coyote is ludicrous.  Everyone will be much safer with Shadow pitching a violent doggie fit at an intruder, IF it happens again.  A smart coyote would turn tail and run if coming face to face with a snarling/barking/angry Shadow. Poor Rocky, just when he thought he'd found a friend......  Good thing he can't comprehend how things could have turned out for him if the fence hadn't been in the way. Laura http://dykstrasfarm.blogspot.com/

Thanksgiving turkey

Friday: This always happens when it's the first time to take a type of animal to the butcher.  The chickens are ready to go.  No problem there--they've been in the PVC/netting cages for a week now.  The 2 Cayuga ducks are in a different cage.  I've taken chickens away many times, and ducks once before. The problem is the turkey.  I put him in a dog crate last night.  He hasn't been on my list of favorites for quite a while, since he was caught in the act of killing something smaller and defenseless several times.  He struts around and "courts" the full-grown geese, following them out into the pasture, regally turning his fanned-out tail to and fro, elongating the dangly-thing on top of his nose that usually looks like a bulgy lump, making his face and neck colors change from dreary bluish-gray to sky-blue mottled with bright red.  They go about their business and totally ignore him.  It's sad, in a way, because a turkey hen would have completed his life and given him purpose besides gracing our Thanksgiving table. Anyway, he's in the crate, ready to go to the butcher tonight with the 2 ducks and 21 young roosters.  The difficult part is hearing this bird that I've grown to HATE call out to the geese in the pasture.  He's inside the barn, either gobbling to make himself heard by what he considers to be his flock, or making little peeping noises like when he was a poult (turkey chick).  I had lots of chicken litter to shovel out, so turkey-boy's sad little noises were getting to me. He WILL go tonight, no doubt about that.  The question was:  Do I let him out of the crate for one more day of freedom?  Not a good idea.   I wish I'd gotten a good photo of him.  If you don't know his personality, he is really a stunning bird--a heritage breed called a Blue Slate.  You'd never know that he was a chick from Farm and Fleet that was mixed in with the chicken-chicks that I intended to buy.  He looked a little odd, and there were 2 others like him, but the girl insisted that she was giving me the right ones.  The poults were right next to the chicks, in a different section of the heated cage at the store.  My guess is that someone put them back on the wrong side---but the girl didn't want to hear that I thought these 3 looked JUST LIKE the turkey poults next door! Well, the turkey poults were supposed to cost $16 each, and the chicks were only $5 or less, so Farm and Fleet lost out.  Then WE lost out as first one and then the second one died, leaving us with a love-sick and very confused half-grown tom-turkey.  He identified with the only other birds close to his size--the 4 American Buff geese! If we get turkeys next year, I want to get at least half-a-dozen, maybe more, but only if we have a separate move-able coop for them.  Watching him mercilessly chase a broody hen around and around in the barn for seemingly no reason was NOT something that endeared him to me at all.  Seeing a large turkey viciously killing a young pigeon or a sick chick has taken the intrigue right out of having a mixed flock of birds that are housed together!  Makes me curious to know if all turkeys are territorial or mean to smaller poultry. Thanksgiving dinner, here he comes....  And I have to admit, I AM curious to know just how much he weighs.  He will be our first home-grown, heritage breed turkey, ever.  Stay tuned for the November report and maybe some photos of a fabulous Thanksgiving array of fine dining.  Laura http://dykstrasfarm.blogspot.com/

The new 2-cow normal

Photos:  One more great photo of Lucy, and the "spa" treatment (Beauty treatment:  cows grooming cows in the middle of filth) Tuesday:  Lucy left for Ohio. Wednesday:  Bessie knows that something is different.  She's been mooing all day, loud and insistent.  She stood gazing out over the corn fields, looking for something but not seeming to know what.  She's on high alert, just seeming to be missing "something". I gave her extra treats.  More moo-ing when she was done. Ruby tried to get Bess to play and finally gave up.  (Lucy was the playful "aunt", while Bess quite perfectly plays the part of matronly and watchful mama) Bessie looked at me in confusion quite a few times when I went out to check on them, and trotted out to the middle of the pasture and just stood there, not sure what she was looking for.  Bessie munched mouthfuls of grass that I ripped up from outside the fence for another diversion, then trundled off and gazed out over the fields again with her ears perked forward.  The neighbor was welding something, so there was an eerie high-pitched noise adding to the cow-confusion. She knows that something is not being included in the all-important "routine".  I don't know if she can comprehend that Lucy is what she's missing, or if it's just a vague awareness that something is not quite right (in the middle of the night, Miss Clavelle turned on the light and said "Something is not quite right"  from the kids' book "Madeline").  It's surprising to see Bess searching in vain for whatever she thinks is missing in her day, because when Lucy WAS here, Bessie and Lucy were butting heads (literally, and sometimes smacking heads would be a better description).  Bessie is searching for her arch-rival, her sworn enemy, the sneak-attack thief who would steal every morsel of grain that Bessie left unprotected or uneaten.  But Lucy was part of the herd, even if Bess was determined to remain the boss cow.  Sometimes when the cows a half-mile away would get to moo-ing, our 3 cows would perk up their ears and listen intently, as if to say "there's a herd over there, and they're somehow remotely connected to us"--that tells me that the herd instinct is still strong, even if it's no longer the key to their survival as a species.) Setting up for milking was a breeze this morning.  I could leave the barn door open between milking area and cow pen, daylight streamed in, no need to lure the big cows out so that I could set things up safely, no need to close the door after Bess was called back in.  There was no Lucy who could potentially barge through the open door and knock me off the stool to get at the feed.  I could let Ruby out of the stall and free to nurse when the milking was done, and not need to time it just right to let Lucy in (so that Ruby wouldn't be shoved aside, risking injury as an exuberant full-grown cow pushed through without regard for a smaller calf who was just trying to get a mouthful of milk). Thursday:  It was the right decision, no question about it.  Lucy is settling in at a good farm, and...there is less stress here.  Ruby is contained in her stall while I milk Bess, Bess knows the drill, and things are a bit more predictable (and safe) when working with such a big animal. Ruby is quickly becoming Bessie's companion, without the head-butting and power-plays that happened between Bess and Lucy.  Bess pretty much expects what I have in mind, based (probably) on how I pat her or push her or move around her but even more based on the predictable routine of "I need you to move to that place at this time".  Lucy didn't get that much handling from me, and was still unrehearsed in some ways when I had a lot of jobs to complete.  (For example:  When I come out of the barn with a bale of hay in the mornings, Bessie knows that I'll let her get a few mouthfuls from the corners, but that I'll push against her with the bale itself to get her to move aside.  Lucy would still be munching and trying to stand in the way of my path of movement.)  If I pat Bess on the rump in a certain way, she will reluctantly mobilize herself to get out of the way.  Lucy didn't know that I truly meant business when I did that to her, so a harder shove or the PVC pipe were in order. Bessie knows that if I'm filling up the grain pan in the stanchion, then she needs to go INTO the stanchion instead of trying to force her way in NEXT to the stanchion.  Lucy's only route to the grain was to barge past me in the small space outside of the milking stanchion, and it was not a big surprise when I came out of a close scrape with a few angry bruises on my side. There's a certain dance of what works and what doesn't with Bessie, and it took 8 months to get us to this point.  There would have been the same unspoken communication with Lucy after she was being milked and handled more, but we weren't to that point yet.   If you go back to the beginning of all this cow stuff (January), you'll read plenty about how frustrated I was with Bessie because she and I didn't know what to expect from each other.  It took her farmer telling me that I shouldn't expect her to be holding grudges or be acting out of anger about something (it seemed like she was charging me back then to get at the hay I was carrying, and it frightened me until I talked to Farmer Bob for some cow-sense lessons!).  She just acts out of instinct.  I, as her "good shepherd" (another term from Farmer Bob) need to read that instinct to foresee what action I'll need to take in order to direct the cow to do what I want.  Now it's calmer with just Mama Bessie and young Ruby. Even so, that calm will feel unnatural until we all get used to the fact that Lucy's pretty face isn't going to be peering up in curiosity from wherever she is grazing.  The pasture  feels empty without Lucy kicking up her heels to run and frolic with her little niece.  There seems to be much less manure to shovel in the mornings (a good thing, but it doesn't seem quite right....yet!)  And the hay supply in the hay mow isn't being depleted as quickly--which doesn't seem normal, but, without Lucy here, there will be lots of new "normal"s to get used to. It was the right decision, but change isn't always easy to accept, whether you're a cow who can't figure out just what that change IS, or a person who knows all too well the livestock-sized piece of the puzzle that is missing.  (The cow reference would be Bessie, in case anyone was confused!)  ;) Have a great weekend, everyone. Laura http://dykstrasfarm.blogspot.com/

Goodbye to Lucy

Photos:  A few poignant pictures of Lucy's time here in Woodstock Lucy's on her way to her new home.  If you read this on Wednesday, she should already be there and settling in. It was difficult to watch Bessie and Lucy calmly grooming each other yesterday while the leaves fell peacefully around them.  I had a moment of sadness as I watched them acting lovingly towards each other....that was a rare occurrence!  And it was sad to see the three cows:  Bessie, Lucy and young Ruby, chewing their cuds under the big spruce tree by their hay rack this morning with no knowledge of the life-changing event that was about to happen in their little world.  I couldn't help thinking that we, as humans, set ourselves up for a lot of stress, simply because we know what change is coming or imagine what might be coming, and work ourselves up into a frenzy---crying, looking for a way to change something inevitable, begging or pleading with the people around us or with God to NOT let something happen, or grasping at straws to keep things just the way they are (meaning--the way we are comfortable with).  The cows live in the moment, expecting their routine, not really deviating from the "norm", but not getting frightened or spending all day crying about the change that they couldn't possibly comprehend.  As a military kid, it would have been nice to be a bit less aware of the huge changes each move would cause, and not spend so much time in worry and grief and anxiety leading up to the move, or feeling heart-sick for months after a move and before feeling like I'd found a new place to fit in! On the other hand, our God-given ability to comprehend what is about to happen isn't something to take lightly or to wish away.  God gave us those emotions because we ARE human, because we HAVE emotions and a brain to comprehend what certain changes in our lives might mean to us.  I liked seeing Lucy so blissfully unaware that she'd be on the road for 5 hours, changing her whole life with that one long drive.....She had no idea that in just a few hours she would be on her way to an entirely new life.  She's going to a good situation, with people who will care for her and who (maybe) will be even a bit gentler than I have been with her!  ;)  I had almost all day to get things ready for the arrival of Andrew and the trailer--separating out a sampling of the hay that Lucy is used to---to send along with her, cleaning out the cows' barn area in an effort to keep Lucy semi-clean despite the past few days' worth of rain, tossing down her favorite hay for the cows to share, brushing her and making her look pretty.  She hadn't had a good brushing for a while, but it was that simple act of brushing that tamed both of the cows back in the beginning and gave them a reason to trust me.  She went into her usual trance as I brushed, head down, standing still with not even a muscle twitching, just enjoying it.  It was a good way to gear up for saying goodbye--something useful that I could do that she and I had enjoyed during the past 10 months.  Andrew and his brother arrived from Ohio just before 5 pm.  It was so nice to meet both of them.  I knew that I already liked hearing about their set-up and how excited they were to welcome Lucy to their place.  We traded papers---From me:  Lucy's vet receipts and health papers and confirmation of her pregnancy, also what I wrote out about her schedule and what I usually do to care for her, plus all the Dutch Belted stuff that I've come across on-line.  From Andrew:  The payment for Lucy PLUS the paperwork for the American Chinchilla buck (rabbit) that he had brought for us.  (Another adorable bunny, and Jeremy is taking charge right away.  This one is smaller than James was, but younger, too.  He's from a quality line of Am Chins, too, so he should be a good daddy bunny next year if we have some girls to breed him with.) It wasn't terrible getting Lucy into the trailer.  I set up a make-shift corridor from the cow-pen to the gate with electric-stranded twine on temporary fiberglass stakes, and they pulled the trailer up as close to the livestock gate as they could.  I tricked Bessie into coming into the barn to eat her grain rations (although all 3 cows looked at me with the question in their eyes:  "Just what time do YOU think it is?"  A few hours too early for the ROUTINE feeding, that was for sure.)  Anyway, I knew that I needed Bessie out of the way if I was going to use anything yummy to lure Lucy with. Lucy didn't get to go into the barn for the grain, but instead was offered a half-bucket full of "sweet feed" (a mix of pellets, lots of molasses, and grain).  She was curious enough about the unexpected treat that she didn't flinch as I hooked 2 lead-lines onto her halter, and she followed us out to the gate (with the bucket of feed enticing her each step of the way).  She balked when we got to the trailer, though, and refused to step up into it, even with the sweet feed as a lure. I tried what has worked here before to move her, even swatting her and poking her with the PVC pipe, but she wouldn't budge.  Hopefully Andrew didn't think it was cow abuse...really, I've smacked her much harder than I did today, especially when she was once in danger of crushing me as she intently charged ahead to get to Bessie's feed! At this point, the lead-lines were firmly attached to support posts half-way into the trailer, so she couldn't back out but was NOT going to step in if she had anything to say about it.  Andrew had the good idea to let her relax a bit, and sure enough, as soon as he and I were out of the trailer, she stepped right in.  A bit more finagling on Andrew's part and she was all the way in, with the trailer door closed behind her.  She sure looked small inside that trailer all by herself.  But she wasn't crashing around, no panic, a few moo's, and then she seemed to settle in towards the front of the trailer for traveling.  She gave a few more moo's as they pulled out, and then she was on her way. Jeremy asked me if I felt sad, and I really didn't.  It was surprising to admit that.  Lots will happen, both today and into the next weeks and months:  Lucy is on her way to a new home (maybe she'll never be swatted with a PVC pipe again, who knows?!!!).  A new bunny is already being accepted and taken care of by Jeremy (who had sworn never to have another bunny when James died).  The chicken area in the barn was partially cleaned of the filthy litter that is still everywhere else, and the rest is waiting for the before-winter cleaning.  2 dozen birds or more will be moved out of the barn and go to the butcher's place on Friday, bringing our poultry population down below 100.  The Barnevelders will be moved INTO the barn and their separate coop will be cleaned and kept empty.  And there's more:  Bessie will be bred, Ruby will continue to grow, and life will go on, both here and in Ohio.......  The only part of that life that we will miss is Lucy growing huge with the calf inside her, and the birth of that calf next summer.  But Bessie's next calf shouldn't be too many months behind, and "all's well that ends well", right?  This was a very good ending to a short chapter of Life on the Dykstra Farm. Goodbye Lucy girl.  Have a good life with Andrew and his family.  Thanks for the few months that you were here and graced our lives with your curiosity, stubbornness, youthful enthusiasm, and more learning experiences than I'm even aware of!  We can see it as the "circle of life" and belt out the entire song from the Lion King (and believe me, that song's been in my head ALL day!)  You can see it as just an inevitable part of life on a farm. Yet another option:  you could join me in thanking God for the relatively short and sweet part that Lucy played here on our farm in Woodstock.  I can remember our first cows and the memories which she will always be a part of (maybe you do, too?), and I will thank God for what her presence will bring to another farm:  the life experiences for their young family, the wholesome milk produced on their very own farm by the young cow that they will grow to love, and the incredible gift of new life when her calf is born next summer, 4 1/2 hours away in another state. Laura http://dykstrasfarm.blogspot.com/

The poultry population

Hmmm.....the chickens with the infected eyes got me doing some research, and it finally seems clear how my birds got sick in the first place. The infected eyes are or can be a side-symptom of respiratory sickness.  That makes sense now, because most of the chickens with goopy eyes have had mucousy beaks, too.  A lot of the half-grown chicks who die have slightly goopy eyes along with the rattly breathing or sitting all huddled up for weeks before losing their fight to live. Fact-finding:  The original bird with the eye missing was from a batch of chickens that were given to us, in the winter of 2010.  One of those birds died within a week of being brought to the farm--no symptoms.  Another was found dead a few weeks later.  I thought it was because their straw bedding had gotten soaked by thawing snow dripping through a very leaky roof. Our first casualty of healthy birds was a rooster who seemed to die suddenly of pneumonia, soon after the new birds were brought in.  He was in a holding pen close to where the new chickens were being kept. The girl who was using the area that is now the cow's barn space for her own birds grabbed our dog-crate to put some of her birds in.  It was the same crate that I transported those new chickens in just a few days before.  Her birds were congested and sick within a week, and the one that she was keeping inside the crate died very quickly.  (But her bedding was so soggy that moisture rose to the surface when you stepped on it--so we still thought it was wet bedding that was breeding germs). That spring is when we started seeing all of the new chicks go through the respiratory distress, with about a 50% mortality rate.  Since then, each batch of new chicks gets sick at about 12 weeks and that sickness sometimes lingers for a month or two.  One batch of chicks from May this past year is the same batch that is still fighting the eye infections. And this year is when the original one-eyed chicken started having an oozy leak from her own missing eye, and the half-grown chicks started having worse eye infections than I'd seen before.  The ones whose eyes have healed now have the same blank-lens of an eye, identical to the missing eye of that free chicken from 2 years ago. So I looked things up on-line, AGAIN, and found that the type of eye infections they are fighting can be and most probably are caused by the type of respiratory problem I thought the other birds have gone through.  (Worth noting again:  Any birds that are now living and apparently healthy in our barn will be "carriers" for the rest of their lives--which means that every single chick that is born into the current flock will be affected and either die from it or become a survivor that will live to infect another group of chickens.....). It doesn't do any good to place blame on the people who gave me the chickens 2 years ago.  They don't even have chickens anymore, so I can't warn them about what their current flock could be dying from.  I do feel better knowing where the sickness entered our flock, but it doesn't change anything except to urge me to be much more cautious in the future about where our birds come from.  The important thing now is stopping the cycle, whether it's an immediate culling of the entire flock or a gradual dying-out of the affected poultry.  We won't bring in any new birds, and I will discourage the hens from sitting on any eggs.  We won't supply hatching eggs to the classrooms this year, because we don't want to take any new chicks back from those classrooms.  (Actually, the hatch-ability of our eggs seems to be way down from what it was even a year ago.  The amount of rotten eggs this summer in the nest-boxes of broody hens was more than 50% of the total eggs under the mama birds, and if a nest started out with 14 fertile eggs, maybe 3 chicks would actually hatch!). The population of poultry on the farm will dwindle, which will probably be a good thing in the long run, anyway. That brings to mind a new, potential glitch in our little farming venture.  We are in McHenry county, in unincorporated Woodstock.  When we moved here, I checked and double-checked what kind of animals or livestock we could have.  The response was "with 2 acres, you could have as many horses or other farm animals as you want".  McHenry county is now trying to pass a law/limit/amendment which says that any property under 5 acres will be under specific restrictions for livestock.  It makes sense, if you're in a residential area where the neighborhood lots are 5 acres or less, and they want to ensure that all the houses and yards are uniformly kept looking like a "neighborhood." We have 2 acres, nowhere near the 5 acres that would be the legal size for having a true hobby farm, but we're surrounded by corn fields and other farms, and not smack in the middle of a planned subdivision.  The maximum number of chickens would be SIX, if you have less than 5 acres.  I'm not sure what other livestock would be allowed or not allowed.  Jeff doesn't think that they would "grandfather" in a 2 acre farmette which had animals before the new law takes effect, if it's approved.  And the vet said he hadn't heard about it, but very frankly remarked "I wouldn't be surprised if they pass it."  Then I said "We only have 2 acres" and he looked at me silently..... We'll wait and see what happens, and in the meantime, I'll check more into it and do some fact-finding of my own. Laura http://dykstrasfarm.blogspot.com/

Lucy's all grown up.....

Photos:  Lucy at her former farm in western Illinois (the calf on the right), Lucy looking tiny and young at our farm, Lucy growing into a lovely young heifer, and Lucy enjoying a warm fall day Lucy is confirmed pregnant.  The vet seemed very pleased that it went so well on the first try.  (She was artificially inseminated on the first Saturday in September).  Lucy's new owner said that he's read that Dutch Belt cattle tend to breed on the first try.  Lucy, on the other hand, was furious that she was tied up and given an internal exam again!  ;)  Actually, she was fighting mad about the restraint, but the internal exam didn't faze her much at all.  Strange, since the term for the vet's exam was "sleeving" (use your imagination on that one, I'm not going to describe it more than that.) So, Lucy's future is going to be at a lovely family farm in Ohio.  They have over a hundred chickens (like we do).  I just found out that they have American Chinchilla rabbits (like James and Peach, who unfortunately lived here on our farm for far too short a time.) Lucy will be with goats (no goats here, although an old neighbor is attempting to trade a sheep or two with us in exchange for a small flock of chickens--a story for another time!). Lucy's new family is interested in the Dutch Belted breeding up program, which is what we're going to do as well.  Using the right "stuff" collected from registered Dutch Belted bulls, each generation of girl calves can get papers from the Dutch Belted registery in the US, as a higher percentage towards full-Dutch Belt status than their mothers were.  If Lucy has a heifer (girl) calf, it will be registered as 50% Dutch Belted.  That calf's eventual heifer calf would be 75% Dutch Belted, which is what Bessie is..... I feel good about where Lucy will live and who will be her farm family.  Her new owner seems to love what he's doing, and is genuinely excited that Lucy will be on their farm next week already.  Bessie and Ruby will have the cow pen and the new shelter all to themselves after Lucy leaves.  It might be harder for me to detect when Bessie is in heat (without another adult cow to react to the physical signs), but it can be done.  The cow room/milking area will seem larger without two full-grown cows jostling for position at feeding time, but it will also be safer and easier for me to move around in there (less strategizing to be sure that the cows aren't going to barge in while I'm setting things up or putting out feed!)  Ruby will need to find another outlet for her childish energy, since Aunt Lucy will no longer be out in the field, attempting to ignore Ruby's fly-by invitation to "come and play with me" (Ruby usually wins, and both of the younger cows will thunder up and down the back acre, between trees, looking quite dainty and graceful despite the rumbling of the ground under their hooves!)  Lucy is only a year older than Ruby, after all..... So little Lucy is all grown up and ready to fly the coop.  New farm, new owners, goats to get to know as her "herd", a July baby in her future, and a milking career after that calf is born.  It's time...she's ready.  The question is, how hard will it be to say good-bye? Next Tuesday is the big moving day for her.  The circle of life continues.....difficult or not! Laura http://dykstrasfarm.blogspot.com/

Life and Death Decisions

It's about time to cull the flock.  "Cull" is a nice word for deciding which chickens get to live and which ones won't be kept through the winter.  That's a less blunt way of saying "This one goes to the butcher, that one gets to live". Some of the young hens have been fighting an eye infection.  They won't make the cut.  I didn't expect that it was contagious, but.....  One hen which we've had for 2 years now came to our farm with an eye missing.  What's left is a lens that seems to see light and dark and movement, but not a full eye.  No other birds got infected eyes last year, so I believed what the previous owners had said:  "We don't know what happened to her.  It was an eye injury".  This summer, though, her eye got weepy, and at the same time, some of the May chicks got infections in their eye(s).  It's pretty gross.  The eye and surrounding tissue swells up to be about the size of a marble, sticking out of the side of the young bird's head.  Sometimes the other birds peck at the drippy mass.  They sit huddled up, separate from the flock (or with their similarly-afflicted nest-mates), making the chirpy noises of chicks or young birds who are not feeling well.  The infection lasts and lasts, finally healing to leave a blank-staring lens, not an eye.  Some of the birds have been fighting this in one eye, then the other, for about 3 months now.  Their feathers are matted where they tuck their head under their wing, from the liquid that leaks out.  Bleah!  If it was a one-time thing in one bird, and it healed with no problem, I'd let it go.  But right now, 5 birds have various stages of eye infection and at least 2 have permanently damaged eyes, not including the older hen.  It's a sickness that will continue in some form or other, and the affected birds will need to be "culled".  Since they are sick, we won't eat them, either.  It seems like a waste of life, but....the choice is to either keep them and let more birds be infected, or remove them and hope that the bacteria or viruses that cause it are removed along with the birds that have it. With those half-dozen birds out of the barn, that still leaves about a hundred.  Egg production is down to half of what it was 5 months ago, and still all of these birds need to continue to eat the same amount of feed or more (cold weather means higher feed consumption!).  We're at the difficult part of the "livestock" experiment, it seems. One hen died unexpectedly yesterday after getting under a hay bale that I dropped by accident.  She was right on my foot when the bale twine slipped and the bale fell.  One young bird died a few days ago after sitting huddled up and sick for a few weeks.  I can't count on that to bring down the population. We have 4 male Cayuga ducks, very nice looking birds, but 2 stand out as the nicer ones.  It reminds me of football players and girls in high school.  These 2 ducks strut and preen and look more ruggedly beautiful than their 2 brothers.  Their beetle-green sheen catches the sunlight better, their necks are thicker, their heads are blockier, the purple sheen on the body-feathers is more striking (not saying that football players have either beetle-green sheen or purple feathers!).  :)  These 2 look like a better representation of the breed.  The 3 girls pay more attention to them.  The 2 tough-guys waddle around, taking care of the girls, fluffing their feathers at just the right time, and doing a good job of keeping the less-attractive drakes away from the best roosting spot, the best grazing, the girls..... The other 2 are eating feed but not serving a real purpose.  Keeping 2 drakes makes sense, in case one doesn't make it through the winter to breeding time in the spring.  Keeping 4 drakes is a waste of feed and an unnecessary expense.  Two of the drakes need to be brought to the butcher.  Luckily I didn't get too attached to them. The turkey has to go.  He killed a young pigeon who had the misfortune to fall down from the nest in the silo into the chicken pen.  The turkey was on top of him.  Jeremy tried to save the pigeon under a bucket until I came home that day, but the little bird died anyway.  The turkey took off after a hen who emerged from a hidden nest.  He chased her with single purpose through the entire flock of chickens, around and around inside the barn.  He wasn't courting her.  He was enraged at her for some reason.  We trapped him inside a PVC cage, so that he couldn't injure her.  He is on the chopping block, no question about that.  Michael was ready to kill him that very night, in righteous indignation for what seemed like the turkey's ruthless lust to kill that particular hen.  It's much easier to sentence a bird to die if he's attacking your ankles or being aggressive to the other birds. Then we come to all the other chickens.  There's a way to examine their hind-parts to see if they are laying or not.  I did it before, but didn't actually take any of the non-laying hens to the butcher.  Now we're at that point where I need to make the choices, not based on which chickens I like or not, but on which ones will continue to be productive. A few will get a reprieve--if they've sat on eggs and been good mothers.  If they are special to us or maybe to a friend who hatched and raised a particular hen.  If they have any other redeeming characteristics, like they are still laying lots of eggs, or they are just starting to lay (the young ones from this spring), or they are one of the few which stood out from past hatches, they will get preferential treatment as I make the tough decisions about which ones to keep.  We took a few white hens to the butcher last time, because I'd bought them from the feed store and because those 4 hens brought egg-eating habits and foot infection (bumble-foot) into our flock.  They weren't hard to take away, and....when I made chicken-and-dumplings and chicken soup, it was true what I've heard:  The older hens have flavor that the young birds don't.  The chicken-and-dumplings was delicious.  The soup was golden in color and so tasty.  Still, I didn't look those birds in the eye in their last moments, didn't pluck them, didn't do anything so unsavory as gutting them or soaking them in ice water or bagging them for the freezer.  I picked them up from the butcher, wrapped nicely, no longer looking like the birds I was familiar with.  It costs almost $5 a bird.  Some day we'll need to do all of that killing, plucking, eviscerating ourselves, but for now, that $5 is a nice cushion between life and the death of birds which I "know" a bit too well, in the way of someone who becomes familiar and acquainted with the things he or she is caring for.  This is the week.  If I can get the appointment with the butcher for this coming weekend, we'll have one or 2 dozen less birds in the barn.  It will be a relief, once it's done.  During the process of deciding, it's stressful.  Once the birds are contained in dog crates or old rabbit cages inside the barn, it's a little easier.  In the car driving there, it's time to pointedly thing about something other than the birds in the back of the car.    I like chatting with the butcher, who handles the birds gently and makes sure to keep their wings from catching on the side of the cage or taking care to not twist their leg so that they aren't injured before they are "processed".  I've made the drive with birds in the car enough times to not feel so horrified at what is going to be done.  It's not my favorite part of keeping chickens, though, that's for sure!  I've gotten used to it, only to a point. One friend who was here recently remarked "Farming is not really peaceful, is it?"  The idea of growing your own food, raising your own meat and eggs, milking your own cow may seem idyllic.  There are a lot of difficult choices thrown into that "peaceful" way of living. Laura Laura http://dykstrasfarm.blogspot.com/

Progress

Photos:  Demolition day (ripping off the siding and ripping out the rat-damaged insulation), and progress as the new siding was painted and the window installed  AND....the window and siding after 2 coats of paint Friday:  It's a beautiful fall day.  The leaves are on the ground (early this year), the temperature is crisp, we had some rain last night so it's not too dry.... The dogs enjoyed their run, and came in exhausted. Bessie gave a gallon and a half of milk, and stood still while I took care of her.  It's pleasant milking her when it's chilly.  The flies are nowhere to be seen, and her tail is not switching at them and hitting me instead.  She gives off a lot of warmth, so even if my hands are like ice when I get started (poor Bessie!), I'm toasty warm by the time we're done. There is just a hint of frost on the ground, but nothing has really been frozen for the winter yet. The fields around our small property have been harvested, and once again we have a clear view of acres and acres of slightly rolling farmland.  I liked having the soybeans close to the fence rather than corn.  Less chance of bigger varmints walking right up to the fence (foxes, deer), AND who knows if the cows will put their full weight against the fence next year to get at the tasty corn.  Corn-on-the-cob was a favorite, with or without kernels, with husks or without.  Next year they'll be within close smelling distance of their favorite snack (think kids with Halloween candy that they simply can't leave alone).  Our fence will truly be test next year, and maybe we'll put a strand of electric wire inside to keep it from getting bent out of shape by greedy cows. It's a good day to paint, which is the next step of the cow-shelter.  Jeff has the posts set in the ground--4 foot deep holes with concrete to anchor 4x4 treated lumber posts.  Hopefully that will be strong enough for cows that like to throw their weight around.  The roof line is started, the window in the walkway to the silo is removed (the roof of the shelter would have cut right across the top of the window.  I hated to lose the natural light, but....maybe a door can be worked in there instead.)  A window from my Mom and Dad's house in Wisconsin in in place where the old window was boarded up, rotten inside, chewed up by rats, and full of foam insulation that was shredded into rat nests and tunnels. So, I should get to work.  I cringe at the thought of being out in the cold, but....it needs to be done and this week has flown by with no real progress since Jeff spent a good part of Saturday working on the shelter.  If the rain holds off this weekend, we'll get more done.  If not, it will be another week before the heavy carpentry can be done again.  Daylight just seems to be vanishing an hour at a time, and Jeff's time after work would have him working in pitch-blackness.  Not too conducive to getting building-type stuff done during the week. We might be trying to finish it in between cold snaps once winter is here, at this rate!  But....before I entertain any doubts about putting it off, the 4 wheel-barrow loads of soggy, heavy, dripping manure-filled straw from the barn this morning would give me the kick-in-the-pants that is needed to get out there and W-O-R-K!!!  :) Laura http://dykstrasfarm.blogspot.com/

Rocky's terrifying morning

Photo:  Rocky, in a typical pose.  Savoring the cool weather, looking rather majestic.  Looking cool, calm and confident, unlike this morning! Rocky had a bad start to his day today.  He went out this morning like usual--anxious to be let out, whining and turning in circles by the kitchen door, sitting like he was supposed to and then dancing around until he was told angrily to sit again.  "Talking" to me as I put my boots on, to communicate just how eager he was to get out that door.  He's already been out once on the dog-cable, so the excitement was a bit much at that point (for us humans, at least, seeing as it was before 7 in the morning). He quite gladly scampered out into the back acre, full-speed ahead to do some serious damage to the Hi-C plastic jug that is his favorite toy (since he's not allowed to "play" with the chickens, he takes out all the high-prey-drive frustration on a juice-container). I went into the barn to feed the cows, set up for milking, give the chickens their feed and water, and then came back into the house to have my coffee and gather up the milk buckets.  I was not in a hurry, but once or twice thought I could hear Rocky whining while I sipped my coffee and weeded through junk mail from the past few days.  Rocky whining is nothing new.  He doesn't like to be alone.  He's truly a pack-animal, and hates to even be in his crate without the unwilling Shadow crated right next to him.  If Shadow is left free in the kitchen and Rocky is in his cage, there will be earsplitting howls and yipping until you wonder if it's really worth it to teach him to tolerate his crate.  If Shadow is next to him, however much she resents it, he settles down and is content. Think about how a wolf can howl, and mentally twist that up into a irritating whine/yip/yelp and that's his way of talking.  He's full grown and still yips like a frantic little pup.  Some mornings while he's out in the pasture, he climbs up on a scrubby evergreen bush and whines at full volume, just sitting there and waiting, but making that waiting as annoying as it could possibly be. Anyway, Shadow was ready to go out (she HATES going out into the pasture with Rocky).  I got her on the leash and headed out, planning to let her run while I milked Bessie. Rocky was crumpled on the ground under the big white pines.  My first thought was "He took it too far with the cows and they broke his leg".  But the cow pen wasn't open, so the most they could have done, even if they were enraged by his taunting, would be to charge the electric fence and shock themselves. His whining reminded me of when he was a puppy, and he'd been running full-speed after Shadow and whacked his back paw on a tree stump.  We thought he had a broken paw then, and his overly dramatic whimpering  almost convinced me to bring him to the vet then.  He limped pathetically for 4 days before I took him, simply because there didn't seem to actually be anything broken.  After he'd been to the vet and nothing had been found wrong, the limp magically disappeared..... Shadow rushed over to him, and I thought "Well, she likes him at least a little", but she proceeded to try to impress on him that she was dominant while he was in a furry ball of agony on the ground.  NOT nice! He stood up, yipping with pain, and I could see that his front leg was out at an odd angle.  Great, I thought, a trip to the vet.  Rocky doesn't ride well in the car on the best of days. On closer inspection, though, his leg was at an odd angle because the clip at the end of his choke-chain was hooked on his paw.  He was still in the collar, with it stretched tightly between his neck and his weirdly elevated paw. More drama was necessary as I came over and grabbed at the choke chain.  I tried to touch his foot to get a good idea of what needed to be done, and Shadow was right there making things worse.  Rocky howled in supposed agony.  I'm never sure with him if it's real or not. The clip had somehow clasped itself closed between the pads of his front paw, on the sensitive skin between.  He was pulling against it and causing more pain with each tug of his head.  Shadow was all over him and he couldn't do anything about it.  I was trying to tug the clasp free, or at least get a good idea of where it was biting into his skin, and he was frantic.  No blood, but I was in danger of getting bitten.  Rocky was growling back at Shadow, whining at his paw, and snapping at anything that was anywhere near his foot.  Bessie was mooing to be milked (by this time it was FIFTEEN minutes past her routine, gasp!  Read the post from 2 days ago to find out just how important that routine is to her.) Rocky's life wasn't in danger, and he didn't have a broken leg.  The only thing to do was to leave Rocky to calm down, let Shadow take care of her own business out in the field, and get Bessie milked.  I managed to get the choke-chain slipped off of Rocky's neck before he knew what I was doing, so at least the pressure on his paw was relieved a little bit. Back again half-an-hour later, Rocky was still licking his paw, still huddled on the ground, the clasp was still firmly attached, and Shadow was still circling the helpless pup and making things worse. Shadow was VERY unhappy with me, but I got her on the leash and hooked her up to the fence to keep her out of the way.  Rocky was in a tiny little ball, whimpering softly but much calmer than before.  I was able to pet him and he thumped his tail on the ground pathetically.  I touched the chain and he immediately whined and tucked his foot under his body where I couldn't see it.  Sigh. I don't really know how the clasp came loose.  I certainly wasn't going to be allowed to touch it.  I took Rocky by the collar to bring him inside, he cried out in pain, shook his foot hard, and the chain with the clasp fell onto the ground.  Suddenly Rocky was dashing full-speed in a crazy puppy-run all over the back yard.  NOT a good idea since I had already let the poultry out, thinking he would not be in any mood to chase the birds with his paw in so much pain. Whew!  Several disasters diverted at once.  Rocky ran over to play with Shadow, who distracted him from the chickens and ducks by snarling at him, he got tangled up in her leash, and I caught him by the collar again and brought both dogs inside.  I guess it could have been a lot worse.  My mind had already been racing through possible scenarios if I had to take him to the vet with a broken leg.  I could call the neighbor to help me get the 80 pound injured dog into the car.  I could let Ruby out to drink all the milk that Bessie had produced during the night (instead of getting it for our use).  The chickens could be left inside the barn until I got home.  The egg delivery to the co-op this morning would need to be changed to "I'll deliver them to each customer, just tell me where and when".  I'm glad that none of those plans needed to be put into place! No blood, no limping, Rocky was actually straining to pull me over as I walked him and Shadow back to the kitchen.  He is a husky, after all.  Tough, able to withstand extreme conditions......dramatic.  He gulped down a whole bowl of water while Shadow stood menacingly nearby (she usually gets first dibs).  He found a comfy spot on the hard wood floor.  He flopped down with a huge dramatic sigh.  And he's still sound asleep, several hours later. Thank-you, God, for small miracles!  :) Laura http://dykstrasfarm.blogspot.com/

Baby photos, then and now

Just for fun, compare the photo of brand-new little Ruby next to Bessie back in July, and the current photo of Ruby.  Only 3 months of growth, and you'd never know she was the same calf! Then there's the photo of a very young Ruby next to an almost grown Lucy, and almost the same pose 3 months later.  I had no idea that a calf would grow so quickly.  The boys still think that we will never sell Ruby.  I can't see keeping her, although I am very fond of her.  With Bessie and Lucy side-by-side in the barn room, it feels like our farm will not be able to handle 2 full-grown cows, EVER!  Ruby will be as big as Lucy in a year, and Bessie should have another calf by then.  Doesn't make sense to sell the milk-supply (Bessie) in favor of keeping the calf (Ruby) who would need to be bred and pregnant and deliver a calf before any milk would be produced by her.  That's 18 months from now.  Somehow, if we ever sell Bessie, we'll need another cow that is already producing milk to take her place.  Not sure how that would happen with Ruby, or any calf that would have been Bessie's baby..... She sure is beautiful, though, isn't she?  She will trot right over when she sees me at the gate, or follows us around the pasture.  She lifts her face to sniff my hair when I bring the bucket of grain in and give her a little to eat in her stall.  She also snuffs into my face--kind of gross, but maybe it's a cow's way of showing acceptance (just short of affection?)  Her acceptance of people and her curiosity is so different from Bessie and Lucy, who were not really handled or petted, but were raised for and milked (or would have been, in Lucy's case) in a small organic dairy.  Yeah, it would be hard to give her up.  Luckily we have a year to figure it out! Lucy's new owners will probably come for her in a couple of weeks, after her pregnancy is confirmed (or after she is re-bred, if she's not pregnant).  The barn will feel a little bit empty, but there will be a sense of relief, too, that there's only one full-grown cow left out there to pursuade with food (or a big stick!), cajole into doing what I need her to do, swat with the PVC to move her along, feed and then feed again, milk every morning or to step nimbly around when a huge bulk is threatening to run me over.  ;)  Even if it's a relief in some ways, I've been taking photos of Lucy so that we can't forget her.....and it could be Ruby next year.  We'll see. Laura http://dykstrasfarm.blogspot.com/

Bessie and her routine

Photo:  Bessie and baby Ruby, just enjoying their routine..... So, something a bit cheerful since yesterday's post was such a sad one. The cows are SUCH creatures of habit.  Lucy used to bellow outside the barn door while I was milking Bessie, because for 2 months, there was no milking schedule and they did everything together.  Lucy would be Bessie's shadow, and Bessie would hate it and head-butt Lucy away.  It was ROUTINE, and they were happy that way. Then Ruby was born and Bessie was being milked again.  A new routine had to be worked out, and there were so many times I could have gift-wrapped all 3 cows and just left them in someone else's pasture (IF they could have been LED there, which they won't tolerate). It took a few months, but now we're in a routine and it works well.  The cows know what to expect, and I can breathe a little easier knowing that one or both big cows aren't going to run me over because of their own confusion or greediness for feed. At night, I shoo the cows out of the barn (they have that relatively small room in the back, where they sleep, eat, and leave their messes, and also where I clean up and milk Bessie).  So they have made their mess by that time, strewn hay all over (the hay that they were supposed to be eating), and are waiting for their bedtime treat.  I pick up the PVC pipe or garden stake, and they need just a tap on their rumps to mosey on out of the barn, even though they don't WANT to go out of the barn.  The door is closed, and I don't have to do the dangerous dance of avoiding them as they try to mob the grain bucket that I carry through "their" area. Grain is put in the rubber feed pan in the stanchion.  Bessie is allowed to go in first.  Lucy still attempts to barge in right after her, but a light tap on her forehead with the PVC piece held in my hand reminds her to wait until I let her in.  Once Bess has claimed her spot, Lucy comes in and they jockey for position over the feed.  One huge nose pulls the pan in one direction, the other nose pulls in the opposite direction, until the pan lands on the floor and both cows can munch out of it at the same time.  Grain is also in a smaller pan inside of Ruby's little stall, right next to the big cows.  All this time, Ruby is curled up on the ground under the spruce tree, knowing that I'm coming for her but wanting to be left alone.  I used to chase her with the PVC until she finally went into the stall, but now she heaves herself up, stretches S-L-O-W-L-Y (as if to say "I was all comfy, thank-you-very-much!") and trots right in.  She has gotten to the point of even stopping to wait for me to open the stall door if one of the bigger cows has jostled it shut.  Very nice!  No more chasing a rambunctious calf through a cow-pen full of fresh cow-pies in the pitch-blackness. Ruby gets latched into her stall so that all of the milk that Bessie makes during the night is available for me to milk out in the morning. The food is key--I can see how animal trainers for a circus might train their animals with just the food factor and a light switch on the rump if a change in direction is called for. Bedtime accomplished, I can unplug the light and double-check the gate latches, water level, barn windows, etc. That brings us to the morning, where routine is again the saving grace.  Lucy is usually lounging in the soft dirt around the round-bale feeder.  She perks up, but doesn't hoist herself off the ground just yet. Bessie is  usually standing in the doorway of the barn, watching and waiting somewhat impatiently. Ruby is awake and alert, but still in her stall. I drop a square hay bale from the second floor and Bessie digs in, while I come back downstairs.  The bale gets moved out of the barn and out to the round feeder, and the big cows trot out right behind me.  I have to watch them, then, because in their focus on FOOD, they could crush me against the metal of the feeder.  My fists are ready to whack them in the side if they push up against me, and then they know to back off and move to a different spot.  Twine gets removed from the bale, and they dig in as I move away.  I grab a small amount for Ruby, drop it into her stall, and shut the big door to keep the ladies outside.  At this point, I usually have about half-an-hour or so before milking time (about 8 am, so that if I need to drive the boys to school, Bessie's ROUTINE isn't messed up!) Time for my breakfast, my coffee, and to get the dogs running to tire them out. And here's where the humor of the morning comes in.  Bessie KNOWS that I'm the one that feeds her.  She KNOWS that I'm the one to let her into the barn for milking.  She KNOWS that she'll hear me rattling around inside the barn before I open the door. I was out in the field with Shadow and Rocky, trying to tire Rocky out so that he will be calm all day (1 year old male husky.  Calm isn't in his vocabulary unless he's been tired out in the morning!  Sure enough, he is sleeping peacefully under the table as I type.) Bessie decided that it was time to be milked.  She trotted from the feeder to the door.  She stood in front of the door, like she usually does, like a robot on auto-pilot.  She had just looked at me out in the field.  Now she was staring at the closed door.  She let out a loud and insistent "MOOOOOOO!!!"   Didn't look my way, didn't move an inch.  Just stood there, facing the door, moo-ing over and over.  It was early, and the dogs weren't tired yet, and she wasn't dripping milk, so I let her moo.  She became more insistent, but never once swung her head in my direction, never once turned to focus her eyes on me, who was so obviously out in the pasture and NOT IN THE BARN!!! I had to laugh.  She truly is a slave to her routine. I brought the two tired pups back to the house and gave them their water.  Grabbed the milk buckets and the paper towels.  Headed out to the barn.  Finished setting up the milking scenario. Bessie was let in.  She did not look at me.  She did not do anything out of the ordinary to let me know that she might have been a bit put-out when I didn't respond to her mooing earlier.  With single purpose, she made a beeline for the stanchion and the food, and made herself at home.  The routine was back in place, and she was happy. Later today, if they don't get their hay tossed down from the 2nd floor, there will be loud moo-ing.  After that, if the gate isn't opened from their pen to the pasture, they will let me know that they're not happy.  If one of them decides to lift her tail too close to the water tank, and the water is too dirty to drink, I will hear about it.  They like it calm, predictable, and ordinary. I don't know how a domesticated cow could survive in the wild.  They seem to like their creature comforts and being served, but...they definitely want that human service to be PREDICTABLE.  Bessie's reaction this morning proves that yet again.  She could not deviate from her routine to even look out into the field to catch my eye.  She was the one that was early, but there was no distracting her from the thought that "It's time to be milked.  And I mean NOW!!!"  ;) Have a good day, everyone! Laura http://dykstrasfarm.blogspot.com/