Simple Hobby Homesteading

Fridays on the Farm

I am a guinea. No wait, I am a horse. No, no, no, I am certainly a guinea. Wait, if I am a guinea then why do I feel like I am a horse?

Before you pass me off as some sort of stark raving lunatic please rest assured that I am most certainly probably some sort of stark raving lunatic. But hey, I can explain!

It all started about 2 years ago when I was hatched out in a little nest deep amongst a thicket of blackberry bushes. Mama guinea promptly led me and my 18 siblings through the dewy grass and boom, our numbers were down to 15. It was cold, we were merely 6 hours old but allegedly mama guinea had a hankering for some chicken feed so we just had to get up and go. Wet cold grass does not do well for newborn guinea keets. No “Mother of the Year” awards there.

Well, on the way to the grand buffet Mama guinea thought it best to parade us past a crew of shady felines. Sure enough, numbers down to 12. Seriously… all this in a mere first day of life. Wow oh wow.

We made it to the hen house where we met up with a crazy chicken feeding lady who actually wanted to PICK US UP! The nerve of that woman! I ran, Mama guinea ran, and all the rest of my brothers and sisters ran… some straight into an area with a couple goats who totally freaked out (ridiculous) and stomped around like elephants being attacked by mice. Down to 10 we were.

However, this woman was smart and apparently had some sort of clue about how totally ill-equipped our mother was in the area of “keet care.” We were all rounded up (Mama guinea too and man did she put up a fuss… pretty sure there was human blood shed) and placed in a fenced in area with a nice warm snuggly mini sun, fresh water, and amazing food. Now this I could get used to.

Mama guinea kept freaking out, flew up and straight through a clear opening making a loud crashing noise breaking what I would later come to find out is a “garage door window.”  To say she “flew the coop” would be an understatement of the century.

We all just kinda looked around in bewilderment and then went back to eating, drinking, and sleeping all snuggly under that mini sun.

We kept eating and drinking, growing bigger and bigger, and were being gently handled often which actually wasn’t all that bad. It wasn’t great but it wasn’t really bad.  I’m not sure why we freaked out all those years ago (actually only months but it sure seems like forever ago when you are abandoned by a Mama who will crash through windows to get away from her parental responsibilities).

When we got big enough to not be cat bait we were allowed to head out and explore the world that we had been kept sheltered from for oh so many years (once again, just a couple months) and it was quite wonderful. We explored the woods, attempted to escape Mr. Fox who we found out later was not just trying to share his candy, he wanted to eat us! Our numbers went down to 6. If we stuck around the farm we were well protected by Fuzzy Bear, the big white fluffy dog who claimed day and night she was a German Shepherd but looked nothing like the other 3 German Shepherds on the farm. Seriously, someone needs to talk to that girl about her identity crisis… crazy, just crazy, thinking you are something you are not. Pure denial, I call for an intervention!

We would head over through the dense deciduous depths to the neighbor’s house a few acres away and partake of amazing cat food, millet, and black oil sunflower seeds. The neighbor thought we were a rare wild species of game bird sent straight from heavens above to entertain and bless him with our presence. Who were we to tell him any different?

A couple of my “not the sharpest tool in the shed” brothers decided to head across the road to check out the dining selection over yonder and suddenly a great noise, flash of metal, and gust of wind came by… our numbers were down to 3. Me and my two sisters, that’s all. It had been a rough 5 months.

We headed back home and ran into Mama guinea and her husband (why had we never seen him before… is this Dada guinea?!?!). She was sitting on a nest just full of eggs! I knew how that was going to end up… seriously some sort of protective service agency should be called right now… darn my lack of opposable thumbs and lack of telephone knowledge in general.

We would later find out that her stubbornness and superior nest hiding abilities made her and Dada guinea an easy target for Mr. Fox that night. We had seen the chicken feeder lady look for Mama and Dada guinea and their nest earlier to move everyone and everything to a safe place but I just wasn’t feeling up to showing her the way, it had been a long day and I was just wanting to snuggle under my mini sun.

The weeks went by and you’ll never believe what happened… My two sisters started laying eggs. Just going around and dropping these little speckled white things out of their little behinds. How weird is that! It creeped me out s I distanced myself from them and started looking for new friends to hang out with.

That’s when I found them, Mercedez and Pepsi. Two of the most salt f the earth folks you will ever find. Not prone to gossip as my sisters were and the little brown eggs that sprang forth from their nether regions actually attracted some of the best beetles and bugs to feast upon. This, yes sir, this, was the good life. They would rummage through the hay, perfectly sifting the seed heads down for me to eat to my heart’s content and I would stand guard as they lay down and dozed the warm afternoons away. It was the most perfect relationship and they just seemed to really “get” me as I “got” them.

Things went on in much the same fashion and the guinea population number dwindled as their less than intelligent ways found them in more and more predicaments that the chicken feeder lady just could not save them from. My time with the horses grew me in ways you probably can’t understand. We were like a well oiled machine, each knowing our part and place in the herd and no one getting their feathers ruffled by the latest farm scandal news.

I had found a true love for the grain and sunflower seeds that were fed to Mercedez and Pepsi  and they were always so kind to share abundantly. I really felt like I belonged. The goats, dogs, sheep, cats, and rabbits were chased away but me, nope, I was always welcomed with open hooves. More and more time went by and as I looked around I saw less and less guinea tracks in the dirt. More and more empty dust bathing holes and the farm just seemed quieter. Then it hit me, I was the last one… the last guinea. The last of the Mohicans… errrr, I mean guineas. I was a survivor.

I quickly realized I was different from all those other guineas that had gone before me. I was resourceful, quick, sly, wary, always on guard… not like a guinea at all…

I… was… a… horse. It all made perfect sense now. My keen senses, my love for all things seed and grain rather than tick and chicken feed. My lightning fast reflexes and constant urges to creepily stare through the windows at the lady chicken feeder and her family. Yes, I was certainly a horse stuck in a guinea’s body. I only hope some day medical knowledge will catch up and help me in my present condition. Men becoming women, women becoming men, why not guineas becoming horses when they know truly in the depth of their being that is what they are. Sound crazy? Yup, it is but that’s me, just plain stone cold crazy.

Apparently my horseness has the family concerned and they thought it best to get me around more of “my kind”. More horses, are we getting more horses? Please more horses!

No such luck, the woman got more guineas. Obnoxious, loud, gossiping, tick eating, egg dropping, and unintelligent guineas. Great, just great! Worse yet, they want to be around me. This will never do, never. I have shunned them and for now it seems to be working but I see Pepsi has been talking to one in particular (not me, I feel betrayed) and even offered up some of his grain the other day (more betrayal). It is a saga of which I do not know the ending… stay tuned…

Fridays on the Farm…

This week we are answering a reader’s question…

Samantha asks, “How much food do all your animals go through in a week?” The boys and I (feeders of the animals) gathered the critters around to ask their input. Here goes…

Nala (German Shepherd Dog): I get one and a half cups of the tolerable dry kibble each morning and evening. When eating the kibble it is vitally important that one takes a few pieces out and places them on the floor so as to add some extra floor dirt flavor. My evening meal is lovingly drizzled with a little extra virgin olive oil (boys, stop giving me that cruddy “classico”, I know the difference) and a couple brewers yeast tablets which are supposedly meant to help me in some sort of fashion. Perhaps they help put hair on my chest! For my afternoon snack I search out the spine, leg, or pelt of a random deer carcass that the lovely hunters just happen to leave for us throughout the woods.

Fuzzy (Great Pyrenees dog who insists she is a German Shepherd in disguise): I get three cups of dry kibble in the morning and four cups in the evening. Allegedly I am eating them out of house and home but that is ridiculous as the home is still standing perfectly and as far as I know there is no other house that they have. Liars… a bunch of exaggerating liars! For a mid-morning snack I get four satin balls which are lovely concoctions of beef, egg, oil, molasses, oats, wheat germ, Total cereal, and gelatin. They are AMAZING and really pack on the weight for me with my thoroughbred-like metabolism. You can get the recipe here… http://www.instructables.com/id/Put-weight-on-your-dog-with-satin-balls/ .  For an afternoon snack I get three more satin balls which are as equally yummy as my mid-morning snack.  I also have a weird taste for ear dirt. I just love ear dirt.

Axel (1 year old German Shepherd dog): ANYTHING and EVERYTHING! I eat anything and everything that I find. Stuffed toys, cat toys, linoleum, trim, cat poo, dog hair, sticks, paper, carpet, rocking chair legs, trash, etc. You name it and I’ll eat it. In the morning I come across a bowl full of dog food and I eat that too. At night I always come across another bowl full of dog food and yup, I go ahead and eat that too, bowl and all. I love to eat! At my last dog doctor visit I overheard the lady farmer asking the doctor if I was “normal.” Apparently my eclectic diet may be contributing to an astronomical growth spurt and the rumor is my daddy was a great dane. Totally not true, I am full Shepherd, these folks are just nasty rumor spreaders and it’s just plain not funny.

Simba (son of Mommy Cat and resident king of the Mouse Patrol posse of cats):  Mouse bodies, lizards, and baby snakes. I really can’t stand the mouse heads and tails so I leave those on the porch for the other cats to eat. It’s also kinda funny to see the family scream when they almost step on them as they walk out the door.  I also like that cat food that the family gives us but I’m a little tired of having to defend those little nuggets of goodness from the dogs and chickens. They could have a huge bowl of their own food just sitting in front of their face and they still choose to come and chow down mine. Rude, just plain rude.

Mo (sheep): I love oats, grass (dried and fresh varieties), and the leftover chicken feed that is way at the bottom of each bag.

Elliott (Nigerian Dwarf Goat… top of the herd despite his smallish stature and lack of any great beard): Let me clear something up RIGHT NOW. Goats do not eat anything and everything and I wish people would stop claiming that absurd fact. If you want proof of things eating anything and everything I give you exhibit A and B…  (A) Axel the dog and (B) all chickens. They eat everything within sight and smell. Goats do not. We are actually quite picky, only selecting the very best forage, hay that has never been stepped or sneezed upon, grains and pellets of almost any kind (ok, we aren’t too picky there),  and the occasional pant leg. The list of things we will not eat is actually quite extensive… won’t touch dog food, that stuff is quite foul. There are countless plants and grass types which are also unappealing to our sensitive taste buds. We don’t eat cans, we are not barbarians. I will lick out yummy goodness from the inside of cans but rest assured I’m not planning on eating metal. However, we are force fed not-so-little capsules of iron rods but let me be very clear that this is not by our own doing and we do occasionally get a hankering for a finger when the farmer lady sticks those things in the back of our throats and demands us to swallow. Long story short, my public service announcement is this… Please stop perpetuating unkind stereotypes of the eating habits of goats. That is all.

Muffins (rabbit formerly known as Batman until she had a litter of cute babies…apparently “Batmen” don’t have babies but Muffins certainly do): Poo, I eat my own poo, yes I do. Google it.

Chickens (in a loud chorus together): WE EAT EVERYTHING! Maybe we are part Axel or Axel is part chicken because that guy is definitely part of the family proven by his eating habits. We especially like sugar of any kind and our favorite time of year is December because the family makes their annual gingerbread (they’re graham crackers, don’t let them fool you) village and we get to go all Godzilla on it when they are finished. They just stand there, watch, and giggle as we happily lay waste to all of their hard work. These people are seriously disturbed. We love traditions. Some of our favorite morsels to find while out roaming are mouse parts (those crazy cats are so uppity and only eat certain parts. Sometimes I even think they just kill for sport, horrible), bugs, grass, worms, frogs, dirt, cat food, dog food, horse food, goat food, sheep food, rabbit food, chicken food, leaves, do I really need to go on? If we can find it, we eat it. Everything just tastes so amazing!

Katja (oldest German Shepherd Dog EVER… well at 15 maybe not, but she’s gotta be close): I eat dog food but only after it has been moistened by water that is neither too cold or too hot. I’m like the baby bear of water temperature… it has to be just right. Even then I will not touch it for several hours but just lay there and guard it from all would be predators trying to get my dog food. Sometimes I decide to eat it and sometimes I make the family throw it out and give me new perfectly moistened dog food. Oh and bacon, I love bacon! None of that nasty turkey bacon, give me the pig stuff, it’s not hard to tell the difference, really people, come on.

Zelda and The Duke of Wesselton (guinea pigs): We are what you might call “high maintenance”… we demand a variety cup of fresh vegetables with a bit of fruit each day as well as fresh cool water, pellets with those dried pieces of sweet potato, pear or apple tree branches to chew on, fresh hay twice a day (it seems to get a stale taste when it sits out for a couple hours), and a salt lick wheel with which to lick upon. Life is hard, we can’t live without this perfect diet (at least we have the family thinking this… don’t tell them if you know any different).

Pepsi and Mercedez (horses): We go through about 70 pounds of hay each day as well as a couple pounds grain. Slight favor here… would you tell the farmer lady and her sons to stop spreading the hay all over the place. We would prefer to stand in one spot all day and eat. This whole walking around to get our food thing is getting quite ridiculous and we know not everyone lives like this. I (Mercedez) once went to a place with lots of horses and they got to stand in one place all day and night and just eat eat eat. I know it is possible and some horses are living that lap of luxury, why not me? I don’t care about “conditioning” or “natural hoof wear”… I just want to not have to move to get my food… am I really asking that much? We have a salt and mineral block that we love to eat in a day one time and leave for several weeks at other times. However, once again, this is many long and strenuous strides away from where I eat my hay. The rate at which we eat our yummy block really confuses the farmer lady and we find that comical. Take that one who makes me walk around for me food, we’ll show you! I also like to splash around profusely in my water before taking a drink… it just feels good.

Guineas: we love ticks… we hunt those little evil doers down and eat them like their ain’t no tomorrow!

 

Well, I guess they pretty much summed it all up. We go through a lot of feed on the farm each week but we try to keep their diet as natural as possible. Have a great weekend all!

~Jhenna and the critters

 

From the cave of Zelda, guinea pig extraordinaire.

The last two months have been quite perplexing for this little guinea pig. Things were going great… I had my own condo, tons of fresh veggies, hay, pellets and even some fruit when I threw an especially big squeaking fit. Pear tree branches all for me to nibble on to my heart’s desire. The lap of luxury, yup, I was cradled nicely in that lap of luxury.

Whenever the family reached in to pick me up I would run around like crazy and they usually gave up and went on to my neighbor, The Duke of Wesselton.  He just stood there, begging to be picked up, strange fellow indeed. He had been my neighbor for several months and I was just beginning to be able to tolerate him from a distance when suddenly he was thrust into my world. Not next store anymore… he was IN my space. My bubble… my lap of luxury. INVASION!

The day started off all innocent… the hobby farmer lady reached in to pick me up, I ran and hid, she tried for a bit to catch me and then she gave up. Success. As expected, she shifted her attention to Duke. She reached in, he just stood there and sure enough, she picked him up. “You’re a good piggy… what a sweetie…” blah blah blah, whatever.

Then she did it, she just PUT HIM IN MY WORLD, right in it! He looked at me, I looked at him, and lettuce, carrots, apples, and all sorts of other treats were thrust right in front of the both of us. Who was I to complain? We both munched happily and I guess that was the start of the end… I got all mushy feeling, he gave me a little wink and yes, my heart was won.

Life went on and we settled into a routine. Some chasing, mostly eating, a little romancing here and there, napping, nose twitching, twig chewing… you know, the typical piggy stuff.

Then guess what? He was taken away. My Duke was TAKEN AWAY! Piggy napped, all points bulletin, be on the lookout, my lovey piggy has disappeared! I tried to tell him to run like a maniac whenever a hand came into our little den of love but nooooooooo, he wouldn’t listen. He was snatched from me in the dead of night with no goodbye.

Well, when I woke up I did find out where he had gone. Apparently, he just moved back over to his bachelor pad. I gave him the silent treatment… he tried to woo me back into his good graces but I was having none of it. I have sworn off relationships for good.

The weeks passed and I noticed the family getting more and more tenacious with the petting, handling, and in general poking and prodding. Apparently they think I may be pregnant and all of a sudden some bizarre Google searches are in the works.

“How to tell if my guinea pig is pregnant…”

“What is the gestation period of a guinea pig?”

“Is guinea pig birth difficult?”

“How long do guinea pigs nurse?”

“Signs of a guinea pig pregnancy”

“Size of a guinea pig litter”

“Is loss of hair around guinea pig nipples a sign of impending birth?”

“Signs of labor in guinea pigs”

“What should the diet be of a pregnant guinea pig?”

Bizarre, just incredibly bizarre. I am not pregnant. You should see some of the weird responses that came up from these searches. Today the woman actually held my tummy up to her ear to see if she could hear babies (apparently Google told her to do it). Google, stop it, just stop giving this woman really weird advice. I have gained some weight, I am not pregnant, deal with it.

Please someone tell this family to just leave me be. Keep throwing in veggies, fruit, and other treats, but other than that just leave me alone to gain my weight without judgment. While you are at it, tell The Duke of Wesselton I am still not speaking to him and no, his apology is not accepted.

Sincerely, in all sincerity,

Zelda

From the desk of Ella,

What you think a goat shouldn’t have a desk? Well, let me tell you, I have plenty of needs for a desk. Where else would I keep my massive stationary collection? Hey, that stuff makes a great midnight snack! It is also quite comfortable to hop up on top and taunt the young kids and old goats who aren’t as agile and mountain climby as I am… yes, my desk is my own personal mountain. Go ahead, be a little jealous. Get yourself a desk and you can have your own mountain too. We can be mountain goats together!

I have to be quite honest with you… things around this “hobby” farm can be quite boring when there are no visitors. Besides, what is a “hobby” farm?  Am I being led to believe that I am nothing more than a hobby to these people? I don’t quite know how I feel about that as I ate the dictionary pages d-tr and therefore have no idea what “hobby” even means. Should I be flattered or insulted? Seriously, someone please tell me, I’m losing sleep over this.

So I get bored. A girl can only chew cud and scream like a woman being murdered (go ahead, YouTube it… http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nlYlNF30bVg  )for so long before even that becomes just plain boring. When I get bored I tend to make up fun games for myself and any other hoofed (or is it hooved… I really wish I would have read those dictionary pages before I ate them) critter lucky enough to have my acknowledgement for the day. Recently, I have been trying my hand at a new game, “Escape from prison.” It’s actually quite fun and gets more and more challenging each time as the fences get higher, electric tape and wire is added, holes get mended, and less and less volunteers let me climb on their back to hop over the gate. Why is it all about keeping us behind fences for these hobby farmers? Do they not realize I have a few boyfriends over in yonder enclosure? Perhaps they are training me for the next “goat ninja warrior”… I would rock that hardcore!

Today I was able to not only escape my own enclosure but I was able to break INTO the great hay room of dreams. Seriously, all the hay you could eat and it was the good stuff… alfalfa, orchard grass, a lot of clover and some divine fescue… like eating candy… if candy was dried grass. I ate, chewed my cud, dropped some berries and ate some more… it was magnificent! Admittedly I am not holding this girlish figure very well after that little escapade but wow was it worth it and the boys in yonder enclosure are still giving me that “come hither” look so I must wear the extra weight well.

Now, don’t think I don’t get fed often without breaking into the hay loft and feed room. I don’t want to give you the wrong impression… I get fed well and often. It’s just that the other goats tend to eat from the same spot I do and they slobber all over and lick every piece of hay and that is just plain disgusting. It’s not like I want to live in a bubble free from all germs and coodies but I  have to draw the line somewhere and having others slobber, lick, and even look at my hay makes it… well… it just makes it unappetizing. Don’t judge me.

Another fun game is one I like to call “kick the bucket.” I get up on the milk stand, start eating my grain like a good little goat, let the lady farmer start milking and singing sweetly to me (she’s totally tone deaf but seems to delight in singing to us goats), and then just as my udder is almost empty I take my back left hoof and kick the milk can right off the stand. It is HILLARIOUS! Of course the singing stops (a blessing if I ever had one) and sometimes the lady farmer even totally gives up emptying my udder and lets me loose to run off and tell all the other goats how much fun I just had. Sometimes she gets a second can and empties me out which actually feels good so whether I partake in this game or not is a toss up every morning and night.

We are on a break from milking for a while as the lady farmer has announced that it is “breeding time.” I’m not sure what that means but the last time she talked about breeding time I got super duper fat and five months later I ended up with a loud mouthed little kid (the visitors all swooned over him) with a huge head! It will be interesting to see what happens this time during “breeding time”… perhaps we will eat raspberries all day or take long hikes at sunset through the woods. We’ll see, I’ll keep you posted!

~Ella