Simple Hobby Homesteading

The value of a neighbor… how can one even begin to describe the true value of a great neighbor?

Today I sent a simple text to my neighbor, “Can I come over and return your sander?” I had borrowed this sander a few days ago when I couldn’t find my own sander. I had a table I wanted to refinish and my neighbor has more tools than one could ever imagine from her husband’s time as a builder, tinkerer, and all around manly man. She not only had one sander but a whole cupboard full of sanders of all types and sizes. I picked one that was exactly the same as my sander to cut down on the time (and possible YouTube video search) of how to change the sandpaper.

Her text back was simple “Yes.”

I headed over with her sander in one hand and my cell phone in the other (it’s almost a ¼ of a mile walk, you never know when one will have to make an emergency call because of a random deer or Canadian goose attack.

Three of my twenty-six goats were following me and I knew they would go straight for my neighbor’s roses if I allowed them to continue so I made a quick detour to our “goat escapee” pen by the garden. This pen is one we have for when goats escape their regular enclosures/paddocks and we either can’t figure out how they are escaping or I’m in too much of a hurry to fill in the tunnel they dug out with their tiny little contraband spoons smuggled to them by the cats. Elliott is a constant visitor to the “goat escapee” pen… he’s like the Andy Griffith Show Otis of The Shepherd Hobby Farm.

Elliott, Scipio, and Caesar are put up in the “goat escapee” pen with fresh hay and water and I continue my trek to my neighbor’s house.

Nala and Fuzzy, our livestock guardian dogs, leave all their responsibilities in the dust and happily trot out ahead of me hoping to sneak in when my neighbor opens the door. I ring the doorbell and there is a flurry of activity and barking behind the door. It opens a crack and I see a dog nose and hear a cheerful, “Come on in.” Had she taught the dogs to open the door or had she learned t throw her voice? I could have sworn she invited me in from the opposite side of the house…

I head in and have three large dog noses all up in my business. I caress their super soft heads and silky ears.  After quickly handing my neighbor her sander I plop down on the floor for a belly rubbing session on her gorgeous black lab. Another dog comes over for attention and some face licks while the third dog heads to get a toy to lure the second dog away so the third dog can sneak in for a good booty scratch. I pet and rub and rub and pet. A little scratch her and another there. Dogs are on their backs and paws are on my shoulders pleading me to continue… so I do. Dog hair is going EVERYWHERE and I apologize to my sweet neighbor as she tells me all about how her Labrador just lost his toenail (OUCH!).

My own two dogs pace outside back and forth from the door to the windows trying to get my attention… my neighbor’s attention… the dogs’ attention… ANYONES ATTENTION!

My neighbor and I chat about this and that… Tropical Storm Erika, seasons, gardens, flowers, bees, hummingbirds, dogs, cooking, goats, projects, health, vacations… ya know, all that stuff that makes up the chit chat you have when you both just really want to be in each other’s company.

And then she said something that will stay with me forever… we were talking about a vacation that our family will be going on and she said “I miss you when you guys are gone.” She misses me… my neighbor misses me. Truth be told, I miss her as well when she heads out on a vacation. I love when she comes home and I love hearing about her adventures. We care for each other’s houses and dogs while we are each on vacation and we meet for lunch on the same day every week  together (me, her, and my two sons). If a day or two go by and we haven’t checked in with each other via text, call, or meet up by the garden we reach out to “check in.” I can’t even begin to explain how this relationship feels so natural and mutually beneficial when we’ve only known each other for six years!

When I have a campfire she texts me to make sure everything is ok because she sees smoke coming from over by our place. If I accidentally have my phone on silent and don’t hear the text she comes over on her way to get groceries just to be sure all is ok. She’s not being nosey folks, she’s being loving and I learn new ways to be loving every day from this woman. When I’m at the store I try to remember to text her to see if she needs anything because I am following her lead of how to be more Christ-like and kind.

So you may ask why I go on and on about this neighbor of mine… well, I do so because it was just a really good day with my neighbor and it may encourage others out there to reach out to their neighbor or a person they would like to get to know. Looking for ways to serve others sets such a fine example for your children and building relationships with those in close proximity to you is important to foster that sense of community.

“The Bible tells us to love our neighbors as ourselves. Surely part of loving in this way is trying to understand what another person wants us to understand. I may not understand perfectly and I may not agree, but if I love you I should try to know what it is you wish I could know.” –Kevin DeYoung

Every moment I’m with my neighbor I have my listening ears on so I can truly hear and try to understand what it is she wants me to know. There is wisdom with this woman beyond measure. It is a wisdom that comes from reading God’s word, living a Christ centered life, and going through trial after trial with eyes and heart focused on Christ. Do you have someone in your life like this? If not, get one! But please, stay away from my neighbor… she’s mine, all mine 😉

Toodles and may the goat be with you…

~Jhenna

Ambassadors, yes that’s what we are. We are ambassadors for the hardworking, plant and animal loving hobby farmer ladies out there. We animals of The Shepherd Hobby Farm serve to protect and teach the ways of living off the land (at least between Wal-Mart and Rural King visits), appreciating the bounty God has given, and collaborative living with hobby farmer ladies, fellow animals, and nature.

My name is Maverick and I am a rooster. A really amazing rooster. I’d like to share our day with you in hopes of continuing education to the masses about the importance of all things farming! It is our duty to teach others where their food comes from so they appreciate our sacrifice and thank God for the gifts they are given in us.

A few of us had the incredible opportunity to visit a local school where about 60 kids and adults were dazzled by our brilliance, educated about life on The Shepherd Hobby Farm, and practically fell in love with our clever antics and splendor.

In attendance on this trip of epic proportions were the following:

Maverick: Prettiest rooster on the whole planet. Big fella (not fat, very muscular) who likes to live life on the edge and laugh in the face of authority at every opportunity. Technically I am a Partridge Cochin rooster but that barely scratches the surface of who I am as an individual. I’m like an onion… many layers… but I don’t stink and I’ve never seen the movie Shrek.

Hilda: My (Maverick) main squeeze and one of the best layin’ girls on the farm. Hilda’s lineage taps deep into German roots… so she says… we have yet to confirm her story from Ancestry.com.

Sweet Clementine: This girl is a real sweetheart and has just started her layin’ on the farm. A barnyard mix of something black and white speckled with smooth legs Sweet Clementine keeps the hobby farmer lady happy with her cuddly chicken ways.

Jessie and Pat: Two brave juveniles who volunteered for this trip. These boys (or girls… too early to tell yet) are at the top of their class in scratching and pecking and look to grow into invaluable members of the poultry brigade at the farm.

Various chicks: These kids refuse to be named as they were playing hooky from chick school this day and mother hen would have had their tail feathers if she found out they jumped in with Jessie and Pat at the last minute! They missed their lesson on dust bathing so they will surely grow into the dirtiest chickens on the planet.

Scipio Africanus and Julius Caesar: Twin Nigerian dwarf buckling goats known around the farm as “Trouble 1” and “Trouble 2” or just plain Scipio and Caesar. They are the sons of Ella and the late Mike, turn heads on every stroll, and tend to bring the party with them wherever they go.

While at the school we explained the lifecycle of the chicken, why there are goats and other animals at The Shepherd Hobby Farm, and the importance of supporting all farmers; hobby and professional. There were some remarkable questions from the kids and we even got some fan mail with questions upon returning to the farm! I’d like to take the opportunity to share a few of the questions from that day and after, as well as the answers with you all…

Q. Do you need a rooster for hens to lay eggs?

A. Nope! Though I am amazing and beautiful, hens will lay eggs whether I am around or not. Laying eggs is what they do. Even meat chickens (raised for meat) will lay eggs if you let them live long enough. A hen is hatched out with EVERY egg she will ever lay in her life already inside her little chick body. She grows, and after about 5 months of age, each day one of those eggs gets bigger and bigger, creates a hard shell, and is laid by the hen. When her eggs run out she will never lay another. What do you need a rooster for? If you want to hatch any of your eggs into chicks then you need me, the rooster, to fertilize those eggs while they are still inside the hen.

Q. Why do you have goats on your farm?

A. We have goats because we like for them to eat down our poison ivy and other brush in the woods. This way us chicken can easily go through and scratch the ground for scrumptious worms and bugs. The hobby farmer lady milks these goats and makes some astounding soaps and lotions as well but I’m quite sure their main job on the farm is to help us get to those worms and insects.

Q. Are brown shelled eggs healthier than white shelled eggs?

A. Not necessarily. It all depends what the individual hen eats. Some breeds lay white eggs, some lay brown and there are even some chickens who lay pink, blue, yellow, or green shelled eggs! If a white egg layer eats the same thing as a brown egg laying chicken then the two eggs will have an almost identical nutritional value. The best diet for a chicken is one in which they can free range and eat plants, insects, worms, fruit, vegetables, and everything else that looks good to them. Personally, I like those Easter color shelled egg layin’ hens… they tend to be a spirited bunch of ladies always ready for an adventure.

Q. What is the difference between a hobby farm and a real farm?

A. In my opinion a hobby farm is one where the hobby farmer lady has time to talk to us, hold us, and spend some extra time each day to make sure we are happy and are living an enriched life. I often hear Mr. hobby farmer guy say a hobby farm is one which takes your money instead of makes you money. Maybe a real professional farm makes money? Yes, I’m sure that’s it. A real professional farm makes a profit and has to put in very long hours on a tractor with animals as far as the eye can see. Oh and professional real farms have cows… we have no cows. Pigs, yes a real farm has pigs. We have no pigs. Why don’t we have pigs? Another question for another day because I need to ask the hobby farmer lady why we don’t have pigs. I think we want pigs. Do you support our want for pigs?

Do you have any other questions you would like me to answer? Feel free to send them to my secretary at jhenna@simplehobbyhomesteading.com . She will be sure I get them and I promise to answer quickly and precisely with all my knowledge swimming around in this handsome head of mine!

I took some unbelievable pictures of this day but the hobby farmer lady says there is an issue with attachments right now on the blog and she will have to upload them another time. I will be sure to remind her, no worries. She likes to be reminded of such things by me crowing at about 2 a.m…. it seems to be her favorite reminder time.

~Maverick, the rooster, the best rooster ever.

So when I started this endeavor in 2009 I knew next to nothing that would serve useful in the way of hobby farming. What I did know was this… The prayer and hard work combination could move mountains… or in my case, build a hobby farm.

I didn’t start out wanting a hobby farm. Me, my husband, our two sons and our one German Shepherd (Katja) moved to this house in the southern Indiana woods. We had come from California (via a couple month vacation in Wisconsin) and I was overjoyed to be back in the Midwest… my old stomping grounds.

Within a week of moving in to our house a stray cat had kittens in our garage. She was quite tame and let us interact with her and the kittens as much as we wanted so naturally we weighed them every day, gave them names, did our own little “vet checks” with them (lifelong dream as a kid was to be a veterinarian AND a lawyer AND Presidents of the United States AND a teacher), and made ourselves the biggest nuisance ever to this poor mama and her kittens. One kitten went to family in Wisconsin, one passed away just last year, and the rest we still have and care for here on The Shepherd Hobby Farm, including Mommy Cat (yes, that’s her name, forgive us as we were new to the whole “coming up with great names” thing).

Rabbits followed, and then there was this goat that we got Jackson for his birthday in 2010. Elliott (his goat) needed a buddy so there was Pedro and since then we have gotten a few more (yes,, we are up to 25 goats now).

I went to pick up a baby goat at a farm a couple years back and came home with two lambs… one is getting ready to be a first time mama at five years old.

There were more cats and kittens adopted/found, vetted (by us and professionals), spayed/neutered, and loved.

My lifelong dream was fulfilled the day I brought home my first horse, Mercedez, a Tennessee Walking Horse mare who I ride only bareback and feel completely at home on despite any lessons or training in horseback riding (she and I did go to a workshop once and it was fun but we never really got around to riding, just groundwork). She was joined by Yoda, an old quarter horse who was a great guy. Since then he has passed (EPM) and we got Pepsi, a young mix of a horse from a great horse rescue.

There were more dogs… two more German Shepherds, a Great Pyrenees, and a golden retriever to be exact. Oh and the chickens. Yes, early on we got chickens. And ducks. Ooh and guineas! There were more rabbits and some guinea pigs.

Now, well now we have a hobby farm… The Shepherd Hobby Farm. When did we become a hobby farm? I don’t know, probably around the time of cat #6 or rabbit #4… possibly goat #7 pushed us into hobby farm status. Maybe the chickens? Yes, definitely when we got the chickens.

#1 “Established On” Year

Why do I go on and on about all of this? Well, it’s quite simple really… I want to make an “established on…” sign. Ya know, the year we were established as a hobby farm to display on the barn or a neat The Shepherd Hobby Farm sign at the top of the lane! But every sign has to have an Est. XXXX entry… what would ours be? The first thing every hobby farm has to have is an “established on” timeframe.  This provides some focus (whether it me narrow or quite loose is totally up to you) as to how your life will be run.

Maybe it’s the day we drove down our long curvey lane and knew instantly we had found our forever home.

All I know is that we are certainly a hobby farm today and every day we move forward in a steady progression towards a more satisfying life for us and our animals. How do we do it?

One…Foot…In…Front…Of…The… Other

Every day. No exceptions. There’s no days off on a farm. There’s no day of complete rest. God graces us with work to keep us healthy, humble, and moving. He blesses us with animals to keep us subservient to something other than ourselves. These animals are a constant reminder that we are to serve, to care for, and to provide for their every need.

Working alongside my sons not only on the farm but in their newly found interest in my dog training business I am filled with hope for our future generation. A hope that they live to serve and help other others, man and beast.

#2 Gumption

According to Encarta Dictionary (and I’m guessing Miriam Webster would agree) gumption is “the courage to take what action is needed and practical common sense and presence of mind.” Yes, that is totally what you need to be a hobby farmer. When I have a goat that is in trouble while kidding I have to have the courage to take what action is needed whether that be waiting things out a bit to see if the doe (female goat) can do it on her own or  go in and give a helping hand. Do I help that little chick hatch out of its tough egg shell or let it do it on its own knowing that the tough survive far better than those helped along in that case?

#3  Five gallon buckets

Seriously, just as one cannot survive without food and water I don’t think a hobby farmer would last long without their five gallon buckets. I know here on The Shepherd Hobby Farm we like have to keep things simple either because we want to or we don’t have the funds at that time to upgrade. Would I love running water up at the barn? You betcha! Am I going to pay someone to do it for me? Heck no (at least not at this moment). Am I going to learn how to do it myself and then go ahead and do it? Sure, when another 15 hours get added to the day and I don’t have about 400 others things far more pressing to do. I fill 5 gallon water buckets with water and haul them to the various places they need to go. The goats, the sheep, chickens’ waterers etc.  Hauling feed is also best done in five gallon buckets. The horses know the sound of their oats and pellets just as the goats know the sound of their pellet mixture. I think even the cardinals and blue jays have their “sunflower seeds in a bucket” sound memorized. When a goat’s on the milking stand nothing makes a better seat than a flipped over 5 gallon bucket. Need to haul compost soil from the compost pile to the garden? Enter the 5 gallon bucket! Gathering worms for a fishing expedition? Hello 5 gallon bucket, will you hold my worms? You will? Awesome, thanks! The chicks escaped out of the brooder and are running everywhere… QUICK, GRAB A FIVE GALLON BUCKET TO HOLD THEM AS WE GATHER THEM UP!

#4 The quartet of garden tools: Shovel, post hole digger, rake and hoe.

I’m cheating slightly here by putting four in one but it’s my blog and I can do what I want to. Shovel, yup, kinda obvious. Killing dangerous rattle snakes or other poisonous critters (i.e. any spider that I see and most crickets because they give me the heebie jeebies) and also great for digging holes in the garden, shoveling rock and mulch anywhere and everywhere, shoveling horse, sheep, goat, chicken, and rabbit poo into empty 50 pound feed sacks to let compost and then sell as fertilizer (your welcome for that awesome idea). The post hole digger is an often overlooked necessity. If you are going to have a garden or animals you are going to need fencing. Every critter, foreign and domestic, known to man wants to come eat your garden the minute you look away. Some crazy hobby farmers like me don’t yet have a tractor with one of them fancy post hole diggers so we do it the old fashioned way and call it “bicep and tricep workout day” when we dig post holes with our trusty post hole digger. It works really well and does a perfect size deep hole for posts! Rake, ummm yup, another basic one but utilized almost continually on a simple hobby farm. Raking poo into piles to shovel into wheelbarrows or empty feed bags.The hoe, my favorite. I’m a “no till” kind of lady in the garden. Like my arthworms to keep as many homes as they can so I just lightly hoe the weeds and the rows where I need to plant and heavily mulch the areas in between with my composted material or mulch that we have the local tree service drop off for us.

#5 Pickup or a small trailer

Yes, I am that mom you see driving a minivan pulling a trailer with a huge roundbale of hay in it. Don’t judge me and stop staring! Trips to the dump, getting hay, picking up a great deal on a new chicken coop, whatever you need to haul a truck or a trailer is a necessity! Doesn’t have to be pretty but it has to have good tires and a bit of gumption of its own.

Bah, sorry for the novel but I gotta say with these 5 things you too can run your very own hobby farm. Throw some pallets and cattle panels into that mix and you have our farm today! There’s plenty of things that would make things easier and faster but I kinda like the simple speed with which we run here… it helps to slow me down and lets me watch the plants grow.

Keep on keepin’ on my friends!

~Jhenna

Here we are… wayward animals in the snow. It all started quite innocently enough. A light rain turned into a steady rain. We all ran for our shelters and watched as it filled our water buckets and turned everything a muddy icky mess. Then there was a downpour and the temperature started plummeting. The rain turned to sleet and then something magical happened… gigantic puffs of white fell from the sky. We ventured out to check it out and were quite surprised by how it stuck to our nose and eyelashes. Almost like raindrops on kittens and whiskers on roses… wait, is that right? Bright paper packages and warm woolen ribbons…Oh well, you know what I mean… it all seemed so innocent and jovial.

But then it took a dark turn… literally, the sun went down and the temperature continued to drop. We could see our breath and icicles began to form on our chins. The tips of our ears and our hooves started getting a wee bit chilly. This was not fun. The once muddy ground got hard, really hard. It was a frozen ice skating rink and here we stood, without our skates! The heat lamps were in the “not lit” position and we pleaded with them to light. We needed some warmth!

If we wanted to get to our feed and water we would have to traverse this despicable stuff. Upon first glance it looked airy, soft, and enveloping. Almost like stepping on a cloud and being lifted to the warm heavens while harps play an enchanting melody.

Shocker, it’s not. It’s cold, it clumps in our hoofs, around our fur, and seems to work itself into every little crevice known to man and beast. It is a quicksand like sinking feeling with an icy undercurrent just waiting to send us sliding to our sure doom. And it gets worse…

Have you ever been a smallish dwarf doe goat with an incredibly full udder trying to walk through twelve feet of snow? Ok, maybe only two feet, but that foot of snow is just as cold as twelve feet! Or how about an extremely well endowed still smallish dwarf buck goat… you get the picture. Things get cold… like really cold. We don’t jump because we’re happy, we jump so our bits don’t freeze off! Sure, laugh it up…

This is Molly (the sheep) and I just want to make something very clear… goats are evil. I was minding my own business, happily munching hay when all of a sudden a massive ball of snow came out of nowhere! How do they do it, how do they throw a snowball with thise itty bitty hooves? Hit me right in the face and all they did was snicker. Luckily for them I am mature and refuse to partcipate in such nonsence… although, they do have to sleep some time… would be a shame for a prank to be pulled when they are all snug as a goat bug in a straw rug… Oh yes, the cover of darkness shall be my stage!

 

Farmer lady to the rescue! She came out like a knight in shining armor with buckets upon buckets of hot molasses water and put them up IN OUR SHELTERS! No more wading through that horrible white stuff.  With a single wave of her hand the lights of heat were lit and the warmth cut through the icy chill of the night air. She added hay and a little something with a kick to our grain… what is C-A-Y-E-N-N-E and why does it kinda make my tongue burn? Good news though, it’s GMO and gluten free! We animal residents of The Shepherd Hobby Farm are very serious about our GMO and gluten free things… no one wants any of those Good Morning  Olives and gluten totally makes hair grow on our chests. We don’t need any more hair… we are hairy enough as it is.

The dogs trotted over to see how we were doing. They laughed as they always do and called us wimps. Wimps? Really? Who’s the wimp who will most assuredly be cuddled up in front of the fireplace in about 2.3 seconds? Yup, those stupid dogs. We ignore them and jump on the lady farmer for attention. She gives the best neck rubs! Seriously, best ever! Hah, take that dogs… she’s not rubbing your neck is she?

The farmer lady pulls a huge bottle of hot milk from her secret hiding place in her coveralls and we all attack. Oh yummy yummy yummy, that stuff is so yummy but she always gives it to the BABIES! Seriously? The babies? Now there’s your real wimps!

Caesar the goat kid rejected by the ever increasingly evil Ella got first dibs on the bottle as he continued to jump on the farmer lady’s back as she tried to feed Webster the visiting lamb. Tell us again why we have a lamb visiting the farm… really? He seems t be a reject of some sort as well so he gets along quite well with Caesar… birds of a feather… we’re just sayin’.

Babies’ bellies are full and Scipio and Caesar (brothers) are scooped up and put in an enclosure with a super soft pine shavings bed and extra heat. Totally not fair but truth be told those two little boys were fast becoming icicles because they kept playing out in the snow. Webster was scooped up despite cries of argument. Apparently Caesar and Scipio use him as their own personal trampoline so he will spend the night inside. I wonder how that will go…

It is getting late and we are all tired. Fresh straw has been laid and hay is at the ready whenever our late night munching fits kick in. Water is still piping hot and farmer lady will most assuredly refresh it every hour throughout the night, correct? A goat can dream! Night night!

~Sincerely, the critters of The Shepherd Hobby Farm

It was the best of days… it was the worst of days… nope, scratch that… it was pretty much just the worst of days! In labor with twins for just over 48 hours… yup that’s pretty much the worst of days… and nights!

 

It’s been five long months since that rendezvous under the hickory tree with the ever romantic (and half my age!) Mike. I was supposed to be swept away by Sir Sebastian but Mike made his way to me under a full moon and hooting owls… the sparks were too hard to ignore and Sebastian was too busy munching hay to take much notice.

 

Fast forward five months and I am a huge hippo of a doe, ten times my usually petite and smokin’ hot self and just feeling cranky. If hooves could swell mine would have been swollen. I developed an odd craving for tree bark and stripped every tree in my paddock. YUM!

 

The farmer lady became quite interested in my developing udder about two weeks ago and kept promising, “It won’t be long now.” Really? How does she know that. Last time I checked she did not go to veterinary school and if I see her pull that Goat Medicine book out one more time to look something up I’m going to pee all over it, throw it in the fire pit and dance on its ashes.

 

Look at the book… poke and prod at me. Look at the book again, feel my tummy. Book check, pry open my mouth and look at my gums. Fantastic book, pulling my eyelids all over the place muttering, “Very nice, just as they should be.” Yes, lady, they are eyes, of course they are where they should be… on my head.  STOP TOUCHING ME! And while we are at it… if my tail is down it means I don’t want you looking at my behind. It is not an invitation to lift my tail up and take long creepy stare downs at my nether regions… QUIT IT!

 

So I knew something was starting when I began getting some pains in my sides and lost my appetite Sunday afternoon. The farmer lady checked me over and fussed over me for quite a while. Admittedly, I get a little standoffish as I always do when I’m in labor. I just want to be left alone to do my thing… I really don’t need an audience for the “miracle of birth.” Try telling that to midwife farmer lady who thinks none of us goats can give birth without her assistance.

 

The contractions started hard Sunday night and continued through ALL of Monday and most of Tuesday. I was kept cheerful constant company (woohoo… yes, that’s sarcasm… goat sarcasm) by the ever so helpful (not) farmer lady and her absolutely atrocious Goat Medicine book. I guess this kidding was to be “by the book.”  She set the book down on the ground at one point to take a look at me and I tried to waddle over to pee all over it but only made it two steps before the contractions stopped me dead in my tracks. These were painful, worse than the ones with Baine. These hurt… and they hurt bad.

 

Tuesday night things were getting real… The farmer lady rubbed my neck and brought me a bucket of hot water with some sort of sweet stuff in it… the elixir was incredible and I drank deeply. The hay was fluffed, towels gathered, heat lamp turned on and I munched on some grain, red raspberry leaves (smart thinking to farmer lady to save some of those from summer’s harvest… did your book tell you to do that?), and hay while the farmer lady messed around on her phone.

 

Then the farmer lady decided to poke and prod and check me out. Apparently I wasn’t “progressing” as much as she would have liked and she mentioned that it might not be until tomorrow morning before these babies come out. On her way out of my kidding suite she gave her cheerful, “Don’t worry Ella Bella it will be soon, so very soon.” She brought Fuzzy Bear in to keep me company and prevent the cats from annoying me.

 

I told Fuzzy Bear the plan… these kids were coming out… she seemed to agree but looked quite concerned as to what her part in all of this was going to be. She watched as I gave birth to my two beautiful boys and even helped me clean them up and dry them off. She truly was a help to this new mother!

 

About an hour later guess who showed up… the farmer lady. She was so excited and surprised and I have to admit I was quite proud of the job I had done. She scooped up the boys and hugged all over them. She gave Fuzzy some nice pats and gave me the best neck rubbing you could ever imagine… blissful!

 

She checked the boys and dipped their umbilical cords in a red solution of some sort which I licked off immediately when her back was turned. When will she understand that I’ve got this all covered… sheesh farmer ladies these days!

 

There you have it… the birth story of Caesar and Scipio (wow, who comes up with these names?). The farmer lady isn’t too thrilled with BOYS (apparently girls are treasured on The Shepherd Hobby Farm) and she talks of selling these two boys so I am devising my plan now… Operation “Keep all goats on the farm FOREVER”… we will call it “Operation Bunny Eyes”. The boys are doing well so far with their precious jumping, hopping, cuddling in her lap, and falling all over themselves and each other… well played little bucks, well played!

 

~Ella

~Via Farmer Lady Jhenna

 

Fridays on the Farm… From the Paws of Fluffy, Super Kitty of the Midwest

Life on the farm can get pretty dull and there are times I just need to create some “drama” for my own entertainment. Twas a cold evening in the depths of December and the woman who feeds me, cuddles me, and sees to my heart’s every desire was giving the huge monstrosity of a dog they call “Axel” a bath inside. He had found mud hole after mud hole to wallow in, run through, and pretty much adorn like a second fur coat… the lady was having none of it and the punishment was the dreaded bath.

I watched as she led him down the long, dark, lonely hallway to “the room that shall not be named.” Horrible things happen in this room… teeth brushing, washing (WITH IMMERSION INTO WATER!), hand washing with soap (feline saliva is obviously the only “soap” ever needed in life)… all sorts of things that go against all things feline.

I know it may sound like I felt bad for this big galoot but trust me, I did not. A mere 10 minutes before this I was the one he was chasing through the woods, mud puddles, and across the horse paddock with way too many mine fields of steamy stinkiness. All the other cats claim that if I would stop, the chase would end, but I tried that once and was immediately licked within an inch of my life by the biggest and wettest tongue known to cat kind. That Axel has got to hold some sort of record for size and moisture level of a canine mouth, seriously. No sir, I’ll take my chances with a good run. He’s huge, he’ll never catch me.

The race ended as I ran and hid under the minivan and the Einstein Axel ran smack dab into the side of the van. Apparently someone was running on nose scenting alone and didn’t even see the huge vehicle coming. The thud heard around the world brought the woman out of the house and a close inspection of the side of the van.  Muttering of “another dent” was music to my ears as I figured this would surely cause the big galoot to be banished to the interior of the home and out of my business. The fact that he had to get a bath was icing on my tuna fish cake.

I heard the water start running and that’s when my devious plan came to me… I would wait just long enough for him to be all soaped up and I would simply shut off the water pump in the garage. This was going to be EPIC!

I waited about 5 minutes, long enough for him to get drenched and properly soaped up and *flip*, to the “off” position the switch went. Sure is nice when light switches that run pumps do not require opposable thumbs.

One thing I hadn’t thought of was how this little prank would affect the mood of the woman giving the “Axel’ the bath. Apparently, she did not find this funny. I sat outside the green room window and watched as the bathroom door opened and the woman stomped out. There sat Axel, soapy and sudsy from head to tail sitting in the shower. When the woman left the bathroom his pitiful yodeling began. Oh…my…goodness… if only you could have heard it! He had no dignity left, none whatsoever.  Oh how I laughed!

Well, I laughed until the woman came out to the garage, turned on the switch and nothing happened… Nothing. The pump didn’t turn back on and the water did not start to flow back up from the great keeper of the water below the ground. Nothing happened. There was much muttering, some words I didn’t recognize and oddly enough when I came over for some love, cuddles, and behind the ear rubs I was pushed aside without any regard! Pfft… who does she think she is?

Apparently I had killed the pump. Well, until now, no one knew “who” killed the pump and I’m still not certain it wasn’t just a crazy fluke-like coincidence. Nevertheless, the pump was dead and the woman was not happy. Axel was certainly not happy. However, I was quite happy as I perched on the woman’s shoulder, helping her try to figure out the inner workings of the pump house. Pipes and valves were a maze of confusion but I knew we could get through this together. I felt I needed to help fix what I very well could be responsible for breaking.

As we poked around I was soothed by the pitiful whining of Axel in the shower, sitting in sudsy dismay. I almost lost my balance on her shoulder at one point but don’t worry, I dug my claws in and was able to steady myself.  The woman’s shriek when the claws came out certainly didn’t help me any but I forgive her. She stood up and I was forced to jump off and wait further instructions and the “gameplan.”

Imagine my surprise when the gameplan involved going inside and talking to that husband of hers. What was she thinking? WE COULD DO THIS! She and I… cat and woman, woman and cat. It would be fun playing plumber!

They got into the car and went to town for supplies, leaving the rest of us behind to listen to the yodeling cries of Axel which were starting to really get on all of our nerves. We get it, you are alone and uncomfortable sitting among a bunch of bubbles in the bathtub, stop being such a baby!

The man and woman came back all chipper and ready to tackle the project. Their breath reeked of Starbucks and their “Good job honey”, “Oh you are so good at this sweety”, and “I’m so glad I’m married to you” were enough to make me cough up a hairball. Disgusting, seriously disgusting. This was certainly not the drama I was looking for. The man bent down to take a closer look at the dead motor and I prepared to jump on for a closer inspection as well. As I prepared to leap the woman jumped in and grabbed me out of mid air. Apparently the man is not a fan of cats on his shoulder or his back, huh…weird… She put me down and I attempted the jump again. Thwarted by the woman once more, wow, she was quick. Several more attempts from different angles and directions did not have my desired effect of a place on the man’s back or shoulder for a closer look and finally the woman took me to the house and put me inside where I was to stay until the project in the garage was completed.

Fine, I didn’t want to help anyways with their stupid project. I’d rather jump up on the counters and tip over glasses of water… yes, two can play this game. What game were we playing again? I forget but take that you horrible red and white can of brown sweet liquid… on the carpet you go! Why sure, I’ll have a couple licks of that cake on the counter, no one will be the wiser. Toilet water, my favorite! I appreciate the new scratching post in the living room however the two boys are sitting on it and that is quite annoying. Luckily there is a whole back to it that just begs to be climbed like a Navy Seal climbing a helicopter hanging ladder!

Project complete, new pump, new piping, new switch and now we just wait for all the plumbing glue or whatever to set and cure before we test for leaks or “just plain screwing it all up.” Apparently we have a plumber coming in two days (It’s Friday night right now) just in case. I’m going to bet we’ll need him to come as they refused any of my advice or shoulder help.

We wait, Axel whines, cake is eaten (no, I didn’t feel the need to let them know I helped myself), and spills are mopped up.

The appointed hour arrives and the woman and I head out to flip the switch and see if we have water… and…

 

WE DO! WE HAVE WATER! I’m not sure why the celebration, there was always plenty of water to drink in the various buckets and horse trough outside but apparently no one wants to bathe in the horse trough from what I am understanding.

Do you think I am thanked for my help? No, absolutely not. The first thing she does is go in and finish Axel’s bath! Wow, I know how I rate!

So yup, not quite the comedy show I had planned but it all worked out to my satisfaction in the end. Axel was in misery, I got to sit on the woman’s shoulder, and I enjoyed my little party time in the house. Life sure is grand on the farm!

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