Pigs and cows and sciatica, oh my!

There are 365 days in a year and 24 hours in every day, so why did a 150-pound pig decide that NOW was the time to get itself completely tangled up in Electronet? After yesterday's 7-hour barn cleaning marathon, I can now say I truly feel your pain if you've ever suffered from sciatica. The last time I was walking, holding my back, moaning, groaning, and breathing like this was 21 years ago when I was giving birth to my last child! I was simultaneously crying in pain and laughing at the complete absurdity of the situation! Getting a pig out of Electronet in my condition was quite a challenge, but it is free -- and I bet it will never go near Electronet again.

my Facebook status yesterday

I have no doubt this would all be quite hilarious if I were watching it in a movie. But I'm not. I'm living it. But let's start at the beginning ... (It's okay if you laugh. I promise I won't get mad.)

I've had sciatic pain off and on for the past year. When I was mistakenly diagnosed with reflux earlier this year, I started sleeping on a wedge, which did nothing for my digestive problems but after the first night of sleeping on the wedge, I realized that my low back pain was gone! So, I thought I had learned how to deal with it. On Monday someone came out to help clean up the kidding barn and get it ready for kidding season, which will start in December. Because my back has been bothering me a little, I made a point of not doing any heavy lifting. I did all of the gross little things ... like cleaning off the shelves behind the kidding stalls, cleaning the store room, removing fly strips, and other tedious but important jobs. (Now I really wish I had taken a picture! It looks great!) Other than my knee feeling a little more swollen than normal, I was feeling fine. We worked from noon to seven, then I came inside and cooked dinner. By 9 p.m., I knew I had a problem, but I figured a good night's rest would take care of it.

Not even close! I woke up yesterday morning wincing in pain every time I moved. I was moving slowly and taking tiny steps. When I came downstairs, the first thing I did was an online search for sciatica. I didn't learn anything terribly helpful, although I found it curious that most of the articles said it is made worse by sitting. Hmm ... mine was always worse from laying down flat, either on my back or stomach. Sitting never seemed to bother it as much. So I figured I'd spend the day sitting in front of the computer, icing my back off and on all day. It was going pretty well until around 2:45 when I suddenly heard a pig squealing non-stop! I limped to the window as quickly as I could manage, as the squealing continued. The pigs are in the front yard cleaning up the acorns and hickory nuts. When I looked to where the squeal was coming from, I saw a pig tangled in the Electronet that was keeping the goats in their area.

"Oh! Good grief! Seriously? Seriously? Today?" I hobbled to the front door and headed outside without even changing my slippers to farm shoes. Having been shocked a couple of times by an electric fence, I knew the pig was truly in distress. And just in case I had any doubts, it was continuing to squeal non-stop. I made my way to the barn as quickly as I could and unplugged the fence charger. The squealing stopped immediately. As I then headed towards the pig, I saw absolutely zero movement. Oh no, it's dead. No, it wouldn't have died at exactly the same second you unplugged the charger. But it's not moving. Why isn't it moving? And so my thoughts spun out of control until I was close enough to see that the pig was blinking its eyes. The whole time I was moving from one end of the front yard to the other, I was also holding my back, taking deep breaths, blowing them out with a loud moan, and occasionally throwing out a swear word for pain control.

When I finally reached the pig, I realized that it had pulled up five of the stakes that held the fence in place. Although I was able to remove one strand of fencing from across the bridge of its snout, I couldn't figure out how exactly it had put itself at the center of this gordian knot. A strand of fencing ran so tightly across its back that I couldn't even slip a finger under it. In my pain-induced fuzzy brain, I had the brilliant idea to pull the pig backwards. Keep in mind that I can't squat because of the arthritis in my knees, and now I can hardly bend my back, so I am bending my knees as far as I can, and I'm trying to bend my body forward at my hips. I foolishly thought that I could simply use my arms to pull the pig backwards. Hey, at least I knew that I wouldn't be able to use my back to pull on it. Of course, the pig wanted nothing to do with me pulling on it -- as if I could actually have moved a 150-pound pig with only my arms!

First I hobbled to the house for a pair of scissors so that I could cut the strand of fencing. Even though we probably own seven pairs, there was not a single pair that I could easily find. Thanks to the fact that, more than once, I've caught my husband using goat hoof trimmers to cut and strip electrical wire, I realized that they were probably an even better idea than scissors, which probably would not have worked anyway. So, off I hobbled towards the barn, huffing and puffing, moaning and groaning, and holding my back the whole way. We always keep an old pair of hoof trimmers in the side of a hay stack to use for cutting baling twine, so they were easy to find. And then I made the same arduous journey back across the yard, looking like a woman in hard labor, minus the obligatory baby bump out front.

I finally reached the pig, who now had enough strength to squeal in anticipation of the fact that it knew I was going to touch it again. This was not one of the friendlier pigs who actually enjoys getting a scratch behind the ears and a back massage -- and even if it was, it probably would not have been after being tangled in an electric fence and being shocked for a couple of minutes. I slowly began my descent into the semi-squat, hinged bending at the hips until I could reach the wire across the pig's back. Because I couldn't even get my finger under it, I pushed the tip of hoof trimmers under it as gently and slowly as I could so as not to accidentally stab the pig. The moment I heard the snap of the hoof trimmers cutting through the fence strand, the pig bolted, running as fast a pig could possible run, across the yard, throwing a quick glance over her shoulder without slowing down.

When I finally went back inside, I complained on Facebook. I knew I would still need to do evening chores a couple hours later, but that seemed like nothing after dealing with the pig fiasco. Mike had done double-duty on a lot of things that morning because he knew I was having trouble, so I only needed to provide hay for a few animals and bring the goats and cows into the barn. Simple enough, right?

I'd love to say that I had nothing but positive thoughts throughout evening chores, but that wouldn't be true. I had all sorts of visions of goats running amok, dancing on hay stacks, and gorging themselves on the pig grain. You see, I had to move them from their pasture, across the front yard, and through the whole barn to get to their stalls. I also had to move the milk cow and her calf into the barn. Milk cow? What milk cow? Oh, right, I haven't told you about Beauty and her calf Beau yet. They've been here for almost two weeks now. I promise I'll tell you about them in the next couple of days!

When I went outside to do chores, Beauty mooed at me from the back door of the barn, so I thought I should take advantage of the fact that she was already at the door and let her in as soon as I had hay and water in all of the stalls. It took me awhile because I couldn't lift the five-gallon buckets, so had to use the two-gallon. She was standing a little too close to the door for me to open it enough for her to walk right in, so I took a couple of steps out of the door and pulled on her halter to get her to walk around the door and come inside. It was the first time I'd ever tried that. We've always hooked a lead rope to her halter before, but I'd forgotten to grab one and was budgeting my steps. She actually cooperated quite nicely and was heading into the barn. I had not thought to close the door to the goat stall, so of course, that's where she went. Part of me wanted to just leave her in there, but the thought of a goat laying in a cow pie changed my mind. Once again, I pulled on her halter and she followed me into the aisle and then into her stall. I closed the door and breathed a sigh of relief.

Beau, however, was a different story. He was running back and forth through the barn. At only four weeks, he is a sweet little thing, but he is rapidly approaching the size of a Great Dane. We've started putting him in a separate stall overnight so that we can milk Beauty in the morning. Porter the English shepherd helps me move the goats into and out of the barn, and he knew I was trying to get Beau to go towards his stall. He was trying to help me by nipping at (but never actually biting) Beau's hind legs. Beau seemed to know that Porter wasn't going to actually bite him, and was completely ignoring him! It was actually rather humorous seeing Porter's reaction. He would nip at Beau's heels, and then he would look at me with what I swear was a confused look on his face! Porter seemed to be saying to me, I'm telling him to move, but he won't move! Why won't he move? Beau's back reaches to the middle of my thighs, so I got behind him and started to push my thighs against his back end. If he went to turn one way or the other, I'd just push on his ribs with my hand (doing the odd semi-squatting, hinged hip bending) to make him go straight. Finally we made our way to his stall, and after staring at it for a few seconds -- just long enough to make me worry -- he ran inside.

And then there were the goats, which actually went extremely well, thanks to Porter's help. Even though he and I have taken only one herding class -- not a series of classes, but one, three-hour intro class -- we've learned to muddle through and work together on moving the goats from the barn to the pasture in the morning and back into the barn at night. Since we use rotational grazing, the pasture does not always abut the barn, so there is an almost infinite number of challenges that could occur daily. However, I also think that the goats have been trained as much as the dog.

If a movie were ever made about Porter, he would be voiced by Eddie Murphy. His personality is so much like a lot of the Eddie Murphy characters who think that all of the women love them and that they are oh-so-tough with their adversaries. And he's a little too quick to declare success and start to celebrate. Moving the goats into the barn was flawless, but then Porter came running back out, jumping jubilantly into the air, as I slowly hobbled towards the barn so that I could close the stall door. I could see that some of the goats were coming back out of their stall and into the main part of the barn. I yelled, "No! Porter, go get the goats!" As soon as I screamed the words, the goats all turned on their heels and headed back into their stall. Then Porter turned away from me and ran to the door of their stall, tail wagging wildly, looking up at me and saying in that Eddie Murphy voice, "Hey! What you worried about? I got it under control! See!"

I closed the stall door as Porter again began jumping into the air declaring success at once again putting the goats in their place. As I continued my labored breathing and walking slowly towards the house, he would run ahead, then turn and run back to ask me what's taking so long. But we eventually made it back to the house, and I was very happy to call it a day.

Many thanks to PR intern Brooke Poling who took the pig pictures when she was here on Sunday.

Farewell to our faithful guardian

I was gone to a conference towards the end of last week, and as I was going from one venue to another, I glanced at my cell phone to see a text that simply said, "Hey, call home when you're free." That type of text usually means something bad, but what? When I called home, my son's first words were, "Sovalye died."

What? He wasn't even sick. It was a shock, and it was hard to have it all happening when I was away from home.

This is what my son posted on his Facebook page:

I don't like dogs, for the most part. I can stand them in small doses, but most of the time I just find them obnoxious, whether they're barking at you or begging for attention. Sovalye was an exception. He was friendly, but in a shy, non-pushy way that you rarely find in dogs. He was our farm's first livestock guardian to last more than a few months, and while he wasn't able to hold on to the title for as long as we would've liked (he's been mostly retired the last few years), he was still extremely effective at his job when he was all there mentally.

He passed away last night at the age of 9. We found him this morning, and it appears he sustained some sort of injury, which probably happened sometime yesterday when he got off our property, a frustrating hobby he's picked up over the last few years (it's not worth trying to catch him when this happens, because he would just run farther away from you - I've chased him a whole mile before), but we weren't able to figure out where they came from. I guess it doesn't matter too much at this point anyway.

Even with all of his issues, he was one of the kindest, most modest dogs I ever knew. He could be ferocious when he wanted and needed to be (he literally shook an invasive raccoon to death when he was only a year old), but deep down he had a very kind heart. Though I've seen dozens of lives come and go on this farm, I'm not sure I'm going to miss one as much as him.

 By the time I got home two days later on Saturday night, Sovalye had been buried, so I was not able to say a proper good bye to him. And it didn't really hit me that he was gone until I milked the goats. He normally waits for me in the barn, and when I walk out of the milking parlor, I give him the strip milk, which is the first few squirts of milk from each goat, and with 14 does, that adds up to a decent amount of milk. But as I reached the end of the milking Sunday morning, I knew Sovalye would not be there waiting for me when I walked out. And tears rolled down my cheeks.

A new livestock guardian

Protecting livestock from predators is an ongoing battle. It seems like we can never quite get control of the situation. We've had an Anatolian shepherd for eight years, and he was doing a great job the first couple years until we started having problems with packs of coyotes. So, we bought four llamas, and a year later, we got two more. They were doing a great job working in pairs on three different parts of the farm until one of them died. He was 18, which is old for a llama, but alas, his partner was then left in a bad situation working alone, and we had our first sheep loss in four years this summer.

And as you might know, eight years old is old for a livestock guardian. I think Sovalye might be feeling the desire to retire too. When that raccoon got into the chicken house a couple of months ago, he walked in when Jonathan called him, and then he walked right back out again. A couple of years ago, he would have taken care of the raccoon in short order.

You might recall that we also have Porter, an English shepherd, and although he is a great guard dog when it comes to strangers, he only has the urge to herd raccoons and the like, which would be humorous if the coons were not interested in eating my chickens and turkeys.

So, we decided to add another dog to the homestead. Meet Lucy, a Great Pyrenees from Triple Creek Dairy --

She was living in the goat barn when I picked her up, and when we brought her home, she looked rather scared and nervous until she saw the goats. She immediately perked up and ran straight to them. Because she is a DOG -<gasp>- the goats were not terribly excited to meet her, but they are slowly starting to come around. She understands how to deal with them, and if she sees them coming at her, she drops to the ground so they can't butt her.

For the first week, we kept her in the barn in a kidding pen next to Carmen and her kids so that they could keep each other company through the hog panel partition, but Carmen couldn't beat her up. We let her out whenever we were outside so we could supervise her with the livestock, both for her protection and the other animals.

So far, she has shown absolutely zero interest in chasing any of them. I just love her personality and intuition about interacting with other animals. She has been spending the last few days in an interior pasture where a pig and a few turkeys live.

To help me remember that she was born in 2012, I decided to name her Lucy Burns because this is an election year, and Lucy Burns was one of the "baddest" suffragettes of them all. She worked for women's rights in both England and the U.S., and she was arrested more than any suffragette. She also led hunger strikes in the jails, and when they tried to force-feed her with a tube in her nose, it took five guards to hold her down. She was fearless, which is how I hope my little Lucy Burns will be when it comes to predators!

Whatever happened to . . . ?

Following my last post, someone asked about Trouper and Merlot, and I realized that there are probably a lot of stories with loose ends. So, to catch up --

Merlot is the gorgeous Shagya Arabian gelding whose owner deserted him here. He was supposed to be a pasture mate for Katherine's horse, but when Buddy died and I called Merlot's owner to tell her he was alone, she said she didn't want him any longer, "and if you're going to desert him, you can just put him down." Well, I wasn't going to do that, so Merlot is still here. He had lost some weight over the winter, but he is in great shape now. I can't even find his ribs. He has a bad case of arthritis in one of his hocks, which he's had forever, but otherwise he's doing great.

Midknight is the other horse that was here, and when I told his owner that Midknight could no longer stay here, he sold him. We thought the buyers might also take Merlot, but they decided against it.

Trouper was the dog that someone dumped on our road. He was pit bull, and he was injured badly. The pit bull rescues were full, and the mixed breed rescues wouldn't take him because they said some cities banned ownership of pit bulls, which created a variety of problems for them. He had a broken pelvis, which caused him to be incontinent, and without surgery that would have cost a few thousand dollars, there was really no hope that he would regain bladder control. As he began to get around better, he started chasing chickens, and he killed two geese. Then he and our livestock guardian had issues. I was able to break up the first fight myself. It took three of us to break up the second fight. After the third fight, Trouper was so badly injured it would have meant more vet bills, which we simply couldn't afford, especially for a dog that had so many things going against him, so we made the very hard decision to put him down. We still miss him, and I'm certain that there will be more pit bulls in my future, because he was a very sweet dog who simply had too many strikes against him.

Sterling the llama was having dental issues last winter, and they seem to have somehow resolved themselves. I'm wondering if the abscessed tooth fell out? Everything I learned about abscessed teeth in llamas sounded dreadful, and I'm glad that it cleared up without having to have a hole drilled through the bottom of his jaw, which is what they recommended at the U of I vet clinic.

The baby llama is a month old now, and we decided to name him Lance for two reasons. It looks like he's wearing biker shorts, so there's Lance Armstrong, and since he's going to be a guardian, naming him after Lancelot seemed like a good idea. I'm sorry I don't remember if it was a blog reader or a Facebook fan that came up with the name, but I love it! After I told a farm guest the baby's name one day, she thought it also worked because knights used lances!

If there's anything else that I need to update, just let me know!

Desperation and the Dog

Somewhere in the barn, a chicken is dieing. I hope she's already dead. She probably is. Few can survive a dog attack. Although attack is not the right word. It sounds mean, and Trouper doesn't have a mean bone in his body. His tail was wagging, and I never heard a growl as he pounced on the chicken. I wonder if he liked to play with squeaky toys when he was a puppy.

When I walked into the kidding barn yesterday, Trouper and Porter were on my heels as usual. Scratching in the straw in front of the kidding pens were four New Hampshire red hens and a rooster. They're not supposed to be in there, because their poop is as slippery as a wet bar of soap on the concrete floor. My plan was to circle around behind them and shoo them out of the barn. Two hens ran into a corner, so I picked up one and let her fly out of my hands towards the door.

I looked to my left as Trouper pounced on a chicken. I screamed, "No! Stop it! Bad dog!" over and over again. His head was bouncing up and down as he tried to keep his hold on the chicken and she struggled to escape. Chicken feathers were flying in all directions. I kicked him as I continued screaming, "No! No! Bad dog!" Then he let go of the chicken, sat up, and looked at me. I was too hysterical to do anything other than continue screaming, "Bad dog!" He realized it had been a mistake for him to help me catch chickens, and he headed for the door. I ran after him, continuing to scream in case he suddenly changed his mind and decided to grab the chicken again.

After he was outside, I stared at him for a moment as he sat there looking at me so innocently. I wanted to slam the giant door dramatically in his face, but being 12-feet high, I only managed to slowly slide it closed. I ran back to where I had last seen the hen, but there was no sign of her. Another hen paced and clucked. I looked at the junk stored in the barn. It was not far from where Trouper had grabbed her, so she probably ran into a tiny space between a couple pieces of furniture or machinery. I dropped down on my hands and knees but couldn't see her in any of the spaces. It was quite dark after only a few inches though, so it is possible that she was sitting in the dark watching me. If she has already died, she won't start to stink for two or three days, which is just in time for a weekend activity -- sorting through our junk to find a dead chicken.

But the dead (or injured) chicken is the smallest half of the problem. The larger problem is that Trouper thinks most of the animals here are his play things. This is the first time he has attacked a chicken, but he killed two geese last month, and every time he is on the same side of the fence as a goat, he tries to play with it. When Pearl, the 8-month-old bottle brat, escaped from her pasture, he grabbed her by the neck and was shaking her. Amazing as it seems, she was not hurt at all, but what about next time?

When Sarah was visiting, we took Little Man out of his stall for halter training. I had forgotten that Trouper was running loose outside. As he snapped at the young llamas legs, three humans intervened to avert a tragedy. A couple days ago, Katherine got the goats out to milk, forgetting that Trouper was loose. She was able to stop him with her voice, and he went running out of the barn. That incident gave me hope. Perhaps we could teach him to be a farm dog. Now, I'm not sure. How many additional incidents can we handle?

Unless this is the first post you've read on my blog, you know how important my animals are to me. If I have to choose between a stray dog and my goats or my sheep, the answer is obvious. Sadly, I feel like I do have to choose. I emailed an all-breed rescue yesterday, and the woman responded that they can't take pit bulls or anything mixed with a pit. That's what I'd heard. It is why I had not even tried an all-breed rescue yet. Her only suggestion was to continue looking for other pit bull rescues.

If I'm honest with myself, I'm scared that he's going to hurt one of the goats. But then I go outside, and he's my buddy. He sticks to me like glue, on my heels everywhere I go. And if I notice that he's about to pounce on something, and I yell "No!" he stops. But once he lunges at an animal, he's deaf for at least a few seconds. He is very smart though and a real people pleaser. He just wants to be loved and praised.

Why did he have to be dumped here on my road? Why did we have to come along and find him? I don't really know how a human being ignores an injured animal on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. I tell myself that we never should have stopped. We should have just kept driving. But how?

Yesterday, I just wanted him dead. I told myself that there are so many perfect dogs out there in rescue who need homes that there simply is not room for a dog who is incontinent. I convinced myself that he should be put down because I haven't found a rescue to take him, and he can't stay here because he could wind up hurting or killing my animals. It really is irrelevant whether he wants to eat them or just play with them -- the result is the same.

But in the light of a new day, I'm thinking that he can be trained to respect the other animals that live here. We just need to work harder on this. I keep remembering how he didn't touch a chicken until I did. As long as I was moving them with my body, that's what he was doing. As soon as I caught one, he did too. This is not the first time I've noticed that he watches me intently and follows my lead with the animals. Katherine researched pit bulls and learned that long before they were used for fighting, they were cattle dogs.

I believe that every animal that is born on this farm is a gift. It is here to feed us or provide us with income when we sell it or to teach us something. My brain keeps thinking that Trouper showed up on my road exactly when I was passing for a reason. I've already learned a lot by having him here, but does he have a permanent place on Antiquity Oaks? Or is this just a stopping point on the way to his forever home? Am I simply meant to be the matchmaker between him and his new family? I can't believe that our role in this story is simply to end his life.

Life and death decisions

About three weeks ago, I noticed that Sterling the llama was very underweight. It can be tricky with fiber animals, because their fiber covers up their body so well. I happened to pet him while he was eating, and that's the only reason I knew he was having a problem. I brought him into the barn so I could monitor his food intake and pooping. I treated him for parasites and coccidia since his poop was sometimes pasty. He didn't improve. And a few days ago, I realized he was hardly eating his hay. I did a little research and took him down to the University of Illinois vet hospital yesterday. We learned that he has an abscessed tooth, which will cost $600-800 to remove.

Apparently, you can't just pull a tooth in the back of a llama's mouth. There's an access problem because their head is too long. The vet would have to go through the bottom of his jaw bone and push the tooth out of its socket and into his mouth. He'd have a hole there forever and could dribble saliva and stuff.

Is it worth it to spend that much on a 16 year old llama? He'll never produce that much fiber in the rest of his life, and he's a gelding, so he's not producing babies. From a strictly financial point of view, the answer is no. But I hate making decisions like this.

While driving home yesterday and thinking about this, a Miley Cyrus song came on the radio and I recalled a recent conversation with my daughter. She said she quit liking the singer after she heard that her father got mad at her when she spent tens of thousands of dollars on clothes one month. Now she's on a budget and can only spend a few thousand dollars a month on clothes. Maybe Miley Cyrus could give up a couple shirts or pair of pants and pay for my vet bills?

Sterling isn't the only animal that needs expensive vet care. There is also Trouper, the dog that someone dumped out here, who was then hit by a car. His broken pelvis has healed to the point that he can run again, but he has some kind of serious nerve damage, because he is completely incontinent. He dribbles all the time, and when he lays down, he makes a puddle. He also has no awareness of where his right rear leg is. He stops walking with it completely stretched out behind him, and sometimes he sits down with it twisted behind him. I've spent nearly $300 on this dog already, and he has not even been neutered or vaccinated. I'm hesitant to spend another hundred dollars in an attempt to get a diagnosis of a problem that I can't afford to fix.

He can't live in the house because of the incontinence, and he can't live outside because our livestock guardian has attacked him both times he's come in contact with him, even though they should be separated by fencing. The LGD is finding a way to get out. He hasn't escaped from the pasture in at least six months, so I'm sure he's doing it now because he perceives a threat. It took three of us to pull them apart the last time. What if there's a fight when only one person is home? Living in our barn office is no life for a dog.

And then there is the horse that was deserted here by his owner. He's been here on free pasture board almost from the beginning, and a couple years ago, after my daughter's horse died at the age of 30, I emailed the owner and asked if she'd like to take Merlot somewhere else, because he was lonely without other equine companionship. She sent me a very rude email saying that she couldn't afford to do anything with him, and if I was going to desert him, I should just have him put down. That was a decision I didn't want to make. But now, he's losing weight. I'm sure he needs to have his teeth floated, but that's at least $130, if they find nothing wrong with his teeth. But what if there is something else causing him to lose weight? What if he has other health problems? I know he has arthritis in his hock, which is so severe that the muscles in that hip started to atrophy a couple years ago. He also has EPM, which is a neurological problem that makes it impossible for him to be ridden, so he's not here for any reason, other than his owner deserted him, and I haven't had the courage to put him down or send him somewhere. I've heard the horse rescues are full anyway -- probably like the pit bull rescue that I contacted when we found the injured dog. What financially-strapped, over-worked rescue wants to take on an animal that they know has expensive health issues and will probably be unadoptable?

And that ignores the two cats that were dumped out here last summer. I wanted to get them neutered so that they'd stay here, safe in our barn, rather than venturing out looking for a girlfriend and getting eaten by coyotes. I haven't been able to get them fixed because of Trouper's vet bills.

It would cost thousands of dollars to take care of the vet bills of all five of these animals, four of which I never asked for. They were someone else's problem -- someone who was cowardly and irresponsible. I could never desert an animal and pretend that all is well.

But I do not have thousands of dollars to deal with all these problems. I don't want to see the llama and horse waste away. I don't want to see Trouper get killed by the LGD or live a lonely life in our barn office. I'm sick of seeing intact male cats fighting, and I hope I never again find the remains of a cat that was eaten by a coyote.

But I'm not rich enough to deal with other people's problems -- people who are blissfully ignorant of the pain and suffering of their former pets.

It boils down to some very uncomfortable, painful decisions for me, decisions I never wanted to make.

Who dunnit?

When Mike and I were in Peoria last Thursday helping with a relative having surgery, we received a phone call from Katherine that a goose had been killed. A wild predator was ruled out because the geese are in an area that is enclosed with woven wire. That only left Porter and Trouper. Porter is three years old and has never laid teeth on an animal here. That left Trouper as the likely culprit. A few days earlier I had seen him run at the geese, but he turned at the last minute and left them alone. I had also seen him snap at animals but never actually make a connection.

As we were driving home that night, we received another phone call. A second goose had been found dead. Katherine then locked up both dogs. When I arrived home, I had to pack and leave for a homeschooling conference where I was speaking on Friday and Saturday, so I didn't have time to investigate. While I was gone, Mike said he let the two dogs out of the barn and came inside for about two minutes. He heard a racket and looked outside. A dog was on top of a goose, although he couldn't tell which one. He started screaming, and the dog left the goose. Later, he let the dogs out one at a time, and nothing happened. Sounds like classic "pack mentality," but that doesn't make the situation any better.

What is especially sad is that one of the murdered geese was a mama making a nest. I had been so proud of her because she'd chosen to go into a little chicken coop to make her nest, so we would be able to close the door every night, keeping her completely safe from predators. How ironic that her seemingly brilliant idea was what caused her demise.

What to do now? Trouper has incontinence, which makes it a challenge for him to spend any time in the house. I had not bought the belly bands that someone suggested because I kept thinking that it was a temporary problem. It's muddy outside this time of year, so Porter doesn't really like coming into the house because we always clean his feet. He had been happy to stay outside with Trouper, and they'd been spending the nights together in the barn office. It seemed like a great solution until geese started getting killed. Now the two dogs spend their time locked up unless someone is out there to supervise. I don't want to bring Porter back into the house, because Trouper would be lonely. And although he didn't attack any geese when Mike let him run around alone, I'm not convinced that it's a good idea to leave Trouper unattended around any fowl.

I need to find a new home for Trouper, although I know his resume isn't great. Being incontinent makes it harder to find him a city home. His habit of chasing poultry makes it unwise to send him to a country home. He is a very sweet dog though. He really likes to please people and comes the moment I call him. His pelvis seems to have healed fine -- as evidenced by his newfound love of chasing poultry. If you know anyone who might be able to give Trouper a good home, send them the link to this post and have them contact me.

To read more about Trouper, you can check out this post about how we found him, his first vet visit, and another post about his recuperation.

The goat, the sheep, and the dog

I feel like I'm working in an animal hospital lately. Shortly before noon, I said to Jonathan that I had to go check on Wilbur, Coco, and Trouper. I don't recall a time when I had this many animals that needed individual attention.

Coco is now at day 148 of her pregnancy. She should kid within the next two days. Goats are very prompt when it comes to giving birth. As you can see, the poor girl looks like she is going to pop. She's probably having quads again. I just hope she gives us more than one doe. She's only had one doe ever, and I sold her before it clicked that Coco was five, and I had no kids from her. So, I need to remedy that situation this year. She is Katherine's favorite milker, because she has nice, big orifices (holes in her teats), which means that she milks out easily and quickly. She also has long teats, which make it easy for me to milk her. I specifically bred her to Pegasus so I could keep a doe from her this year. Pegasus throws beautiful does that are excellent milkers, and he should since his mama was on the Top Ten list for milkers three years in a row. We drove to Massachusetts to pick him up five years ago. Last year, a Pegasus daughter gave birth to triplets as a first freshener and was able to make enough milk for all three. But I guess I'll have to wait a little longer to see what Coco has, because her tail ligaments are still fairly firm, and her udder is not very full, which is another sign of impending labor.

Wilbur, the little ram, seems to be doing okay. After having such difficulty with the antibiotic injection, I got smart and decided to give him his tetanus shot inside his thigh, where there is plenty of loose skin but no wool. It was the easiest sub-Q injection I've ever given. One thing I do not like about rams is their violent attitude. I don't know what the water bucket did to annoy Wilbur, but he busted it. I wonder if that means he's feeling better?

And then there's Trouper. I called the vet Monday because the poor boy was still peeing blood and had become incontinent. I suspected that one of the drugs was causing this problem, because his bladder was fine for the first five days after he showed up here. The vet really played down the possibility that one of the drugs could cause it, but he said that sometimes the anti-inflammatory drug irritates the kidneys and can cause problems. So, we discontinued it, and each day the blood in his urine has been reduced. Today, the urine is mostly yellow with a red spot every now and then. Although the incontinence is continuing, it has improved.

The office in the barn, however, is disgusting. The floor is unfinished wood, and it has bloody urine stains all over it. The mattress in there is also covered with stains. Yes, his pelvis has healed enough that he can climb up on the bed, which I learned after he had already leaked all over the mattress. At least it's an old mattress, and I won't feel too guilty sending it to a landfill after Trouper is all healed up. The floor, however, is a different story. What does one do to clean wood that's been stained with blood and urine?

Once Trouper is no longer incontinent, we can let him in the house. I don't think the stairs will be a problem for his pelvis now. Porter would love to play with him, so maybe it's better than they only see each other when I'm walking Trouper on a leash, because I don't want him to re-injure his pelvis. Porter has wanted a canine playmate forever. Unfortunately, Joy and Sovalye both despise him. Trouper acts like he would like to play, and the two dogs wag their tails wildly as they sniff each other.

That's been my life for the past few days -- cleaning up bloody urine, walking the dog, checking on Wilbur's injury, and checking Coco's tail ligaments every few hours. In my spare time yesterday, I started two flats of cole crops and herbs. This morning, I made chevre and yogurt, and now I have to put together a soap order and get it ready for the mail. There might still be snow on the ground outside, but winter hibernation time is definitely past.

Two steps forward, one step back for Trouper

Just when we thought that Trouper was doing so well, he gave me a little scare last night when I walked him. He seemed to be straining when he was squatting to pee. It was dark, and I couldn't see anything, so I convinced myself I was just paranoid. Then this morning, Katherine ran inside and said, "Mom, Trouper is peeing blood!"

It wasn't even eight o'clock yet, and I hadn't showered or had breakfast, but when the vet's receptionist said they could see him at 8:30 a.m. or 2 p.m., I said, "We can be there at 8:30!" I thought he must surely be dieing. After all, he is on antibiotics, so it couldn't be an infection. He must be bleeding internally, right?

For the third time in six days, we found ourselves sitting in the exam room at the vet office. The vet examined him, and we got a urine sample. He checked Trouper's kidney function, and it was normal. The vet said that when he was in vet school, they had a dog come in that had been hit by a car, and his kidney had been busted and was leaking urine into the dog's abdominal cavity, so it had to be removed. I was thankful that Trouper didn't have that problem!

Apparently, we should not be surprised to see blood in Trouper's urine. It is not uncommon after being hit by a car. The blood is not exactly new, since some of it is brown. Sometimes it is bright red, and sometimes it's pink. So, all sorts of stuff is going on in his poor bladder or kidneys. The reason he is straining is because he sometimes passes blood clots. When I walk him, I can't watch him. It hurts to see him trying to pee and only getting out a few red drops or a little squirt. But, the vet said that as long as he is peeing, it's better to just let him keep trying, rather than putting in a catheter, which would just irritate things even more.

Since we still have snow everywhere, I don't have to watch him straining to know what he is doing. When I feel him take a couple steps on the end of the leash, I can look back at the snow and see what he did. We humans just have to sit tight. Trouper is already on an antibiotic, an anti-inflammatory, and a pain pill. And the vet said that Trouper's flat, ribbon-shaped poop just means that he still has a lot of swelling "back there" too. At least I can say that his horribly scraped-up belly looks like it is healing, and the swelling is going down "down there." (You know, I can't use some words in my blog, or I'll get crazy spam in the comment section!)

And in case you noticed that I've changed the spelling of Trouper's name, it's because a friend of mine pointed out that "a person who deals with and persists through difficulty or hardship without complaint" is a trouper. Since that definition fits him to a T, I figured I should spell his name correctly.

Just your everyday chaos

Mike finished the first two kidding pens over the weekend. Nothing says "I love you" like new kidding pens that keep your sweetie out of the freezing cold while waiting for goats to give birth. This ranks right up there with Valentine's Day five years ago when he installed a toilet on the second floor of our newly-built house, which we'd already moved into, although it was unfinished.

So, this afternoon, I decided it was time to move the three goats that are due next week. They were in the big barn, and I needed to move them to the smaller barn, where the kidding pens are located. I would have to take them through an area where seven other goats were currently hanging out, so to make things simpler, I had Jonathan trap them out in the pasture. Coco and Carmen were agreeable about moving to the smaller barn, but the third pregnant doe, Anne Bronte, suddenly decided to put on the brakes once I had her between the two barns. So, Jonathan came to help. I pulled Anne's collar while he pushed her back end. We finally got her into the small barn and into her new pen.

Then I remembered that I had left the door open to the big barn. Jonathan and I went running into the big barn to find exactly what I'd expected -- the seven goats that had been trapped in the pasture were now in there. Some were feasting on the hay stacks, while others were trying to get into the horse grain and llama feed. So, we used what Sarah (our November apprentice) called the gorilla technique -- we jumped up and down, waving our arms and making mean noises while running towards the goats. We managed to get them to the end of the barn where the door was located, but none of them would go through the door. A few of them finally ran outside, but Clare ran towards me, slipped past me, and headed back towards the hay stack. I went after her. Another goat broke ranks and headed for the hay stacks, and Jonathan went after him.

The next thing we knew, Sovalye, the livestock guardian was running through the barn. He is supposed to stay in the pasture. This was especially bad because Porter was in the barn, and Sovalye thinks the barn is his domain. I told Porter to get out, but that wasn't good enough for Sovalye. No, he had to let Porter know how unhappy he was with the fact that the English shepherd had dared to enter the barn. Just as Porter exited the barn, Sovalye attacked. Jonathan and I started yelling "Bad dog!" and "No!" and Jonathan was grabbing at Sovalye, trying to pull him off of Porter. It's all a blur, but somehow Jonathan and I wound up falling in the snow next to the two fighting dogs. Then the fight was over, and I yelled, "House" at Porter. He high-tailed it to the house as Sovalye watched. Just in case he was thinking of pursuing Porter, I said, "Bad dog!" He put his tail between his legs, lowered his head, and walked away. I looked at the snow where the dogs had been fighting to see if there was blood, but I didn't see any.

But wait, that's not all! Remember, there are still seven goats running around in the barn, wreaking havoc. I guess the goats decided they'd caused enough trouble for one night, because they suddenly became quite agreeable about going back outside. After getting them outside, I went to the house to check on Porter. I was happily surprised that he didn't seem to have a scratch on him. I'm starting to wonder if Sovalye is just toying with all of us. Of course, I'm not complaining. I really don't need any additional vet bills right now. I just wish he would accept the fact that Porter is here to stay. It has been three years!

Trooper update:

I can't believe how much weight Trooper has gained in only five days. His body looks entirely different than it did when we first found him. His belly area has really filled out, and his spine is not as prominent. I'm thinking he was on his own for at least a couple days before we found him. I initially thought he might be a pit bull crossed with a pointer, because of his hourglass figure, but now I'm leaning more towards pit bull crossed with a lab, because his belly has filled out to be almost even with his ribs.

Update on Trooper

Thank you to everyone who has read about Trooper and responded through Blogger and Facebook. You have many great suggestions, such as contacting the vet school to see if treatment would be less expensive there, if surgery is necessary. I know their livestock treatment options are considerably less expensive than private vets.

After many excellent suggestions for a name, we thought that Trooper was the name that really fit him. It honors everything he's already been through and will go through as he continues to heal. He is quite a Trooper! Cupid was a close second because he is such a lover, and he showed up just in time for Valentine's Day.

Several people have now contacted me privately through Facebook or commented on here that I should set up a fund to help pay for Trooper's medical costs since he is a rescue. Initially, I replied that it wasn't necessary, but I have to admit that I am thinking about cost when deciding what to do next with him. And after seeing him poop this morning, I think x-rays may be in order. Yesterday, Katherine told me that his poop looked oddly flat, and he seemed to be straining. It was before the vet visit, so I didn't think much of it, especially having no idea of what he had been eating. But then this morning, she said he pooped four separate times during his walk, and the poop was always flat. So, I am wondering if there is some kind of obstruction in his pelvis.

Otherwise, he seems pretty happy. We're keeping him in the barn office, because he only has one step up to get in there. He'd have to go up eight steps to get into our house, and then it's two stories. He is not supposed to be doing any more walking that absolutely necessary. He sleeps all the time now that he's on medication. He even sleeps through all of Mike's hammering and sawing, because we're working on new kidding pens out there. (Kidding starts in about 10 days!) When we take him outside, though, it's obvious the pain meds are working well, because he seems to want to explore a lot. Leash walking is definitely necessary to keep him from overdoing it.

If you would like to donate something to his care, you can send it to Deborah at Antiquity Oaks dot com through PayPal, and just put something about Trooper in the comment section. If anything is left over, I will use it to care for future deserted animals. We try to get the stray cats spayed and neutered, but can't always afford it in a timely manner -- meaning that the boys will reach sexual maturity and start to stray or the females reach sexual maturity and get pregnant. I'm happy to say we've only had one female get pregnant in the last seven years, and that's because we underestimated her age. We currently have two male cats that should be neutered (the two kittens that were dumped last summer), which I was going to do in the next week or two, before Trooper showed up. Please don't donate any more than you can afford comfortably, and if you live on a farm, I know you already have your own little charity cases to care for, since so many people think that they're giving animals a second chance by dumping them in the country.

Thank you again for all of the great suggestions and offers to help. You're really terrific!

Vet visit and prognosis for the dog

This morning, the pit bull rescue emailed me back to say that they're full and can't help with the dog that we found yesterday. I called Animal Control, and the woman said that because the dog is injured, they'd put it down. And that was before I told her he was a pit bull. After I mentioned his breed, she seemed more somber and alluded to the fact that there might be different rules for pit bulls, even if they were not injured. So we got an appointment to see a vet. The news is not great.

The vet said he is almost 100% sure that the dog has a broken pelvis. Sedation and x-rays would have added another $100 to the vet bill, just to confirm that the dog would benefit from a surgery that would cost at least a couple thousand dollars. Since my bank account is not as big as my heart, I decided not to get the x-rays. The dog is able to potty, so it doesn't look like there is any life-threatening internal injury. The vet said his odds of doing well with conservative treatment seem to be pretty good. Because a lot of people can't afford such expensive surgery, he said he sees a lot of dogs treated conservatively. So, for now, he is on a pain medication, anti-inflamatory drug, and antibiotics. The latter is for the nasty scraping on his abdomen. And I almost forgot about the dewormer.

The dog (who really needs a name) completely charmed everyone at the vet clinic just as quickly as he charmed us -- perhaps even quicker, because they were lifting, twisting, and mashing on his injured leg, and he never growled or objected at all. When they finished the exam, he got up and hid behind the exam table, looking at me with his eyebrows raised.

It's hard to believe someone would have dumped such a great dog, but there are so many things we don't know. If only he could talk. They checked for a microchip, but found nothing. I told them I was worried about getting him treated, only to have someone show up one day and claim him. The vet tech said that after seven days, he would legally be ours. Everyone in the vet office was very nice. They wrote up estimates for his treatment that started at $200 and went up to a number that I didn't even look at. And they said that if we decide later to become more aggressive with his treatment, we can do that.

In the meantime, we've introduced him to the other dogs, and they seem to all be okay with each other. And I suppose we should name him. It seems odd to keep saying "the dog" when I talk about him. Any suggestions?

A new bull

No, it's not a bovine bull -- it's a pit bull that someone dumped out here. He is the sweetest dog imaginable and gets along fine with all the animals he's met so far. We're keeping him in the barn office for the time being. He also seems to be housebroken.

But here's the wrinkle. I'm afraid he has a broken leg. The skin on his belly is also scraped, swollen, and red. I wonder if he was thrown from a moving vehicle and landed on his belly. His left rear leg points out about 45 degrees instead of straight forward, and he won't sit on that side. He favors it when walking, but if he forgets himself and puts too much weight on it, his back end just collapses. I've sent two emails and left a phone message for a pit bull rescue, but no word yet from them. I'm nervous about the possible vet bills, so I'm hoping they're able to help. I even told them we'd foster him until he can find his new home. Any other ideas or suggestions?

Our knight in fur

It seems like the only time I mention Sovalye is when the coyotes are getting our animals or when there is a problem with him. That's a lot like the people who never give a business feedback unless it's bad, so I figured I should give him some credit for doing a great job lately -- and without getting himself injured. (knock on wood)

Sovalye is Turkish for "knight," which seems appropriate since his job on Antiquity Oaks is guarding us and our animals. He weighs 115 pounds, which is on the small side for an Anatolian, but he still outweighs any predator that comes our way. Between him and the llamas, we seem to be keeping the coyotes at bay. (knock on wood)

He recovered fully from his torn ACL last spring, but as he approaches five years of age, I'm starting to think about getting a puppy that can start training with him, so that the puppy will be ready to take over when he's too old to guard the animals any longer. Should I get another Anatolian or a different livestock guardian breed? Or should I get another English shepherd like Porter, who is supposed to be an old-fashioned, all-purpose farm dog? Although I'm a little excited about the prospect of another dog, I'm also really worried about making a bad decision, but that's a post for another day.

Porter's first herding class

Porter is passed out on the living room floor, and I'm about ready to collapse into bed. He had his first herding class today. It was my first class too. I honestly expected him to drag me around the round pen as he wildly chased after the sheep. Before we even went into the pen, the instructor said that some dogs are so excited about the sheep that they have to actually work from outside the pen in the beginning. I thought for sure that would be Porter! I was pleasantly surprised when he was calm. In fact, he even took his eyes off the sheep sometimes, which shocked me.

The instructor said he has good "stock sense" and that he will be a good teacher for me. She also said that he is very sensitive to me, and I don't need to have a very heavy hand with the lead. She had a lot of other compliments for him, but my exhausted brain has forgotten most of them. When you first start herding, the dog is on leash, which means the handler has to do just as much as the dog. I did not realize this before today. I'm thinking that either I will lose a lot of weight training Porter -- or that maybe Mike should be his herding trainer, since he likes to run.

I found it interesting that the other dogs were there for fun, which was a bit intimidating at first. Some of those other dogs have a lot of formal experience in obedience and agility. Porter was the only working dog, so at first I felt like Cinderella at the ball and was afraid we were going to look completely incompetent next to the other dogs. Luckily, Porter is a smart cookie, and while he wasn't the best dog, he certainly didn't embarrass me. His biggest fault right now is that he doesn't respect the sheep's space, which is why they scatter so often when he runs at them. So, we have a lot to work on in the coming weeks!

Trouble happens in threes

I was the last one up this morning, which is pretty typical on a Sunday. And with Daylight Savings, I lost an hour of sleep that I would have liked to get back. Unfortunately, 'twas not to be. Jonathan didn't get a chance walk Mom's dog, Joy, before he left for church so I had to get up and do it before she had an accident. Once I was up there seemed little point in going back to bed, so I headed outside to do chores.

Imagine my surprise when I walked out to fill the goats' hay feeders and saw the llamas standing in water at the bottom of the middle pasture. I had thought llamas were slightly sensible creatures who should have realized they needed to retreat to much higher ground when it started flooding -- but no, they were at the bottom of the pasture standing in water that was probably 4-6 inches deep, with water up to 2 feet around them.

I immediately ran down and took my shoes off to go in. I'd been in this situation before and didn't know how long the llamas had been standing in the frigid water. The air temperature wasn't too bad -- probably around 50 degrees at the time -- but because of the time of year, the water felt around 33 degrees. I didn't walk more than 4 feet in (and 2 feet deep) before I felt like my feet and calves were going to freeze off. I quickly got back out of the water, put my socks and boots back on, and headed back to the barn, hoping I would think of something while I finished chores.

Well, right when I finished chores I heard Sovalye, our livestock guardian who is currently locked up in the barn, whining very loudly. I looked over at the stall he was in and realized that he had ripped down all the chicken wire that had been covering the bars. I wasn't sure why he would have done that but he seemed very upset. After finding a collar and leash, I took him outside for a walk. I pretty much just let him lead me where he wanted to go, as I didn't have a preference, and we eneded up by the sheep pasture. You've probably heard my mom say before that sheep hardly, if ever, make noise. I heard a very upset baaing coming from the bottom of their pasture, which surprised me, as their pasture doesn't flood and I couldn't fathom what could be the matter.

Squinting my eyes (I didn't have my glasses on), I saw that Snuggles, our Southdown Baby Doll wether, appeared to have gotten caught in some baling twine. We just got a large circular bale of hay for the sheep, so that we don't have to take half a bale out to their pasture every day, and Dad tied a tarp over it yesterday with baling twine. Unfortunately, some of the twine and come down and caught Snuggles to the point that he was almost choking himself, it was so tight. Thank goodness Sovalye decided we need to visit the sheep!

As Sovalye and I walked back to the barn, I tried calling Dad and Mom, who are off at a seminar about apple trees (I think). The only thing I could think of, since I absolutely did not want to go in that water again, was to take the inflatable raft to get to the llamas, and try to get them to move through the water to dry land. (Although how exactly that would have worked, I'm not sure.) I deposited Sovalye in the shed with the momma goats and their babies so he would have some company, and headed back to look at the llamas. One of them had moved about 10 feet from their original spot, where the other llama still was. However, he seemed very unwilling to move more.

Dad called me 10 minutes later as I was contemplating exactly how to get the raft blown up. He didn't have any other ideas, and neither did Mom. After dragging the raft about 300 feet into the barn, I really didn't want to try to blow it up, so I went out to look at the llamas again. Surprise! The pasture had drained some, and they were standing on semi-dry land, though still surrounded by 2-foot-deep water. However, knowing that I would be able to stand on that semi-dry land once I reached them, I was more willing to wade across. Once again, I stripped off my boots and socks and started across. It wasn't as deep as it had been earlier, and I found slightly higher ground, though the water was still above my knees for much of the 100-foot walk. By the time I reached them my feet had started to go numb, which was a blessing for the most part, but made me worry about all sorts of things -- like if it was possible my toes would turn black and fall off before I made it out of there.

When I reached the llamas, they were not at all happy to see me. They aren't the friendliest, and I had to grab the smaller one around the neck to try and put a halter on him. I finally got it on, but as soon as I tried to start dragging him across the water, he planted his legs firmly on the ground. Unfortunately, the halter wasn't tight enough and he was able to pull out of it. I was so terrified that my toes were going to fall off that I started chasing them to try and put the halter back on one of them. Eventually, after about 2 minutes, I was able to chase them into the far pasture (they both jumped the fence) and onto dry land. They seemed improperly ungrateful for my sacrifice. Walking back to the house, I didn't even bother to put my shoes or pants back on (which had fallen off after getting soaked), as my feet were so numb they didn't really notice the cold.

Once inside, I hopped right into the shower. All of this activity makes me a little sad -- I'll be going to college this fall, and as much as I'm glad to get away from this craziness (this is not the first time I have crossed frigid water to save animals), I think part of me is going to miss it. I was just accepted to the College of Engineering (Electrical Engineering major) at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign as a transfer student, and that is probably where I will be this fall.

Update on Coco's babies: They seem to be doing well, momma is making lots of milk, and the babies are getting enough food. We'll be keeping a close eye on them, as we seem to have trouble with quads, but for now they're doing well. There is a possibility that two of the bucks and possibly the doe are polled -- if so, that means there's only one possibility for daddy: Draco. Naughty boy! We'll be able to tell for sure in a few days.

More guardian challenges

If you've been following us on Twitter, either through the sidebar on the left of my blog or through my Twitter page, you already know that Sovalye, our Anatolian shepherd, has been diagnosed with a torn ACL in his left knee. He started walking on three legs earlier this week, then appeared better, then started limping, so I got an appointment for first thing Friday morning.

I took him to the vet clinic where Addy's cancer was diagnosed last spring after we wasted several weeks with the local vet. It was a good decision. The diagnosis was quick, and one of the vets there is experienced in the surgical repair. The vet we saw (not the surgeon) suggested that we wait a week to see if he improves. Sovalye is in the barn and taking an anti-inflammatory drug that is also a pain killer. If the ligament is only partially torn, he should improve within a week. If he doesn't improve, it probably means it's completely torn. Of course, he is out of commission as a guardian, so something has to be done. From what I read on this website, he will get arthritis quickly if the ligament is not repaired. Having arthritis myself, I certainly don't want that to happen to our faithful guardian.

Sovalye was such a sweetheart at the clinic. Everyone there was cooing over this huge dog! And when the vet was squeezing and moving his knee, he just whined pitifully.

I'm glad we have the llamas to take care of things while Sovalye is not able to work. Poor boy certainly wants to keep working, but running around on that leg will just make it worse. The vet compared him to a professional athlete, but said that Sovalye works 24/7. I'm glad he understands what a tough and important job Sovalye has!

Speaking of Twitter . . . I'll be announcing the baby goat births through Twitter almost as soon as they happen, so you can keep up to date on the new kids. And I am once again hoping to videotape a normal goat birth for the blog. Last year my efforts were thwarted when two kids tried to be born at once!

A gift of Joy

In the midst of our hotel stay, I mentioned getting a new dog, but life has been so hectic around here, I haven't had a chance to tell you about her until now. After Addy my standard poodle died in March, I didn't think I'd ever want another dog. Losing her to bone cancer was just too painful. But after a couple of months, I started to look at poodles and bichons and wish I had one again. But then I had to decide which one I wanted.

Addy had been my dream dog. I'd wanted a standard poodle forever, because I'd admired their regal beauty from the first time I laid eyes on one. Before my six years with Addy, I had a bichon named Nicky, who was also lost to cancer. Nicky was a saint, much too sweet for his own good. We got him when Katherine was a toddler, and she would hold his ears as if they were a leash and walk him around the living room. I once caught her sticking a cotton swab in his nose, and he just laid there, not doing anything to stop her.

After thinking about it for several months, I finally decided I wanted another bichon, mostly because I wanted a lap dog. Then the search began. I'd check Petfinder at least weekly, sometimes more often, searching for bichons near me. After a few weeks of searching, I was briefly excited to see that a shelter only 25 miles from me had a female bichon, but then I saw the little heart next to her name, meaning she had special needs, and I noticed she was 11 years old. Too bad, I thought, and kept scrolling down the list. I contacted several rescues with young adults and realized that healthy, young bichons are in demand and quickly find homes, so I might have to be willing to drive to another state to adopt one.

But search results on Petfinder are listed starting with the dog closest to your zip code, so this little old dog named BJ was always at the top of the list. I read her description a couple of times and learned that she was in the early stages of kidney failure. It's too bad she's so old and sick, I always thought when I saw her picture. Who would ever want to adopt a dog like that? Then one day when I was searching, I read an essay written by a woman who provided a foster home for a dog that was blind. She talked about what a great dog he was and how he wound up spending the rest of his life with her because no one wanted a dog that was blind. I started thinking about that little old bichon again and decided to call the shelter to ask them about her.

"We were just talking about her," the woman said. "We were wondering which dogs would still be here by Christmas." After asking her a number of questions about the dog and then Googling "canine kidney failure," I decided that I'd rather give a home to a dog that no one wanted, than to stand in line for a young, healthy dog that would find a home even if I weren't around.

The woman at the shelter told me that BJ belonged to an old lady who died. She had no relatives, and her caregivers called the shelter because they liked the dog and didn't want to see her euthanized. After going into rescue on November 1, she was spayed and had two mammary tumors removed. Her blood work showed that her kidneys were not working at 100% anymore, so she is on a prescription diet that is easy on kidneys. She also had fleas, which is why she doesn't have much hair on her back.

After getting her home, I realized that she had no training at all. She didn't understand "come," and she didn't even come when you called her name. I don't normally change a dog's name, but BJ just did not fit her at all. She was this little feminine lady that made us all smile every time we saw her, which didn't seem like a BJ to me. After she had been here for a couple of days, and we had all fallen in love with her, it clicked -- Joy! She makes all of us so happy when we look at her or when she sits on our laps. When I announced to the family that I was naming her Joy, Mike asked if it was because I got her at Christmas. No, I said, but it sounded like another good reason to name her Joy.

If they hadn't told me that she was 11 years old, I would not have guessed it. She's a bouncy little thing and has really come out of her shell since moving here. She is the perfect lap dog and has been sitting in my lap since I sat down at the computer this morning. When I take her outside though, she practically drags me around the yard, and I will get out of breath if I try to keep up with her!

Although I started searching for a dog that would be my Christmas gift to myself, I wound up with so much more. She makes everyone in the family smile and laugh, and she gets bouncier and less shy by the day. I've given her the gift of a real home for Christmas, and I gave the shelter the space to take in another dog that needs a home.

What's Twitter?

Some of you may have noticed "Twitter Updates" in the left sidebar of my blog. In case you're not familiar with Twitter, it's sort of like a blog, except you're limited to only 140 characters per "tweet." To see my profile on Twitter, click here.

Today, I tweeted about Sovalye fighting with something at 1:30 this morning. It was good for a tweet rather than a blog post, because that's just about the whole story. We don't know what he was fighting with, and by the time we got outside, it was gone. (I'm guessing it was a coyote, because when he gets a coon or something small, he doesn't let it go until it's dead.)

I use Twitter to post quick updates on things that are happening around here, and sometimes, I post a link to an article that I think people might find interesting. If I don't have time for a complete blog post, I'll post a quick comment about something on Twitter, and then I'll blog later. You can "follow" me on Twitter, either through your computer or your mobile phone, or you can just keep reading my tweets in the sidebar of the blog.

Time to move on

I'm not normally up at 5 a.m., but this morning I've been awake since 2:50. I was awakened by a bad dream -- I was in labor at my current age, and my teenagers were there. Like most bad dreams, it seemed real. As I tried to convince myself that it was just a dream, I heard Sovalye barking in response to the coyote's yapping, and I started thinking about all the events of the past two and a half weeks.

It scares me when I think of how close we came to putting him down for doing something that was not his fault. I feel guilty when I think of how we tried to push him to work when he was still sick. And it makes me mad when I think of how the vet let us down in so many ways. She said to euthanize him the moment she heard he'd bitten. She said to keep him quiet for a month after the heartworm treatment; she never said it might take him three months to recover. In fact, her parting words to me the day of the diagnosis were that most people find their dog has a lot more energy after treatment.

I am seeing that energy now -- at nearly four months after treatment. Last night at chore time, we started breeding goats. Sovalye was bouncing across the pasture like Tigger. I think he misinterpreted the buck's mating noises as, "Let's play!" We had incorrectly thought one doe was in heat, but we were obviously wrong. As the buck chased her around the pasture, Sovalye bounced after him like a puppy.

For the past few mornings and nights, Sovalye has been really excited when the goats are let out into the pasture in the morning and back into the barn at night. Most of the time, he runs ahead of them like a greyhound leading the pack. Sometimes, he stands at attention like a general watching his troops pass in review, never taking his eyes off of them.

To help him in his recovery, we've been giving him raw goat milk twice a day at milking time. Many people swear by its healing powers for sick people and animals. And recently, I've been thinking that he has grown to expect it, as he meets us at the door of the milking parlor twice a day. He is a very polite dog when it comes to food. He never takes food from your hand, and when we give him his milk, we have to step away before he'll drink it. Margaret wondered aloud two nights ago how he was going to feel when we started to run short on milk in the winter.

Then last night, we came out of the milking parlor, and he wasn't there. I poured some milk into the bowl for Sneakers the barn cat, and I walked to the back door. I looked out into the pasture, and then I saw Sovalye. He was laying down with his back to the barn and his head held high, looking out across the sheep pasture and the buck pens. As dusk turned to darkness across the pasture, he looked over his shoulder at me and wagged his tail. I walked back into the barn and poured the rest of the milk in the cat's bowl.