Other Working Animals on the Farm

With cows and goats and chickens on the property, one needs a little help.  I kind of talked about the help that we have on our little homestead farm a while back.  This weekend I was able to take some photos of our laborers that live in housing that we provide as remuneration for their hard work to ensure that our animals were safe.  These hardworking individuals are tasked with a multitude of duties that keep them busy, night and day, with rarely a day off. 

I thought I could reintroduce you to our... ahem... interns or working staff.  First there is Big Boy, our Great Pyrenees.  While technically a livestock guardian dog, his idea of guarding and protecting chickens proved to be not exactly what we were looking for.  One day we encountered him guarding our flock.  Sounds good, but the hen he was guarding was bleeding and flapping her broken wings as he was eating her.

Big Boy was banished from the pasture and now is a "watch dog."  He is posted outside the garage and barks his head off relentlessly at passersby and wandering dogs, cats, possums and squirrels.  Here is a photo of our busy animals in action - Big Boy and Ginger.

Ginger is our barn cat.  The idea is that she would live in our barn and hunt rats - except she doesn't reside in the barn.  She lives in our garage and hunts Cat Chow that's poured in her bowl.  She's gotten a little fat and instead of stealthily creeping up on rodents, her primary instinctual craving is for naps in the sun.

Sometimes, if particularly motivated, she'll roll over and change positions.  Due to Ginger's lack of relentless and energetic pursuit of pesky rodents that inhabit our barn, rats have multiplied faster than rabbits and we've resorted to allowing snakes, rat traps, poison and buckets of water do the job of dispatching the rodents in our barn.  Which works out quite nicely for Ginger, giving her more time for napping in the sun.

But she occasionally catches and kills and eats small birds.  A couple of weeks ago, we found remnants of a squirrel that she devoured.  Only a tail and a foot remained.  It must have been a very slow squirrel.

While Big Boy and Ginger might not be perfectly suited to do their appointed tasks, they're part of our family, and we accept them, warts and all.

Big Boy Does Not Like the Dog Days of Summer

We never quite get acclimated to July and August in South Louisiana.  It is hot and humid and those are just the facts.  We deal with it as best we can, often asking each other, "When do you think the first cold front will blow through?"  While we can go inside in the nice air conditioning and sit under a fan to cool off, the animals don't have that luxury.  Big Boy, our Great Pyrenees dog, loathes the summer.  With his big furry coat, he is not exactly cut out for this climate.  Great Pyrenees dogs come from a mountainous region bordering Spain and France.  Needless to say, the climate is a bit different in our lowland, swampy locale.

Big boy, however, has ways of trying to stay cool that doesn't include air conditioners or fans.  He digs holes.  Did I say holes?  I meant to say craters.  Although he has plenty of shade in his hangout in 'the grove' underneath the trampoline, Big Boy still seeks cooler temps.  Where does he find it?  In the cool dirt, of course.  A freshly dug hole unearths soft dirt untouched by the summer sun and heat.  I know it is hot and don't really begrudge his excavations as I know it cools him off.  He's a dog.  A Hot Dog.

It's just that it s never just one hole.  You see, that dirt he lays in doesn't stay cool.  It warms up due to Big Boy's body heat and the ambient temperature.  This provokes him to dig another hole...  And another and another.  I've gotten to the point where I have placed cinder blocks, ladders, wagons and all sorts of items around the base of a tangerine tree so he doesn't dig around it, expose its roots, and kill it.  This eyesore of a random assortment of digging barriers I've laid out would get us kicked out of a subdivision, if we lived in one.

The constant digging has loosened dirt and this is causing erosion problems during big rains.  This has caused me to use cinder blocks to build a retaining wall to keep Big Boy's dirt from washing down the ditch during big rains.  This was a lot of work and I'd be lying if I told you that I didn't look over indignantly at Big Boy while installing the erosion-slowing wall.

I just wish Big Boy would listen to the wise words of Will Rogers, who once said,

"If you find yourself in a hole, the first thing to do is stop digging."

Where in the World Did Big Boy Go?

Big Boy is our Great Pyrenees livestock guardian dog.  That is a misnomer because we found out the hard way that Big Boy liked to eat our chickens rather than protect them.  As a result, Big Boy now roams free outside of the pasture.  We have a large 30' cable that we clip him to from time to time as he has a penchant for roaming all over the countryside and neighbors bring him back.  Several times we've had to drive down the road and pick him up.

He still has all of his male (ahem) equipment, so I would assume that he is seeking lady friends, but he is a free spirit and likes to roam.  One day I was approached in my front yard by a neighbor who, as politely as he could, mentioned to me that Big Boy had marked his territory at his house by peeing on his chrome Harley Davidson motorcycle.  Being a free spirit can get you in trouble with the neighbors! But for all intents and purposes, he is a good dog.  He barks at strangers that drive up in the yard until he gets to know them.  He catches and kills possums and other varmints.  He is protective of us and I appreciate that.

He has some bad habits other than chicken killing, though.  Big Boy digs holes.  Big holes. Everywhere.  You would think that he would stick to one hole, but no, he doesn't.  He digs a crater, lays in it for a while, and then digs another crater elsewhere.  It drives me nuts.  When a good rain comes, all the loose dirt from his digging washes away, leaving us with an erosion problem.  In the photo below, you can see his replica of the Grand Canyon underneath the trampoline and to the right of the trampoline, in the center of the photo and then in the bottom left of the photo. When we walk out to milk the cows, we have to exercise caution to not fall in the holes and twist an ankle.

Big Boy's holes are exceedingly annoying to me, but we still like him.  He's almost like one of the family. We all have our warts and "issues," don't we?  Saturday morning when we all left for the livestock show in Lake Charles, we saw Big Boy laying in a fresh-dug hole in a new place.  I shook my head.

When we returned Saturday night, Big Boy was nowhere to be found.  I didn't think much of it.  He was probably out on "maneuvers."  But Sunday morning when he wasn't home, Tricia and I became concerned. Did he get hit by a car?  I didn't see a big white carcass anywhere in the road.  Did someone steal him?  Well, they'd return him once he commenced to digging up their yard.  When we got back home from church - still no Big Boy.  Although we didn't verbally express it, we were all worried.  It was quiet and different around the house without the big guy.  We were sad, but kept a stiff upper lip.

Sunday evening we were driving back from Evening Services at church.  Our church is about a mile away from our home.  I was driving and Tricia was in the passenger seat with Benjamin in the back.  Suddenly, Tricia yelled, "LOOK!  THERE'S BIG BOY!"  I'm not exaggerating when I tell you that I almost ran off the road.  She scared me with the yelling.  Sure enough, walking in the ditch on the west side of State Highway 26 was the big old white hole digger himself.  I honked the horn and he recognized us and quickened his pace.

We drove on home and got out of the car and clapped and called him.  Pretty soon he came trotting up to us.  He was dirty.  It looked like he had walked through mud. And he was tired.  Exhausted, even. For the next day and a half, he wasn't the same. He laid around and rested.  Why, he didn't even have the energy to dig any holes.

Tired Boy

Tricia theorizes that he missed us, thought we were in trouble, and set off to find us and rescue 'his people'.  He may have followed us to Lake Charles (41 miles away) for all we know.  While I was happy that our erosion problem slowed down for a few days, it was sure nice to have Big Boy back home.  Welcome Home, Big Boy!

A Cool Front Blows Through...

One of the first cool fronts of the season blew through, bringing with it cool temps, crystal clear skies, and low humidity.  It was met with approval from man, woman and beast.  Our cows who normally slowly lumber to the barn for morning milking, briskly ran, kicking up their back legs in frisky fashion.  We hadn't seen them move like that in quite a while.

When we finished milking, we poured the milk for chilling and washed up the buckets.  Then we put on a pot of Community Coffee with Chicory.  I asked Tricia if she wanted to have our morning coffee on the front porch since the weather was so nice.  She was happy to do that and when we sat on the rocking chairs, our Great Pyrenees, "Big Boy" showed up to join us.

Big Boy and Tricia

We planned out what we'd do on that Saturday while we sipped our coffee, flavored with a little bit of local honey and some fresh thick cream from our Jersey cow, Daisy.  So good!  Our view from the front porch faces north.  There is a field just across the road that hasn't been planted in rice or soybeans in quite a while.  If you look closely, in the absence of any agricultural crop, a bumper crop of tall yellow flowers fills the field.

Those pretty yellow flowers are actually goldenrod and they are giving me fits. Their pollen fills the air and my allergies are really acting up.  I'll be happy when the flowers fade and are gone.  Until then, I'll continue to cough.  And cough, and cough some more.

As they say, "One man's trash is another man's treasure."  In this case, while goldenrod is my annual nemesis, our column full of bees absolutely love the goldenrod.  Goldenrod gives me coughing fits, but it gives the bees food to last through the winter.  You can see the busy bees in flight in the photo below, bringing back the goldenrod nectar/pollen they are busily accumulating from right across the road.

How can we tell they are getting goldenrod?  We can smell it.  Goldenrod honey has a very strong smell that reminds many of smelly gym socks.  When we walk outside of the side door, it is an unpleasant smell that greets us.  Although the honey smells bad, many people like it and will pay a premium for it.  Goldenrod honey is also darker than 'normal' honey and crystallizes quicker.

You can almost set a clock to this time of year: first cool fronts, coughing fits and the pungent aroma of goldenrod honey.  Don't get me wrong, though, we are enjoying the weather!

And A Possum in a Fig Tree

Tricia called me out from the kitchen the other night, saying, "Kyle, Big Boy is barking his head off at something in the fig tree."  It was late.  It was dark.  It seemed like an adventure, so I was out the door real quick.  Big Boy was indeed circling the fig tree.  As I walked up, something darted out and I immediately thought, "Skunk!"

Had it been a skunk, I would have been googling remedies to get the skunk smell out, because the critter ran right past me with Big Boy in hot pursuit.  The Big White Dog grabbed the varmint with his jaws and gave it a vigorous shake and then set it down.  It was then that I identified the critter as a possum.

Jaws of Death

Big Boy did some sort of celebratory pacing and then commenced to shaking the possum back and forth, back and forth and back and forth while clamping down with his teeth.  Cats have nine lives.  I don't think possums do.  This possum's ticket was punched.

Possums have a little trick they do called, "playing possum."  They pretend like they are dead until the predator leaves.  I watched him closely and pushed around on him with a stick.  He was not playing possum.

Dead as a doornail

I called Animal Rescue and they showed up, performed CPR, inserted an IV and the possum is healing up in a critical care unit.  Nope.  None of that happened at all.  I had Benjamin dig a hole in the garden between a couple of rows and we composted the dead possum.  He'll decompose and amend the soil with rich 'essence of possum' that will undoubtedly make the garden vegetables planted over him to grow with vigor.  Hopefully it won't impart possum flavor to those vegetables!

Another bonus is that this possum won't be able to kill any of my chickens.  We've certainly had losses to our hens in the past caused by possums.  Fortunately a dead, composted possum can't kill chickens.  The good guys won this battle this time - thanks to Big Boy.  Big Boy digs big craters in our yard.  He also has been known to enjoy eating a chicken or two himself.  He also likes to go out on patrols in our neighborhood and I've had to apologize to a neighbor who drove over to tell me that Big Boy had marked his territory by peeing on his nice chrome Harley-Davidson. Big Boy is also known as Bad Boy.  But I tip my hat to Big Boy for breaking his pattern and doing a good thing in killing the possum.  Keep up the good work, Big Boy.

A Good Summertime Haircut

The summertime heat and humidity really takes it out of you.  We did a lot of sweating this weekend. I got a short summertime haircut and it helps somewhat.  Animals struggle in the heat, too.  Big Boy is our Great Pyrenees dog.  The breed has origins back to the Pyrenees mountains which border France and Spain where they were used as livestock guardian dogs for shepherds in the mountains.

Our Maker's Acres Family farm sits in a rural setting at a whopping 22 feet above sea level.  That is quite a difference from the Pyrenees Mountains!  So I felt sorry for ol' Big Boy as I saw him in the shade under the trampoline, digging one of his huge holes that he digs to get comfortable in the cool dirt.

Big Boy in his foxhole

But I had a plan.  If a short haircut could help me feel more comfortable in the heat, perhaps it would do the same for Big Boy.  "Here Big Boy!"  He came lumbering out of his most recently dug crater.

I enlisted Benjamin's help and we got our livestock clippers from out of the attic.  These are the clippers that we use to groom the dairy cows before the livestock shows.  Benjamin plugged them in and fired up the clippers.

Benjamin the Barber

Big swaths of white hair began falling off of Big Boy with each pass of the clipper.  The blades on the clipper were really dull and Big Boy's hair was really thick, making it hard to do a good job, but as Benjamin and I justified, every bit of hair that comes off has got to feel cooler and better for Ol' Big Boy.

Take a little off the top, please.

Finally, we were done.  Or at least as done as we were going to get.  Tricia came out and said, "Big Boy, you look terrible!"  Okay, Dog Groomers, we are not!  Benjamin will not be in contention for any American Kennel Club dog grooming awards.  But, I know that Big Boy felt better once we finished and he doesn't have access to a mirror.

Would you look at all the white fur scattered across the yard?!  You would sweat that it snowed in June!

Poor Big Boy!

When we were finished, Big Boy lumbered back to his nest under the trampoline, closed his eyes and wondered what one has to do to get a good haircut anymore?

Maybe in a few weeks we can put sharpened blades on the clippers and spruce things up a bit.  Until then, his haircut at least provides him with a bit of a respite from the sweltering heat of summer.

The Old Striped-Head

Early Saturday afternoon I was busy in the garden, working up a 30 foot row and planting Contender Green Beans.  We love green beans.  In a couple of weeks I'll work up another row and plant some more so that we have a staggered harvest.  I was wiping the sweat off my brow when Big Boy, our Great Pyrenees Livestock Guardian dog began barking.  Let me back up.  I use the adjective 'guardian' very, very loosely.  Theoretically he's a guardian dog.  In actuality, he's a predator dog who enjoys eating our laying hens.  As a result, he's banished from the barnyard.

He is still a guardian dog for us, I guess, because he barks his head off at visitors that he doesn't know, cats, possums, raccoons, and other dogs.  As I was hoeing in the garden, that dude began barking and would not stop.  I was busy and tried to tune him out but it was annoying.  Finally I put the hoe down and began walking over his way.  At the same time Tricia came out of the house and said, "What is he barking at?"

He was barking at a turtle that had ambled up in the yard.  I guess we can rest easily tonight knowing that if a bloodthirsty turtle shows up at the house meaning to do our family harm, Big Boy will alert us.  This is the vicious turtle he was barking at:

A Striped-Head Turtle

A striped head turtle.  That's what we always call them anyway.  Their official name is a Red-Eared Slider.  They are found by the hundreds in every roadside ditch.  On summer days they line the top of logs in gullies and bayous.  Some people keep them as pets.  Some people around here eat them, but I've never tried to eat one. Seems like a lot of work for a little bit of meat.  When you pick them up, they are pretty timid as you can see:  Definitely not something that Big Boy should be all concerned about.

Shy Guy

While I was holding him by the garden fence, I thought about the old joke about the post turtle.  I've heard it about several different politicians of different persuasion and political stripe.  Have you heard it?  Let me put the Striped-Head Turtle up on the post so I can tell it:

An old rancher is talking about politics with a young man from the city. He compares a politician to a "post turtle". The young man doesn't understand and asks him what a post turtle is.
The old man says, "When you're driving down a country road and you see a fence post with a turtle balanced on top, that's a post turtle. You know he didn't get up there by himself. He doesn't belong there; he can't get anything done while he's up there; and you just want to help the poor, dumb thing down."

The Post Turtle

Corny, I know.  So I got the poor thing down.  While I was setting him down, he began to talk to me. Fortunately, I speak "turtlese."  I'll translate what he told me.

Speak your mind, turtle

He told me that he thinks he now suffers from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Whoa, even cornier! I set him down and he meandered off across the pasture. Adios, post turtle.

The Inglorious House Arrest of Big Boy

Big Boy is our Great Pyrenees Livestock Guardian Dog.  With a simple, descriptive name and a  3 word, six syllable job description, you would think that this was a match made in heaven.  Big Boy's price tag was right for us - he was FREE! (Red flag #1)  We learned that he had been shot many times because he liked to roam (Red flag #2) and neighboring farmers had peppered him numerous times with their shotguns.  The previous owner was worried that Big Boy's continued roaming and/or the farmers' improved marksmanship, would spell doom for Big Boy's chances at survival. That's where we stepped in and adopted him.  We needed a guardian dog to preside as Sergeant-at-Arms and keep our birds safe from predators.

We placed him in the pasture and Big Boy returned to his night patrols - jumping over the perimeter fence and roaming down our road.  I heard a neighbor shoot at him once.  I installed a higher fence on a portion of the pasture and placed Big Boy back in the pasture, only now tethered by a 30 foot heavy duty cable. Unfortunately, while the cable cured him of roaming, Big Boy developed an affinity for the taste of chicken and brutally massacred a few of the birds he was supposed to be protecting as they came into his radius of reach, becoming the proverbial fox guarding the hen house.

Bad Boy, Big Boy!  He was removed from the pasture at that point and positioned as a sentry on the outside of the fence, cabled now to the trampoline.  He has effectively done a long-range job of protecting the flock, and we have not lost a single bird to predators (or Big Boy) since.  He's treed a raccoon, barked incessantly at passersby and has "somewhat" earned his keep, I guess.  He spends most of his time digging enormous holes under the trampoline, and is of much enjoyment to visitors who laugh at his penchant for sitting or lounging on the trampoline.

The other day, after about a year of good time served, Big Boy sat before the parole board, which included me and Tricia, and with a unanimous vote, Big Boy was granted parole, with a probationary period.  Tricia led the ex-felon out to the pasture and followed him around as he patrolled the perimeter.  He even behaved himself around the chickens!  Unfortunately, leopards can't change their spots.  In the blink of an eye, Big Boy pounced on a big fat Aracauna hen and if Tricia hadn't been lightning fast, Big boy would have devoured that bird faster than poop goes through a goose.  The nervous hen, minus a few feathers, ran off clucking nervously, lucky to be alive.

Big Boy is once again incarcerated, proving that the recidivism rate is high among dogs, too.  I like my freedom and I like things to be free-range.  I wouldn't want to be tethered or caged and so Big Boy's house arrest due to his repeated parole violations is a constant source of angst for all of us. When it rains, we unclip him and bring him in the garage, where he lays around on the cool concrete, making us step over him and isn't productive at anything except stinking up the place with the pungent scent of "wet dog".  Tricia will put Big Boy on a leash and walk him around still, but when not in the closed garage on rainy days, he's on the trampoline, on his cable.

The other day I drove in, opened the garage, and Big Boy darted out of the garage. Did I mention that he doesn't come when called?  He's also called Bad Boy from time to time.  Well Bad Boy took off down the road.  I was on my way to the pasture and had no time to get a posse together to go get the escaped inmate.  I went on about my work and by and by noticed Big Boy furtively darting around the neighbors houses.  Then, with a guilty look on his face, he came lumbering back home, only being followed.

A neighbor drove slowly behind him on his gleaming Harley Davidson, shiny chrome blinding me in the sun.  As I grabbed Big Boy's collar, he pulled the rumbling bike nearby and said, "That your dog?"  I answered, "Yeah, he causing you problems?" To which he replied, "Well, he's not hurting us but I could sure do without him lifting his leg and peeing all over our stuff." (I cleaned up my neighbor's language somewhat.  This is a family blog.)  Ouch.  His "stuff" was no doubt the gleaming chrome Harley. Big Boy was marking the Harley as his territory and my neighbor wasn't going to release his claim on the asset to the beast.

Big Boy was returned to the penitentiary with the quickness due to his inability to learn a lesson.  I can't help but think of this very appropriate verse from Proverbs:

Proverbs 26:11 New American Standard Bible (NASB)

11 Like a dog that returns to its vomit
Is a fool who repeats his folly.

Beware of the Dog

"Watch out for those dogs, those evildoers, those mutilators of the flesh.- Philippians 3:2

Watch out for dogs.  The Apostle Paul, in his letter to the Philippian church wasn't talking about literal dogs.  He was talking about false teachers who were trying to impose works and the Law on the Gentiles.  We're not talking about figurative dogs today, but literal ones - Big Boy, our Great Pyrenees, to be specific.  And here he is, in all his majesty and splendor.  It would shock you if I were to tell you that this dog was an evildoer - a mutilator of the flesh.  It surely shocked us.

I am Big Boy, Defender of Livestock on Our Maker's Acres Family Farm

Big Boy is a Great Pyrenees dog.  Great Pyrenees dogs have been used as livestock guardian dogs for hundreds of years by shepherds to protect their sheep and other animals.  The dogs are very protective of their flock and become aggressive with predators that may harm their animals.  I've got to hand it to Big Boy, we haven't lost a single chicken to a predator since we've had him.  We've grown to like him. So why is he looking so guilty?

Why the guilty face?

Well, I report with much dismay that we've got to get rid of him.  We're looking for another home for Big Boy.  You might notice that in the previous two pictures, he's no longer in the pasture with his flock.  He is cabled to the trampoline in the backyard.  There is a reason for that.  Big Boy, for some unexplained reason, has recently picked up a very bad habit.  He's begun to viciously kill and eat the very animals he's supposed to be protecting.  The Protector has become the Predator - and we can't have that.  He's disappointed us and right now, I can't bear to look at him.  Here is some of his handiwork:

The wings are the only thing that remains.

I walked to the barn the other day and found the first dead chicken near Big Boy.  It raised eyebrows since we'd not had problems with predators since Big Boy joined our family.  Was Big Boy sleeping on the job, allowing possums to once again feast on our feathered friends?  Was he guilty of dereliction of duty?  Only two days later, there was another dead chicken - another fat Barred Rock hen.  What is going on?

And yet another carcass...

Then I walked out a couple days later and caught Big Boy in act of fowl behavior, pardon the pun. The poor bird was flapping her wings as Big Boy brutally killed and ate her.  It was sickening.  We immediately pulled him out of the pasture and away from the flock.  Three dead birds in a week.  He ate everything but the wings and the cluck.

Pulled off the job

We really don't know what made him turn to the dark side and begin to do this, but we know that he can't stay.  We're actively looking for someone who doesn't own chickens that will give Bad Boy...err Big Boy a good home.  Until then, he sits cabled to the trampoline, thinking about his bad behavior.  If you don't have chickens and want a good dog (FOR FREE), please contact me.

Big Boy's Trip to the Barber

Big Boy is our Great Pyrenees livestock guard dog.  I think if cows and chickens could talk, they'd tell you that he harasses them more than he does potential predators, but since we adopted ol Big Boy, we haven't lost an animal to predators - so there's that. Big Boy positions himself stoically in the pasture atop the chicken tractor, scanning the horizon for nefarious creatures.  It's in his genes.  Pyrenees dogs are native to France where they were working companions of shepherds high up in the Pyrenees Mountains that border France and Spain.

As you might expect, a dog with a heavy winter coat that is comfortable in the upper elevations of a mountainous terrain, might not be especially comfortable in the hot, humid, sultry, appropriately named "Dog Days" of Summer in South Louisiana. Although he has shade, we can tell he's hot.  So, we figured it was time for a haircut, so off to the dog groomer we went...

Strike that.  We opted to do the grooming ourselves.  Tricia got a pair of scissors and I got a pair of scissors and we started cutting...  And cutting...  And cutting...

Getting a crew cut...

I wish I would've gotten a before and after picture.  Have you ever gotten a bad haircut?  One that you just couldn't wait to grow out?  One that made you embarrassed to go out in public?  I don't know if it is possible for a dog to get embarrassed.  He doesn't look embarrassed, but let's just say that Tricia and I are not going into the dog grooming business and Big Boy is not going to win any awards at the Dog Show.

Taking "a little bit off the top!"

We lacked the ability to blend the cuts and it gave Big Boy an odd, funny appearance, but you know what? I guarantee you, he likes the fact that we gave him a haircut - not for the appearance, but for the functionality.

Modeling the haircut

With two 'barbers' cutting, it didn't take long for Big Boy's trip to the barber to be complete and Benjamin walked him back out to his post.  It might have just been me, but it appeared he was happy, relieved, and walked a little lighter in his steps. Hopefully, since Big Boy now lacks the aerodynamic properties of the long, flowing, smooth, hair he once had, it won't affect his ability to keep the animals safe from varmints.

Contours of the Haircut

Tricia swept up a very large pile of Big Boy's hair and will work this on her loom to make me a nice sweater.

A white pile becomes a sweater for Kyle?

I'm only joking!  We threw it away.  The white pile smelled downright vile!

Higher Ground

Lord, lift me up and let me stand,

By faith, on Heaven’s tableland,

A higher plane than I have found;

Lord, plant my feet on higher ground. 

That is the refrain from one of the hymns we sing at church.  It certainly rings true in the spiritual realm, but at Our Maker's Acres Family Farm this past week, it has been true in the natural as well.  Recent rains, coupled with overcast skies and cooler weather have contributed to a mucky, miry mess out on the pasture and around the barnyard.  We are all tired of the mud, man and beast alike.  

Where's the Higher Ground?

We always wear rubber boots out to the barn and slogging through six inch deep mud is a real workout. Yep, that is a view looking down at my feet in the mud.  To add insult to injury, sometimes the cows will lie down in the mud to sleep and I'll have to give them a bath before milkingthem.  Rosie is notorious for doing this and she and I had a long and animated discussion about this just this past week at about 4:30 in the morning.  I'm not sure she understood what I was trying to say.

Lord plant my feet on Higher Ground!

In another area of the pasture, though, things are looking better.  If you look below you can see some of the grass in the pasture is beginning to show a tinge of green amongst the mostly dull, brown, frost-killed landscape.  This is what I push the chicken tractor over so that the chickens can clip some of the new, green growth.

Green grass is coming on!

Here is a picture of the meat birds in the chicken tractor.  I have to push them one chicken tractor length every day, because their poop covers the green grass that I want them to eat.  That poop, however, will fertilize the pasture and cause lush, green grass to grow in this spot in a few weeks.  Even though it looks bad, the chickens do eat some of the grass, though, and we'll see evidence of that grass in their crops and gizzards next weekend when we butcher them.

Poop filled landscape after just a short time

The theme of today's post was about the ground in and around the pasture and I've got one more thing to mention.  Down below, you'll see Big Boy, our Great Pyrenees livestock guard dog manning his post in the pasture.

Big Boy

He is such a good dog, barking at varmints and taking very seriously his job of livestock protector.  We haven't lost a single bird to a predator since Big Boy has been on the farm.  We like having him around.

No varmint is getting by me, chief!

Every rose has its thorns, though.  Big Boy has a bad habit.  The photo below is not a crater left from an incoming mortar round.  It is one of Big Boy's many holes.  He likes to dig and I don't know how to make him stop.  Holes like this are not conducive for pushing a chicken tractor or walking in the pasture.

Pot holes in the pasture

I'll have to get these filled in come Spring.  If I could get Big Boy to stop digging holes, Rosie to stop laying down in the mud and the sun to shine and dry the rain saturated landscape, it sure would be nice, but those are all nuisances, not big problems to worry about.

The Sheepdog

This is our Great Pyrenees dog named Big Boy.  Great Pyrenees is a really old breed of dog that has been used as a livestock guardian dog around the Pyrenees Mountains between Southern France and Northern Spain.  It was bred to specifically guard sheep on the steep slopes of the mountains.  They are nocturnal dogs by nature.  Tricia and I, and our neighbors, unfortunately, can vouch for this characteristic.  Although very gentle, lovable dogs, they are known to be quite aggressive with predators of the animals/flocks that they guard.

Big Boy

Here you can see the old boy in action, alert, looking out for hawks, possums, raccoons, and any other predator that might want to feast on our chickens and cows. He looks proud of his role in protecting the defenseless - a noble dude indeed.  The night watchman has clocked in and is on duty!

Don't mess with me, critters

He'll bark his head off at cats, other dogs, or people walking on the road as well.

The cows don't like him much even though he takes care of them

Sheep dogs.  This reminded me that I once read an article in which the author postulated that people fall into 3 categories:

1. Sheep dogs,
2. Sheep, or
3. Wolves

In all of humanity, there are those who protect, those who need to be protected, and those who prey on others.  I realize it may not be nice to think of people like that, but it is worth thinking about.  Which one are you?  Or can we fall into all 3 categories (even the wolf, unfortunately), depending upon the situation and time.

It sounds nice to be a sheep dog, doesn't it?  The title of sheep dog is one we probably all would want to attain.  The protector.  The guardian.  Stronger, smarter, and able to protect those of lesser stature or those not naturally assertive or with no proclivity to be aggressive.  However, being a sheep dog takes focus, perseverance, and sacrifice. One must be constantly vigilant, alert, and ready to act should danger appear.  

I bring this up because I want to show you a problem we've been having repeatedly. I'll show you two pictures and then I'll explain.  See if you can guess what's happening.

What is that white stuff caught in the barbed wire?

Who damaged the perimeter fence around the pasture?

Answers:  That's Big Boy's fur in the barbed wire and Big Boy is the perpetrator who damaged our fence.

Big Boy, our livestock guardian dog, has become bored with his task of guarding the flock and living within the confines and responsibilities that that position involves. He's begun to jump the fence, damaging it in the process, and goes on maneuvers. He leaves his post, going AWOL from his sworn duties to roam across busy roads, through neighbors' yards, presumably to visit 'lady friends.'  This is not good.  When he is off of his post, the defenseless animals are vulnerable to attack.  We will call and call and he ignores us and only returns much later in the night.

I thought about this problem and how to solve it.  As the picture shows below, we have him cabled to a stake that allows him a 60 foot area in which to roam.  We've set that up around our chicken area, but really, if a smart predator comes in, he can just devour those that are outside Big Boy's range.  Not good. Additionally, I want him to have freedom to roam within his area.  I've also begun to look into purchasing/installing an invisible fence, which involves laying down a wire on a perimeter and giving Big Boy a collar to wear.  When he approaches the perimeter, a shock is administered.  But I need to read reviews and check pricing.  Hmmm... I wonder if this would work on teenagers?  I kid...  I kid!

The tie that binds

In one final thought: the sheep dog story of Big Boy, I think, has some relevance to our lives, if I think about it.  In those areas where WE are the sheepdog - parenting, or in our jobs, or in our Christian walk, for example, do we ever lose focus, get distracted, and leave our charges unprotected against the wolves? Politically speaking, it seems as if there are some who we elect to 'protect us' that unfortunately quickly get distracted, sometimes even teaming up with the wolves to fleece 'the sheep!'

Bottom line: in guarding a flock of chickens (or a group of people) it takes constant watchful observance and dedication to the task.  It is a huge responsibility and one not to be taken lightly as lives and livelihoods are at risk since there are predators out there looking to make your flock (or you) prey.

  #######

1 Peter 5:8

New King James Version (NKJV)

8 Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour.

Checking in on Big Boy

Big Boy is our Great Pyrenees livestock guard dog that we adopted.  We haven't talked about him lately. He is certainly a beautiful dog.  He hasn't worked out exactly as planned.  When we originally put him out in the pasture, he chased the chickens and barked incessantly at the cows.  One day I caught him with a chicken in his mouth and I knew we couldn't trust him for a while.  I think he was only playing, but he was playing too rough.

We got a heavy duty 30 foot cable with a tie down and put him in the pasture.  He has a good area to run around without getting in trouble.  We also let him run free, but the old boy runs around and gets in trouble. He ran down the road to a neighbor's house and must have done something because we heard the neighbor shooting a shotgun in the air to scare him off.  Big boy also digs holes.  Lots of holes.  Holes that hold water.

Big boy likes digging big holes

The people that we got him from gave him to us because he liked to roam around.  In fact he had gotten shot on one of his maneuvers.  You'd think he would learn his lesson, right?  It is such a dilemma.  I don't like him tied down all the time, even if it is at the end of a 30 foot cable, but when we let him go, he runs across busy roads where he could get hit by a car or goes to a neighbor's house and has the potential of getting shot. We're considering putting in an invisible electric fence with a collar, but some of those are pretty pricey.

He's a cool dog and we like him.  Sometimes he just chills out on the back patio.

What's up?

A profile shot of the hipster dog.

He is a good guard dog and barks his head off when strangers come down the driveway.  Benjamin has trained him to sit and shake hands.  If we could just teach him to not roam, not put chickens in his mouth, and not dig enormous holes, we'd be in business.