Pretending to Farm

At Least He Doesn't Sleep in Bed With Me

My new best friend is taking up all, yes literally all, of my time. He is my constant companion, whether I am folding laundry, brushing my teeth, or attempting to type on the computer (he likes to add extra symbols and change the cursor position). Like a new puppy, he cries nonstop when left alone in his crate and, since his crate is in our bedroom/ David the Husband’s office, it is impossible for David to conduct business on the telephone when he is in there. After all, it’s not exactly professional to talk to HOA board members whilst a turkey poult peeps mournfully and insistently in the background.

So here he sits with me, either on my lap, on my shoulder, or at my side and Pint is jealous. Yes, you read correctly; my grandson is experiencing a difficult case of sibling rivalry with a baby turkey.

I’m not sure how to remedy this. After all, I’m a bleeding heart wimp who can’t cut off my feelings for any living creature. Zorro is here to stay. I have already invested too much time in the little guy to turn him back to the perils of the farmyard and risk finding his wee baby body cold and dead on the ground.

To add to this, we have summer trips planned and tentatively planned. Do we bring Zorro along? David already visualized the hotel check-in, complete with the “Any pets?” question. Do we answer, “Just a baby turkey.”? The predicaments I get myself into.

So for now, he’s with me. All turkey care, all the time. Pint will just have to get over it somehow.

By the way, those of you wondering how SR Jessica is doing out in the world of independence need not worry. My big girl drove herself to LA to see an intimate Eddie Izzard comedy show and wormed her way into meeting him. She’ll do just fine. And she still calls her mommy just about every day. Weez loves her.

Finally, I need some big time prayers sent to fellow knitter/blogger and good friend Beth. Her very young son, Tom, is in the hospital having a challenging time thriving physically and we need to help him get better and help the doctors figure out what is going on in his wee body and make it better. Fire up the positive healing channels, everyone. The little guy needs our help.

INEBG- Part II, The Wolf-man Cometh, and Lazy Lar

I love being a farmer, albeit a pretend one; I truly do. Some mornings, however, I just want to lie in bed surfing the internet and drinking coffee and this is one of them. It is 6:30am. Although I have been awake for approximately an hour, I am still in bed, only arising for ablutions, med swallowing, and doggy doorman role play. I’ll get up for real soon; I promise. They yell at me and conspire against me if I don’t.

As planned, I over-dyed the Kermit yarn which, by the way, looked much lighter and brighter in real life than it did in the photo. Its colors ranged from chartreuse to Kelly, no Northwest landscape as suggested by dear Michelle. Nancy and Melanie liked it as well. Believe me girls, if you had seen it in person, it would have made you throw up in your mouths a little bit.

So I repeated all the preparation processes mentioned ad nauseam in yesterday’s blog. This time, however, I only added a center section of straight blue and a mixture of one part black and one part water around the edges. Obviously, it’s still green, but now looks like it was portrayed in yesterday's photo (I still can't get the color to match what it looks like in person), ranging from Kelly to Deep Forest. I like it and will use it though, despite appearances, four ounces of roving will only spin up enough for socks or perhaps a tam; it’s a good color for a tam. In honor of Michelle who praised its perceived beauty, I am naming it “Amity,” which is the lovely place she lives at the base of Mt Hood and which also means friendship, something she has given me in droves. Thank you, Michelle.

Carrie, I will get to your bright and sunny roving; I promise. Someday.

On Monday, I, in addition to standing over a stewing pot of wool in 100° heat, sweat dripping down my face, and feeling very Dickenesque, had a visit from the Wolf-man, laden with grocery bags of the brushed undercoats of his TEN rescued wolves. I don’t know about you guys but I’d have a hard time sleeping at night with ten wolves in my house. (He can’t let them stay outdoors at night. Their howling instinct takes over and all the children, and some adults, either have nightmares or start marching toward his home with sharpened pitchforks and flaming torches.)

The fiber is lovely, reminds me of Angora rabbit, but it is very short and I am not sure if it will work or not, but as I am obviously unafraid of failure due to experiencing it on a daily basis, I will give it a go.

After he arrived back home to his den, he and the pack sent some photos.

Now, I truly have to get out of bed and be a good farmer. I heard them drilling a while ago and one of them calling himself Major Major.

Danger: Mush Ahead

As you know, on the 27th we commemorated Pretending to Farm’s one year anniversary. As I discovered the significance of the date late in the day, I did not take the time to say what writing this blog has done for me and the unexpected surprises and perks that have come along with it.

First of all, I have proven to myself that I can do something consistently, persistently, whatever-sistently for a year. I didn’t know I had it in me. As you know, I bore easily and have a challenging time with repetitive activities. Yet, I like to write; I really and truly enjoy it. Who was it that said “find something you truly love to do and you’ll never work another day in your life?” Well, for me, that something is writing. (Psssst… publisher man, send a few greenbacks my way, would ya’?)

What has surprised me more about creating this blog, however, is the circle of friends, cyber-friends one might call them, which I have met through my writing. They include knitters, shepherds, animal lovers (a big shout out to the Giant Schnauzer rescue contingent), and a plethora of miscellaneous readers who, as the others, I have never met personally but with whom I have developed an unexpected kinship.

Beth in Wisconsin, knitter and just-about-anything-else crafter, and I email each other nearly every day and get silly quoting “The Backyardigans” as we both have young children at home. Just before Easter, she sent me wool from a yarn swap she organized with treats tucked in amongst the Lopi, an Easter treat for Pint and super yummy chocolate cherry chip cookies. Beth has dreams of some day living on a farm herself and I vacillate between encouragement and its-not-all-bouncing-lambs-and-fresh-eggs lectures.

Melanie in New York State emails me as well. She has a Wee Farm as she puts it and raises Shetlands just as much for their love as their wool. I adore shepherds who view their flock as more than a commodity. (Most do but I have come across some who do not through the Shetland email list and it mouth-agape astonishes me.) In late winter/early spring, Melanie and her husband tap the sap of maple trees on their property and cook it for hours over a fire until it turns to syrup. Then they bottle it for their own consumption and for sale. When I asked her how someone living all the way in Arizona could purchase some, less than a week later a lovely maple leaf shaped glass jar full of the most delicious, smoky maple syrup I have ever consumed arrived on my doorstep accompanied by a lovely note. I was truly touched (and not just in the head).

Situated in the more than lovely Willamette Valley of northeastern Oregon at the base of Mt Hood is Michelle of Boulderneigh. As with Beth, Michelle and I email each other almost every day and she is full of caring, advice, concern, encouragement, and prayers. She is a much better person than I, or at least her morals exceed mine exponentially. She does wonderful things like pray for me, research my dumb disease which currently is trying to rear its ugly head, and send heartfelt but funny snail mail cards to me. We are currently hatching a plan to meet in person at the Black Sheep Gathering in Eugene, OR in late June which awesome David the Husband has okayed but pesky logistics remain to be solved and sorted. Such as…

…Kathy of Sheep Thrills up in Flagstaff and her troublesome back issues and is she sharing the ride? She is another I have never physically met but has offered friendship and shepherding advice plus I think I have mentioned that she and her husband brew their own beer so she is definitely a-okay in my yet-to-be-completed book.

There are so many more, Carrie down in Tucson, Ali G in NYC, Julie in Surprise and even occasionally the Yarn Harlot or the Mason-Dixon girls. There are Margery and Karalyn and the other Beth, oh my! The list grows and I love it, that and the kinsmanship which was the last thing I expected yet the thing I love most about writing Pretending to Farm.

It’s 8:30 am but pretend it’s well after cocktail hour has begun and picture me standing before you weaving and slurring (it shouldn’t be hard to imagine).

I love you guys!

Busy, Busy, Busy!

After gallantly volunteering to share his room with his newly arrived nephew, David has decided Anthony cannot, however, store his toys in there.  I guess generosity has its limits.  Therefore, at the moment, my living room looks like I am opening a daycare center, which isn’t all together a bad thing.  I have missed the bright and fun little boy toys.  These days all my twin tweens want to play is “World of Warcraft,” which is neither bright nor fun for me.  By the way, when I asked young David where we could store the toys, he said outdoors under a tarp.  Hmmm, I don’t think so. 

I have had a busy non-posting-to-the-blog weekend.  Saturday was spent trying unsuccessfully to finish incomplete projects before my time is no longer my own and Sunday was taken up by an all day pet adoption clinic at the

Franciscan

Renewal

Center

in tony

Paradise

Valley

.  Booth after booth of rescue groups filled a very large outdoor park, some highlighting a particular breed or animal and others, like ours, just trying to get some of these pets to good “forever” homes.  I walked “Leo,” the handsome male weimeraner, around and around, trying with no luck to churn up some interest in him.  He’s a very good boy so I cannot understand why he has not been adopted.  While we were making the rounds, we did find a queue of animals and their owners waiting to be blessed by the monks so we joined the line.  Leo is now a very blessed dog and has strong prayers to aid him in finding a new home.  The experience made me feel all warm inside and a little blessed myself. 

Across from our booth was the Giant Schnauzer Rescue.  I have always wanted a Giant Schnauzer so it took all I had and a little practical realization not to bring one home with me.  Same with the Great Pyrenees.  I love a big huggable dog and would have more if I had the money and the time.

Today, instead of huge canines, I happily get to play with the incredibly cute young Anthony who greeted me with a big “Hi!” and a huge grin.  I’m in mad love with the young champion.  Later and every afternoon this week, we head with eight dogs in tow (I have help lined up) to the Tellington Touch (T-Touch) Seminar to cure them of their various ill habits.  If they can give

Marshall

, our own big bloodhound, a clue, it will indeed be worth it.

I am a very busy but very happy girl right now.  Life is good.

Am I Grounded?

Here I am at the ripe old age of 43 and I am still afraid of getting in trouble with my mother.  If you have ever seen “the look,” you know why.  I can even feel it over the telephone; it scares me and turns me into a little girl of six.  Therefore, I have been putting off telling you what I’ve done.  You knew it would happen.  When I went to work for the animal rescue, you said to yourselves, “Lord knows what she’ll be bringing home” and “it’s not like they don’t have enough animals as it is.” 

Well, he kept getting out.  He figured out the heavy duty dog door and climbed the high kennel fence to the wild unpenned outdoors full of coyotes and raptors.  I kept bringing him back inside but he had gotten a taste of freedom so persisted. 

David

was conveniently out of town, actually out of country and out of reach by cell phone.  I couldn’t call him and ask if we could at least foster the desert wanderer so he would not get eaten before his time.  Well, if my husband can fly to Cabo San Lucas with a bunch of feeling-their-second-adolescence bachelor party weekend participants, I can save a doomed feline from certain death. 

I told him about it when he called from the airport.

“I brought Midnight home.”

“You did.”

“Yes, he kept getting out and I had to save him.”

It was a quiet yet accepting conversation.

Less than a week later, we received in the mail the quarterly edition of “The Roundup,” a publication from our local Rio Verde Horsemen’s Association.  I write for it, as does my boss at the shelter.  In her column, she mentioned Midnight, a 16-week old part Siamese black kitten who had been rescued by two boys as he was being chased by coyotes in the desert.  I showed it to

David

who immediately picked up the telephone and called

Nan

, telling her:

“Midnight, now known as Apollo, is not going anywhere.  We love him.”

We now have two cats, four dogs, seven turkeys, four ducks, thirty chickens, three

Angora

goats, four Shetland sheep, and two alpacas.  Oh, and three hamsters.  I guess we should hold off on getting that pig.

Schmaltz on Rye

Cynical at times and prone to stoicism, I am not typically drawn to mush.  When picking out greeting cards, I always head to the humor section and avoid anything floral with flowing script.  This is just me and I make no apologies.  However, at certain PMS-laden times such as these, I feel compelled to convey my appreciation for the little and big things in my life.  Don’t get used to this; I’ll be back to my usual self in a week or so.

I appreciate:

• Waking up in the early morning hours to three young coyotes wrestling in the wash outside our bedroom window.
• Those same coyotes coming back later when I was awake enough to grab a camera.  (They are hard to see but they are eating the berries off the trees.)
• My husband bringing me hot coffee without me asking him to do so.
• My children getting ready for school without getting in one argument.  They must sense the hormones in the air and know not to push it.
• Our turkeys answering my “good morning” with a raucous chorus of gobbles.
• The ladies at “Western Ranchman” feed store who know everything and can wrangle 50-pound hay bales and feed sacks like the strongest of men.  Yesterday I learned from them the way to tell a male duck from a female without having two of the same breed and I also learned that turkeys, being game birds only lay eggs in the spring.
• The fact that I now know we have one drake and three ducks.  See the little whoopdedoo on Daffy’s tail?  The male duck sports this little decoration.  This means that someday we will have duck eggs to fry or ducklings to coo over or both.

• Turkeys

  following me around the yard as I do farm chores and their impressive displays which are apparently in my honor (or not; they might just like the way it feels.)
• Being able to do farm chores in pajamas and flip flops.
• Having a good job involving caring for and loving animals.  Yesterday I took the kittens to get spayed and neutered and helped install overhead fencing to keep them from climbing out of the kennels.
• My husband who used his lunch break to come over to the rescue (and come to our rescue) and be the main overhead fence install pro.
• A day off after a two long, satisfying and productive work days.  I finally have both the energy and the time to write in my blog!
• The people who take the time to read this nonsense that I write, whether they be people from long or short past, or people that I have never met.  As of today’s 124^th post, the blog has received a total of 3381 hits.  (I am feeling challenged right now as I do my best to avoid another Sally Field moment.)
• Lovely and wonderful Sylvia who took the time to write and send via snail mail a magazine article on raising rare heritage breeds of farm animals.
• Heritage breeds of farm animals.
• My friends and family (Before you get your noses bent, this list is not in any specific order.  Most of my friends and family are more important that farm animals.  Most.)
• Living on two acres in a stunning setting with people and animals that I love.

Okay, that’s enough.  I’m making myself sick here with all the schmaltz.  Chrissy is probably crying by now anyway.

Use Your Words

If you pick up a starving dog and make him prosperous, he will not bite you. This is the principal difference between a dog and a man.

Mark Twain

There is something extra about a rescued dog.  A dog who has been abused, starved, abandoned or a combination of all these things and then has been taken in and fed, sheltered, and, above all, loved has an extra appreciation for his surroundings and those people in them.  Here at home, my dogs are always excited to see me but at my new digs at the rescue, they have an intangible appreciation of my presence.  They’ve been to hell and back and they like back a whole lot better.

Take Sparky here.  He was found abandoned, tied to a post on a one foot chain with a dirty bucket of water beside him.  How anyone could do that to an animal is beyond me.  What did he do that was so wrong?  Pee on the carpet?  Chew up a few shoes?  Give me a break.  Every morning this athletic guy leaps his 40 pound doggy body into the air because he is just gosh darned happy to be alive, be surrounded by other equally happy rescued dogs, and be loved and cared for by folks who give a sh*t.  He’s smart, much smarter than bloodhounds for sure; he understands direction, behaves admirably, and is excellent company for a new employee spending her time setting up computer systems and organizing veterinary medicines.  I love the little guy and wish I could make him mine but instead appreciate the time we spend together and hope a good family will come along and adopt him into their fold. 

On the feline side, and usually on my desk, is Father Ferdinand.  A rescued adult stray, he has appointed himself the caretaker of kittens.  At present, we have two, though more are being fostered in caring homes.  If any of the dogs start getting a little too close to either Midnight or Charles, he places himself between the aggressor and agresee and escorts the little one back into the “cats only” room, protected from canine interference by a plastic baby gate.  Mostly, though, he snuggles beside me and gives me very nice face to face rubs. 

We have seven dogs, three cats, and two goats at the facility proper but far more being cared for elsewhere by volunteers.  In this very morning’s paper, a very sad and disturbing article stated that 150 animals a day are being dropped off at county shelters in

Phoenix

and many of these will have to be euthanized.  I know I am a little over the top as far as my love for animals but this non-committal practice of keeping a pet while it is convenient and then dropping it off, or worse, abandoning it in the desert, when things become at all challenging is beyond the pale. 

We call them dumb animals, and so they are, for they cannot tell us how they feel, but they do not suffer less because they have no words.

Anna Sewell, Black Beauty, 1877

Use your words for them everyone.  I know you’ve all got it in you.

Three Good Days and a Little Guessing Game

It’s been a good weekend, filled with three straight days of rain, hard enough to make the washes run, take out a few roads, and keep temperatures below 100°.  In fact, the forecast predicts no day over the dreaded “triple digits” all week long.  The skies, always interesting already, wowed us with towering cumulus jostling for position and rumbling over to see us.  It was a true treat. 

To add to all this, I finally got a job!  Yeah me!  Frustrated by umpteen million unsuccessful applications and follow-up interviews, coupled with the dreaded  and failed “personality test,” fate jumped in my lap via an email request through the Rio Verde Horsemen’s Association.  I am now computer geek/assistant administrator/animal caretaker/bottle washer/poop scooper at Four Peaks Animal Rescue http://www.fourpeaksanimalrescue.org/ a non-profit organization here in the valley.  Also, it is partnered with Southwest Wildlife Foundation http://www.extremezone.com/~swref/ where I will get to see mountain lions and servals and bears, oh my!  The job seems tailor-made for me, though both my husband and mother are afraid I will be bringing home even more critters, which I have to admit is a distinct possibility.  I hear they get a pig dropped off now and then, which both Jess and big

David

have wanted for a while.  Me, I am hoping for a cow, maybe a desert tortoise, though they are endangered and I would have to get a special license. 

Although I am beyond thrilled, I will have to reschedule my writing time.  On a typical day, I get the boys to the bus stop, do farm chores, a little housework (no, I am not lying), eat, and write.  Now, after farm chores I will be heading to work.  Today, because I love you all so, I got up extra early and gave up my usual newspaper reading to keep you people informed.  Tomorrow, you might not be as fortunate, or unfortunate depending on how you look at it.  I will endeavor to write still just about every day; I just don’t know when in the day that will be.

If you recall, on August 29^th, I wrote that, home from our little mini-vacation, I had a house dirtier-than-left to clean, a job to find, and a liver to wring out.  Would you like to guess which I accomplished?