Some Puppy!

After our recent loss of Tabasco and Scooter, our farm was left without a canine. Dogs are essential to a working farm, whether for protection of the property or for herding livestock. Scooter’s loss, in particular, hit us hard in both departments. Suddenly, we had no dog watching the property while we were away from home. Suddenly, if the sheep or goats got out, we were on our own in trying to round them back up. Suddenly, there was no deterrent to predators which might visit our property by night.

Replacing a dog like Scooter isn’t easy, and I’m not confident we’ll find his equal. But we learned an important lesson with him: it’s best to start with a young puppy. Scooter was only about eight weeks old when we got him, and he was acclimated from that very early age to the whole environment and expectations of our farm. Ideally, we could find a border collie puppy to take his place…and we will continue looking for one. But, in the meantime, we need a dog of some sort to get to work.

Our solution was to scout the local humane society’s animal shelter. Fortunately, about a week ago, we found a promising prospect: a litter of German Shepherd mix puppies was available. They went fast, and we managed to get the last one. His name is Wilbur, and his is indeed…Some Puppy!

I’d almost forgotten how much fun little puppies can be; it’s been nearly four years since we got Scooter. He’s bright, inquisitive, and a quick learner. He enjoys tagging along as I do chores, and is eager to please. Best of all, he’s small enough so the other livestock (even the barn cats) are able to teach him his place and ensure he doesn’t turn predator. He may have some bird or hunting dog in his mongrel mix, but at this early age I think we can break him of any inclination he may have to attack the chickens or ducks.

I’d also forgotten how much trouble little puppies can be, especially before they’re housebroken. And how much they chew on everything. And get into everything. He spends his days in my office with me (and his nights in a crate in my office), and the building is unfortunately starting to smell like it. Hopefully we’ll get him big enough soon to be able to spend his nights in the barn, and by next spring to be patrolling the property at night.

And we’ll make sure we get the front of the property fenced tightly enough so he doesn’t meet the same fate that Scooter did.

Two in Two

I am going to be sick.

Just two weeks ago, we lost our beloved dog, Tabasco, to lung disease and old age. She was a close companion, which made the loss more difficult, but we were grateful we had a month or so get used to the idea that she was in a fatal decline.

We got no such warning last night. The kids were in bed, and I'd gone out to my office to watch the end of a television program. At about 10:45, I heard Scooter the border collie barking like I'd never heard him bark before. In fact, at first I wasn't even sure it was him. The bark was higher pitched, desperate, and very intense. I grabbed my spotlight and went out to investigate, thinking perhaps he'd gotten in a fight with (or simply cornered) a wild animal. The bark was coming from the direction of the road, and was now so urgent that I broke into a full run down the driveway.

When I reached the road, I found no wild animal. Just Scooter, laying in the middle of the street, struggling --- but failing --- to get up. I ran still faster, to help him, but he'd clearly been injured very badly. He smelled awful, like the stuffing had been knocked out of him. I had to get him out of the road, and I wondered if we could make it to the vet in time.

I'm not sure if my attempt to move him aggravated an internal injury, but he was already going into shock when I tried to pick him up. A passing motorist stopped and carried my light for me as I hauled Scooter to the back porch; I didn't get his name, but his sympathy was greatly appreciated and I wish I could thank him again.

Scooter was limp by the time I laid him on the porch. I ran in to tell Mrs. Yeoman Farmer; she'd heard the yelps, but hadn't known what they were. She was as upset as I was about the whole thing, but we were glad the kids were already asleep.

I returned to Scooter's body, and was surprised I could still feel a heartbeat. His eyes were glazed over, and his body was doing little other than twitching. I didn't know if he could hear me, but I told him over and over what a good boy he was. And kept my hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat. Finally, he made one big sudden twitch...and then I couldn't feel his heart beating anymore.

Not wanting the kids to discover the body in the morning, I hauled Scooter to the pasture where he'd gotten so much joy in giving us so much tremendous service. This morning, I got up early and dug a grave near where we buried Tabasco...but closer to the main path the sheep take to return to their paddock at night. I thought that's where Scooter should rest: right near the place where he did his favorite work.

He was only four years old. He was in the absolute prime and vigor of health. He loved every instant of his life, and the things he got to do here on the farm: bringing sheep in and out from pasture, rounding up the goats when they'd broken through a fence, chasing down errant birds and holding them carefully until I could pick them up, getting big squirts of milk when the Yeoman Farm Children milked the goats, taking romps with me through the woods as I inspected a trap or fence line...I'll never forget the way he'd yelp with joy and practically jump out of his skin when he realized it was time to get to work.

Which is what I need to do right now, actually. Stop typing and get to work, that is. I'm not yelping and jumping out of my skin at the prospect, but these weeks are absolutely jam packed with professional work for me. Which makes it the absolute worst time to have to cope with losing the Best Companion Dog Ever and the Best Farm Dog Ever in rapid succession. I am glad I have lots of work to immerse myself in. I'll try to approach it with the enthusiasm Scooter would have for work on the farm.

But right now, my heart is too heavy and my eyes are too full to do anything but grieve.

Our Great Goose Group

Our property seems ideally suited for geese. Lots of grassy pasture, with a big low wet area that's fairly swampy even all summer. I'm glad we got lots of extra goslings this year, because with this much grass they're basically free to feed once they're out of the brooder. A goose is a nice-sized meal for our family, yielding all the meat everyone wants, plus leftovers. And there's nothing as delightful as the "goose grease" that melts off a roasted bird. We save it in quart mason jars in the fridge.

We had 14 goslings out there for a long time, plus one little hatchling, and the four mature geese. They're a mixed bag of Toulouse and Embden. We lock them in the barn with the sheep and chickens at night. Then, a few nights ago, we had a bizarre incident: one of the juvenile goslings got his/her long neck tangled all up in some of the barn's interior fencing. I discovered this when I came out to lock up for the night. Much like what happened with our dairy goat, Marigold, the bird got so wrapped  it ended up committing suicide. The goose's body was still warm, so he/she couldn't have been dead long. But I couldn't revive it. A tragic and completely unforseeable waste, but the kind of thing that a stupid animal can do.

So, we have 13 remaining juveniles, and the little hatchling, and the four mature adults...and they make quite a group. Really remarkable how they've bonded as a unit. There's a mature Embden gander who's definitely the Alpha. There's one mature Toulouse who's the "mother" to the little gosling and makes sure he/she keeps up. Especially interesting is that when I or one of the dogs comes out and approaches the group, she positions herself in such a way that the little one is very hard to see. Even as they're running, the shape of her body often makes the little one disappear. That's good for him/her, but tough for me to keep track of. In the photo below, note the mother has positioned herself between me and the gosling, as the gaggle hurries toward the pasture.

They're all so entertaining as they work the pasture, we could watch them and their interactions for hours.

But as the juveniles are maturing, we have a new concern: telling them apart from the mature adults. This is important, because older geese are not good to eat. The meat is tough as shoe leather, so our preference is to let them live out their lives once they're more than a year old. We intend to butcher all of the juveniles this November/December, so we need to be able to identify them. Many are now almost as big as the adults, and fully feathered. Before they get any more mature, I needed to mark certain members of the gaggle.

The solution: I caught the four mature adults, one at a time, and put a heavy duty "rip tie" (or "zip" tie, or "cable" tie, or whatever you prefer calling it) around each leg, just above the knee. I left it just loose enough for more leg growth, but tight enough not to slip off. (I did both legs so we'd have a backup in case one came off.) I then trimmed the excess plastic.

Scooter had a grand time helping me chase particular geese down in the pasture. And he was indeed a big help. Border Collies are indispinsible when you have livestock. His instincts and abilities never fail to blow me away, especially since he's had no training.

Hopefully all the rip ties will hold, and we'll be able to keep these four mature adults to raise another gaggle of goslings next year. And enjoy lots of delicious roast goose this winter.

Last and Least

Our final ewe, Enigma, delivered today. It was just a single male, but he was up and on his feet quickly. This ends the lambing season!

Given all the activity with the sheep, and the number of other lambs, it was remarkable how well he was getting around and holding his own with the flock. However, given that he is completely in-bred (his sire produced him by breeding his own mother), there is no question that we'll be butchering him this fall.

Scooter, our Border Collie, is doing his part to bond with the new member of the flock:

This makes a total of 14 lambs from 8 ewes...for a lambing percentage of 175%. This is outstanding, and we could not have asked for better --- especially since we have not had a single death yet this year.

Dilemma Was Busy

How else to explain what happened yesterday? After putting up last evening's blog post, putting things away in my office and the house, and getting ready for bed...I couldn't fight the sense that I should put my boots back on and take one last look at all the new animals in the barn. Being a farmer is oftentimes not unlike being a parent: you feel many of the same anxieties and worries that accompany being entrusted with new little lives that are utterly dependant and unable to fend for themselves.

My first stop was the upstairs portion of the barn, where the chicks and goslings are being brooded. My primary anxiety about them concerned the heat lamps; it was going to be a chilly night, and if anything happened to one of the big 250W infrared bulbs we could easily lose a large number of birds by morning. (Don't ask me how I know.) But everything was perfect with the birds: they were spread out like a solid blanket under the heat lamps, twittering softly as they slept. The waterer was almost empty, so I made a mental note to fill it first thing in the morning. In the meantime, I didn't want to disturb their sleep.

From there, I lifted the trap door and made my way down the stairs to the sheep area. It was pitch black, so I shone a flashlight all around. Much to my surprise, I spotted two more brand new little lambs, still dripping wet. They were standing unevenly on their feet, near Bianca, who still had afterbirth coming out of her rear end. Scooter, for his part, was standing just on the other side of the fence and watching them protectively.

I'll have to check, but I'm almost certain that three ewes delivering five lambs on a single day is a new record for us --- and especially impressive given that we had only one breeding ram in with the flock. I've long thought Dilemma was a beautiful animal, but this new feat has proven his stud abilities definitively.

Given all the new little lambs underfoot, I thought it prudent to leave the lights on in the downstairs portion of the barn overnight. This morning, I managed to get some pictures of Bianca's new arrivals (which are one male and one female):

Ever wonder how the mother ewes can tell which lambs are their own, when so many lambs of roughly the same size and color are running around? Especially at night? The answer is smell. Each lamb produces a distinctive scent near its hindquarters, and the ewes identify their own lambs that way. Bianca demonstrates the correct technique here:

And as a lamb latches on to nurse, you'll often see the ewe sniffing the lamb's rear end to make sure this is one of her own. If it isn't, she'll twist away and then butt the lamb with her head.

I could sit on the barn steps and watch these animals for hours. But now it's time to wrap this up and get back to work.

Out With the Old, In With the New

We had such a large number of lambs born (and survive) last year, it was impossible to take them all to the butcher in one trip. Our solution was to take a first batch last October, with all the large males, and to keep the runts and females to see if we could fatten them up a bit. I even planned to try butchering one of the small ones myself, just to see if I could figure it out.

One thing led to another (or, more precisely, one bitterly cold snowstorm led to another) all winter, and I never did get around to trying my hand at butchering a lamb...or even driving the second batch in to the butcher.

Finally, today, I got my act together and cleared out the seven remaining lambs. They'd been eating us out of house and home, plowing through the hay that needs to last until the pasture begins growing --- but they weren't putting on much weight. Yesterday, I made the call to the butcher to see if I could get them in; Wednesdays are the only day they do lambs and goats. Fortunately, they had some availability, so I made the appointment.

I went out to the barn early this morning, to make sure everything was okay with the sheep. I flipped on the lights, and immediately noticed the Scooter the Border Collie was acting a bit unusual. He seemed extremely interested in what was going on in the sheep area, was wagging his tail purposely, and had his muzzle tucked into the fence separating him from the sheep. One quick look revealed what had Scooter so interested: a tiny black lamb, tottering near the fence.

Maybelle, one of our best mother ewes, was hovering protectively over the lamb, not quite understanding that Scooter was only trying to be protective (and helpful), too. A moment later, I spotted another tiny black lamb...and realized that Maybelle had done it again: delivered twins, and delivered before any of the other ewes. Her streak now extends to seven years in a row.

The arrival of Maybelle's twins (one male and one female) meant it was doubly important to get those seven extra lambs from last year out of the sheep pen. All the extra bodies would only multiply the opportunity for little lambs to get trampled.

I managed to get our old 1984 Ford Bronco II fired up, and the rear seats folded down. Spread some old paper feed bags on the floor to catch sheep droppings, and then backed her into the barn. Homeschooled Farm Boy (HFB) helped make sure we barricaded both sides of the Bronco, to discourage any escape attempts. He then helped me pick up Maybelle's lambs, and we used those as bait to lure her outside to the fenced sheep paddock. We also got Dilemma, our big breeding ram, out of the barn; he would have been liable to attack us as we caught the lambs to load them on the truck.

With the barn door shut, Scooter, HFB and I quickly caught lamb after lamb and hauled them into the back of the Bronco. The hardest part was hoisting each lamb up and in, and closing the rear hatch door, without any of the already-loaded lambs pushing their way out. Fortunately, between the three of us, we managed to get all seven loaded without any escapees.

As there is only one spare seat in the Bronco once all the lambs are loaded, our children take turns being the one who gets to ride with me to the butcher. This was HFB's turn, which he thought was very exciting. Scooter always goes as well, in case he's needed to quell a jail break. (The Bronco's rear window does not latch, and we have had animals --- particularly goats --- try to escape at stop signs. Plus, when unloading at the butcher's, anything can happen.) So, at about 7:40am, all of us set off.

With seven four-legged passengers in the back, and one four-legged passenger up front with us humans, we had a very full vehicle. The seven passengers in the back were particularly upset about having missed breakfast. Also, every time we went around a corner or came to a stop, all seven of them would tumble in one direction or another --- and I would have to look carefully to make sure none was attempting an escape through that rear window. Needless to say, I made sure I obeyed all the traffic laws as I drove; I couldn't imagine the conversation with a police officer, were I to get pulled over.

With HFB's help, and Scooter looking on attentively, the unloading went off without incident. Once all seven lambs were secured in the holding pen on Death Row, I went around to the retail portion of the shop and explained to the butcher how I'd like the lambs prepared. HFB, Scooter and I then sped off to Mass in town; we managed to arrive just in time for HFB to get dressed to serve on this the Feast of the Annunciation.

Once back home, we were able to get some good pictures of Maybelle and her lambs (both of which seem to be doing very well):

Just another crazy day in the life of a homeschooling yeoman farm family. A family, I might add, that is looking forward to lots of dinners featuring delicious Icelandic lamb.

Late Night...With Queen Anne's Lace

We have three dairy goat does: Queen Anne's Lace (our original doe, bred and drying up but not currently being milked) and her two daughters, both of whom recently had twin kids. Those two daughters, Button and Marigold, get a ration of supplemental grain in the morning and evening; this helps them keep their milk production up, ensuring their hungry kids get as much as they need.

In the mornings, I scoop that grain into a pan and set it in an empty stall in the barn. At the sound of the grain hitting the pan, Button and Marigold eagerly stand on the gate and look to see what's taking me so long. Scooter the Border Collie also knows the routine, and plants himself just outside their gate. Once I open the gate, Scooter's position blocks the goats from going anywhere but toward the empty stall with the grain. (Not like they need any help from Scooter --- both goats make a beeline for that grain even when he's not with me.)

I then re-latch the gate, and get hay for the sheep while the goats eat their grain. By the time I return from the sheep pen, the two goats are finished and ready to be let back in to the main goat area. Once they're back in, I secure the gate behind them.

Homeschooled Farm Girl takes care of this chore in the evenings, and it usually goes off without a hitch...except when it doesn't. Last night, she apparently didn't get the gate secured all the way. While we were inside eating dinner, and then spending a little time watching something on the History Channel, the goats managed to get their gate open and disperse themselves all over the barn. Queen Anne's Lace (QAL), being the largest, oldest, and smartest doe, knew that a couple of swift head-butts to the grain can would manage to tip it over --- and she wasted no time settling in for a feast.

Homeschooled Farm Boy didn't discover this disaster until he stopped by the barn to turn the lights off for the night. With Scooter's help, he managed to get all the goats back in their pen...but he was concerned about the amount of grain that QAL had ingested. If a goat eats too much grain all at once, they can develop a terrible (even fatal) case of bloat. He had me come out and take a look at her, but not much time had elapsed yet. QAL still looked fine. But as Mrs Yeoman Farmer was concerned she might still develop bloat, I agreed to check back a little later.

Back out in the barn at 11pm, it was unmistakable: we had a terribly bloated goat. Remember those old Alka-Seltzer commercials, where the person blows up like a balloon and moans, "I can't believe I ate the whole thing"? That was the look that QAL was giving me.

MYF swung into action, getting out one of her natural goat care books and reviewing the instructions for dealing with bloat. We put a half cup of olive oil into a jar, got out a new 30cc syringe (with no needle), and together headed to the barn. Somehow, with MYF straddling QAL to hold her in place (and shoo away all the other goats, who were terribly curious and wanting to get in on the action), I managed to drench all of the olive oil down the goat's throat. Then came the really fun part: trying to get QAL to run around outside, and heavily massaging her bloated belly every time she stopped. Given her bloated state, running around seemed the last thing on her mind --- and goats can be very stubborn when they make up their minds about something. Even Scooter wasn't much help in getting her to move.

We managed to get QAL to belch a few times, but weren't making too much progress. MYF sent me in the house for another half cup of olive oil, which we again drenched down the goat's throat. More belly massage. More trying to get her to run.

At least it was a really nice night to be out --- clear sky, huge canopy of stars, and comfortably warm (hey, after the winter we had, 50F feels sweltering). As we worked with the goat, alternating between running and massaging and listening for belching, MYF and I found ourselves having a fun time joking and chatting and getting caught up on what's been going on.

Finally, at midnight, we figured we'd gotten all the gas out of QAL that we were going to get out. We returned her and Scooter to the barn, double-checked that the goat gate was secure, turned out the lights, and called it a night. Back at the house, I fell into bed and went right to sleep.

This morning, before doing anything else, I headed straight to the barn to check on QAL. She looked a bit tired, and still a little on the large side, but no longer bloated. Her udder and teats looked fairly full of milk; that could be an effect of the grain, and I'm hoping it doesn't mean she's about to deliver her kids. But I may have our children put her in the stanchion and see if they can milk her out today.

There's never a dull moment on a farm. Even when you might really, really want one. Like at 11pm on St Patrick's Day.

But we still wouldn't trade this life for anything.

Kidding Some More

When I got to the barn at 7:30 this morning to do chores, two new little surprises were waiting:

The kids, both males, belong to Marigold --- the twin sister of Button, the goat which kidded exactly two weeks ago. Fortunately, Button's kids have been doing very well in the kidding pen we put together for them. They only needed the heat lamp for a couple of days, and have gone on to be very spry and active.

But back to Marigold. Both of her kids were huddling in the dirt of the main goat stall, sopping wet, with the afterbirth still hanging out of Marigold's rear end. Clearly, they had just dropped out within the last hour. And with the temperature in that drafty part of the barn hovering at roughly 32 degrees, I didn't want them to stay there for long.

With all the other adult goats distracted by the hay I'd just put out for them, I enlisted Scooter's help for the logistics of a "stall swap." Once the gate to Button's kidding pen was opened, she seemed more than ready to push her way out; after two weeks of confinement, I couldn't blame her. With some nudging from Scooter, we easily led her into the main goat area. I then retrieved both of Button's kids and carried them to that same area.

While this was going on, a couple of other goats noticed that the gate to their main area was open --- and they began coming out to explore the rest of the barn. Fortunately, Scooter got in their faces and quickly put an end to that little adventure. (I love Border Collies, and don't know what we'd do without one.) I then scooped up the two shivering and wet newborns, carried them to the kidding pen, and plugged in the heat lamp. Both of them bleated plaintively, and continued shivering, but seemed to appreciate the heat. Finally, with Scooter standing guard at the gate, I grabbed Marigold's collar and led her to the kidding pen. As she worked to finish expelling the afterbirth, I secured all the gates to the various pens.

Before going back to the house, I took a moment to survey the scene. Button's kids were prancing around the main goat area with abandon. Button and the other adults were all chowing down on hay. Marigold's kids were still huddled under the heat lamp, so I made a note to check on them again to make sure Marigold licked them off and got them nursing.

Sure enough, when we returned from Mass (at roughly 9:30), the two newborns were tottering around the kidding pen. They were still quite wet, and splay-legged, but were definitely mobile and definitely nursing. We'll certainly keep close tabs on the whole goat situation throughout the day, but so far it looks like we've had another successful kidding.

And our children will soon enough have another doe to milk. But, as Homeschooled Farm Boy observed, "I'm glad they're both males. We won't have to milk them when they grow up." Then, picking up on my glare and realizing what a bad attitude this was, he quickly added, "And it's good we'll be getting good goat meat from them!"

Yes, indeed. Yum.

Midwinter Surprise

We've had a foot of snow on the ground for over a month now. I can't remember the last time the temperature climbed above freezing. Mrs Yeoman Farmer's mail-order garden seeds have been arriving nearly ever day, but I'm wondering when we'll ever be able to plant them.

In short: it is really, really, really dreary and depressing here in Michigan. Has been for some time, and will be for the foreseeable future.

And then, today, a surprise greeted me in the barn when I went out to do the afternoon chores:

Yes, a goat kid. In fact, TWIN goat kids:

I hurried back to the house and announced the news. The children cheered and screamed with excitement, and I've never seen them move so quickly to get dressed. Within minutes, all of us were out in the barn to look at our two new beautiful little girls (both do appear to be female).

Unfortunately, the kidding pen was in serious disrepair. Fortunately, I'd patched the fence and installed a new gate a few weeks ago --- but the pen itself was full of junk, and we had no water bucket set up in there. And the gate needed some chain link material fastened to it, to keep little kids from slipping out.

Our whole family went to work, clearing the junk from the kidding pen and getting it ready for our new arrivals. I set up a 250W heat lamp (usually used for brooding chicks), so the kids could get some extra warmth for the next couple of weeks. Mrs Yeoman Farmer found some goat mineral. I brought an armload of clean straw down from the loft. Homeschooled Farm Girl carried both goat kids to the pen, while I made sure their mother ("Button") followed. I then got her some grain, and MYF put some hay in her feeder.

As the kids got accustomed to their new pen, MYF and I went to work fastening chain link material to the gate. Apart from being cold (and freezing our fingers), that went off without a hitch. I went to the house and filled a bucket with warm water, and brought it back out for Button. She slurped it like there was no tomorrow.

The most amusing participant in this whole circus was Scooter, our Border Collie mix. Bottom line: it astounds me the instincts that God has given him. As MYF and I worked on the gate, Scooter hovered protectively over the goat kids. He nudged and herded the barn cats away from them, and then sat down to lick the amniotic fluid off one of the kids. When both kids were near Button, Scooter made sure he approached them in his most "subservient" posture: head down, full crouch, tail between his legs --- as if to communicate to Button that he didn't represent a threat, and was only here to help. Once near the new little goat family, he stood protectively and continued nudging the barn cats away.

At last, everything was set and the chores were finished. Scooter and I returned to my office, and the children excitedly returned to the house to finish their schoolwork. Just another dreary midwinter day at the farm...made much brighter by the addition of two beautiful new lives.

Lambs to the Slaughter

The first batch of lambs went in to the butcher last night. As long-time readers of the blog know, we had a bumper crop of lambs born this spring; the 8 ewes had 16 lambs between them. One succumbed to disease and one was killed by a dog, but we had 14 survivors --- and they've been extremely healthy. I credit several factors for this year's success:

1) A clean, brand-new pasture with no parasite build-up from previously grazing animals;

2) Climate that is more similar to our flock's native Iceland than the swelteringly humid Illinois summers we've had;

3) An excellent barn, providing better shelter, especially to newborn lambs;

4) Mineral feeders always kept full and sheltered in the barn --- back in Illinois, they frequently ran out of mineral or it was ruined out in the pasture;

5) A switch from rain water (in Illinois, collected in tanks from building run-off) to iron-rich hard well water.

Yesterday afternoon, Scooter and I rounded up the whole flock and secured them in the barn. I then backed my old 1984 Ford Bronco 4x4 into the barn, put the seats down, and spread a tarp in the back. One by one, I selected the largest male lambs and hoisted them into the back; one of the children stood guard at the truck's tailgate to ensure we had no escapees. We managed to fit seven large male lambs, plus the yearling female who was rejected by her mother and proved too small to be bred last fall (she also had a lousy set of horns, another reason to cull her). And to the great joy of Homeschooled Farm Girl, we also loaded up Biscuits (the pathetic goat kid who was so stupid, he never learned to drink water from a bucket and had to be bottle-watered his whole life).

So, down the highway we went, NPR on the radio, and Scooter the Amazing Wonderdog perched on the passenger seat with me for the ride. Actually, we deliberately avoided highways and made the 11 mile trip almost exclusively on deserted country roads. This proved to be a wise decision, as I had nothing to separate the testosterone-laden back of the SUV from the passenger compartment. Biscuits in particular seemed to be squeezing the last moments of trouble from his miserable life, repeatedly trying to climb onto the truck's console and into my lap. I shoved him back each time, and each time he again stuck his face up to my neck and tried to nibble my collar. Had we been on a busier road, driving at high speed, I probably would've caused several accidents.

Finally, after one especially firm shove, Biscuits waded through the ovine hoard and made his way to the back of the truck. My first reaction was relief, but this proved premature. After smashing his long horns against the ceiling several times (destroying the headliner), I then noticed him trying to butt his head through the window on the tailgate. Being an old truck, we haven't been able to latch that window in years. Each time he tried opening the window, I slammed on the brakes to force all the animals to move forward. This only worked, however, as long as the truck was rolling. At the next stop sign, Biscuits seized his opportunity --- and disappeared out the window.

Disgusted, I slammed the truck into Park and got out to look for him. He'd hopped into a ditch, but appeared too stunned to figure out what to do next. I easily caught him, without even needing to get Scooter (I brought him along in case of a massive jail break). Once Biscuits was again loaded in the truck, we were fortunately only a mile or so from the butcher. We arrived without further incident (apart from complete destruction of the headliner).

This butcher, unlike the one we used in Illinois, has an extensive set of holding pens in a barn out back. At first I thought this was wonderful, as it meant I could bring the animals the evening before --- rather than loading them up and driving early in the morning on the day of slaughter. However, once we began unloading the animals, the butcher and I immediately grew concerned: their gates are set up to contain commercial-sized meat animals. Standard breeds of sheep would've been fine, but we never would've used gates like these to contain Icelandics on our farm. We managed to get all of them into a pen far in the back; even if the lambs had worked really hard and gotten through a gate, there were two additional sets of gates they'd also need to negotiate to get totally loose. Also working in our favor: several members of the flock were too big to squeeze through, and because they were in a strange place we knew they'd all stick together. Plus, dusk was closing in and they'd want to stay in a shelter.

Even so, I worried about my flock last night and even considered driving over to check on them. These were our biggest animals, and represent hundreds of pounds of meat that would be literally impossible to replace on the open market. There was a busy highway not far from the butcher, and I imagined my little flock wandering onto it in the night. Funny how, even when the animals are within hours of being slaughtered, a shepherd can't help worring about their safety and well-being. In the end, I decided to entrust them to the intercession of St Francis of Assisi, and told myself to get a good night's sleep. This proved to be a good decision; I called over this morning, and they confirmed everything was alright. All the same, next time, I will bring the animals in at 8am on the day of slaughter.

It was a little strange last night, securing the barn and seeing such a reduced flock. I don't exactly miss the lambs we took in, but it was an odd feeling to see so many fewer. A little sad. But those feelings evaporated this morning when I put hay out for the remaining flock, and saw how much easier it was for the smaller lambs to get at it now. We'll give those little guys a couple more weeks to put on weight, and then take them in at the same time I pick up the meat from the first batch.

Yummmmm. I can hardly wait to enjoy some Icelandic lamb chops again.

Now, From the Dog

We spend a lot of time following politics in our family, and spent most nights of both conventions eating dinner in my office as we watched the proceedings. And it's been interesting to see the sorts of things the kids have been absorbing.

To preface this story: long-time readers know we have two farm dogs. Scooter is a mostly-black border collie mix, while Tabasco is an Australian Red Healer mix. Both dogs spend a lot of time in my office while I'm working.

A couple of evenings ago, I was typing away at my computer. Homeschooled Farm Girl (HFG), age 9, was sitting with both dogs on the couch across the room. Holding Tabasco in her lap, and moving Tabasco's muzzle up and down as if the dog was talking, HFG began to extemporize a television commercial:

Everybody should vote for John McCain. Scooter was going to vote for Barack Obama, because he's black. But I convinced him he should vote for John McCain. I'm Tabasco, and I approved this message.

I nearly fell out of my chair laughing, but HFG still doesn't understand what's so funny. And that in itself, I must say, makes it even funnier.

Smarter Than You Think

Many farm animals have a reputation for stupidity. What has surprised us are the ways this stupidity is expressed --- and the ways some other animals have proven themselves to be downright smart.

Turkeys, for example (at least the domesticated variety), deservedly have a reputation for being dumb. The common example given is that, during a rainstorm, turkeys will look up at the raindrops and then drown. I have never personally seen this happen, nor have I spoken with anyone who has seen it happen. That could be because most turkeys are raised indoors, and therefore never come in contact with rain. However, even when we had free-ranging turkeys, they always had enough sense to seek shelter when it rained. None of them would stand around getting wet, and I certainly never saw one looking up at the raindrops.

Okay, so they don't drown in the rain. But are they stupid in some other way? You betcha. When raising young poultry, the crumbled feed goes in a feeder...and that feeder goes in their pen. But as the birds grow, they need more than what will fit in the original feeder. When I find myself filling the feeder too frequently, I switch to a larger one. Want to guess what has happened with every single batch of young turkeys we've raised? They do not recognize the feed as feed when it is in a different kind of feeder --- even though the feed is clearly visible and is exactly the same feed. One batch of turkeys actually fled in fear when I inserted the new feeder, and cowered in a far corner for hours. This morning, when I switched to a larger feeder, the reaction wasn't quite as extreme --- but still, none of the turkey poults would even approach the new pan.

Contrast this behavior to that of our sheep, another animal with a reputation for brainlessness. I can't speak for commercial meat breeds, but our Icelandics are pretty sharp. As our pasture isn't yet tightly fenced, I can only let them out to graze when I can keep an eye on them. This morning, I decided to let them graze in the high grass while I mowed another section; that other section we've been keeping relatively low, and have been bagging the clippings to feed to the sheep. The gate opened, and all the sheep stampeded down the hill to the rich, long-grass section of the pasture. Meanwhile, I went to work with the lawn mower.

I filled the bag, stopped the mower to empty it, and then went back to work. A moment later, Dot, the flock's leader ewe, realized that I must have emptied the clippings into a feeder in their paddock by the barn (that's what I always do, and she's quite observant). Dot broke from the flock, ran up the hill, and began feasting on clippings. Can't blame her: it's a whole lot easier than working the pasture. As I continued mowing, and began filling a wheelbarrow with batches of clippings, the rest of the flock became aware of Dot's absence. One of them called to her with a "Baaaaah." Dot called back with her own "Baaaaah." The ewe ran up the hill and joined Dot at in the paddock...and it didn't take long for the rest of the flock to catch on. Scooter the Amazing Wonderdog ran alongside to ensure they didn't bolt for the hay field, but the flock didn't need any help to find the paddock.

Fortunately, I'd been working quickly, and now had nearly the whole wheelbarrow filled. I dumped the full load into their two big feeders, and the flock swarmed to eat. But something interesting then happened: the lambs, getting crowded by the adults, ran back out through the still-open gate and went to work on the long grass at the edge of the pasture. I waited and watched them for several minutes, just making close observations of each animal and making sure none of them was looking sickly or lethargic.

This photo captures the scene: feasting lambs in the foreground, feasting adults in the distance...and Scooter the Amazing Wonderdog in the middle, having the time of his life being a part of making it happen.

The Not So Good Shepherd

Managing sheep, particularly when out watching them graze, is wonderful fodder for prayer about the "Good Shepherd." Just a couple of weeks ago, after bringing the sheep in to the fold from the pasture, we seemed a few lambs short. I took Homeschooled Farm Girl and Scooter the Amazing Wonderdog back out in the high weeds for a second look --- and located the lambs which had become disoriented and left behind.

But every shepherding story doesn't have such a happy ending. Regular blog readers know we had a bumper crop of lambs born this year; the eight ewes had 16 live births. Tabasco, our occasionally hyperactive Red Healer, killed one of those lambs when it was a week old, but we hadn't had any other deaths.

Alas, that record was not to stand. With this many lambs, we were due for some kind of disappointment. A few days ago, I noticed that the youngest and smallest lamb was beginning to act a bit lethargic and to hang back from the rest of the flock. I immediately administered an apple cider vinegar drench, which is a nice overall tonic. He would still get up and walk just fine, but I quickly discovered the root of his lethargy problem: he was getting crowded out at the hay feeders. And he was a little too small to reach the drinking water in the stock tank once the level had gone down --- and ditto for the mineral in the mineral bucket.

Over the next couple of days, I kept close tabs on him and tried to make sure he got better nutrition...but the damage had apparently been done. Once a lamb gets beyond a certain point, it's sometimes difficult to get their health built back up again to where they can hold their own with the flock. Saturday afternoon, he was still making an effort to eat --- but by Saturday night it was clear he wasn't going to make it. He'd crawled into a corner, put his head down, and begun breathing heavily.

As the rest of the flock enjoyed a late evening snack of hay, I took the little lamb in my arms and sat down to comfort him. I'd seen this more times than I care to count, and knew he was now in the death spiral. I talked soothingly to him, rubbed his back and stomach, and tried to find a position that would let him breathe a little easier. Most of all, I told him I was sorry I couldn't have done more for him.

But I couldn't bear to put a bullet in his head. I save that action for the most severely injured livestock. For a sick lamb, I hold out hope to the very end that he might get a good night's sleep, or that his immune system will kick in, or that he'll find a hidden reserve. So I made him comfortable in his corner of the barn, locked everything up, and called it a night.

Not surprisingly, Sunday morning, he was exactly where I'd left him. As the rest of the flock got busy eating, I found an old paper feed bag and managed to slide his stiffened body into it for disposal. (With the heat this week, I didn't want to just throw the body into the trash can without something around it to help contain the smell. And I certainly didn't want to leave his body in the hedgerow, where it might attract predators like the fox I'd just spooked off.)

In a thoroughly melancholy frame of mind, I went about the rest of my morning chores. It always bothers me when I can't save one of our animals, especially one as innocent as a little lamb. I suppose I ought to be used to it by now, but it still gets to me. And that gave me an awful lot to think about for the whole rest of the day.

Culler Dog

I think tragedy is always most painful when it's most unexpected.

This evening, Homeschooled Farm Boy (HFB) and I were out tending the sheep, and we had Tabasco (the Red Healer / Australian Shepherd mix) with us. Scooter the Amazing Wonderdog was also there. For whatever reason, Tabasco got extremely agitated about the nine lambs running around in the sheep area, and was barking at them like crazy. Scooter, for his part, simply stuck his face through the fence and tried to make sure any adventurous lambs didn't try to slip out of the pen.

HFB and I finished the chores, and went outside to work on the fence for Mrs Yeoman Farmer's new garden. Scooter came with us, and helped chase chickens away from the newly-plowed beds. Tabasco disappeared from our radar, which is not atypical for her.

Ten minutes or so later, I needed a particular tool. I walked toward the garage, and momentarily got a good line of sight into the sheep area. Tabasco had gotten in (she's like a rat - able to squeeze through impossibly tight holes) and was doing something to one of the lambs. I shouted at her, ran and hurdled the gate, and then discovered...the lamb in question was DEAD. She'd apparently shaken it to death, as it was like a rag doll in my arms. I jostled and jostled it, but there was no response.

Needless to say, I beat the living daylights out of Tabasco as I shook the lamb in her face. She did seem cowed and submissive (by her standards, anyhow) after that, and crept along to my office. What stuns me is how out of character this is for her; I've never seen her kill anything but mice and rats before this. She somehow thought the lambs were predators or intruders --- while Scooter instinctively realized they are livestock to protect and herd.

Obviously, I spent much of the evening in a funk. But as I explained to HFB, if we could've picked one lamb to kill early---this would've been the one. She was a triplet female, and was by far the smallest we had. She was barely gaining weight; definitely the runt of the litter. In a year when all the lambs are inbred (and so we'll be butchering everything), she would've yielded much less meat than any other. And with her eliminated, her two remaining brothers will get a bigger share of the milk. Thank God this didn't happen to a lamb that was the only offspring; the ewe would've simply dried up.

So, we'll be keeping a much tighter leash on Tabasco and keeping her away from the livestock. She's the best companion animal we've ever had, and I love having her around. I just wish she was half as good with animals as she is with people.

You Go, Goat Girl!

With both of our yearling does now in milk, and with each needing to supply milk for only a single kid, we began setting up to resume regular milkings. Last week, Mrs Yeoman Farmer and I moved some straw bales and rolls of fencing materials, and then brought both our milking stanchions into the barn from the garage. We covered them with tarps, to make sure the chickens didn't roost on them and foul them up. Then, with me back today from a weekend-long retreat, MYF decided that today was the day to start milking.

MYF spent quite a bit of time this morning preparing for the big event. She dug out the nice stainless steel milking pail (with lid), washed it, and soaked it in an acid wash solution. She cleared and scrubbed a designated counter space in the kitchen, and set all the milking supplies up on it. By the time I came in for lunch, we were ready to roll.

I helped get the first doe out of the makeshift kidding pen, and together we led her to the stanchion. It was a struggle getting her in, but the grain served as an effective enticement. As MYF washed the goat's udder and then settled in to milk, I went off to gather eggs.

When I returned, less than five minutes later, MYF was already nearly finished --- but we weren't going to be enjoying any milk anytime soon. The goat had smashed her foot into the milking pail, easily knocking off the half-lid. Frustrating, but it happens. We set the pail down, and Scooter the Amazing Sheepherding Wizard Wonderdog polished all the milk off by the time we got Doe #2 into the stanchion. She was just as much of a kicker, (and given Doe #1's filthy feet, we couldn't have used Doe #2's milk anyhow unless we washed and sanitized the pail...something we had no time for). Again, Scooter got to feast as we led Doe #2 back to the pen.

Suddenly, an obvious point occurred to me, which I mentioned to MYF: This is the first time we've tried to milk a goat for the first time. Both of our other milking does had been milked by their previous owners, and had been comfortable with the routine. It simply didn't occur to us to expect different behavior from these two. One of those things that's obvious in retrospect, but didn't cross our minds beforehand.

I thanked MYF for "giving it the old college try there, Goat Girl." And hopefully tomorrow we'll be better able to anticipate (and redirect) the does' kicks. If not...at least Scooter will be pleased.

Kidding Again!

Our first goat kid of the year dropped this afternoon! It was a single, but a milestone: not only the first animal of any kind born on our new farm, but also the first kid born to a goat that was herself born to us.

I don't have photos, because I haven't actually seen this kid. Naturally, the doe waited until I was safely off the property and driving to Illinois for the night (I'm delivering guest lectures to a couple of political science courses at the U of I tomorrow). Mrs Yeoman Farmer did, well, yeoman's work in tending to the newborn. The delivery had gone smoothly, but with 20 degree weather the newborn kid was shivering badly. And the goat buck (who we still haven't managed to separate into his own stall), who is normally quite compliant and subserviant to the older and larger does, suddenly began acting out badly.

MYF used pasture gates to rig up an enclosure in the barn for the doe and her newborn kid, and also rigged up a heat lamp to provide a bit more warmpth tonight. This was no easy task, as all our poultry brooding lamps had either broken or been left behind in IL. She made a special trip out to Tractor Supply, bought everything we need, and then spent hours getting all the animals situated. At long last (9pm), she was finished and gave me a call to fill me in on everything before eating dinner. Yes, you read that correctly: 9pm and she still hadn't eaten dinner. For those of you contemplating farm life, that's what can happen to your schedule when newborns pick inconvenient times to drop in (or the sheep pick an inconvenient time to break through a gate, or...or...)

Anyway, back to our story. Even separated, the goat buck began sticking his head through the fence and harassing the doe and newborn kid. He even managed to latch on to one of her teats and begin nursing! Sheesh! MYF began yelling at him and hitting at his head, but he persisted.

Suddenly, from stage right, enter...Scooter the Amazing Wonder Dog! Somehow realizing exactly what the problem was, even without being called or asked to help, he tore into the stall and got all over the buck's face. The buck tried to hit back, but Scooter bit at his nose. The buck pulled back, ran down the fence, and tried sticking his head through another area. Scooter shadowed him all the way, and was right in his face again when he came through. Back and forth they went, Scooter's tail wagging crazily in delight, frustrating the buck's every move. MYF is not a dog person, but cheered Scooter on all the way.

The funny thing about Scooter is that he's not really very smart. At one point, MYF commented that we should've named him "Odie," after the brainless dog in the Garfield comic strip. And MYF frequently calls him "Stupid," like it's his own common name --- and Scooter responds to it! ("Come here, Stupid. Sit, Stupid. Good boy, Stupid.") And yet, despite his stupidity, Scooter has an unbelievable talent with herding and managing livestock. It's truly a beautiful thing to behold, and I'm sorry I wasn't there to watch him work. (And, yes, MYF, I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you.)

I've jokingly begun referring to Scooter as the "Sheep Herding Wizard," as in the Who's classic song "Pinball Wizard". Just as the "deaf, dumb and blind kid" in the song can nonetheless "sure play a mean pin ball," Scooter seems to excel despite (and perhaps even because) of his lack of brains. Just a few weeks ago, late at night, all the sheep managed to get out of the barn and way out into one of the fields. That wasn't a problem for Scooter; together, he and I (but mostly he) got them all rounded up and back in the barn almost before MYF could get her coat on and come out to help us. And I was left asking myself, "How do you think he does it? I don't know / What makes him so good..."

I had to laugh when the "best in show" winner of the Westminster Dog Show was announced today, and the newscasters were singing the praises of that prancing beagle. Scooter will never win anything like that, because he's a plain old mixed-breed working dog --- not a show dog. And while he may not be the brightest bulb in the barn, he's certainly the most indispensible.

Scooter's Expensive Anatomy

Scooter, the Amazing Wonder Dog, likes to sleep on his back. Yeah, it's pretty immodest...but since he's a dog I guess he doesn't know any better.

But of late I've been wondering if he might have another reason for showing off his anatomy: it's pretty valuable. Or at least Ingham County (MI) seems to think so.

When we went to register our dogs this week, we were hit with sticker shock: licenses for unaltered dogs ($40/year) cost more than three times as much as licenses for neutered dogs ($12/year). Tabasco was spayed when we got her, and that's fine. We don't need any puppies. But we've deliberately kept Scooter intact, to help preserve his aggressiveness and "fight" for protecting the livestock (and challenging any bullheaded livestock who might try developing a mind of their own).

Is this "differential fee structure" a new trend, or is Ingham County the only place doing this? Mrs Yeoman Farmer and I are pretty resentful at the heavy-handed manner in which the local authorities seem to be trying to dictate behavior to us, but we'll certainly pay the fee. It's just that every time Scooter rolls over on his back to sleep, I can't help thinking about how much those "jewels" are costing us.

Arrival

We're finally catching our breath and getting our life back out of boxes. Mrs. Yeoman Farmer and I are positive about one thing: we don't want to move again.

We loaded the truck on Friday, November 30th. U-Haul has a wonderful new service called eMove; it's a directory of people who can help with all aspects of a relocation. When I reserved the truck, the website asked if I'd like assistance with loading and/or unloading the truck. Curious, I took a closer look --- and thought more about the last time I'd loaded and unloaded a moving van. The rates were quite reasonable (typically $50 per hour for a team of two guys), so I decided to give it a try. This was the smartest thing we did, the entire move. Particularly for loading the truck, the two guys were absolutely indispensable. They not only did all the heavy lifting, but they also knew the most efficient way to pack the truck. And they stayed until the job was done, late into the night. When they finished, the inside of that truck was an amazing thing to behold; there wasn't a single cubic foot of wasted space. If it'd been up to me, I would have needed a tractor-trailer to load all of our household goods and it would've taken several days; these guys managed to get it into a 26-foot truck, in just 9 hours.

Our neighbors, from whom we buy our beef and who have a large livestock trailer, had offered to follow us up on Saturday the 1st, towing all our animals. However, as the weekend approached, it became clear that the upper Midwest would be slammed by an ice storm that day. It looked like we'd easily be able to beat the storm to Michigan, but our friends would be in the thick of it heading home. Indeed, that's what happened: northern Illinois had multiple inches of sheet ice covering everything by late afternoon. And fortunately, we and the neighbors had decided ahead of time that they shouldn't attempt to go on that day.

We did get in just fine, and our eMove helpers got our truck unloaded Saturday night. I was utterly exhausted, and in no frame of mind to do much of anything. It took all I had simply to assist the movers.



I got up Monday morning, drove back to Illinois, and spent the evening cleaning the house. Our friends came over with the livestock trailer, and their teenaged sons and I managed to catch all the animals and load them up. The goats were easiest, as they were already in a small pen. Several sheep managed to break free during the loading process, and we would've been in big trouble without Scooter The Amazing Wonder Dog, who managed to round them up again even in the dark. The boys and I then plucked all the chickens off their roosts (fairly easy), and put them in a separate part of the trailer. The ducks were by far the hardest to catch, as the flock scattered throughout the vineyard. Imagine us all tripping over trellis wires in the dark, chasing panicked birds running every which direction.


Somehow or the other, we got everything into the trailer, and left it parked overnight. As inclement weather was again threatening, we pulled out early Tuesday morning. I led the way in our minivan, and the neighbor followed with our Noah's Ark On Wheels. Rest areas were definitely the most fun, as we attracted quite a bit of attention.


Here's how things looked upon arrival:

This is the inside of the livestock trailer, just before we let all the animals out. Note: roosters, hens, geese, several breeds of duck, and two guinea fowl (aka Christmas Dinner 2007). Not visible: the 8 or 9 eggs which the hens had laid during the trip. Also, the sheep and goats were in a separate compartment, behind the far wall.

As snow was starting to fall, our neighbor got back on the road quickly. He made it home without incident, and we were deeply grateful for his help.

Meanwhile, we're enjoying making ourselves at home here. And so are the animals.

Shearing Day

Yesterday was sheep-shearing day at the farm. To answer the most obvious question first: No, we do not shear the sheep ourselves. After watching it done just one time, we quickly decided that was a skill we did not need to acquire. It's hard work, wrestling the sheep into the correct position, and requires a lot of experience to master. For the small flock we have, it makes much more sense to bring someone in a couple of times per year. Besides, with fleeces as nice as our Icelandics produce, we want someone who will bring them off the animal in as good a condition as possible. And it doesn't cost that much per animal to have them shorn, anyway.

Icelandic sheep are shorn twice per year. The spring fleece is almost always bad; imagine a heavy winter coat that's received lots of wear and abuse. If we're lucky, we get one usable fleece. The rest become mulch in the vineyard. (If we really wanted to take up felting, the spring wool could in theory be used for that. Mulching is a whole lot easier.) Fall fleeces are the best, and include wonderful soft wool from this year's lambs.

The day begins will all three of our kids, plus Scooter the Amazing Wonder Dog, driving the entire flock into a small diamond-shaped area that joins four quadrants of the pasture. The four of us humans fan out across the pasture, behind the flock, and get them to bunch up. Scooter takes it from there, helping us drive them into the central area. Each wall of that diamond-shaped area is a gate; by closing three sides tightly, we can drive all the sheep in and then close the remaining gate.

Next, we run about 200 feet of electrical extension cord from the barn down to this area. (Next year, at our new property, we'll be able to do all this in the comfort and shelter of the barn itself!) Lisa the "sheep shearing lady" (as our kids have dubbed her) sets up all her equipment, and then goes to work on the first member of the flock.

She begins by cutting off all the nasty matted and dirty wool in various places on the underside of the sheep. She then skillfully buzzes off the entire rest of the fleece; if the sheep doesn't thrash around too badly, the fleece all comes off in one piece. And it is a beautiful sight to behold.

Meanwhile, as each shorn sheep rejoins the flock in the holding area, Scooter continues to stand guard. His presence insures they stay bunched up --- and out of Lisa's work area.

We ended up with 16 very nice fleeces this year, which we will send off to a fiber mill for processing into yarn. (Or, since the mill is in Canada, I guess that would be "fibre" and "proh-sessing.") Someday, perhaps at our new property, Mrs Yeoman Farmer hopes to get a weaving loom --- so she can begin using this yarn for some really beautiful crafts.

Jailbreak

I was home alone today, working in my office, when the sheep discovered a gate that had been left ajar. As I worked away, oblivious to what was going on outside, the sheep were slipping out of the pasture. They worked their way down the driveway, no doubt munching on the weeds growing alongside it.

When I finally emerged from my office, to go into the house to make coffee, pretty much the entire flock (about 18 adults and lambs) was across the street. Half of them were grazing on the ditch grass. The other half were foraging for spilled grain in the neighbor's recently-harvested corn field.

I dropped everything and ran down the driveway, seeking to herd them back to our property. They barely looked up from their treasured meal, oblivious to my attempts to make them move. A few animals looked ready to bolt down the road; a few others seemed prepared to run all the way across the three-quarters-of-a-mile-wide corn field. Without any kids, or Mrs. Yeoman Farmer, at home to help me, what was I to do?

From Stage Right, enter Scooter The Amazing Wonder Dog, our trusty Boarder Collie mix.

It constantly amazes me, the instincts God has given these animals. Without any training, Scooter knew exactly what the problem was (sheep across road, not in pasture) and what I wanted done (sheep back in pasture). But the problem wasn't so easy to solve: the sheep needed to be moved into the road, then down the road past 50 feet of fence, and then funnelled into the narrow opening for the driveway. With our road frontage being fenced, Scooter had to get them going down the road and then had to get them to make a 90 degree turn into a 12-foot wide driveway.

Not a problem for Scooter. As I circled around the back of the flock and got the stragglers to bunch up, Scooter excitedly got in their faces. Barking and nipping, he soon had the sheep butting back at him. And that was his cue to run away from the sheep. At first they didn't take the bait and follow him, so he ran back and again got in their faces...and bolted. After about three attempts, he got a couple of sheep to bite. With them chasing him down the road, the rest of the flock soon followed.

The two sheep in the lead shot right past the driveway, just as I expected they would. Again, without any training or commands from me, Scooter threw himself at one of these sheep and bit at her fleece. Annoyed, the sheep came to a stop and tried to head-butt the dog. Excitedly, Scooter took off into the driveway --- and now the whole flock was stampeding after him. With me calling his praises, he led them all the way to one of the pasture gates. When I arrived to open it, the flock scattered around the driveway. But with the gate open, it didn't take long for Scooter to get a few sheep headed into the pasture. And when the rest of the flock saw that, they began rushing to join the leaders. In "two shakes of a lamb's tail," the flock was home and the gate secured.

Ironically, I'm going to be feasting on lamb chops tonight while the family is up in Michigan. Guess who's getting treated to the choicest bones?

Until then, he'll be enjoying a well-deserved nap on the floor of my office.