Feeling Sheepish, Adventures with Sheep Chapter Two

As stated in a previous post, my first attempt at being a shepherdess failed.  The sheep were as independent as a teen with a car and a credit card.  In fact, after that experience, I had sworn off all wool bearing creatures.

One fine day, however, I came upon an ad for friendly, older ewe in need of a home.  She was a St. Augustine sheep, which is a Florida breed that sheds their wool instead of requiring shearing (YES!).  I loaded up our son and headed off to meet Lippy.  The sheep farm had friendly, bright-eyed, sheep that actually enjoyed being with humans.  Lippy was a mostly white ewe with big dark spots on her.  One spot was over her eye and one on her lip, (hence her name).  She gazed up at me as I pet her and leaned on me slightly.  These are REAL sheep, I thought.  These sheep were as cuddly as a muddy Golden Retriever.  Our son was entranced.  The owner offered to sell us Lippy and a young ewe, named Marmalade, for company (sheep prefer to be with at least one other sheep).  We brought our new flock home and they settled right in.  The first thing I noticed was how dependent these sheep were compared to our first sheep.  These sheep not only liked us, but actually acted as if they needed us.  With the howling coyotes at night, they were absolutely right.  At first, they wouldn't even venture into their paddock without us with them to guard them.  We often let them out to explore the yard and nibble to their heart's desire (the dogs are locked up for these excursions).  They stay close to us and run after us as we walk around the yard doing chores.  These are the most endearing, sweet, creatures.  They look at us as bearers of all good things and protectors.  It's quite flattering.  I wish they sold bumper stickers that said "I hope to someday be the person my sheep think I am".

Love and Fences

Some calves are born naughty.  Some develop naughty little habits over time.  On our farm, I believe we unwittingly groomed a rebellious group of Dexter calves that sought adventure and excitement beyond the confines of their fields.  Their dreams were as big as the skies above and no silly, aged, barbed wire fence would stop them.  The fence in question is on the leased portion of the farm.  It's rumored that the first Spanish settlers in Florida were patching this same stretch of fence 450 years ago.  Sometimes the patchwork design, such as in a quilt, will create unique patterns of folk art.  Sadly, patchwork fences, with strands of barbed wire from several different manufacturers over many decades, and posts of various shapes and sizes, do not inspire the same sense of awe and charm.

When the naughty calves met the fence, they first showed it proper respect, as one should do to the elderly.  However, it wasn't long before, perhaps by mere accident, a weakness was found and exploited.  Was it a tasty bit on the other side that caused the first tentative push?  Or, maybe a rude shove from an irritated mama cow on a hot day when baby just won't settle down and nap?  Whatever it was, it was a significant moment in the herd's history.  The calves met in secret, while their elders chewed their cud under the oaks trees, and egged each other on, as youths do.  Before long, there were tardy appearances at feeding times as calves wiggled back through the loosened fences to causally stroll back into the herd as if all was normal.  They developed a taste for Spanish moss and stole into the woods to snatch some from the trees before coming back to their bawling mamas.  These short forays still contained the calves because of the perimeter fencing around the woods.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch (ha!) we decided to separate a few of the heifers from the herd, to prevent unwanted breeding by our bull.  When the bull realized a few of his herd members were absent, he was certain that we had made a terrible mistake and the only thing he could do to rectify the problem was to climb over the so called "no climb" fence.  We found him, the next morning, in with the heifers and politely asking to return to the main herd.  We reunited the herd and carefully planned our next move.  Meanwhile, the heifers decided to stage another push through the fence and our bull, now sensitive to their absence, pushed HIS way through the fence.  Fence staples popped like popcorn as he leaned his weight in between the second and third strand of the barbed wire until the fence sagged like the back of a sway backed horse.  Luckily, there was a perimeter fence to stop them from leaving the property, but we were spooked enough to build a bull pen for our bull.  He tested the boards for about 30 minutes and then settled down with his favorite cow as his companion.  No one ever wants a bull outside of his fences, no matter how gentle he seems to be.

Meanwhile, I breathed a sigh of relief, we patched up the fence, once again, and everything seemed fine until I got THE CALL.  All farmers know which one I'm talking about.  The dreaded "Your cows are out" call.  For reasons beyond my understanding, several of my cows, along with the aforementioned naughty calves, perhaps feeling the desire for salvation, pushed through the pasture fence, followed by the perimeter fence, and invaded the Baptist church yard next door.  When I showed up, these lovely people had already returned the wandering beasts to their pasture.  An enthusiastic motorist also joined in the fun.  Since we go to the Catholic church, I suppose you could call it a nice, ecumenical, moment of loving one's neighbor.  We put all the cows and calves into the "time out" corral.  Then, the following day, our son and I walked next door with a bucket and manure fork to remove the remains of their visit.  We thanked the church members profusely and assured them that we would prevent any future attempts by our animals to stage an impromptu live nativity scene.

The herd is now locked up until we replace the patchwork, folk art, fencing with something more secure.

The bull pen.

Adventures with Sheep, Chapter One

A few years ago, I came up with the bright idea that Florida native sheep, known for their browsing abilities, would make good weed eaters, and thus remove the thorny blackberry bushes that the cattle and horses ignore.  I dreamed of frolicking in lovely, thorn-free pastures.  In fact, I daydreamed that they would take a liking to other noxious plants, such as hogweed and soda apple.  With these happy thoughts, I approached a sheep breeder.  We worked out a deal and I loaded up a ewe and her two wether (castrated male) lambs.  The first thing I noticed about our new additions was that they were suspicious of my every move and not interested in being friends.  The breeder explained that native sheep are naturally independent and flighty.  That's fine, as long as they run off and independently munch up on yucky, thorny, plants.

To my delight, our new browsers did nibble at a few leaves of the blackberry bush, but they also demanded expensive peanut hay and good feed.  They very soon forgot all about the blackberry bushes and wanted more of the tasty stuff.  Perhaps I spoiled them.

I made no inroads into becoming a shepherdess.  They didn't trust any more than they trusted your average coyote or wolf.  They still regarded me as dangerous, despite the fact that I fed them, smiled at them, called them nice names (to their faces) and never made any offensive jokes (in front of them).

The only slight bit of affection the sheep ever had for me was upon meeting our eager German Shepherd.  The ewe almost leaned on me, but stopped herself and threw a proud, indifferent, look in my direction instead.  Our dog is a lovely creature, with absolute loyalty, devotion, and a sense of duty.  Well, his 'sense of duty' indeed kicked in when he saw the sheep.  His gratitude at what he thought was a gift for him and him alone was apparent in his eyes as he perked his ears so high that they almost touched.  He whined and rubbed against me as if to thank me for his own, life-sized, genuine, sheep flavored, chew toys.  He was absolutely beside himself with a desire to 'help'.  His eyes pleaded for a chance to 'play' with our newest additions.  Never was a dog so disappointed.  Although he had a few lessons in sheep herding, he was far from fully trained.  On the few occasions I did allow him to help me move the sheep, he spent most of the time in a down-stay, panting and whining.

As the temperature increased, I realized that shearing the sheep was necessary.  I thought that surely a $14 pair of sheep shears would do the trick for only three sheep.  I failed to consider that these sheep were originally kept in a crowded pen at the breeder's farm, which meant their wool had many dirty patches, especially the closer I got to their skin.  Four hours later, on that steamy hot day in May, I had one sheared sheep with a new look that would have earned me expulsion from even the lowest rated beautician school, and a grumpy, but cooler sheep.  I managed not to actually nick her, but she did have some pink spots where I came very close.  Meanwhile, I was covered from head to toe with grime, sweat, and lanolin.

This experiment was a failure.  Since they weren't even friendly, we never bonded with our sheep so we decided to sell the ewe and her two nearly full grown lambs.  An ad brought a quick response from a gentleman with a heavy Middle Eastern accent.  I understood that his truck was in the shop, but he would come and get the sheep anyway.

A four door sedan came to our farm later that day.  A large blanket was draped over the back seat and the gentleman (originally from Jordan) told me about his young family and their small flock.  He was pleased with the sheep and didn't even laugh at my shearing job (it had grown out a little).  His plans for the ewe were to breed her to his ram and he told me about how his children gentled all the lambs.  After we shook hands, he grabbed hold of the ewe and slid her into the back seat.  She was in the sitting position and pretty much stayed where he put her, though she did let us know her displeasure (Baa!).  In went the two lambs, one after the other until all three were seated on their butts in the back seat with their front legs up in the air. He shut the door and the nearest sheep fogged up the window slightly with his breath.  "Baa, baa, baa.." went the sheep in the car.  The gentleman had to drive to another town.  I wondered if three sheep in the back of a sedan (which actually looked like his wife's car because of the little knickknacks hanging from the rear view mirror) would cause a significant disruption in traffic.  My fingers twitched at the thought of a picture for prosperity, but it would have been rude.  Plus, the gentleman was in a hurry.  Perhaps to make sure he could return the car to his dearest undefiled and unsheeped before she was the wiser.  He seemed to be a nice man, I do hope his wife didn't make him sleep in the barn that night.

Finding myself suddenly sheepless, I actually missed their pleasant noises, despite their disdain for me.

It would be several years before I tried sheep again.  This time, it would be lovely, affectionate sheep that can live here as long as they like, whether or not they ever nibble a single leaf of a thorny bush.  But that story will have to wait until next time.  :)

Phoenix the Wonder Horse

I have held many different jobs in my lifetime.  I worked for various farms and ranches, worked for the police in both California and Colorado, served in the US Navy for nine years, first as enlisted and then as an officer, and even did internships with both the CDC and the US Senate.  Those first jobs included shoveling poo.  In fact, many of my jobs had elements that could be described as 'manure handling' (especially in the military) but actually physically moving horse poop or cow poop has always been a side skill of mine.  Not something that appears directly on a resume ('handled over eight tons of prime post digested hay') but nevertheless, it's been a recurrent side job of mine since I was thirteen years old and really wanted to ride a neighbor's horse.  Ever since I got my own horse at fifteen, I have been cleaning up after horses off and on throughout most of my life.

It was while proving my poop handling skills that I met Phoenix.  His owner was a friend of the folks I was working for at a barn in northern Virginia.  At the time, I was an NROTC student at George Washington University in DC and worked at the twenty stall barn for a little extra cash.  The owner brought him in and I tested him out in the indoor arena.  At nine years old, he was fairly young but still green.  He knew his arena job, but the outside world brought out the snorts and spooks.  He hadn't been trained on the trails and what I wanted was a trail horse.  However, he had a good mind and responded to praise.  It was also apparent he enjoyed attention.  I thought he would make a nice trail horse, even if he was a little spoiled and spooky.

Phoenix is a registered American Quarter Horse and was 'saddled' with the registered name "Buckle Pal".  Either word doesn't quite roll off the tongue easily, so his previous owner called him Dakota, but a dear friend of mine had just put down a beloved horse with a similar name so I changed his name to Phoenix.  He is a golden palomino with a white mane and tail, so the sunny city was the first name that popped into my mind.  

His training began immediately.  He was from Texas originally so the crowded dark forests of Virginia's Great Falls Park were completely foreign.  His most serious spooks happened whenever a leaf skittered across the paved road near the trail.  It occurred to me that the sound "tika-tika-tika-tika" was not unlike a Texas rattlesnake.  Perhaps that's why Phoenix reacted to that sound.  He eventually accepted the vicious leaves as non-threatening.  The squirrels and deer moving suddenly proved to be the next challenges.  I taught him the words "squirrel" and "deer" to identify those sounds for him.  He learned quickly and new challenges were more readily accepted, like the fox that appeared suddenly in front of us.  Or the mountain bikes careening over a hill ahead.  I discovered he liked water and would play in it at every opportunity.  His rubber water trough was a plaything first and source of water second.  

As a Quarter Horse, I suspected Phoenix had some propensity for moving other creatures about, such as cattle, but we had few opportunities while I was in college.  It wasn't until a year later that I finally had the chance to test him and he proved to be almost too aggressive towards the poor bovines.  One day, as a seasoned trail horse now, Phoenix and I were quietly pursued by a wolf hybrid dog that was off leash.  Phoenix revved up quickly into almost a full panic when the creature was close to his heels.  I stopped Phoenix and spun him around towards the animal.  The beast stopped and there was a pause as prey and predator stared at each other.  I urged Phoenix forward saying, "get the cow", the same command I used at our recent bovine playdate.  There was a brief eye rolling "Are you freaking nuts?" response from Phoenix, but he did take one tentative step forward.  The creature stepped back.  Another brief pause, and then Phoenix lowered his head slightly, pinned his ears slightly and the new chase was on!  The wolf-dog ran all the way down the trail, right back to his owners, with his tail tucked.  Phoenix snorted and pawed while I held him at bay and chewed out the owners before riding off.  Phoenix practically pranced down the trail after that.  I'll bet he couldn't wait to tell his barn buddies what happened.  We used the same technique on a German Shepherd dog someone had let loose with the same effect.  The park was quite clear about dogs being on leash and those dogs with strong drives definitely posed a threat to wildlife.  

Phoenix and my retired AQHA mare, Ellie, became my Navy brats after I was commissioned.  We lived in Rhode Island while I was in training and then onto Norfolk, VA.  Phoenix and I conquered the trails that Paul Revere rode in Massachusetts as well as Yorktown, VA, Gettysburg, PA and Manassas, VA.  We were in a parade in Fredericksburg, VA.  Phoenix and I carried the flag for the King Neptune parade in Virginia Beach, VA after I returned from deployment.  I even hung lights on him for an evening Christmas parade in Chesapeake, VA and he never flinched.  I boarded him on an Air Force base and he was 'jet broke'.  F-16s taking off right over didn't phase him, nor did the mortar fire at the practice range.  He truly was bomb proof now.  

Phoenix was part of our wedding reception when my husband and got married.  A year later, I gave this trusty steed to my husband and they make a good team.  Phoenix is our farm's horse mascot and has given many first rides to children when we have a Farm Day for families from our parish.  

He is unusual for a horse because he loves to have his face petted and even hugged.  I took him to a medical supply repair facility and he was shown every possible medical device.  He never flinched.  Soon afterwards, I took him to the local Veterans' hospital to visit with the long term care patients.  He put his head ever-so-gently in a wheelchair patient's lap, closed his eyes and enjoyed the attention.  He is that sort of horse.  A rare gem of a horse that seems to know what's needed.  

Most recently, Phoenix went to our son's Catholic school for Cowboy Day.  The Catholic daycare next door even brought the little ones out to meet him.  He gladly accepted petting on his nose and head from every child that came up, no matter how clumsy they were or how loudly they squealed with delight.  He does a few tricks as well, so that helped entertain the kids.  He really enjoys visiting children so it was an easy day for our old bomb-proof trail master.   

At 22 years old, Phoenix has slowed down a bit and has a few minor ailments, but we try to keep him comfortable and happy.  He is officially retired from harassing the cattle, but we still take him out for trail rides.  The older cows still respect him.  He is a great family horse and worthy of all the attention he gets.  

I still do side work as a professional animal waste removal engineer, but only on our farm.  I would have never met Phoenix if I hadn't had that little college side job shoveling horse poop.  One should never be too proud for a humble job as a stablehand.  You never know when you might meet the horse of a lifetime.  

                                                                      Summer picture

Winter fuzzy picture

                                                               Christmas parade

   
                                                               Our son's first ride.

Fiona Goes To Church

A few years ago, we took ten of our Dexter Cattle to the County Fair.  Little four month old Fiona was tied up closest to where we were camped out during the day and this is what happened:

This last picture shows how cowlicks are really created.

Our son, John, and little Fiona bonded during the Fair.  They have grown up together since then and Fiona actually belongs to our son.  She is now three and a half years old and he is almost five years old.  She adores him.  All of our cows are friendly, but she is the most persistent about checking your pockets when you walk through the pastures and following you around like a big puppy.  She is polite and not at all pushy about her affections, which makes her ideal around children.  She is also our photobomb cow.  If you try to take a picture of the pasture or scenery, she will pop in looking for handouts.  Here is her hopeful look as I was taking pictures just yesterday:

Two weeks ago, I was asked to assist with our church's Vacation Bible School Program.  There were over 100 children, ages 3-10 attending.  I helped teach various subjects through the week.  Friday called for a lesson involving farm animals.  I took Phoenix, our therapy horse, Donkeyotee, our sweet donkey, and Fiona.  Friday morning began early as I haltered and bathed all three in the predawn hours to keep allergens down as well as keep them cool during the long trailer ride into town.  I loaded them into our three horse trailer, with Fiona hopping right up into the last stall.  I set up a portable corral for Fiona in the shade and spent time soothing her with some grooming.  The horse and donkey were set up in another pen next to the trailer.  We had two picnic tables acting like bleachers in front of a grassy area and I walked each animal up to introduce them to the children.  Then, the children were allowed to feed a treat to one of them.  I picked Fiona for the littlest kids because of her size and how easy it is to feed her a molasses horse biscuit (her favorite).  The little ones giggled at her sticky long tongue and "wet, doggy nose".  After the presentation, kids were allowed to walk around and visit with the animals in their pens.  I monitored closely for signs of stress, but, if anything, the animals relaxed more as the day progressed.

Fiona is exactly, not only what a Dexter cow should be, but what a family cow should be.  She's friendly, easy to handle, gentle and intelligent.  She learns quickly and adapts to new routines remarkably.  Everyone was fascinated with Fiona's size and personality and I think there are many new Dexter cattle fans in our area.  One young girl even asked her dad for a cow for her birthday!

Regrettably, I can't show you the happy smiles from the children, for privacy reasons, but here is a picture of Fiona enjoying her day with the kids:

Gus The Feral Shetland Pony

Donkeyotee and Phoenix have been turned out together since Donkey was 7 months old.  In fact, when designing our horse barn, we built an extra big stall at one end so they could share winter quarters.  They love to tussle and play fight, but the vet said 'no more'.  Phoenix is 21 years old this year and was diagnosed with navicular.  He is sound enough for light riding, but has more bad days than good when he roughhouses with Donkey, so our vet recommended that they be separated.  Poor Donkey pouted this winter in his private corral.  We decided he needed a little companion. Fortunately, I heard about a Shetland Pony that lost his donkey companion and was also pouting. Good fit, right?

Well, except that the pony was feral.  He didn't even have a name.  I went to meet him anyway.  The owners had trapped him in a cattle chute, using feed, then wrestled him into a corner and put a halter on him. They told me the last time they did this, he got the halter off by rubbing his head on the ground until it came over his ears and off his head. They had given up on him and were going to send him to a bad auction here in Florida (along with cull cows, if that gives you any idea of the type of auction).  When I met him, he was shaking from fear while the two owners held him with two lead ropes.  I asked if I could try to lead him and used treats to get his attention (it worked).  He did seem to quiet a little as I walked calmly and carefully.  I led him around their yard and he seemed eager to please despite his fear.  I told them that I would take him if he loaded into my trailer. Of course he walked right in!  He is 10.1 hands tall and his previous owners did not know his age because he came from a neighbor.  His height and build mean he is too large for a mini and clearly in the Shetland Pony size range.  He also has the leg feathering and stockiness of a Shetland.  In honor of his Scottish origins, I named him Feargus (Gus for short).  He is a lovely little silver bay colored pony.

Here's Gus that first day:

At home, I carefully unloaded him into our round pen for quarantine since his vaccine history was unknown, his deworming schedule was non-existent, and his feet were in bad shape. Knowing his halter tricks, I took it off.  I started off by just feeding him treats and getting him used to a lead rope moving around him.  Soon enough, he had a relaxed eye around me so we moved on to touching.  He was itchy and this went very well.  I worked with him as often as possible and gained his trust enough to halter him a few times.  I did get a fecal sample checked and it was negative.  After he had been here for a month, I let Donkeyotee in with his new friend.

You can see how much of a pest Donkey is in this video, but he just wanted to play.  By the next morning, it was obvious that Gus was in charge.

Donkeyotee and Gus

Finally, after several more sessions and a formal move into the horse barn with Donkey, Gus was ready for his vet visit.  I arranged for the farrier the same day.  Poor little pony was looked at from head to toe!  He was fully vaccinated, dewormed, trimmed, teeth checked, gelding verified and a Coggins was drawn.  He is 7 years old, his teeth are good, his hooves are much better now, and he is a gelding (YAY!).  All this meant he earned his freedom.  Out to pasture to graze with his new pal, Donkey.  The farm is quieter now.  Donkeyotee is no longer trying to disassemble fences to get in with Phoenix or pouting in that polished donkey way.  Everyone seems content with the new arrangements.  And, best of all, Gus the Feral Shetland Pony is now Gus the Tame Shetland Pony.

All groomed up and dappled:

Incredi-Bull

Remember that fabled trip north from Florida to donate two of our Dexters to a children's farm in Virginia and pick up our new eight month old baby bull?  Yes, the trip where my dear husband and I journeyed with our two year old son over 650 miles and lived to tell about it.

Well, that little bull has grown up.  Armstrong of Paradise is just over two years old and he looks great!

Please excuse the hay on his head.  He had just pulled his head out of the round bale feeder.

He is short in stature, well within the height standards, and has a lovely temperament.  He is gentle and easy to work with.  He also loves oranges, bread, and horse treats.  He can be hand fed treats by our preschooler.  He is a long-legged, Chondrodysplasia free, PHA free, and homozygous for A2/A2 beta casein.  That big mouthful essentially means that he doesn't carry the dwarf gene or a deleterious recessive gene for pulmonary hypoplasia with anascara, and his daughters have the potential to make lovely milk cows.  He has a beefy build and his dam had a lovely shaped udder.

If he had a personal ad, it would read something like this:

"Short, dark, and handsome seeks numerous short term affairs with lady cows.  Likes long ambles through the pasture, snuggling, treats, and mutual grooming.  Muscular build and a true male, but knows how to treat a she-bovine."

I knew he was special but I didn't know he would be in demand.  After some encouragement, and a big fat check from his breeder to pre-pay me for some of his straws, I took him to what we will call "Happy Camp".  The artificial insemination facility will collect 300 straws so we can share this good bull with Dexter cows all over the US.  It really is a nice thing to own such an animal.  I hope next year, I will see pictures of some of his calves produced by other breeders.

Our goal as Dexter breeders is to produce good tempered cattle that have a sound build and, that Holy Grail of cattle breeding; a true dual purpose animal for both dairy and beef.   We breed only long-legged cattle and sell our heifers as family milk cows.  Several of our cows are currently making gourmet cheese.  Some animal breeders might prefer to keep their best animals to themselves, but we feel that anything that improves these friendly little cows, keeps them employed and useful, will also help ensure that they will continue to be around 100 years from now.  Since we really enjoy these little guys, that makes us smile.