Eight Legged Terror

My husband hates spiders. Not just your average, ‘ugh, a spider’ but full blown “KILL IT DEAD, THEN KILL IT, AGAIN, JUST BECAUSE” type of dedicated hatred. His eyes gleamed when I jokingly suggested mounting the trophies of his dead foes on a plaque for all to admire.

So, anyway, one morning, he got into his truck and started it up. Now, this was back when we lived in Florida, which is the Land of Fearful Creeping Things. A small spider woke from his nap, probably hadn’t even had his coffee, yet, and slid down a line of silk to see what that disturbance was below. He was hiding, incidentally, behind the truck’s visor on the driver’s side, so, when he made his appearance to my fully alert, well-caffeinated, beloved, they were eyeball to many eyeballs. My husband was in the midst of backing the truck past my farm truck when he and Spider met. There was a millisecond when Spider swung mere centimeters back and forth in front of hubby’s eyes. Then, my husband exploded out of the truck to escape. The truck, still being in reverse, moved past my truck and the driver’s door bent backwards and scraped down the side of my farm truck before hubby realized and jumped back in to stop it. He was absolutely mortified that his fear had gotten the best of him. We got the door bent back so he could get to work and off he went, demoralized.

I called the insurance company and explained what happened. There was silence on the line. Then, the adjuster asked me, “Well, did he kill the spider?”

Winter Adventures

We moved from what Florida called a farm to what here counts only as a hobby farm, which characterizes it well. Our animals are essentially freeloaders. We knew we had to build an enclosed barn for the three goats because they are the most vulnerable to drafts and cold, but the horse, pony, and donkey could also use shelter.  After much planning and research, weconverted a three sided shed into a barn with three stalls and a sliding door. We also updated the electric for bucket heaters. That worked out well. The animals are sheltered from wind and cold inside the barn on cold nights and during bad weather.

We moved up here for a good job and my husband is an essential type worker, so the Friday of the big blizzard (12/23), We packed into my big older truck to get him to work about seven miles away.  The temperature was close to -36 with the windchill.  Little did we know, lurking along our rural road, was Mr. Drift. At the point my husband’s office was calling to cancel the day’s appointments, we were right in the nest of Mr. Drift. I was carefully turning the truck around, in a 73 point turn, when Mr. Drift grabbed hold of the rear tires, let out a maniacal laugh, and my poor truck showed one of those really bad lights on the dash. I think it was a wrench. Drivetrain issue. Our neighbor, the same wonderful folks that invited us over for a Fourth of July party (which we assumed was so they could identify our bodies when we ended up freezing to death later) pulled the truck out of the clutches of Mr. Drift. Gave us a wry grin and said, “welcome to Minnesota“. I limped the poor truck to the mechanic the following week. As it turns out, my truck is a hypochondriac. It was really cold and it just didn’t feel like working that day. Probably was intimidated by the real farm trucks sneering at its clean underbody.

The very next day, Christmas Eve, our heater broke. Now, if you’re living in a mild climate, this is a mild annoyance.  Along the lines of, “Hey, we should put on a sweater and snuggle by the fire.”  If you live in Minnesota, however, this is a holy-snot-icicles-hanging-from-my-nose three alarm EMERGENCY!  We did some troubleshooting and tried to replace parts ourselves, including the compressor, to no avail. My husband bundled up and took the car (the truck was still in the box of shame) to head out for parts and a couple of space heaters. Thankfully, a lovely soul of an electrician from the parts store came out and determined it was the control board.  He temporarily bypassed it until the replacement came in. As he was leaving, he waved, chuckled to himself, and said, “welcome to Minnesota!”

So, we‘re still here. We’ve learned the ways of the snow blower, reminded ourselves how to handle driving in winter conditions, revived the ancient art of shoveling, and how to use all those weird pieces of clothing to assemble outfits based on the temperature.We have missed the snow these last fifteen years, having lived in colder climates before we moved down to Florida.

What we don’t miss, as we dress out to do morning chores and chisel frozen horse turds out of the stalls, are flying roaches the size of drones coming for your soul as soon as you open the door. Vicious little scorpions waggling their business ends at you whenever you’re working on fences. Fire ants silently sneaking up your limbs to find choice spots to bite simultaneously. People driving like they’re late for the rapture and you can’t come because you don’t go to their church/ascribe to their politics (all of which are on prominent display on their vehicles). So, they go roaring on by because of an imagined offense, cutting you off, honking, and screaming obscenities while you cower and say a quiet prayer that they won’t pull out an uzi or AK-47.

We can’t wait for next winter!  

The White Stuff

 As mentioned before, only one of of our outdoor animals had ever seen snow before.  My Mustang was rounded up in Nevada, so she had observed the white stuff in small amounts in her desert home.  But this is Minnesota.  Real snow falls here.  In fact, we had a record winter.  So far, we’re in the top ten for snowiest winters on record.  As a family, we’ve learned about snow plows and snow blowers.  Clearing the driveway and shoveling our way off the front porch and into the barns.

That first snowfall was quite a surprise for the outdoor animals.  They were all tucked away inside their new barn overnight.  We built a large pasture and set up the panels as a round pen for turnout.  We don’t have a shelter out there, so the horses can only be turned out when the windchill is above zero.  

One morning, the first snow covered everything overnight and was still falling lightly.  I took the pony out of the barn to turn her out.  Sweet, little Florida raised pony.  Snort!  Stop.  Look of absolute bewilderment.  The whites were showing at the edge of her eyes.  I waited until she took a step.  Another step, and then she was walking cautiously with her head up and nostrils flaring.  I turned her out in the pasture to sort it out for herself.  She pushed her nose into the snow and drew it back snorting.  A look towards me as if saying, “This white stuff is covering my food.”  Bitsey the horse was next.  She was more savvy from her days as a wild horse, but still pawed and snorted at it.  She showed the pony how to paw the snow off the grass.  They were soon trotting with their tails high through the pasture. Lastly, the mini donkey, Tony, was led outside.  He was the first to jump around playfully and discover the slipperiness of it. He caught himself with his legs slightly splayed and reassessed the situation.  More cautious steps forward and then he was turned out with the others.  As a young donkey, he was the daredevil, testing the new surface.  One bit of a slip slowed him down a little, then off again to play.  He pushed his muzzle into the snow and then shook his head.  That was cold!  The goats, however, were having none of it.  Already very judgmental regarding rain, they were not buying its clever frozen disguise.  They made a quick u-turn right back into their stall.  Our two barn cats sleep in the heated workshop overnight, mostly to keep them safe from coyotes.  Ralph the barn cat trotted out behind Minnesota native cat, Polly.  He froze and stared.  His whole world changed.  Polly leapt about playfully in the fresh snow, leaving the cutest polydactyl tracks behind.  Ralph startled when I closed the workshop behind him and then looked up at me and glared before stalking off with irritable steps into the frigid white stuff touching his precious paws.  He wouldn’t even look at me while I turned the horses out and did chores.  The only picture I got of him is from behind.  He was so mad.  

Help!

Transformations

The changes in daylight hours trigger outdoor animals to grow winter coats.  Our animals came from Florida last April, which meant they had already experienced long enough days to mostly shed out.  We blanketed the two horses, the pony, and the donkey until the weather warmed up.  In anticipation of winter temperatures, we worked on converting the three sided shed into an enclosed barn.  This was most critical for the three goats, who can handle cold, but not wind chills.  

This is what we started with.  

This is what we finished by mid October.  We did all the work ourselves, including electrical.  

First Real Autumn

 It’s been so many years since I enjoyed fall.  In Florida, it was the time when you might be able to wear a sweatshirt for about an hour in the morning before giving up and peeling it off.  It was also a good time to work outside without swimming in your own clothes from accumulated sweat.  The red maples would turn, if the days were cold enough, but it was subdued and mild.  It was only a mere suggestion of fall.  

Not so here in Minnesota.  The most intense heat withdraws in September.  October gradually cools and the show begins in the southern part of the state and gradually moves north.  November is when the snow arrives and the leaves disappear under a frosty blanket.  Our farm put on a proud show for the season.  True Autumn has been missed.  

Summer of Kittens

 Looking back, I’m not sure how we did it.  Due to the aftermath of Covid, shelters and rescues had no room.  Funds for spaying and neutering were depleted.  Somehow, we weaned the entire brood together, fed them three times per day, cleaned their litter boxes twice per day, and gave them attention, toys, and started them on solid foods.  They lived in a spare room in the basement.  The mother cats were all locked up until, they dried up, and then were spayed.  Two went to live with a neighbor as her barn kitties (Victoria and Louisa) and Polly stayed with us and became Ralph’s best friend.   

At the height of the kitten madness:

Meanwhile, we put up flyers and screened adopters for the fourteen kittens.  We assisted the aid of a local cat rescue when no more suitable adopters were found (we insisted on inside homes).  We became the foster family for the three remaining kittens and the rescue selected the homes.  It worked out great for two kittens, but one last kitten, Miggy, had no takers.   He went to another foster family.  Meanwhile, we had to put down two of our indoor kitties.  The first was Jacob, the disabled cat that we had rescued as an abandoned kitten and needed twice daily medication.  His neurological injuries were getting the best of him.  The other was our sweet older cat, Tiger, whose hips were going and her health was too fragile for corrective surgery.  Our house seems suddenly empty with the kittens off to their new lives and two of our own cats gone.  We still had Rocky and Audrey (the elderly cat that stayed in the hotel room with us during our trip north).  Miggy, the one remaining kitten still didn’t have a new family.  We brought him back home and adopted him ourselves.  He cheered us all up.  At the end of summer, we had one new barn cat and one kitten to keep for ourselves.  

14 Kittens!

 In my last post, I mentioned three kittens from Polly and five kittens from Louisa.  That’s clearly eight.  What in the world would make me suggest that eight would actually become fourteen?  Ah yes, cat math.  If you have three barn cats on a farm, what is the likelihood that all three are female? And pregnant?  Apparently, 100%.  

The feral gray tabby was elusive but I needed all three fixed in order to carry on without future kittens.  We dropped food for it by the outdoor cat shelter left behind, but it would zoom away if we came within ten feet.  Until one morning.  It rushed at me when I got too close to the shelter.  I pondered this for a minute and tried again.  Same thing.  Rabies?  No, it wasn’t even hissing.  Suspecting something, I loaded a trap and waited.  I brought our son out for evening feeding and the cat was not in the shelter.  A quick peek confirmed my suspicions.  He was absolutely delighted.  He started trying to guess how many more kittens were in there.  Meanwhile, I moved Louisa and Polly into one crate with an attached pen that would keep the kittens in, but the moms could explore the garage during feeding times.  I had one chance to catch this last feral cat.  She was no doubt watching me and would probably feel threatened enough to move her kittens.  We set up the second crate for her in the garage.  The next morning, during her normal feeding time, I placed the trap right in front of her exit from the shelter.  We put wet food inside as bait.  She peeked out, clearly alarmed, hesitated, and then SNAP!  She was in and very unhappy.  I dribbled flea control on her back to confirm to her that I was a horrible person.  Our son had the job of reaching in the dark cat shelter and pulling out the kittens one by one.  So, as you’ve no doubt guessed, they kept coming until six of the little monsters were in the bucket.  We carried the feral cat in the cage, who we named Victoria, and her six offspring into the garage.  Her kittens were named after Queen Victoria’s children.  

With these descriptions, pictures are a must.  First the trapping of Victoria.

Next, Victoria’s babies.  We had two different photo sessions several weeks apart because Victoria was difficult to tame down.  She eventually let us pet her.