Heart Attack

Yesterday afternoon I wandered outside to collect the mail. While outside I made my way back to the corrals to check on my critters. Bella came bounding up to me spraying blood with each stride. Her entire right side of her head/neck area was bright red. My heart lodged in my throat I tried to get her to lie down so I could take a closer look. There was so much blood I couldn't tell where it was coming from. Running back into the house I pulled on a pair of latex gloves.

Bella knew something was up and I was home alone so I was on my own. Using my happy voice I coax her into her shed, using my hands I carefully start sifting through her hair looking for the source of the blood wondering all the while if this would be another vet bill. Meanwhile blood continues to stream from her head. Gently lifting her ear I discover the source. She has somehow sliced the tip of her ear open. Relief settles in. I have no idea how she cut her ear but I was so happy it was something so small. I locked her up so I could check to make sure the bleeding stopped.

You could tell it was a long way from her heart because when I let her out she was as playful and bouncy as ever. Other than the dried blood all over her side you couldn't even tell she'd hurt herself.

Photo: Bella after being cleaned up a bit.

Derek the Farrier

This morning when I completed my chores I also put halters on everyone, flipping the attached lead rope over each back and leaving them to eat breakfast. Derek the farrier was coming out to do our bimonthly ritual. Every six to eight weeks Derek comes out to my place to trim, shoe or reset my various horses feet. While in the dregs of Winter my horses generally run barefoot. All this means is he trims their feet much as we trim our toenails. Like it is for us, it's uncomfortable for a horse to have too long of toe nail (hoof). The foot is literally the foundation of the horse. If there is something wrong with your horse's foot, the likely-hood of your horse being lame is quite high.

Derek is a cowboy who always entertains me with a story or two and his opinions. His current story circles around his new (1 month old) baby boy. It's funny for me seeing someone like Derek get googly eyed over a child. Today Derek and I started with my babies. Buddy was up first. Because Buddy hadn't been touched prior to July when I bought him he sometimes tests Derek. Buddy had been showing improvement with daily handling but the weather means I've been neglecting his training. Buddy of course had to try to mouth Derek and myself. While I'm trying to hold his head off of Derek's back and my arms, Buddy is doing the leg jig. Derek has been blessed with unlimited patience when working with young horses.

Roxy (formerly Stella) came next. Roxy also had had no handling prior to my purchase of her. I was geared up for a battle but she was a little superstar. Stood there like a champion. Whiskey my old campaigner was the last horse of the day. By this time my hands and feet are cold, Derek looks up and dryly wonders if I'm as cold as he is. Whiskey is normally easy to maintain. Unfortunately because she's been sore on her hind she's compensating and the pressure on the remaining feet is causing a strange growth pattern. This means she will need to be trimmed more frequently.

While Derek was working on Whiskey we got to talking about some current events. Making news here is an outdoorsman who abandoned two horses in a somewhat remote mountain clearing. Remember the weather has been brutal north of the 60th these past few weeks. Derek went off on how this man is a disgrace. This past week the horses were discovered by snowmobilers. The snowmobilers who lived in a nearby community organized a rescue operation for these horses. I'm attaching a link to the Edmonton Journal for you to read the story. Will it upset you as much as it upset Derek?

http://www.edmontonjournal.com/Horse+rescuers+race+against+weather/1107651/story.html

http://www.edmontonjournal.com/Owner+tried+twice+save+horses/1125336/story.html

Reba's Road Trip

As my alarm went off this morning at 6:30 I opened my eyes to the dark and wondered what on earth possessed me to wake up this early on my holiday. I was cozily pondering life when I recalled why I was getting up before the sun. Reba's road trip. I had made plans with Abe Marshall to go work sheep at his place. Suddenly motivated I got myself chored up, showered, fed and loaded up for the little over 2 hour drive to Abe's.

My car's heated seats made me particularly happy as the temperature of the car remained on the cool side to prevent Reba from getting too warm on the drive. After some slight navigational issues (he had told me West when I needed to go East) I found Abe's farm. The weather when I left home was a balmy -15 with absolutely no wind. The weather at Abe's was a not so balmy -15 with a frigid wind. Snugly in my wind resistant, water resistant lined jeans, toque and mittens on I began reminding Reba of the simple things like coming to her name and lying down on command.

Using one of Abe's older dogs to help keep the sheep centered we started our work. Reba of course did not do any of the things she so enjoys doing at home. Instead she was entranced with the brown sheep of the group. She would chase after this sheep, out of the flock and around the pen. You could then watch me run through the snow trying to cut her off. I'm sure Reba had more fun than I did.

While I didn't have a super good work with her the mission was to work some different sheep. Abe thought Reba was a dandy little dog. (Yea!) And it turned out he had raised her father so he was very interested in her papers. He also reassured me that taking it slow was okay and to not worry so much about seeing progress as she's still young.

Wanted: One Good Ram

A year ago when I made the decision to get some sheep for the dog I needed to figure out precisely what I wanted and needed. Was I looking for dog broke vs fresh, wether vs ewe, wool vs hair? What breeds and ages would I consider? How many could my pasture sustain? To help me make an informed decision I borrowed Ken's 3 dog broke wethers thus giving me time to do some research. I contacted the Sheep Producers who sent me out a fabulous little information package. All I needed to know about sheep basically. I also had a number of drawn out conversations with my uncle who had bred sheep for years.

I finally settled on buying some ewes that I could breed and help pay for their hay. I'd also need some wethers for when the ewes were out of commission. After much thought I felt the Dorset breed would suit what I wanted from them the best. I knew that I could count on Ken for the dog broke wethers. My uncle told me not to worry about buying a ram. When the time came, he'd bring his Ille De France ram down to do the duty. My uncle lived 7 hours north of me in Northern British Columbia. This fall he lost his battle with cancer so my trip up north didn't involve a ram but a funeral.

Needing the ram now (I want grass lambs), I had to do some problem solving. One of my dog guys, Norman Schmuland (who I bought my ewe lambs from) offered the use of his Dorset ram. Yesterday we went to Norm's place and picked up the ram. Now I wait, and watch for action.

Ahh, the joys of farming.

Cabin Fever

I woke up this morning to a much warmer world. Warm by my arctic standards anyhow. For the last few days I had been highly irritated by everything in my little world. (Being sick is not helping.) Reba was being a super brat and the horses seemed out to spite me. So last night I sat down to think it out. It came to me that not only did I have cabin fever, but the animals also had cabin fever. Let's face it, I was not the only one who has been cooped up for the better part of two weeks.

It was great news to discover the weather is supposed to break this weekend. With temperatures moving up into the -10 degree range. So I sit in my home office, day-timer out in front of me and begin emailing and calling my "dog guys". A huge part of being successful at a sheep or stock dog trial is to understand that even if your dog is well trained at home, they need to be well trained at a variety of strange locations. In order to accomplish this you (the trainer) need to be willing to travel and work you dog at other people's places.

Over the course of the next week (while I'm on holidays) I'm going to attempt to take Reba to 3 different stock dog guys places. Even though Reba is at the Kindergarten stage of her training getting her out is a very important step. As a trainer its also good to work with other trainers. I spend most of my time working alone. This means I have no one to watch me, perhaps Reba's bad behavior is an off-shoot of something I'm doing, this can only be discovered by a second set of knowledgeable eyes. Good trainers are willing to learn from other trainers and adapt their behavior to meet each animal's needs.

I'm literally vibrating with excitement.

Pet Peeve

While this is slightly off my normal way of doing things one of my greatest pet peeves occurs during this time of year. I fully and completely hate it when people give animals as Christmas presents. All too often when the cute little puppy or kitten becomes an adolescent full of vim and vigor they become casualties of the house. Ending up in pounds or dumped to fend for themselves.

An animal is not something to bring into your household as a whim. They are long term commitments that cost money to maintain and time to train and care for. I strongly encourage anyone considering getting a pet, spend some time at the SPCA, talk to qualified professionals. Become educated animal owners before you bring your adorable bundle of joy home. Before you even commit to your cute bundle of joy.

Okay - I'm done venting.

Dad's Cows

This past spring my father was diagnosed with Prostate Cancer. His treatment plan would involve him having surgery on the prostate. Because he had his prostate checked, the cancer was caught at an extremely early stage, meaning the surgery was the only thing he'd need to have done. While this was good the timing was particularly bad.

His surgery was originally scheduled in January but got bumped back to March. Traditionally dad starts calving out around the middle of March. Dad has been downsizing his herd for the past 5 years and he only has 8 cows left. (Plus a bull.) With my brothers conveniently working out of town or night shift, this left me to take care of my father's crazy cows. In March in Alberta this means tractor chores such as moving bales of hay and straw, in addition to doing calving checks.

The day prior to my dad's surgery he's outside bellaring for me to come learn how to feed the cows. You can imagine his surprise when he goes to teach me how to drive the tractor and I already know how. (I have all kinds of skills I don't always share with my father lest I get sucked into one of his backward and antiquated strategies for handling farm life.) Lurching off we go, and I successfully get the bales moved and strings cut. Meanwhile my dad's "cow" lesson continues. He points out a brown cow (they're all brown and look alike) telling me this one gets snuffy when she has a calf. Fabulous. Just what I wanted to hear.

While dad is in the hospital the calves start to come. Because I'm still working full time I do my only and final night check at 11 pm. This means the cows have to fend for themselves until I get up at 6. Not ideal but I'm one of those need a lot of sleep people. Normally the cows have no issues calving. Of course with my dad out of the action this year has to prove the exception. When Big Red calved she ended up dropping twins. Seeing she'd had one and she was cleaning it up, I went back into the house. An hour later I went out only to see her in a different straw pile licking a calf. Baffled I walked around the herd only to see the first calf lying where she left it. This got me to worrying. So using my handy rattle paddle I get the calves up, moving them into one of the fenced three sided shelters. With a wary eye on mom I get the whole family locked in the shelter. Pitch fork in one hand, paddle in the other I begin the tedious process of forking straw and hay into the shelter. Next job is hauling water by hand out to the cow. Finally I sit back to watch. Big Red didn't seem too interested in the first calf. So I call up Dee (a veteran of calving time) and ask about twins. Telling me not to worry too much, make sure both were sucking and leave them alone. Good enough.

The next day when I got home from work I noticed a cow with a dirty bum. (Afterbirth.) Only I couldn't find her calf. My dad who by this time was home and getting more mobile comes out to look with me. He kept trying to tell me one of the twins was hers, I kept trying to tell them they were both spoken for. Finally in the deep straw was a stillborn. The calf had clearly been born dead. My mom and I suit up, grab the sled and begin the grisly process of removing the calf from the corral. This is necessary to keep the predators away and to keep the corral space cleaner and more healthy. (Yes, after each calf I'd walk around with a pitch fork removing afterbirth.) We manage to get the calf on the sled and begin the hike up the hill in thigh deep snow to drop the calf a safe distance away from the yard. (Sorry no quad and my horse was at a barn that year.) It was a nasty and upsetting job.

As the weekend rolled around it was time to drop more feed and bedding for the cattle. My dad being mobile felt it necessary to come supervise. There I am on the tractor with a bale in front and behind me, ear protection on and watching my dad gesturing with a pitchfork to drop the bale here, no a foot to the left, a half a foot to the right. I'm sure the sky would have come crashing down if I'd put the straw anywhere else.

I'm not sure who was happier my dad or myself when he was once again well enough to do his own chores. Wondering about the snuffy cow, of course she dropped her calf first. Good times.

Photo: One of dad's cows.