Silly Cat

It's cold here.  Very cold.  Yesterday with the wind chill factored in it was around -43 F (or -42).  In other words, blooming cold.  Last night I fed the horses an entire, very rich square bale.  That was their evening feed.  This morning, I fed more.  It did warm up to a balmy - 32C (-26F) today though.

Moxie Cat lives in my little barn.  She keeps my hay free of mice.  This morning she was in the rafters (on styrofoam type insulation).  Giving her the stink eye, I figured she made her way up there (not sure how) so she can make her way down.  Tonight, ten hours after I did my morning chores, I found her still in the rafters, calling me with all the desperation only a cat can muster.  Sighing I called her.  She trotted towards me above my head.  Looking around for something tall enough I braced my ladder against the wall and called her over.  Would the cat use the ladder to descend?  Of course not.

Trying to get it stable enough I began to climb my way up.  She excitedly danced around my head.  Grabbing her with one leather clad mitten I tried to drag her off the roof onto my shoulder.  Like all contrary cats she dug in her claws and refused to leave her refuge of the roof.  Taking more steps up the ladder, I reached a hand up and behind, all the while calling her over.  Tentatively testing me with a paw she began to walk onto my arm.  Encouraging her, I shifted a shoulder up.  Once I felt her claws dig into my thick Carhart coat I began to carefully make my way back down to the safety of the floor.

Dumping her off, I glared at her.  She happily wove around my legs purring and meowing.

Nutty cat.  Tonight I hope she decides to sleep in the insulated house I provide her.  (The barn is insulated but still...)

So You Think You Know The Cold??

I have been utterly spoiled this winter.  Warm balmy days with the sun on my face.  And now, finally, winter has reared it's ugly head.  It's cold.  Bloody cold.  Part of the problem is that I'm no longer acclimatized.  I've gotten soft like those people in Florida who sweater up when a cool breeze blows.  (No offense but us northerners do like to giggle about that.  All in good natured fun.)  Just as I'm sure anyone who lives further north than I do is giggling away at the absurdity of me thinking I know what cold is.

Our temperatures today without the wind chill hovered around the -30 C mark.  Not bad.  Factor in the wind chill and we're sitting at a tropical -40 C.  Did you know that -40 is the same in both Fahrenheit and Celsius?  It is!  *This factoid courtesy the friendly neighborhood Internet.*  I noticed while out cleaning the dog run that the dogs are resisting any outside time.  Who blames them?  This is the weather when you need to watch for colic (horses don't drink as much because of the cold water).  This is the weather when you need to free feed hay to your outside critters.  And this is the weather where you want to crawl back into bed and pull the covers over you head.  *Thanks Jeanne for that little tidbit.*

We don't even have wonderful luscious fluffy snow to make it bearable.  In fact the snow blower I bought in the fall?  Still has tags on.  Hasn't been used once if you can fathom that!

Here's a lovely picture of my fab farm winter look.  Just a side note - when it's cold enough to freeze your exposed flesh in under 10 minutes - it's cold enough to toss any sense of style to the side.  (That wonderful tidbit was according to Environment Canada - we have an extreme wind chill warning in effect.)  Goodie!

FREAK Out!

I'm in the midst of a freak out.  (And immediately scrolling through my head is the song ...freak out, c'est chic... don't know the rest of the lyrics, and there's a really good chance those are wrong...)  No seriously.  I'm having a wee bit of a panic attack/guilt attack.  On Monday I took possession of my new digs.  However, I'd been having a dilly of a time making sure the utilities were transferred into my name.  Major fear and paranoia over frozen water lines - it is that time of year here.  After jumping through ridiculous hoop after hoop everything was finally sorted out yesterday evening.

On Monday, when the realtor handed over the keys and we did our walk through I was oh so happy to discover the missing baseboards - still missing, the massive manure pile - still massive, and the icing on the cake.... they had cut the electric fence and pulled off the power source.  Lovely.  Literally sawed through the tape/line.  To put it politely - I was annoyed.  It's the principle of the thing.  My realtor managed to get the manure pile removed yesterday, but the rest is now my work project.  To compound things I've been getting home late.  Making for wild and crazy dogs.

Whiskey is still at the stable, letting her bag dry up.  I've been fretting about having her inside with winter swiftly approaching.  The plan is to move her to my new place for the next few weeks.  This way she can continue developing her winter coat, and is in a safe place removed from her baby.  This means hauling enough squares to feed her, and ensuring the previous owners junk is gone from the barnyard area.  Add to that stripping the now useless and slack electric wiring off the fencing.  (Heart attack if she got caught up in it!)

Let's not forget I have a major and slightly massive paper due on Monday.  Or that my report cards need to be done immediately after that.  Oh AND I'm moving.  Or trying to before the snow flies.  Garck!  Did I take on too much??

FREAK OUT!!

Here and Gone

There's no doubt about the fact that where I live has real winters. Ones with snow, wind and at times frigid temperatures. This unusually snowy winter has created some extra work for me. I'm a pretty routine creature. And I can be anal retentive about things. One thing that I have an intense dislike of is having dog turds on my lawn. I find it disgusting. With (now) 4 dogs you can imagine the amount of waste material that can accumulate.

On a normal day I would take the dogs out into the field for their morning business, and train (and expect) them to go in the shelter belt for any other deposits. This winter with the ridiculous storms and snow my dogs have taken to leaving their deliveries in the most convenient place for them. This just happens to be my yard. I certainly understand their viewpoint. After all, most places the snow on the field is deeper than they are tall.

All last week we had warm, balmy, melting snow weather. All last week I eagerly anticipated this weekend, and all the wonderful things I'd accomplish. Things like clean up those suddenly appearing turds. And today, after storming all day Saturday, my yard once again looks pristine and clean. Not because I've cleaned anything, oh no, only because everything is once again buried under a layer of snow.

So now, I wait, for the mystery turds to reappear in my yard. Gone today. Here tomorrow.

Brrrr!

While winter has waited, it's now knocking on the door.  A brisk wind and snow flurries are entering the neighborhood.  This coupled with the darker, shorter days, and my favorite time of year (report cards) means a rather dreary feeling.  

Today I rushed home after work to try and catch some daylight.  The plan was to get the animals hunkered down and ready for the nasty weather headed our way.  The horses and sheep got extra hay.  Bella gets extra dog food and the pups got a fresh bed of straw, as well as a dish of food in their run for the night.  I don't normally feed them at night - they're on a three times a day schedule - but with with colder weather I wanted them to have access to the extra calories they'd need to stay warm with.  I also used square straw bales to build a "porch" onto their house.  This should give them some extra protection from the wind and weather and slow down any drafts that may enter their house.  

Meanwhile, Reba has moved into the house semi-permanently.  She has a little coat she wears while outside but just doesn't have enough hair to survive right now.  Poor little monster is bald.  I'm giving her Cod Liver Oil on her food to give her an extra boost.  Here's hoping she gets her hair back soon!

Need a Nap

It seems things are speeding up in my world.  Everything is happening at once.  When Whiskey came home I noticed she was a bit lame on the front.  Checking her out I discovered she had scratches.  Scratches is common during wet, rainy periods.  Sam (vet) confirmed it when she was out preg checking her.  (She's in foal - looks like a late May baby!!)  She gave me some suggestions for treating it.  That was over a week ago.  We've had a bunch of rain the last few days so the treatment plan had to be placed on hold.  

Yesterday, I started washing her pasterns with soapy water (antibacterial dish soap), followed by towel drying the areas and applying Panalog Ointment (a antipuritic, antifungal, and antibacterial cream available at the vet).  Today I ran out of Panalog so I'll be running into the clinic.  This time I'll get them to mix up some scratches cream for me.  (Which has the Panalog in it.)  

While all this is going on Reba has had diarrhea.  Yesterday, I ran into the clinic and picked up some Progut (think doggy Pepto Bismal), and while there Sam thought she should also go on an antibiotic as a preventative measure.  Last night Reba was extremely restless.  She just would not settle.  I've been going to bed at 11 or 12 pm.  I set the space heater for 4 hours (it's been excessively cool here).  Last night Reba woke me up at 1 am.  I opened the door and sent her out.  Only to be woke up again at 3:30, 4:30, 5:00, 7:30, 9:00, and 10:30.  Something's obviously bothering her. 

Worried I checked her bag to make sure it was still soft, took her temperature and weighed all the babies.  I wanted to make sure things looked relatively normal - otherwise I was hauling her into the vets today.  She seemed ok.  And the pups are definitely getting enough to eat!  They are gaining like crazy!  It's so neat to sit and watch their little personalities come out and see them grow.  Did you know even puppies have "dreams" and talk in their sleep?  I had no idea having never been around such young babies.  (My family has always been very focused on spay/neutering of pets.)  They even wag their little tails.  Some are quieter and some are very vocal.  

Today while I treated Whiskey, Reba ran around outside.  And maybe that's part of her problem.  She wants to be with her people and doesn't want to miss out on the action.  All I know is that I'm TIRED!  Tonight I'll wait until she's done nursing, then if she wants to (she always has the choice) I'll take her and Tessa for a walk.  Hopefully her tummy feels better and I get a proper nights sleep.

Who knew having animals would be this exhausting?

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.

Being a Farmer's Daughter

I am a farmer's daughter. In fact, I'm a farmer granddaughter and great-granddaughter. I was raised on stories of how my father's family brought the first Arabians into Russia as the Tsar's horse trainer. Truth or fiction it strongly anchors my heritage as one of being involved with the land and with animals. To further cement my heritage, my maternal grandfather was a pioneer who brought the first rape seed (think canola) to Alberta.

The unfortunate bit is I'm a really bad farmer's daughter. I don't like icky things, I will squeal and jump if a mouse runs across my foot and I have an undeniable panic attack when a grasshopper climbs up into my pants. While these are farmer's daughter's flaws my greatest fall from grace is my fear of my father's cows. (I also have three brothers which means I didn't have to deal with the cows very often.)

Now understand, these cows are not normal cows, they are evil incarnate. These cows will happily chase you. They are spooky and wild-eyed. (For those of you in the cow know they are Limousin crosses.) Perhaps if my father was not in denial about the true nature of his cows and perhaps if my father fostered modern livestock handling skills my fear would never have developed.

Once while visiting a friend who raised and showed purebred Herefords I watched in shocked amazement as she walked out amongst her herd and patted cows here and there. I stood on the safe side of the fence and kept asking "Are you sure that's such a good idea?". Dee meanwhile had a good chuckle at my expense. My father's cows would have run through a fence.

While living in Consort (more cattle than people live there), I had the opportunity to "help" the cowboy I rode for. This would on occasion mean going out and helping round up cattle. These range animals were also not the friendliest of creatures. I have a clear memory of being sent to open a gate (they neglected to tell me the wire was hot), using my rein end to pull the wire apart so I didn't get zapped, and then hearing one of the guys yell, "Better get on your horse, they're coming your way!". Of course the mild panic I was experiencing didn't help me get the gate open any quicker and with my anxiety transferring to the horse I then had to mount a jigging dancing fool.

A few years ago my parents left on vacation, leaving me to take care of their animals. As it was October dad put out a bale of hay for the cattle, telling me to not let them in with it until at least the end of the month. As best laid plans go awry, we got snow in the middle of the month. A lot of snow. This meant no grass for the cows to eat. As they ate the bale down I began to worry. Calling my brother who lives 3.5 hours away I asked him who he knew that could help me.

My godsend was a guy named Stroh. Because the concept of using the tractor with a round bale on the front (it's an old school with no cab) scared the crap outta me - courtesy of a visit to my maternal grandfather's farm directly after someone had flipped their tractor and killed themselves - I needed someone to move the bales. I politely warned Stroh that I was a very poor farmer's daughter. I don't think he believed me until he saw me in action.

My job was to cut the binder twine after he dropped the bales into the feeders. Well, the cows were good and hungry and proceeded to swarm the bales. This sent me clambering up the bale feeder putting me safely out of bunting range on the bale. Stroh of course calmly walked over and began cutting strings. It was with mild embarrassment that I carefully climbed down and made my way to the safety of the fence. While my reaction may have been over the top, I have been hunted down by these cows and it's left a sour taste. (While I was still in college one of the cows cornered me in the hay shed, I would still be there if my rope horse hadn't come in and kicked the crap out of the cow, ears pinned letting me exit.)

Stroh even offered to teach me how to drive the tractor, you can imagine his surprise when I told him I knew how, I just would rather not. I did warn that I'm not a good farmer's daughter.

Cow saga to be continued...

Simple Pleasures

Perhaps it's the seasonal change. Perhaps its the fact that after a week off I've had to return to my "real" job, but I've been feeling very reflective. I live far enough north at this time of year we lose sunlight at an alarming rate. This means my morning chores are completed in the dark. And my evening chores are completed in the dark. In order to arrive at work on time I need to leave the property by 8:00 in the morning. Chores take 30 - 40 minutes doing the bare minimum. Meaning I have the pleasure of doing chores by yard and flashlight. When cleaning the dog kennels (that at this point don't have a light), I hold the flashlight in one hand and scan for poop. Next I maneuver the laden shovel and flashlight out of the kennel to the poop drop spot. All this time the dogs are cavorting about around me, waiting to go for their "run" in the field.

I find the routine of my chores strangely soothing. Everyday I do the same things. You would think I'd get tired of it all. I will admit to taking an animal hiatus for a few years. I had one dog and put the horse in a barn. This freed up an astounding amount of time. But was not nearly as rewarding. I missed the welcome I receive. When I go out in the morning or when I come home from work the animals are enthusiastically waiting.

There is a special kind of purity in watching the dogs play in the field. Having a dog lean against your legs for a pet. Seeing the horses prance and blow with their release into the frosty fields. It makes me smile. It some days makes my heart feel like its going to pop out of my chest with love. Animals present such unconditional love. All they ask is that you take care of them. Spend some time with them.

My animals help make me a better person. A person I'd want to know.