Animal Pictures

Ryder and Diva racing in the park.

Guinness catching a nap.

Guinness and Bacardi stalking me - kept following me making picture taking very challenging.

Bacardi

Buddies having drink.

New sheep.

Wild...

Guinness - fat little fart!

Perhaps this is why he's so fat!

Bella, with her sheep.

Black Sheep

Baa, baa, black sheep have you any wool?

No ma'am, no ma'am, only ten stitches full!

On Thursday when we brought the sheep into the corral to work, I noticed my little black ewe had a gash on the side of her neck towards her shoulder.  So we pulled the sheep into the shed, sorted her off.  I realized once I began to treat her just how large a gash it was.  Leaving her, I made a plan to call the vet in the morning (sorry, no emergency calls for sheep here).  

The only clinic in the area that deals with sheep is Uncas Vet (not my normal clinic), so I called, explained the situation and they kindly fit us in.  Once there little black ewe got a cleaning, hair cut and examination.  She ended up getting 10 stitches that we're praying will hold.  If the flap is able to heal it'll be fine, otherwise it'll pull back, and the stitches won't hold.  The gash is about 30 cm top to bottom and about 15 cm wide.  Basically, the skin was peeled off her.  Of course, she did it while she was out in the grassy field.  Go figure...

One of the vet techs suggested putting an old t-shirt on her to help keep the laceration clean and bug free.  Fingers crossed but it seems to be working.  With the help of my brother we changed t-shirts today and I put on some DermaGel because it looked a bit oozey.  I think I may be a bit twisted because at $180 I thought it was a cheap vet bill...

New Addition

We have a new addition to the farm! One of the office staff at work has two ewes. One ended up getting mastitis. And after trying to work, and keep the little gaffer alive, we came to an agreement. My dad has decided to take the little fellow under his wing and bottle feed him. Barb was calling him Kyle, but I'm not so sure Kyle is a name I'm going to keep. Cute little fart! Closing in on two weeks old in this picture. Bella is in love and taking her guardian responsibilities very seriously.

Wordless Wednesday

Plan Unexpected

My plan for tonight was to take the dogs (Reba and Tessa) for a run in the park.  There's a nice loop that's just under 5 km (3 mi).  I enjoy trail running and the dogs for the most part run free.  When I got home I wanted to work with the horses.  However, while out doing chores I noticed one of my sheep seemed especially agitated.  She was crying and pawing and basically looked like a horse who was colic-ing.  So I stopped and watched.  This is when I noticed her back having convulsions.  Worried that she was having trouble I stuck around - just in case.

There I am standing in my work clothes (as I hadn't changed into my running clothes yet), my farm shirt over my nice T-shirt and capris.  May I say - light colored capris.  Of course the sheep has to lamb in the worst possible spot.  By the shed in the horses poop spot.  Fabulous.  Feeling slightly panicky I notice there appears to have a foot back.  But the sheep manages to push it.  After anxiously waiting for the lamb to suck everything settles down.  Number two pops out without much effort.  (Ha - so says the observer!)  But number two has some trouble sucking.  

Once everything sucked and things looked good I moved the lambs and sheep into the shed.  It's cleaner and is a private spot for her to bond with her babies.  The other sheep were intensely curious but would bunt the babies which made me nervous.  Also curious were Bella (Maremma) and Moxie (cat) neither who have been around lambs.  Bella acted like she wasn't sure if the lambs were supposed to be there or intruders.  This meant I had to talk to her and let her know these creatures were also part of her pack.  (Remember Bella's young too.)

An interesting side note - Buddy when turned out with the cows (he normally lives with the sheep) was a wild brat trying to stir up trouble where ever he went.  I haven't seen this type of behavior since he came back from training.

Ready or Not...

Ready or not, here they come.  Yesterday was my sheep's first official due date.  Meaning if an ewe and the ram got it on the first day they were living together I would have had lambs yesterday.  I must admit to feeling some anxiety about this.  As a lambing novice I worry about all the potential problems that could occur.  Also ramping up the stress levels are the fact that on Saturday I'll be 2.5 hours away at a wedding.  Of course I have someone coming to take care of my evening chores but its not the same.  

To try and prepare today I'll trim the hair (pardon me - wool) around where the teats are so the babies can get their dinner.  I'll also head into to town to pick up some selenium and small syringes (in case of weak babies) and some cord (to "help" the mother if needed).  Seriously though, people are mistaken if they think my arm/hand is going anywhere near their hoohahs during that time.  I am a farm veteran and have had the pleasure (or trauma) of helping my dad pull a calf.  Let's just say getting splattered with the stuff that comes out did not do my gag reflex any favors.  

Of course I'm also ridiculously responsible and would feel guilty if anything happened to any of my animals - even the dread sheep.  Bring on the babies - ready or not, here they come.

Bapper

Monday, while running around the sheep at Ken's I noticed a familiar face.  Over the past few years I had periodically borrowed sheep from Ken.  Bapper (the lead sheep with the black eyes) just happened to be one of them.  Ken, bless his heart, did not laugh at me when I panted out "Is that Bapper?".  He knew exactly what I was talking about.  I was escatic to see him again.  

After Bapper left my place he had moved on to another one of Ken's friends.  I must admit that I've wondered what became of him.  Bapper was my buddy.  When my car would pull up into the yard or he'd hear me outside he'd start baaaing for me.  Hence the name Bapper.  Bapper is a cool sheep.  He used to scratch his forehead on Bella's teeth.  He'd also lead the brigade of sheep back to wherever I happened to be standing in the field, only to stand and settle at my feet.  No mowing me down from this guy.  (He's a wether - meaning he's a fixed male.)  

By the time the end of April rolls around I'll need to have some sheep that are not pregnant.  I'm going to ask Ken if I can buy 3 of his wethers, Bapper being one of them.  They say sheep can remember 10 different faces and can differentiate between anger and happiness, so I have to wonder if Bapper remembers me too.

Goodbye My Nemesis

Today I said goodbye to the bain of my existence.  The ram finally went home!  With the assistance - well, let's use the word assistance loosely - of my father I got him loaded into the stock trailer, drove the hour to Norman's place, unloaded, visited and made the trek back.  Sounds pretty simple doesn't it?

Well, first dad has to use the tractor to dig a path out to the corrals for the truck to drive on since we just had a blizzard a day ago.  Dad, being a man, had to be the one to maneuver the truck and trailer through the snow path into the corral, backing it up to the gate.  (Yes, this is tongue in cheek!)  10 minutes later the trailer was in position after much fruitless waving of my arms and shouting "No the other way, turn it the other way!!"  I felt bad as he doesn't drive the truck with a trailer very often so is a wee bit out of practice.  Makes for an interesting drive anyhow.  (I've been miserably sick so I was strictly riding as copilot today.)  

To load the ram we had to first separate the ram and the ewes.  With Tessa's help I had the sheep pushed up to where the gate into a separate pen was located.  The ram usually leads so I knew I just had to have them roll around and the ram would shoot through the gate.  Except dad stood in the middle of the gate rolling the ram past the gate and back into the middle of the pen.  Gently trying to explain that he needed to move and let the dog work I watched as he waded into the sheep and began using the paddle to get them to move.  He then physically shoved the ram through the gate.  Sigh.

Next, we needed to get the ram from his separate pen into the trailer.  Let me tell you that ram was one unhappy camper.  With a small gap in between the fence and the trailer, a small gap where I happened to be standing, the ram with his head lowered went through the gap.  Meanwhile I'm dangling off the side of the trailer trying to kick him in his snout as he tries to keep going.  Calling Tessa, I get her circled around, get the ram turned around and use her to push him back into the pen.

Deep breath.  Feet back on solid ground with Tessa guarding the gap, I get some alfalfa to try and coerce the ram into the trailer.  No go.  Finally, my dad puts a rope around the ram's neck and drags him into the trailer.  Sigh.  Ram in, door shut, dad pulls the trailer up to the house.  I notice Mr. Ram trying to climb out of the trailer.  He was not impressed.  The ram, not my dad.

Once reached Norm's, do you think the ram would leave?  Nope, he had to stand at the door staring out.  So once again I'm dangling off the side trying to reach in far enough to tap him on his bum and get him moving.  He eventually left.  And I was left a far happier individual with no ram to chase me.  (If you're wondering Norman gets some lamb from one of the babies that will be kept and finished for the freezer.)

Damn Ram

Norm's ram has been taking great delight in making my life miserable. Normally when I go out into the corrals I do not carry a stockman's cane or stick. But I'm really starting to feel annoyed when I have to dip, dive and jump to avoid the ram. You see, the ram has decided to chase me. I don't actually have to be anywhere near him or feed, he'll come find me. I've started making Tessa stay with me so when the ram takes a run at me I sic her on him.

I first realized the ram was not nice when I was working Reba. As the sheep moved towards me the ram started shaking his head at me, even taking a jump at me. I passed it off as we were pestering the sheep and he had cause to be annoyed. However, one morning after opening their gate to the hay, while walking the opposite direction from the hay, I looked behind me to see the ram trotting behind me with an evil glint in his eye. Shrieking for Tessa I leaped towards the fence. As the ram accelerated towards me, Tessa came diving under the fence, turning him back toward the rest of the sheep and the hay.

I've decided I really do not like this creature. It adds a heart pumping element to going out to work the sheep (or even do chores). Will or will not the ram take me out today...

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.

The Great Sheepo Debate

My one remaining wild sheep lives in the chicken run. Sheepo as she's fondly called ran into a broken tree branch and nearly kicked the bucket. So while her friends went to the auction, she remained behind to recuperate from her injury. She lives alone as I was scared she'd teach my lovely new tamer baby sheep about being wild.

I had not intended to keep Sheepo throughout our sometimes harsh winter because she is a toothless wonder. About the time Sheepo had recovered enough to go to the auction market something strange occurred. Her belly ballooned. I asked my visiting aunt (something of a sheep expert) if she thought Sheepo could be pregnant. The general consensus was Sheepo was indeed knocked up. Being greedy, I realized I could make more money selling Sheepo and her baby(s) separately than just selling her as a cull ewe. So Sheepo stayed.

I purchased Sheepo in the beginning of July. Meaning the latest possible time for Sheepo to lamb would be the end of November. However, Sheepo, complete with enormous belly has not yet lambed. My dad keeps trying to tell me she's just fat. (I've been feeding her beet pulp, soybean meal, and dairy ration.) I keep trying to tell my dad you judge a sheep's body condition on their back, not their belly. Each day I impatiently look at her udder, willing it to fill with milk. Each day Sheepo refuses to cooperate with me.

Some days I wonder if I could possibly be wrong. Only time will tell.

Flint

When Tessa went out of commission, I had six sheep, six sheep who were not dog broke.  While lovely for Tessa to tune up her skills, not so lovely for starting Reba in a controlled manner.  The difference between dog broke sheep and normal sheep, is dog broke sheep will run toward you and have figured out being close to you is a safer place to be. Normal sheep will run all over the place, scatter and not necessarily want to be near you. 

After a conversation with Ken, I discovered he was busy and wasn't using Flint.  A gleam developed in my eye, and some sweet words later, Flint temporarily became mine.  I was keen to get started and wasted no time in putting my new project on sheep.  My sheep who had been worked a little by Tessa, were not so keen.  In front of my astonished eyes, I watched them scatter and hide.  Literally hide.  They would run into the tall, dead grass and lay down.  The dog would then loose them in the grass.  Some of them ran into the dry slough and lay down in the depressions.  Clearly dog breaking the sheep was going to be slightly more challenging than I had anticipated.

After much running, sweating and yelling, Flint managed to get five of the sheep into the corral.  Poor Flint was out of shape and huffing pretty good at this point.  Normally you would take the herd of sheep to the loner and collect up, however, afraid I'd never get them back in I chose to leave the ones I had in the corral.  Realizing I was running out of dog, we took a water break, then went after the final sheep.  Wanting to save my dog, I brought my trusty grain bucket.  Nope, not interested.  Fine be that way.  Sending Flint, we encountered a problem, this sheep had it's fight on.  It faced up and proceeded to refuse to move.  Deciding some artillery was needed I gave Flint his bite command.  Bang!  Right on the nose.  Still no movement.  Again, and again.  Still no movement.  By this point the sheep is bleeding and I'm realizing nothing is going to get this thing going.  But I don't want it to win the battle.  The last thing I want it to figure out is if it fights then it doesn't get worked or gets to do what it wants.  

Back to the barn Flint and I go.  Rope in hand I go back to the sheep, place it around it's neck, send Flint to the hind.  I tug, Flint bites.  And no movement.  Until the sheep lies down.  Flint is wiped, I'm tired and aggravated.  So I leave the sheep.  Not great training but sometimes you need to know when to quit.  I could have fought until the sheep died but then all I'd have gained was a dead sheep.

I've had Flint for around a month now.  And I'm pleased to announce that my sheep are kinda, sorta dog broke.  Enough that I can work Reba, with Flint waiting as back up for any bolters.  Which is all I need right now.  

(P.S.  Flint is for sale...)

Sheepish Escapades

Bapper, Rambo and Chevy were Ken's dog broke sheep. They were easy to work with and handle. Unfortunately, too easy to handle. I had discovered when I went to dog trials the sheep there behaved differently! They were NOT interested in running towards me irregardless of what my dog was doing. This was a serious impediment to my training. Decision made Ken's sheep went to a new home and I went sheep shopping.

After much debate and angst, I bit the bullet and purchased 6 cull ewes. This meant they were cheap. I knew I'd have my work cut out for me as I "dog" broke them. What I know now - I wish I knew then. Much to my surprise these sheep had no, as in zip, zero, nada, interest in hanging out in the corral. These sheep were bound and determined to run away. And run they did. First running into the brushy back forty. I managed to get 4 of them back down to the corral. Putting my exhausted dog away I went looking for the other 2. The old owner had assured me that they came nicely to "Here, sheep, sheep!" accompanied by the rattle of a grain bucket.

Carrying my bucket of grain and calling like a lunatic I began the trek through the scrub to look for the sheep. Fighting mosquitoes, prickly bush and my fear of the neighborhood cougar, I spotted one in the distance. Trying to act nonchalant, I began a stealthy circle around the sheep. (These sheep had no interest in coming to my grain call.) My thinking being if I got behind it, it would at least run towards the yard. I have never seen sheep run like these ones did. While they didn't look it I'm sure they were part deer or gazelle. They were fast and agile. They were also gone. And not back into the barnyard! Discouraged I began walking the fence line. With no sight nor sound of the sheep, hot and tired, I began the long walk back home.

Only to discover them calmly grazing alongside the cattle in the neighboring field. Okay, now what? Walking home, gathering the dog and finally, successfully moving the sheep back into the corral. Whoo Hooo!

Time passed and while remaining freakishly wild, the sheep started to settle in. I became more brave while working them. One evening a friend of Ken's came to visit and work his dog. His young, not really trained dog...

While working one of the sheep broke from the herd and ran like the gazelle it was back into the corral. I thought it wouldn't be a big deal as they were locked up at night anyhow. Rather than stop where it was fed this sheep chose to run through the corral and out the fence. As it was getting late, (and I was still irritated with my last chasing adventure), I decided the sheep could come home on it's own or get ate by a wild animal.

The next morning outside doing chores (What you need to realize is when I do chores I generally roll out of bed, pull on some sweats, don't stop to brush my hair, or teeth, put on a bra, deodorant, etc. I generally do all that and shower AFTER I've fed the animals.) when a car pulls into the driveway. An older gentleman rolls down the window, "hey, are you missing a sheep?" Surprise I nod an affirmative, he then proceeds to tell me it's just down the road. Not wanting to be responsible for a vehicle animal collision I gather up my trusty grain bucket and begin walking down the road. And I walked and walked, then walked some more. Still no sign of the sheep from hell. Calling, shaking the grain bucket - nothing!

About a mile down the road, a large truck slows down, a man shouts out the window "If you're looking for a sheep it's a 1/2 mile ahead of you. Inspired I pick up speed. Another mile passes. Still no sheep. Hot, tired, hungry, sweaty and grouchy I try to decide what to do. My mom pulls up in her car with the dog riding shotgun. Guzzling the Gatorade she brought me we drive down the road - still no sign of sheep. (By this time it's 25 degrees Celsius out...) While I was ready to quit and head home, mom decides we need to start stopping at houses. Where I live on the east side of the road is a large national park bordered by a large provincial park, on the west side of the road are acreages. As a last ditch effort we pull into the grazing reserve. Mom felt they should be notified. While mom's talking with the caretaker (I had refused to get out of the car looking like I did.) I noticed the sheep. My sheep! It was walking around the corner of a building.

Remember, I'm hot, tired and mildly grouchy at this point. Hopping out of the car I persuasively start shaking the grain. The sheep's head shoots into the air! It begins to trot in the opposite direction. Infuriated I let the dog out of the car. Springing into action the race is on! And the sheep is once again gone... sigh. Wishing I could just leave the stupid thing, I once again begin walking only this time with Tessa. Periodically I'd stop and send Tessa into the brush (no this was not open field - all heavy bush), after another mile and half we reached the horse gate leading to the road. Heaven sent, my mom was sitting there with the car. Exhausted, home I went. And no - the sheep was never seen again. I hope it died a nasty death by coyote!

Needless to say I did learn a lesson. The remaining sheep (less the one who impaled herself days prior) went to the auction market. And I went sheep shopping once again...

In the picture: Bapper, Rambo and Chevy in a stand off with Tessa. The next picture would have been the dog diving into the sheep, mouth agape, and sheep scattering every which direction.