Welcome to “WTF, it’s Already Wednesday??”
Blythe and her Boer Goat, Auggie
Category: Ranch Life
Because there just really wasn’t enough poop in my life, I agreed to dog-sit two adorable puppies for a friend who is between houses at the moment.
Having never spent time around American Bulldogs before, I didn’t really know what to expect. I’ve been pleasantly surprised to find that both of them, although they are 6 months apart, are sweet, affectionate, fast learners.
You caught a glimpse of little Samantha, but that doesn’t really do her justice.
And, you haven’t yet met Meatball, so let me introduce you.
Did I mention that he’s an enormous puppy? So ginormous is he, that I’m not sure the term “puppy” really applies. He’s nearly as tall as Cage, our 8 year old chubby Labrador, and, while I haven’t measured his chest or head, I believe he’s at least twice as wide.
Meatball eats a lot. Which makes him the poopin’est dog in the universe. If Meatball lived on Old MacDonald’s Farm, the song would go “Here a poop, there a poop, everywhere a poop, poop.”
And the drool is interesting, as well. I tend to walk around with smears of dried spit across my lap and behind my knees. Sometimes there’s food caked to it, too, because, did I mention he eats a lot?
Really, they have been a joy to have around. So gentle with the kids and a ton of fun. I’m not sure how long they’ll be staying, but we’re soaking them up while they’re here. 
Even Cage! Shocking, I know.
Meet Simon. The oldest cat on the ranch. He’s fat. And spoiled. And sweet.
Categories
Mmmmmmm, Bacon
We sold off the last of our pigs yesterday, and in their honor I’m re-publishing a post I wrote about them last summer: When they are a few weeks old, the males get castrated so you don’t have to look at this all the time:
The Pigs
There are two resident pigs here on the ranch.
The one on the left is “Miss Piggy”, (quite an original name) and the one on the right is “Huey”.
Huey is quite the affectionate mate.
Look at him loving on Miss Piggy.
And still, loving on Miss Piggy. Get a room, you two.
The female pig is a Sow, and the male pig is a Boar. There are a few main differences between the Sow and the Boar. As you may have noticed, the Sow is often smaller in stature. Also, the Sow has 12 to 14 “teats” and can have just as many piglets, because she has two uteri. Each piglet claims its own teat which is why, if there are more piglets than teats, you will have a runt.
The gestational period for pigs is 3 months, 3 weeks and 3 days. How can we know just exactly when she conceived, anyway? Well, pigs make an awful racket when they, um, do it, so it’s pretty hard to miss. A few days before she’s due, we put the Sow into the farrowing crate, pictured here. The whole idea is to keep the Sow from rolling over on the piglets with her big ol’ behind, while affording the piglets ample room to nurse. The piglets stay in a pen with their mama, until they are ready to be sold.
Because, don’t you think one pair of those is enough? No wonder he’s so affectionate.
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We loved raising pigs, but we decided to scale back on some of our animals. We are beyond busy, and these days raising pigs takes a whole lot of work.
See, here in California, Prop 2 was passed back in November (and before you go getting offended, I voted YES on Prop 2 for the benefit of the poor, cramped chickens) and it outlawed the use of farrowing crates with pregnant pigs. I wish they had restricted the number of days rather than eliminating them altogether.
I understand it’s unhealthy for a pregnant Sow to be in a farrowing crate for a long time. But 2 or 3 days before giving birth, and 2 days after while she and the piglets gain strength? Not so unreasonable, if you ask me. I mean, look at most women in labor and delivery units – can they stand up, turn and wander around?
Since it’s just the two of us and our kids, we can’t keep a constant watch on the Sow. When she was close to ready this last time, we prepared a small pen for her, as was recommended. But since she gave birth in the middle of the night, no one was there to move the piglets out of the way.
By the time we got out there in the morning, we discovered a distraught Sow who had squashed and killed all but 3 of the piglets. One of whom had been partially squashed and lost the use of his hind legs. A fun way to start the morning, no?
Needless to say, raising pigs has become both unprofitable for us as well as extremely heartbreaking.
Sayonara, Miss Piggy and Huey. I’m glad I didn’t eat you.
Categories
Mending Fences
We’ve seen so many blue skies. Carefree, sunny days when the children’s laughter tinkles like a choir of bells in the distance. They run, glancing back to see if we are watching. The brilliant sunlight bounces off of their smiling faces and my heart aches to witness such innocence.
They can run at full speed, without fear of falling. Life has not yet taught them that sooner or later, everyone falls.
We glance at the sky. Storm clouds are on the horizon.
Even knowing the damage they can bring, I am fascinated by their terrific beauty. We batten down the hatches, whatever the hell that means, and wait to see what the sky has in store for us this time.
Each storm inflicts its own special brand of wounds. There are those that come and go violently in the night, and we blanch at the sight of unexpected damage in the morning. Some linger for days, weeks even, but we have more time to prepare, more time to mend things in the calm of the storm. There is no way to know which is better in terms of suffering.
Always, we comfort the children, sharing worried looks above their heads. The warm comfort they give in return is more valuable than gold. They don’t yet know that dark clouds are ominous.
As the storm rages, we whisper in the dark, sharing memories of sun drenched fields full of color. Our dreams are filled with laughter. We know that a season of sunshine will come, if we can weather the storms together.
Finally, there is light in the distance.
As a family, we survey the damage the storm has left in its wake. We know we can fix what has been broken and move forward, stronger than before.
We set to work, mending fences. The sun feels warm on my neck as I dig a hole for a new post. My muscles ache, but I’m glad to be here in the dirt with my family. If it weren’t for the storm, where would we be? Each at our own daily tasks, getting through another day in this life.
The children splash in the mud, digging with their little garden trowels. My husband laughs as the little one dumps a bucket of dirt into the hole he has just begun to dig. We set the posts in cement, and make a ring of our four hand prints on each one.
We share a glance over their little heads. This time, it is filled with hope and promise.