Cows fly

Two weeks ago I put an ad in the local paper and didn't get a single call so I really didn't have too great a hope of generating any interest in Bossy and Daisy on Craig's List, but I thought, "What the hell. It's free, right?"

I got the first hit at 9:45 this morning.

By 10:30 they were sold.

Wow!

The really cool thing about the buyer... He wants them for dairy stock!

That makes me very happy.

So long, Bossy and Daisy. I'll miss you terribly, but I'm oh, so glad you're going to what sounds like a very green pasture.

Pssssst... wanna buy a cow?

Or, more accurately, a cow and her darling calf.



Yes, folks. It causes me great pain to say this, but Bossy and Daisy must go.

We have maxed out our grazing capacity and need to move a couple of my girls on to other pastures. I originally wanted to keep Daisy and let Sparky go, but in a demonstration of my TRUE LOVE for this little beauty, I am choosing what is best for her over my own selfish desires. *sniff* *sniff*

It will be much less traumatic for them... well... and me too, really, I suppose... if we sell the pair together so...

Who wants to start their own herd?!

Common folks! I know there's a frustrated dairy farmer out there among you!

Seriously! The calf is ready to ween. You could have your very own fresh milk twice a day... from your own backyard!

Here's the sitch:

Bossy is 3 years old, Herford, Holstein and Angus. She's a great mom.

Daisy is 3 months old, all of the above breeds plus black Semental.

We'll let the pair go for $985.

Any takers?

Common, Angelina! Now's your chance to commune with your favorite bovine on a daily basis! Just think of the endless supply of prime fertilizer!

Okay. Sales pitch over.

Operators are standing by...

Waiting for the cow to pop

This is one of those post-counseling, one-foot-in-front-of-the-other, the-bread-goes-inside-the-bag kind of days... you know... just enough motivation to get out of my jammies and straight into sweat pants. Screw the make up. I have managed to feign just a little productivity, though, so I've got that going for me. Well, that and a great (long) phone call with Miss Wendy... Thanks, Love! You so totally rock! ;)

Now, on to the NEWS at hand...

Bossy the Beautiful Bovine is due to have her next calf on or about Wednesday the 13th! She looks like she's about to pop any second based on her, um, symptoms... I swear, her udder is so full it makes my breasts hurt just remembering what it feels like when your body is getting ready to be the sole source of food for a growing little body... GAH! Been there, DONE WITH that...

Her last calf had a very sad ending and we are so ready for a healthy, bouncy little black and white baby. I'm glad to see Bossy looks like she's ready and able to welcome her fuzzy little bundle of joy. Ahhhh... babies...

Still, though, better her than ME!

I'm very contented with the fact that my babies are old enough to reach the bunny crackers and juice boxes on their own without the need for me to excrete anything from my person, thank you very much. :)

Stay tuned for pics and play-by-play upon the bouncing baby bovine's arrival!

Peace in the pasture, Y'all.

What I've Learned From Our Cows...

... so far.

I get the impression they really enjoy "teaching me a lesson" whenever they get the chance.


#1. Over-Grazing is BAD: And I don’t just mean stuffing yourself on appetizers to the point of excruciating pain. It is what happens when good people are forced to do bad things with cows… like having too many of them in too small of a pasture for just long enough that they totally mow down every edible blade of grass that competes with the weeds that aren’t. Among other infestations, it can lead to… and don’t even get me started on... the scourge that IS, Tar Weed.

#2 Tailgating can kill you: Never walk behind a cow or calf closer than about eight feet. One sharp noise or rude comment about their weight and you’ll be waking up, flat on your back in cow poo wondering how to spell “Fractured Sternum.”

#3. Avoid butt-heads: A full-grown cow’s head weighs, I’m guessing, about 60 pounds all by itself. When attached to an irritated bovine, in addition to housing all that pent-up angst and resentment for being treated like some kind of common farm animal, it can also, when swung properly, act as a very effective human catapult capable of slinging the average 150-pound individual roughly six to eight feet. I have personal experience to back up this assertion, in case you’re skeptical about my authority on the subject.

#4. Beware of sticky situations: Cow poo is the lesser-known forerunner of Velcro®. Just try to get it off your boots.

#5. Watch your step: No matter how much room they have. No matter how many times I muck out the barn to keep it a pleasant, healthy place for them to sleep and eat. Every… single… day… somebody leaves a “pie” RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DOOR WAY. I have come to believe this is their idea of a joke. ha. ha. ha. See lesson #4.

#6. Don't let yourself be intimidated: Staring down 600 pound animals on a daily basis takes a certain amount of panache... or at least it does when you're a chick who has only been living closely with cows for about three years. Any large animal vet can tell you that cows are prey animals and they know it. All you have to do is act like you're bigger than them, they believe it and that leaves you pretty much in control.

Right.

I use a combination of a firm tone of voice, sharp movements and bribery to get them to make me think they're submitting to my will. I don't even feel the need to carry a baseball bat when I get anywhere near them anymore so I think I've made brilliant progress... I am, however, not above leaping to relative safety over a stall gate with the grace and agility of a drunken hippo should my projection of confidence and superiority prove unconvincing.

Truth is, I love the big hairy dears. I think they can sense that and choose to let me feel like I'm in charge... at least as long as I keep making with the cow candy and sweet talk...


That's all the barnyard wisdom I have to impart for now.

Until Bossy, Princess and the Girls school me further... Ciao, Yall!

Ring Around the Ranch

Alternate Title:

No Pheasant Present, But Dew? Can Do!

sorry.

Clothesed for the Season

Today I won't subject you to any feeble attempts to wax poetic, but did want to share some shots of my tour around the Ranch this morning. It is such a glorious day, I took a good long time to wander the property and drink in all the breathtaking beauty Fall has to offer.

Faerie Skyscrapers

If only I knew if they are poisonous...

Animation Suspended

Everyone Shares on the Ranch

Dewy Dandelion

Today's Chore Companion, Jack.

Still Trying

Where Faeries Get Their Silver

Barn Boss

Cow Candy

Brilliant

Should've worn the boots.

I hope you are enjoying this amazing day as much as I am... Cheers!

Fresh From Heaven

Alternate title: "Got MILK?!"

Please join me in welcoming Princess's newest baby, Miss Peach, to our humble little herd.

Peach was born yesterday (the 12th) at 4:30 pm and was on her feet (sort of), vigorously slurping down her first meal by 5:00. So far, she seems to be thriving and the lot of us couldn't be happier.

This tribal custom, rarely seen by outsiders, is known as the "Getting a Clean Bed Ready For the New Calf Dance." One of the tribe members performing this sacred ritual is required to wear a bathing suit and pink rubber boots with cats on them while carefully executing the Hokey Pokey. The others simply flail around strewing about fresh hay while inhaling massive amounts of dust.

Just about sixteen hours old, here's a better view of Miss Peach in all her wobbly-legged, wooly, creamy-rich glory. Sooooo sweet.



OH MY GOSH! As I'm typing this, I can see from my office window that Princess has taken Peach to the corner of the fence where our pastures meet so she can meet her sister, Sparky, through the fence. (We've had to keep them separated for the last six weeks or so.)

They were touching noses through the fence, all three of them... I just love living with animal families.


It's so unusual to have all, or nearly all, the members in a family of pets that one rarely has the opportunity to see how very much like us they are. Four of our cats are mom, dad and two kittens. The way they interact with each other is very different from their relationships with the other cats. They even have sounds that they only use with their family and no one else. It's quite amazing and I feel privileged to get to witness it all.

Back to the cows:

When Miss Peach was just born, all the cows in the neighborhood started to bellow. Sparky, Bossy and even the neighbor's cow and her calf were calling at the top of their lungs over the fences. No one bellowed as long or frequently as Sparky, though. She ran up the fence line until she got as close as she could and stood there watching her mom and new baby sister. Sparky then spent most of the night and into this morning up in the trees at the top of my sister-in-laws property yelling some more. I finally had to go up and retrieve her and make sure she wasn't in some kind of trouble.

Was she upset? Happy and announcing to the world about the new addition to her family? Could be that she's just, um, lookin' for some lovin' of her own... you know how teenagers are... but her behavior is definitely not typical.


Life on the Ranch has been loaded with animal issues lately. Ashley had two, count 'em TWO abscesses on her face, undoubtedly caused by a very unwilling victim of her startlingly prolific predatory tendencies. This meant I got to whip out my latent veterinary skills administering antibiotics, cleaning the wound twice a day and feeding her raw milk yogurt to keep her tummy healthy.

We also have a very old cat that we were sure was dying after a couple of bouts with bladder infections and, yes, more antibiotics. He even disappeared for quite a while. We were sure he had wandered off to die... the next morning we found him in a very soft and cushy, though different from his usual, place feeling much better and apparently securely fastened to his mortal coil. More yogurt administered.

On Sunday, we had a stray LARGE, old white dog show up on the Ranch. She was very sweet and wasn't any kind of threat, but we were worried for her safety. And rightly so. In the process of trying to contact animal control and/or find out who her owner was she had wandered over to my in-laws and fell in the pool. It was nearly an hour before Anna found her when she ran up to borrow a movie, but thankfully, being a HUGE dog, she was able to stand on her hind legs in the shallow end with her front paws on the pool deck. She was pretty tired, but unharmed for the most part. James and I lugged her out and she just flopped in our yard and dried out in the sun while she caught her breath.

Eventually, we found out where she lived and my dad-in-law and I took her up and tied her to the front porch after hearing her owner had been asking around about her, but wasn't home when we got there. Turns out contractors going in and out of the house kept letting the dogs out and didn't care, um, I mean, weren't at all worried that they might wander off.

Thoughtless, idiot bastards...

Ahem.

But wait! There's more!

The kittens just turned six months old so that means it's time to make Bob Barker proud and do the responsible pet owner thing... get the girls spayed.

There is NOTHING I hate worse than forcing sweet little animals to wear those STUPID cones on their heads. I know, it's for their own safety, but DAMN! If I couldn't lick my tummy... Oh, wait... I can't, can I... well, if I couldn't scratch where it itches, I'd be pretty ticked off, too.

And THEN, there's the whole my-own-family-doesn't-recognize-me-because-I-don't-smell-right thing... oh, and did I mention I have a freakin' CONE ON MY HEAD?!

Poor babies. Must be so traumatic. It almost makes me want to wear an upside-down lampshade around my neck in a show of solidarity.

Thank goodness for Boo. He is so totally secure in his own hugeness, he fears nothing and loves everybody. Good ol' Boo.


Well, as I've been writing I've gotten an email begging for a quote and one screaming for an emergency PhotoShop intervention... as with all things in graphic design... it's a life-or-death scenario. Better go warm up the defibrilator.

CLEAR!!!

For now, this is Dr. Doolittle, signing off.

Pastured Primadonnas and Produce Porn

Alright, Angelina, I am here to prove myself a woman of my word.

Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeere's BOSSY!


She got that name because she IS.

Bossy is the mother of the calf we lost back in May and, I'm reasonably sure she holds me personally responsible for her tragedy. I was, after all, always doing *something* with her baby every single day for about six weeks.

Must be my fault.

Even if she doesn't think I killed her sickly offspring, I still feel guilty about it. It's the first calf I've lost on my watch and that's really hard for me to take.


Even though she can be kinda grumpy, I still think she's just beautiful.


I eagerly await the arrival of her next calf in February. I hope her new baby is much sturdier than the last and perhaps she'll find it within her big bovine heart to forgive me.



This is Princess MaMaKau.

She came to us with the name "Princess" but my mom-in-law can't bring herself to call a cow by a royal designation.

We added the Hawiian-inspired spelling and pronunciation to give Fran the ability to call her just "Mama Cow," but still have at least a little flair to go with her "pedigree."

Princess is quite a nice cow and is *very* pregnant with her second calf which she will deliver around the end of August.


She's SO round! I remember those days. UGH.

Right now we have to keep her separated from her nearly-year-old heifer calf, Sparky, who insists on continuing to NURSE!

Little piggy.

If we keep them together she'll suck up all the new baby's colostrum and we'll have another sickly calf on our hands. Been there. Done that. NOT doing it again!

This means we get to endure a LOT of bellowing from both sides of the fence. Thankfully, it seems things are beginning to quiet down.


Meet Sparky, who also came pre-named. It was kind of like "fate," though, that these two came to live with us. Grace is *very* into princesses and James's pet name for me, on good days, is "Sparky." Cute, huh?

And so is she. I just love her.

She's very bouncy and fun to watch.




"I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille!"

OH! And, don't worry. We won't be eating any of these ladies. They are strictly for making more baby cows... and eating garden scraps and lawn clippings...





Luscious and Divine

WARNING! If you find the sight of succulent, dewy expressions of fertility offensive... look away NOW!





These are my mom-in-law's Marionberries.

Mmmmmmm.






Hey. You were warned.

She also has raspberries and blueberries...

...right next door.


One of the MANY reasons I LOVE living so close to my in-laws!



The last of the potato blossoms.












The FIRST of the potato harvests!


















I can't get enough zucchini flower shots.






This little baby stopped me dead in my tracks.

Look at that precise, simple beauty.










Again with the bean tendrils...













... and their loving embrace.














Ohhhhhh... do I have future plans for YOU babies!

A little olive oil, some fresh basil from just over there... cool mozarella...

... wait a minute... do I hear Barry White?







Red-cloaked vigilance.







This is something we are very excited about and proud of every single Summer.

We call it our "Home Grown Meal."

The steak, potatoes, lettuce, green onions, and garlic ALL came from our garden, raspberries from my in-laws'.

One day, we hope to add the wine to our gleeful demonstration of self-sufficiency, but for now, vino from a couple miles down the road will have to do.

Life just doesn't get any better than this.

We are so blessed and so VERY grateful for our amazing, bountiful life.

Birthday Beauties, Bashful Bovine and the Blessed Bounty

My delicate, tiny, little preemie...

... turned NINE on Wednesday.

I can't believe that sweet, fragile baby now has talents and thoughts and friends of her own.

*sigh*

At the risk of sounding like a totally typical parent... Where does the time go?

Well, it DOES fly when you're having fun... again with the clichés... so we seriously contributed to the speed of its passage with a small but exceedingly enjoyable celebration. It began with a trip to our favorite nail place where Anna, her two best friends, Julia and McKinzie, and Grace got their toes done... which seemed as much fun for the folks doing the pedicures as it was for the recipients. With sparkling, colorful toes, we went back to our house for HUGE cupcakes and pizza... then I had to go to a STUPID MEETING... while James supervised swimming and lots and lots of Wii gaming.

Julia spent the night which was Anna's very first sleepover ever. Once the excitement died down, everyone slept like rocks... in my bed... with me in it. Actually, it was pretty fun, all four of us girls piled in together. (James retreated to Anna's bed for a much more dignified and predictable night of slumber.)




























Farm Life Follies

"Exactly what kind of cow are you?"

"'COW?' What kind of CAT are YOU?"

Midna (the kitten) and Sparky (the heifer) meet officially for the first time.

Clearly, neither is sure what to make of the other.











My first zucchini of the year and my first garlic EVER! Woo hoo!
Honestly, we forgot the garlic was even there so it was a very fun surprise.



















Another brilliant sunset here on the ranch. Ahhhhhh.














Stay tuned for part 2 of "40 years to 'Getting It."

We're Havin' a Hay Day!

Alternate title: What NOT To Do On the Hottest Day of the Year

Now, I don't particularly enjoy being physically inferior 99.99% of the time. It frustrates me when my brain knows exactly what to do, but my design-flawed body lacks the fortitude to accomplish it.

On days like today, however, I'm secretly glad I'm a "weakling."
James reliving his childhood games of "King of the Mountain!"... well... maybe not.

How the guys in my life manage to muster the gumption to go out on a baking day to wrestle bales of itchy, dry plant matter is beyond me. I would snap like a twig. That is if there was anything left of me to snap once I had been rendered down to a fatty pool of simpering whine-i-tude from the heat and actual physical labor.

Grace noticed the camera.

You can be a Farm Girl and still know how to strike a pose.

But, eventually, no matter how CUTE you are...

They will... at some point...

... put you to work.

The cows, exhausted from watching all that hard work, retired to the shade of the nearest tree to contemplate their glorious, rapidly-filling larder and swat flies...

... just as I adjourned to the air-conditioned solitude of my office to blog about it...
... and await the next five pick-upfulls with cold drinks and witty, and mostly unappreciated, playful demands like, "Farm Boy, fetch me that pitcher!"*



*If you haven't yet seen The Princess Bride... drop whatever you're doing, slap yourself and WATCH IT!