To The Rescue

This has been a very volatile spring with lots of rain and severe weather.  My daughter, who lives in Iowa,  reports that there have been several tornadoes and lots of storms in her area too.  She has discovered that in the plains states you take weather warnings very seriously.  There is something about the fact that there aren't any mountains to slow the winds down that makes their area truly part of "tornado alley".  While we may sleep through a storm or two they are often up all night checking the weather minute-minute on the computer. 

Last week they had one of these storms come through.  However since they had only been back in their home after their remodeling for a couple of days, their computer wasn't hooked back up yet.  Taking no chances, they bundled the girls into the basement and settled down to spend the night checking the weather on their phones and camping on the couch.  At one point they heard a noise upstairs. When her husband went up to look,  he discovered the wind had blown open the garage door, the dog had come in and was so scared she had crawled to the back of their closet to hide. Soon the dog joined the girls in their basement camp out.  Early the next morning, the girls and dog woke their bleary eyed parents from their fitful doze in the chairs.

Daddy immediately jumped up and decided he would go out and check to see what damage had been done.  In just a few minutes he called the house to tell my daughter to grab his chainsaw and hurry to the farm in the "curve".  (When you live in Iowa, a road with a curve in it becomes a major landmark!)  She grabbed a movie for the children, a sack of doughnuts and hustled the girls into the car.  Grabbing the chainsaw from the barn she took off.  By the time she arrived at the "curve" there were already several pickup trucks that had answered the call for help.  All were getting out their chainsaws and beginning to start them up. 

The "curve" farm was where they had a field for the last few pregnant cows to pasture.  In the field was an old barn that had seen better times.  For some time they had talked about the need to go on and tear it down.  Well, they didn't have to worry about that any more, since the barn was flat on the ground.  The problem was all the cows had taken refuge from the storm inside.  So they now had a pile of broken lumber with eight pregnant cows underneath.  The men circled the rubble with anxious faces, hoping for signs of life but fearing the worst.  Then they nodded, started their chainsaws and approached the mess.  They attacked that pile of wood like a swarm of termites.  Soon chunks of timbers were being cut free and thrown out of the way.

The first cow they reached was pinned to the ground with rubble over her legs.  She was moaning and wild eyed but they didn't see any major injuries.  So they started working on setting her free.  Within minutes they had her uncovered and she was trying to sit up.  Then with a lurch she staggered to her feet and was clear.  With a nod of satisfaction they moved on to the next animal.  Cow by cow they worked to free them from the wreckage of the barn.  Miraculously, each time the cows would stagger to their feet and with a little assistance would move out of the area. At one point a little shout of surprise alerted everyone.  One of the chainsaw wielding farmers turned with his arms laden not with his saw but a new born baby.  One of the cows had decided to deliver during the storm and the little one was alive and well.

 Finally they were down to the last cow.  She was flat out under the ridgepole of the barn.  She hadn't been moving and they had little hope that she had survived, but they determinedly began to cut her free.  When the last piece was removed they stepped back and surveyed the situation.  To their surprise, she lifted her head and looked back at them.  After a few minutes she tucked her legs up and tried to roll into a sitting position.  The men rushed to help her.  Soon she was sitting up and checking out all the mess with a look of mild surprise.  With a heave, she pulled herself up into a standing position and took a step forward.  Step by step she walked out of the remains of the barn to the cheers and encouragement of her rescuers.

Unbelievably all eight cows and the new baby had survived with no major injuries.  Cut, scratched, stiff and sore, but alive.   With a few handshakes and shoulder pats the friends left to go back home or to help others. All had left their own farms, chores and clean-up to rush to the aid of a neighbor in need  As one man laughed when he left, "Now, I guess I can't put off  tackling that tree that fell on my mother-in-law's house any longer". 

Best Friends

I have always been fascinated by the animals that inhabit our farm and home.  They give me endless hours of entertainment as I watch them from the windows or the fences.  We have always had dogs and cats, sometimes in multiple numbers.  When my father moved to the farm he added a small terrier mix dog called Amy.  She was his constant companion and he loved her dearly.  At the same time I had a German Shepherd and a collie.  They formed a funny looking pack with the two big dogs and feisty little Amy. 

Boomer, the big German Shepherd, soon become very attached to the little Amy.  They could constantly be found in each other's company just laying around the yard, checking out the cats in the barn, or hanging out with my father.  Surprisingly they also became hunting buddies.  They would take to the fields in the early morning and happily track and chase rabbits, squirrels, mice, ground hogs, or anything else they could scare up.  By the time the farm was stirring good and morning chores were underway, they would return for breakfast with tongues hanging out and doggy grins on their faces. 

We suspected their antics but didn't really know what they were up to until the morning that they didn't come back.  No one was concerned until nearly lunch time when the two dogs were still missing.  Neither was likely to voluntarily skip the possibility of a few tasty scraps from the dinner table so everyone began to get a little concerned.  After lunch the kids took off to the fields to see if their friends could be found.  Soon the valleys echoed with the calls of children's voices.  Still no dogs.  By late afternoon I had joined in the search party and we were beginning to wander a little further out.  Still no dogs.  Finally, I called a halt to the search since it was time to return to the house for chores and supper.

Everyone was feeling pretty down and discouraged as they trudged through the feeding and bedding of the cattle.  Suddenly my son started calling for his dog again but with excitement in his voice.  We all rushed to the fence to see two muddy figures walking toward the barn.  The little Amy was covered in mud from her head to her tail.  I mean covered.  Every hair was encased in a ball of mud until she looked like a walking beaded curtain.  The bigger Boomer had his entire underbelly caked in mud.  We welcomed them back with thankful hearts, cleaned them up and fed them dinner, all the while trying to figure out what had happened. 

It took a while and lots of watching where they went to hunt before my son figured out what had to have occurred.  They had developed a hunting partnership to trap groundhogs.  Groundhogs, a large rodent , live in dens they dig into the ground.  Amy, with her vermin hunting terrier background, would enter the groundhog hole and flush the groundhog out the opposite end (they always have an escape tunnel).  Boomer would wait at the end of the escape tunnel and catch the groundhog as it came out.  Unfortunately on the day in question, the groundhog wasn't a very good builder and the hole collapsed, trapping Amy underground.   Boomer, sensing Amy's peril, began digging.  He spent all day digging and digging trying to rescue his friend.  It wasn't until late in the afternoon that he was finally successful.  Fortunately Amy was trapped with enough air, so she only suffered from thirst and mud.  With his friend finally safe the two started for home, rescuer and rescued together.

Escape

I'm not sure why it is, but if the weanlings are going to have some fun they will do it during the days that I am here by myself.  We have recently weaned some calves, which means we have separated the mama's and youngsters so they will learn to eat their fill without sneaking a snack from mama..  These aren't babies but more like pre-teens.  This group contains several young bulls and, like young males of any species, they will dream up trouble to get into if they are left to their own devices.

We usually place these youngsters in the lot behind the barn, which is convenient for several reasons.  One, they are close at hand to be fed morning and night.  They also are under eye to be sure none of them get sick or get pushed away from the trough and don't get enough to eat.  The downside to this arrangement is that the barn lot borders one corner of the yard.  These youngsters don't take to being shut away from their mama's and their snack bar, which means we get serenaded  with their loud and vocal complaints.  If we're lucky they settle down after a day or two and we get peace.  Unfortunately, this time weaning coincided with a warm spell just begging for open windows and fresh breezes.  The nights got a little long.

This little group had gotten bored with their captivity and cramped quarters.  For the past few days they had been playing and pushing as little bulls will.  Their lot is on a direct sight from my kitchen window so I have watched their antics as I stood at the sink.  This afternoon as I was cleaning up after lunch, I looked out in the yard and noticed all the calves standing at one place along the fence.  On closer inspection, I noticed that some of them actually were standing on the yard side of the fence.  Deciding this didn't look good I stepped out on the porch and saw for the first time that in their pushing and shoving they had completely broken through one section of the plank fence.  Why do they always do this when I'm alone?

The trick was how to get them back into the lot and from there to another lot.  With all the rain the barn lot was knee deep in churned up mud.  Not my thing.  With a little reaching I managed to open the gate from the barn lot to the next lot.  Now to get them to move without having to chase them trough the mud.  One thing I have learned over the years is that it is easier to out think a cow than try to out run it.  Deciding on deceit, I went to the barn and got a feed bucket and carried it to the fence along the lot.  They could see me moving with a bucket and followed on the other side of the fence hoping for an afternoon snack.  Soon they were through the gate and looking hopeful.  Quickly I slid and mucked through the mud to fasten the gate.  With puzzled looks they watched me pick up my bucket and return to the barn.  Poor babies.  I'd had to use an empty bucket because I couldn't get to their feed.

They are still looking hopefully at the house.  I feel like a heel.  Maybe hubby can give them an extra scoop for me tonight.  Or maybe that's just what they get for keeping me up all night.

Black Dog

This seems to be my week for animal stories.  So here we go again.

When we moved to the farm we inherited a collie from the previous owner.  She was moving to an apartment and so we agreed to keep the dog.  She was our first collie and a great introduction to the breed.  However, this is about her best friend.  Dogs are very social and often make friends with other animals.  This friend was a black and white boarder collie who actually belonged to a neighbor.  I really don't know if the dog ever went home, he was at our house morning, noon, and night.  (rather like some teenagers several years later)  We never knew his name so we just referred to him as "the black dog" or later just Black Dog. 

I am fascinated by breeds of dogs and how much their characteristics are bred into them.  Black Dog was of a breed often known as Shepherds, because that is what they did.  They herded sheep.  You may have seen some of the very popular performances at the State Fair where these black and white wonders put on a herding show.  They are playful, industrious, intelligent, eager to please and hard workers.  Black Dog was no exception.  He would sit and look at you with his bright eyes just begging for you to tell him to do something.  Unfortunately we didn't know how to tell him. 

The fun would begin when hubby would get the cattle up to move them from field to field.  Black Dog would drop to his belly and start to ease his way behind the cattle.  Soon he would have one cut out and was moving it away--usually in the opposite direction than what hubby wanted.  So then hubby would start yelling and waving his arms.  Black Dog would grin and work harder.  Hubby would yell louder.  Black Dog would put new enthusiasm  into his herding. Now he had most of the cattle moving away from the gate and back into the field.  At this point hubby starts throwing clods and sticks and turning a deep shade of plum.  Soon the kids are in the action chasing the dog trying to get him out of the field.  With that the cows kick up their heels and head for the back forty.

The interesting thing is that Black Dog was herding perfectly.  He had every move down to a science.  How did he know how to do this?  He was a purebred dog, but he had never had any instruction on herding.  It just came from inside of him.  The problem wasn't his, it was ours.  He was willing to move cattle anywhere but we had no idea how to communicate with him to tell him where!  He would look at us with this quizzical expression on his face as though begging us to just tell him. 

I thought all of this was interesting and to be perfectly honest, funny.  The show that hubby and dog put on was entertainment at it's best. I could often be found at the fence cheering them on.  That is until the day Black Dog gave up on cows and decided to herd ducks.  I had a new hatching of babies and was enjoying sitting on the fence post watching them in the pond. I watched with amusement as Black Dog approached the pond bank.  He lay down and waited patiently until the ducklings decided to come ashore.  Slowly he crept closer and closer.  Easing his way carefully he got between them and the water.  As ducks do they all moved restlessly away from him, rather like water flowing in a ripple.  As soon as they moved in the direction he wanted he would drop to the ground motionless.  When they stopped moving, he would creep up behind them until they started to move forward.  Again he dropped to the ground.  Next time he eased just a little to the right, the flock moved to the left. Keeping a low profile and never hurrying he was moved the entire flock away from the pond and up into the field.  It was poetry in motion.  I was amazed at how perfectly he had herded his flock. 

Then I sat up with a jerk.  He was doing such a good job of keeping them moving that several of the babies were in trouble.  Ducks aren't designed to do a lot of walking.  Several of the little fellows were wearing out.  Some were trying to sit and a few were actually laying down.  This wasn't good, not good at all. Suddenly I jumped off the fence and started running through the field, waving my arms and yelling at Black Dog, all the while looking for some clods to throw.    Reaching my exhausted ducks I turned back to the pond to see hubby sitting on the fence laughing.  I guess he thought the show was pretty entertaining, too.

Duncan

There have been very few times in my life that I haven't had a dog and/or a cat. When the kids were home my pets were usually "found" pets. These were animals that were either literally found or someone gave them to us--usually with no intention on our part to acquire another pet. Over the years we have had some wonderful and loving companions.

When the last kid left home they left us with three dogs, a beagle, German Shepherd and a collie. Thank goodness we live on a farm. The years passed and the old beagle, the last of the pack died. For the first time in a long time we were pet-less (unless you count barn cats). I decided that for once in my life I would pick a dog that I wanted.

I did careful research, talked to several breeders, the president of the Ky. Kennel Club, and even went to a dog show. (That's really an experience. ) I knew I wanted a dog that would be good with the little grandkids, easy to train, tough enough to be a farm dog in all kinds of weather, and a companion for me. With this in mind I settled on one of the herding dogs, since they are bred to take care of and protect their herd (grandkids). We had had a collie before and I loved the breed but sure didn't like the constant grooming required to deal with their massive amounts of hair. One of the breeders suggested I try a Smooth Coat Collie. If you are like me you've never heard of them. However, they are simply a short haired collie.

In no time I had found the perfect dog. Not a puppy (I didn't want to deal with that!) but young enough to bond with a new family. He looks like Lassie with short hair. A little odd at first but beautiful. His name is Halcyon Day's Duncan of Aver Brae or Duncan, for short. He's perfect, other than a few small problems.

First of all, I didn't really expect to pick up a dog at a kennel and discover that he had been raised in a house. However, since I did want to be able to bring him in during really bad weather, that was a plus, since he was housebroken. What I didn't expect is that he would never want to go out unless I went with him. In fact I can't make a step he doesn't go with me. He bonded to me like glue! He has great manners, never "counter surfs" for food, he doesn't eat up things (unless you count my slippers or the occasional toy), he's not rambunctious, in fact he mostly sleeps. Of course he usually sleeps in the space you want to walk, but he's quiet! So I have an 80 lb. house dog.

He's really good with the little ones. I would totally trust him to never hurt one of them. However, he may drive them crazy. He tends to want to herd them up in the yard. He follows them around and nips at their heels and tries to get them all in one place. Nice trick if he can do it! They in turn drive him nuts trying to get him to "fetch". They throw balls and he just looks at them. You can't herd balls. Fetch just isn't in his gene pool.

However goofy he is, he is still a collie. The old Lassie shows were based on the very protective, caring nature of these dogs. About a year ago, the then 3 yr. old grandson, decided to go the field where he could see his dad on the tractor. He slipped through the gate and started trudging through the tall grass. Duncan, who never leaves the yard if I'm in the house, went with him. My son said his heart nearly stopped when he looked up and saw what the dog was trying to "herd" through the field. Duncan couldn't get the little one to go back to the house but he never left his side, either. I have no doubt that if he had felt that the little one was threatened he would have protected him with every ounce of his being. As it was, he did all he could do in staying with him until an adult was found.

You're a good dog Duncan.