Neighbor dog Neeta entered our barn, with intent to kill (again). We tied her up almost all day, but when we released her, she headed straight for our barn. Phil took the BB gun and pegged her. Better a BB than a bullet. She hasn’t been back since. Dennis Bessette remembered that the BB treatment had worked for him one time; the other eleven times, he’s shot the neighbor dogs (or his own, if they mess with his chickens). That’s still hard for us city folk to swallow, but I have little doubt that, should I come across a blood-smeared dog in my barn, I would be angry enough to protect my own.
Can’t do it in cold blood, preemptively, though.
I think the keet that escaped injured/strained itself. Since Friday morning, one keet has been sluggish, able to move, but not quite able to keep up with the rest. And now with the chicken wire in the barn, I think many of the rest of the keets may be not long for this world—they are too curious, and too dumb.
Death is always possible in the country. We had to turn the power off for what ended up being several hours. Phil had trenched the driveway in order to bury the internet line, and to rebury/redo the electric lines to the office and barn (and, I think, the house, too). During those several hours, the chicks’ heat lamp was off. It was a pleasant weather day, but in the afternoon, one chick grew still and gradually expired. (It may have been more humane to kill it quickly, but it is WAY too hard to kill a chick. No way. An hours long, natural death is what this chick had to have.) Thankfully, it was only one, and who knows if it was just shock? Hopefully so!
I gave up on the bread machine. Phil found my KitchenAid stand mixer, and with my mill, my new convection toaster oven that holds TWO bread loaves at a time, I can pump out perfect loaves in little time. We ate four loaves yesterday and four loaves today, so it is good that I can bake two at a time. It struck me: I wanted God to make the bread machine work, when, really, what I needed was my daily bread. The bread machine was not the best mechanism to provide the daily bread (even running every minute, it was a challenge to get three loaves a day); now I have my daily bread, and God has answered that prayer.
It is a wonderful treat to stand in my barn-kitchen, mill my flour, then watch the KitchenAid knead the dough. There are definite benefits to being mechanized! And then I can toast the bread in the trailer. Yum!
And sometimes the free-roaming keets come and stand right under my stove. That's not something that happens to just anyone!
Our fields have a lovely green sheen now. Not a green blanket, but a sheen. They are sparsely covered with a thin layer of oats, about 3” tall. We have taken the sheep and goats through the worst of the pasture, where we moved them every two days because there was so little forage. Now they are coming into the slightly better pasture, where they find enough to eat for about five days. We moved them today and rejoiced to see them head for our new oats. We planted those seeds! They were enjoying the fruit of our efforts! And how great to know that, even if the above-ground oats are clipped off, their roots match the above-ground growth, so there is new organic matter growing underfoot.
Pasture farming is fun!
Our pigs are growing on me (heh heh heh). I don’t think they are much bigger, really, but they are doing a fantastic job turning over our soil. Their role in preparing the garden just upslope from our trailer is almost done. We had intermittent rain all day yesterday, and Phil said that they are pugging a bit of the ground now (where the stock trample wet soil and eliminate spaces in the soil—not good). We will probably move them later this week, once we decide where they should go.
Anyway, the pigs must think they are starving. I got the slop bucket from their enclosure yesterday, and they immediately ran up behind me and trotted at my heels like well-trained puppies, squealing and grunting in ecstasy at the wonderful treat I would soon bring them. Food they wouldn’t have to forage for! What an amazing gift! I dump every scrap I won’t eat (and I find ways to eat most everything, from radish and turnip greens from the garden, to the bread crumbs I put into meatloaf); I also give them the dishwashing liquid, which has food traces and is not plentiful (since I have to haul the water to wash with, and must heat it on the stove, I dispense it frugally).
The pigs tussle a bit once the slop bucket goes down. All-pink Abby is the smarter of the two, and she usually wiles her front feet into the bucket, which effectively forces Alice out. Alice runs about squealing in distress, and tries to turn the bucket over with her snout. But Abby is bigger now, and holds her own. I can scratch them both on their wirey-haired backs while they eat the slops and they ignore me. Which is great progress, as they are no longer afraid, and is, in truth, ideal. I don’t think I want much pig-attention, and pig teeth, focused on me.
The last few mornings, Abigail has been waking at 7am. It is dark in the trailer still at 7am, and she is the first to wake, usually. She and I will get up and head outside to feed the sheep and goats and check on the chicks. She is a morning person, and once she is awake, she wants to get going! She is ready to talk and eat and LIVE! With the exception of Jadon, all us Lykoshes are NOT morning people. In courtesy to the three younger sons who are still sleeping, I take her out where she can talk away, and, mercifully, does not expect much of a response from me. (My mother recalls how I asked her once, while I was in high school, “Mom, why don’t you get up with me before I go to school?” Her answer: “The conversation isn’t good enough.”)
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