And this is Peaches' gorgeous daughter Cammy, aka Herron Hill's Weeping Camel.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Countdown Continues
Well, I didn't have my kids and Barbaro didn't win the Preakness. I guess everyone knows what happened by now. He is a champion, anyway, though, so I think I will name one of my kids Barbaro. Or maybe it will have to be Barbara, if it is a girl? Hmm.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Kidding Countdown '06
It's that time of year again and I am officially entering the kidding countdown. If my babies are born on Preakness Saturday I will name them after winning horses. Otherwise, I will have to think of names on my own. Oh dear.
One of the things I like to do when I am getting ready to start thinking about kidding is to find a good spot where my babies can be born...
One of the things I like to do when I am getting ready to start thinking about kidding is to find a good spot where my babies can be born...
Sunday, May 14, 2006
Monday, May 01, 2006
Call Me Fifi
Atticus is our guardian Pyrenees. He tells us all where to go and what to do. He is very bossy. We don't always like him but we love him: he keeps everyone safe and won't even allow crows to land in the pasture.
Atticus is three, and up until last Thursday, he looked very fearsome. He was covered with a shaggy white coat which had acquired an impressive collection of mud mats and magnificent dingleberries over the rainy winter. Whenever the meter man even saw Atticus, he would jump into his truck and start throwing biscuits out the window while he raced backwards down the driveway, spewing gravel. It's kind of funny, because in spite of his size and his intimidating appearance, Atticus is actually very very gentle (as long as he is being obeyed). He lets baby goats jump on him and loves to have his tummy rubbed.
Anyway, last Thursday morning he looked, as usual, like a dirty white lion. Until a big mysterious van came up the driveway and a little lady in a smock got out. She and another lady put a muzzle on Atticus - !!! - and picked him up, despite the fact that he weighs well over a hundred pounds and does NOT like to be picked up, and carried him inside the van.
A long time passed. There was a lot of noise coming out of the van, including a sound like a weedwhacker going.
We wondered what was going on. We heard some swear words, which we are familiar with from the time the farmer had to cut Hannah Belle out of the fence. But mostly we heard that buzzing noise. Over an hour later the door opened and a 4-foot-tall poodle, blindingly white and clean and wearing a green bandanna, stepped sheepishly out of the van. We wondered what had happened to Atticus, and whether we should start cleaning the barn for fear the uber-poodle would dirty its immaculate paws.
The poodle was shaved within an inch of its life, but still it was magnificent, unmistakably the largest poodle ever to walk the Earth. We stood by in amazement as it approached, sashaying in an oddly familiar way. And then we all burst out laughing! It was Atticus!
Holy Cow! Wait until you see the pictures of the Extreme Makeover wrought by the mobile grooming lady!
Atticus is three, and up until last Thursday, he looked very fearsome. He was covered with a shaggy white coat which had acquired an impressive collection of mud mats and magnificent dingleberries over the rainy winter. Whenever the meter man even saw Atticus, he would jump into his truck and start throwing biscuits out the window while he raced backwards down the driveway, spewing gravel. It's kind of funny, because in spite of his size and his intimidating appearance, Atticus is actually very very gentle (as long as he is being obeyed). He lets baby goats jump on him and loves to have his tummy rubbed.
Anyway, last Thursday morning he looked, as usual, like a dirty white lion. Until a big mysterious van came up the driveway and a little lady in a smock got out. She and another lady put a muzzle on Atticus - !!! - and picked him up, despite the fact that he weighs well over a hundred pounds and does NOT like to be picked up, and carried him inside the van.
A long time passed. There was a lot of noise coming out of the van, including a sound like a weedwhacker going.
We wondered what was going on. We heard some swear words, which we are familiar with from the time the farmer had to cut Hannah Belle out of the fence. But mostly we heard that buzzing noise. Over an hour later the door opened and a 4-foot-tall poodle, blindingly white and clean and wearing a green bandanna, stepped sheepishly out of the van. We wondered what had happened to Atticus, and whether we should start cleaning the barn for fear the uber-poodle would dirty its immaculate paws.
The poodle was shaved within an inch of its life, but still it was magnificent, unmistakably the largest poodle ever to walk the Earth. We stood by in amazement as it approached, sashaying in an oddly familiar way. And then we all burst out laughing! It was Atticus!
Holy Cow! Wait until you see the pictures of the Extreme Makeover wrought by the mobile grooming lady!
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Just Goats
When you live on the farm you know firsthand that there is a time for every season. And right now we are in the middle of a season of sadness. We know it will pass, but that doesn't help today. Four years ago there was a similar time. Two of our old horses died exactly a month apart: one was 32 and one was 29.
The older one, Mo, just didn't want to go on living when his old friend died. We always try not to have favorites, but Mo was everybody's favorite horse. On the looks scale, he was just about a zero: a scrubby old pink-eyed appaloosa with a tail like a bottle brush. But there was never on this Earth a kinder horse.
Never.
Mo was so kind that he lived an extra two weeks so we could get ready to live without him: when Mo stopped eating, the farmer brought out a bucket of warm mash every morning and every evening and fed him by hand, one handful after another. He was too kind to refuse to eat it, even though he didn't want it.
But even that sadness felt right, in its own way. Mo was 32, after all, and horses don't get much older than that. And he loved almost every minute (he didn't really like the parts where he got wormed) of his long life. And he was ready to go.
This sadness is different. First we lost Stacy, out of the blue. And now my two grandsons, Charzan and Orzbit, have been killed by dogs. A group of dogs, just out killing for fun. Their owners allowed them to run loose.
Charzan and Orzbit were twins. They were ten months old. They were very much beloved. They may have been, as we sometimes hear people say, "just goats," but they were also gentle and silly and fun-loving. They were our friends. We miss them very badly and we feel sick when we think about the way they died.
Don't worry, boys, we won't forget you. Even though you were just goats.
The older one, Mo, just didn't want to go on living when his old friend died. We always try not to have favorites, but Mo was everybody's favorite horse. On the looks scale, he was just about a zero: a scrubby old pink-eyed appaloosa with a tail like a bottle brush. But there was never on this Earth a kinder horse.
Never.
Mo was so kind that he lived an extra two weeks so we could get ready to live without him: when Mo stopped eating, the farmer brought out a bucket of warm mash every morning and every evening and fed him by hand, one handful after another. He was too kind to refuse to eat it, even though he didn't want it.
But even that sadness felt right, in its own way. Mo was 32, after all, and horses don't get much older than that. And he loved almost every minute (he didn't really like the parts where he got wormed) of his long life. And he was ready to go.
This sadness is different. First we lost Stacy, out of the blue. And now my two grandsons, Charzan and Orzbit, have been killed by dogs. A group of dogs, just out killing for fun. Their owners allowed them to run loose.
Charzan and Orzbit were twins. They were ten months old. They were very much beloved. They may have been, as we sometimes hear people say, "just goats," but they were also gentle and silly and fun-loving. They were our friends. We miss them very badly and we feel sick when we think about the way they died.
Don't worry, boys, we won't forget you. Even though you were just goats.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Starts with W...
Ok, it is time for a baby round-up.
Born so far: Lolo, Betsy, Moony, Wrenny, Wrusty, The General, Traveler, Harper Lee, Barnaby, Whitman, Willa, Wrong Number, and What Next. And also born: W---, W---, W---, W---, and, finally, W---.
Won't you help? We are running out of W names - all (almost) the purebred babies will be ADGA registered and it is a W year. Please: won't you help?
Born so far: Lolo, Betsy, Moony, Wrenny, Wrusty, The General, Traveler, Harper Lee, Barnaby, Whitman, Willa, Wrong Number, and What Next. And also born: W---, W---, W---, W---, and, finally, W---.
Won't you help? We are running out of W names - all (almost) the purebred babies will be ADGA registered and it is a W year. Please: won't you help?
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
For Stacy
We have had happy days and sad days at the farm, but usually they don't come so close together. This time they did.
Our friend Stacy kidded on Thursday, February 16 with a set of beautiful triplets, two girls and a boy. Stacy had never had even a single girl before, so we were very excited to see two, and both -- all three of the babies, actually -- were exceptionally pretty.
But it was a very very cold day, about the coldest day we have ever had here, and Stacy had a very hard kidding. In the end she couldn't push the kids out, and the farmer had to go in and pull them.
Stacy did not recover as she should have after having her babies, and despite showing how big her heart was with a heroic effort, she died three days later.
There are smarter goats here than Stacy, and there are prettier goats, and there are better milkers. But there isn't anyone sweeter: Stacy was the queen of the down-below pasture, and she was by far the kindest, gentlest leader at the farm. She never bullied smaller goats, and she always made room at the feeder for her friend Stevie, a tiny Nigerian who only has one eye.
On a warm summer's day, all the down-below girls loved to doze in a big pile, with Stacy at the center as their giant pillow. Stevie and Penrose the nutty Toggenburg stood at the fence and watched as Stacy was buried under the apple trees.
Stacy's three kids are Stacy's Starlight (Lolo), Stacy's Starbright (Betsy) and Stacy's Moonbeam (Moony).
Stacy was four years old.
5/13/2001-2/19/2006.
Our friend Stacy kidded on Thursday, February 16 with a set of beautiful triplets, two girls and a boy. Stacy had never had even a single girl before, so we were very excited to see two, and both -- all three of the babies, actually -- were exceptionally pretty.
But it was a very very cold day, about the coldest day we have ever had here, and Stacy had a very hard kidding. In the end she couldn't push the kids out, and the farmer had to go in and pull them.
Stacy did not recover as she should have after having her babies, and despite showing how big her heart was with a heroic effort, she died three days later.
There are smarter goats here than Stacy, and there are prettier goats, and there are better milkers. But there isn't anyone sweeter: Stacy was the queen of the down-below pasture, and she was by far the kindest, gentlest leader at the farm. She never bullied smaller goats, and she always made room at the feeder for her friend Stevie, a tiny Nigerian who only has one eye.
On a warm summer's day, all the down-below girls loved to doze in a big pile, with Stacy at the center as their giant pillow. Stevie and Penrose the nutty Toggenburg stood at the fence and watched as Stacy was buried under the apple trees.
Stacy's three kids are Stacy's Starlight (Lolo), Stacy's Starbright (Betsy) and Stacy's Moonbeam (Moony).
Stacy was four years old.
5/13/2001-2/19/2006.
Sunday, February 19, 2006
The Kid Count
The kid count has begun, kicked off by Breezy. Breezy had a set of triplets: their names are General (boy), Harper (girl), and Traveler (boy). April had a single buckling - he doesn't have a name yet. He is very happy go lucky and has a white cap to go with his otherwise traditional LaMancha markings, so if that helps you think of a name, send it in. Stacy had a set of unbelievably beautiful triplets: Lolo (girl), Betsy (girl), and Moony (boy). Moony is covered with moonspots.
Saturday, February 11, 2006
Breezy Does it Again
Breezy has done it again, beating everyone to the punch. Yesterday, February 10, she popped out a set of triplets in record time. They are the first babies of the year and just as cute as a button. All healthy and doing well: the little girl weighed 2.75 pounds when she was born, but by the time she was two hours old she weighed 3.25 pounds. How did she do it? Milk milk milk! It does a baby body good!
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Encore il pleut...
...la plus la meme chose. Yes, we have that deja view from the barn. Still raining. We can't go out. The tiny creek below the farm has turned into a lake. The farmer is making the pregnant ladies do laps around the tack room, they have been sitting around so long with no exercise.
Monday, January 16, 2006
Not to worry...
...That strange yellow ball has disappeared from the sky. It is raining again, but the weather reports say we will only get an inch or so of rain today. So it's pretty nice.
Sunday, January 15, 2006
Saturday, January 14, 2006
How Odd...
Something very strange and peculiar has happened. The rain has stopped falling from the sky. The sky is not completely gray any more. And there is this yellow ball, a big bright round thing, high up there. Weird, weird, weird. I'm sure the farmer will tell us what's going on...
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