Dog Observes Chicken

Thursday Morning

Yesterday morning I woke after too little sleep. More than I had been getting, perhaps, but too little nonetheless. It is during mornings such as these where I hit a sort of autopilot, and proceed about my chores with little thought. The puppy was let out to pee and I set about closing the windows. The house had got down to 73F, though it would have been cooler if the box fan had not fallen out of the window, it was a good enough start to the day.

As is my custom, I walked out back to be greeted by the now relieved Diggery. For a while I stared out into the pasture, taking in the cool morning air and allowing my eyes to adjust to the day. Five or ten minutes is what it takes, and then I am back in action. The flake pulled nicely off the bale, and the hay filled my nostrils and coated my shirt. Diggery and I set off to the pasture together - him jumping around my feet, me balancing the flake in one hand as I opened the gate. It is during this time that the puppy fears missing something exciting, so he takes only short pees, every minute or two.

When I found a suitable spot, I tossed the hay to the ground and brushed what I could off me. By that time the sheep voiced displeasure at having to wait for breakfast, so I trudged on over to their night pen to let them out - Diggery still bouncing around and under my feet. Then came that wonderful moment, which happens most every morning when I let the sheep loose. Diggery set to work immediately. First he valiantly, but ultimately in vain, attempted to bring the sheep back to me. The poor dog is still too small to completely enforce his demands. Then, once the sheep broke past him, he chased them mightily across the field, towards and then past the hay. At this point, as usual, hunger took over and the sheep quit giving heed to the dog. So, full of pride, Diggery rushed back to me for praise. "Good job. That's a good puppy." He will make a good sheepdog.

By that time the sun had begun to warm and I was glad I had closed the windows. With the warmth on my back, we strode off to turn on the water. The closest working waterline is, of course, almost a football field's distance from the animals. We do a lot of walking in the morning.

Half way across the field, I noticed that I was being followed; not only by Diggery, which is normal, but by two hens. "Cluck, cluck." Cocked heads looked at me as if I was the one up to no good. "What the… How did you get out?" How long had they been following me?

Back to the chicken coop. I suppose it is a general rule that things should not go smoothly when you are the least rested to handle it. It turned out that the sheep had been using the chicken yard to scratch their itching shedding wool. Busted a whole straight through the side. "Sigh… I guess you guys will be free-range today." Not that I did not want them to free-range, I just was not planning it until next week.

Off again to the water. I walked a little more quickly after that. My chores had just increased.

Just after I had walked passed the back door I heard the desperate mournful cry of one who felt rejected. As if the world had turned its back on the love and adoration of a nineteen month old boy. As if that poor lonesome boy had awoken and sought out his father, only to have him walk briskly by without so much as a glance. As if… Well, I suppose that is it.

So, the water was turned on and I soon found myself walking back through the field, Brenden in one arm, chicken feed in hand, Diggery bouncing about my feet and eight hens following behind. The gate to the pasture and the gate to the chicken yard were deftly opened with the sort of agility known only to parents, and the occasional gymnast.

Taking great care, I was near enough able to water the sheep and chickens without allowing the puppy to get himself wet - which was an endeavor I failed in today. I proceed back through the field, past the gate and succeed in preventing the puppy from ingesting copious amounts of sheep manure. The boy was returned to bed and the dog was fed.

Finally I was able get ready and on to work. Down I sat at my desk.

Text Message
Valerie:
The sheep are in the chicken coop. They ate the feed.

I smiled.

Just Another Day

Television

Though I have heard fine arguments against the use of television for various reasons - ranging from its mind numbing effects, to its immoral and materialistic propaganda, to its creation of mass culture - it seems to me that perhaps the most damning of all is the fact that television is an incredibly dull way of wasting time. It can be said that the purpose of television is to avoid doing something worth talking about, in order to watch someone pretend to do something not worth talking about. And though the demise of regular conversation may be an effect of television, I suspect it may in fact be a benefit, given that the only thing more frightfully dull than watching a television show is talking about a television show. In fact, when I find myself cornered in a conversation about television - perhaps who got immunity on last night's show of choice - I find myself desperately wishing for someone to turn on the television, so that the inane drone of dullness can cease and I can escape unnoticed.

Farm Update

Our two remaining sheep seem to have recovered (though the younger still has a limp), and seem to be showing signs of pregnancy. If they are, that would be fortunate.

Through some friends, we now have a connection to a man who runs an exotic meats website, so when our flock is up to snuff we will have an outlet.

I will be picking up my Border Collie pup tomorrow or Friday. Hopefully by the time he is old enough to start training for herding, we will have a flock big enough for him to be useful.

Brutus - our giant loveable sheep-chasing mutt - is now starting to understand that the sheep should be left alone, and has been doing his job. Unfortunately he has been picking up ticks from the brush, which means I will have to spray, unless I can find an acceptable (and cheap) "organic" option.

The neighbors have lost another goat to the coyotes, and yet another to a rattlesnake. The rattlers are coming out of the ground, and seem to be rather aggressive this year. The toads are coming out as well, but fortunately they are harmless. In fact, they provide some amusing entertainment for the mentally challenged kids next door.

The sheep have shed most of their wool, and the apple trees began to bloom on Saturday (perhaps they are celebrating Pascha as well). The tangerine, lemon, peach and apricot trees are now full of fruit, with some lemons ripe and the tangerines close behind them.

Unfortunately the sheep emergency put me behind in my construction of the chicken coop, so the chickens are now in the garage waiting for me to finish.

Yesterday the Press Enterprise came to take pictures of us and our house (and our sheep). If you get the paper, we will be in it on Sunday. Why us, I cannot figure out.

I will try to post pictures soon.

The People, the Media, Ideologues, and Democratic Non-Engagement

It comes to my attention that in general "the people" - who ever that nebulous entity may be - or perhaps more accurately, "the media" and those who associate themselves with it, care not what the actions are of ideological figures, so long as they self-identify with said figures espoused ideology. So it is, for example, that two presidential figures can initiate and execute nearly identical policies, and yet one garners criticism and identification as the abomination of desolation, whilst the other is worshipped as a new messiah (of course, who is which depends upon the ideological identification of said "people"/"media"/identifites). Though, I find it difficult to question the validity of the former identification, the later steadfastly demonstrates the veracity of a certain Dane's aversion to "the media" and "the people", i.e., Crowds. As such, it brings a little shame to me that I sullied my unbroken record of democratic non-engagement by voting in the last election, though perhaps there was some virtue in the act of voting for someone who was not running for office

Luxury

It now seems to me that the greatest luxury in life is that little time when the work is done and a degree of silence descends upon the house. At that moment one can find me sitting on the porch with a pipe, a beer and a book. The dog will be lying at my feet and the sheep will be chewing their cud, giving sounds of contentment from time to time, which will be answered in due course by the bellicose bleating of the neighboring goats. Then one can take in a deep breath of air, filled to the brim with the smells of grass, hay, livestock and good English tobacco, and if the breeze is just right the faint sweet smell of blossoming citrus will tickle that fortunate one's nose. One will be greeted with a nod to pull up an old camping chair, rest his bones and stare at the stars, unobscured by the city lights.