I had a different post in mind for today. But the project for that post is not done. So instead you get a reminder from Ralph to stop and smell the peonies.
Apparently, I’ve been doing a bit too much of that, hence no project for you today.
I hope that you have a great weekend. Make like Ralph, and take some time to relax!
Baxter here, y’all. Last Monday was an exciting day. It was Victoria Day, so Matt and Julia and me were all home together. (I dunno who Victoria is. I don’t think she’s from Kentucky.)
The best part of the day was when Julia and I went for our afternoon walk. It was sunny and sniffy. We were walking across the field behind the driveshed. There was lump in the field. I always investigate the bumps, the longest grass, the tallest weeds (and usually pee on them too). I was going to check out the lump, but Julia called me back. I went. (I’m getting very good at not wearing my leash.)
I was almost beside Julia when I saw that she was looking at the lump too. I took another look, and I saw what she saw. The lump had ears, and eyes, and a nose.
I’ll show you what it looked like (sorta). Her head was low to the ground between her paws and her ears pointed straight up. (And her furs were grey and brown just like the dirt. That’s why we couldn’t see her at first.)
It was the doggie that Matt and Julia never let me meet: coyote!
I wasn’t going to miss my chance this time.
I heard Julia land on the dirt as she tried to tackle me, but I was speedy. The coyote was speedy too. She stayed just in front of me all the way across the field, down the hill and into the marsh. I’m not going to tell what happened in the marsh. Julia said she called me, but I didn’t hear her. I was just trying to meet coyote.
Eventually, I realized coyote didn’t want to meet me, and I remembered I’m supposed to stay close to Julia. But I couldn’t find Julia. I left the marsh, but she wasn’t in the field. I went back to the house, and the door opened when I got there. Matt and Julia were both there. Matt was holding my leash and wearing his tall boots and long pants even though it was really hot out, and he’d been wearing shorts before.
I gave them lots of smiles and wiggles, but I couldn’t help dancing too, so they saw that my legs and feets (and other parts too) had some black marsh mud on them. (Okay, there was lots of black mud.) They weren’t as happy as me. Julia grabbed my collar and gave me a couple of hard shakes. Then Matt took my collar and clipped me to my long line.
We could see the field behind the driveshed, and we saw my coyote come back. She climbed over the top of the hill and walked to the tree line. Matt went out to the field, but Julia stayed with me. She went and got the hose and washed off the mud. I usually don’t like the hose, but I was so hot from running that the water felt good. Plus I was still pretty excited.
I stayed outside for awhile to dry off, but I didn’t see the coyote anymore on Victoria Day. We’ve seen her pretty much everyday since then. But I haven’t gotten to introduce myself again.
Addition from Julia: We officially have coyotes. I was very excited a month ago when I first saw the coyote, as I hadn’t seen one on our property before. But now they (yes, we’re up to two coyotes) have become regulars, and it’s a little less exciting–Baxter’s opinion notwithstanding.
I’m a live and let live kind of woman, but I’m not sure the coyotes share my philosophy.
Their confidence and comfort grows quickly. So far they seem to be mostly curious. One followed–just followed, not stalked or hunted–Bax and I on our walk on Friday morning. When he got too close, I shouted at him, and he ran away.
Our biggest concern is Ralph. We can keep Baxter on leash, but we can’t lock Ralph up in the barn. She’s a pretty savvy girl, and she sticks very close to the barn, but the fact that a coyote was sitting on the driveway the other night–and that Ralph likes to hang out on the barn ramp in the middle of the night–isn’t a comfort. Plus, when two coyotes were cavorting in the field, her reaction was to roll on her back and ask for scratches (from us, not from the coyotes).
Argh. I wish coyotes were vegetarians.
Baxter here with a garden update for y’all.
At least that’s what Julia says we’re making. It doesn’t look like any garden I’ve seen before.
Two weekends ago, Julia lit the “garden” on fire. I used to love that spot of the field. The long grass was super, super sniffy. But now it’s gone. And I got to say, I didn’t love the fire. First, it was very, very big. I thought it was going to reach out and singe my furs. I’m a short-haired fellow. I don’t have many furs to spare. Second, I got all tangled up in the hose which was not very comfortable. And third, smoke makes me sneeze.
I went into the garden to check it out last Saturday. It’s not as sniffy as it used to be. But it didn’t make me sneeze either. I rolled around a bit ’cause that’s what I used to like to do in the long grass. It felt different, but it was okay.
Julia was not very happy after I rolled, and she decided to cover up all the ash.
She and Matt got out the World’s Biggest Tarp. Matt probably should have stayed with her in the garden ’cause it took her a long time to get that tarp unfolded. I dunno what’s so difficult. She’s got thumbs!
Even though she used the World’s Biggest Tarp, it still wasn’t big enough for the garden. Then she decided to use the big roll of carpet she found beside the garden. It wasn’t frozen anymore–I walked all over it and sniffed to make sure–but she still had a really hard time moving it.
Julia vs. the carpet was more interesting than Julia vs. the tarp, but she didn’t make a video of that one. I was sunbathing, but I opened my eyes every so often to watch.
I got up when she went to get Wiley. I keep an eye on that tractor. It took them a couple of tries, but they finally got the carpet into the front end loader. Then Wiley carried the carpet around the fence and dumped it in the garden. He’s pretty helpful even though he doesn’t have thumbs either.
It still took Julia a long time to lay the carpet all out, but eventually it was spread out in the garden. Even though the carpet was wet and dirty and buggy and had plants growing in it, it was nicer to lay on than the pokey dry weeds.
Julia wasn’t any happier when I laid on the carpet than she was when I rolled in the ash. After my afternoon walk with Matt, he took me from the front door right into the bathtub. That was not my favourite part of the weekend. Honestly, what’s the matter with a few smudges on my furs!
The carpet and the World’s Biggest Tarp and two other little tarps still aren’t enough to cover the whole garden. Plus, some of them blew around in the wind, and we had to spread them out again the other day.
I think we’re going to be working in the “garden” for awhile yet. Hopefully it starts to look like a garden soon.
Ralph is a top-notch barn cat, but she’s become a bit… soft.
This winter, as soon as HRH deemed the temperature too cold and the snow too deep, she retreated to the barn and refused to venture outside.
As a result of her hibernation, we had our first rabbits this spring. Two of them living behind the barn.
The snow is now mostly gone, so Ralph is outside again and the rabbits are also gone. She hasn’t gotten that soft.
But then last weekend the snow returned. It fell all night from Saturday into Easter Sunday.
HRH poked her head out of the barn.
She looked to the left and the right.
She paused for a moment to consider.
And she retreated back into the barn.
Oh, Ralphie. You’re such a tough barn cat.
At least the Easter bunny was safe.
Hello! Thanks for your patience while I took a little break last week.
It was a good vacation, but a busy one. I was away from the farm 7 out of the 9 days. Honestly, that’s not my favourite way to spend a vacation, but I did manage to squeeze in a little project time.
We finally made an itty-bitty bit of progress on the master bedroom (yes, that makeover still lives), and I came to some decisions about the garden. You’ll hear more about both of these in upcoming posts.
For today, though, I wanted to share one of the fun reasons I left the farm last week.
We went to, guess what, another farm to go horseback riding. Today’s post isn’t about the ride itself as much as it is about the great pictures (trust me, you’ll want to make it all the way to the very end).
Here are our two steeds: Indy on the left and Clyde on the right.
Indy was mine and Clyde was Matt’s.
Our guide was Adrienne (the person, not the horse).
Here’s a view I don’t usually have during my hikes.
Matt and Clyde had a special bond. He (Clyde, not Matt) keeps his mouth open a bit because he likes to have his bottom lip tickled. You’ll notice his (Clyde’s, not Matt’s) tongue is sticking out in the photo below.
And then Matt found just the right spot.
Clyde certainly knows how to smile for the camera.
And there’s your funny Monday. You’re welcome. Hope you have a great day.
Like so many of you this winter, we’ve had a few incredibly cold days over the last little while. The nights have been even worse. Last Friday, shortly after the post about the birds that have been visiting our feeder was published, I saw a new bird for the first time–a little owl.
Unfortunately, the sighting was a sad one. The cold had been too much for this little guy. He was dead.
He was a beautiful, fascinating creature–his multi-toned feathers, his pointy ears, his curved beak. I wish I’d been able to see him alive. I’ve heard owls around the farm, but I’ve never seen one.
I was surprised how small he was. His feathers were so fluffy that they deceived me into thinking he was much bigger than I realized. However, under his feathers, he was truly a very little guy. No wonder the cold was too much for him.
Our bird feeder has been very busy this winter. Chickadees are still our most frequent visitors, but our flock has diversified quite a bit.
I spent some time hanging out the dining room window with my camera, trying to get some (not very good) pictures of our birds. It turned out that I was just in time for the Great Backyard Bird Count. The count happens over four days every February, and the goal is to collect data on wild birds to get an idea of where and how many birds there are.
Here’s a few snapshots of our little flock:
Male cardinal
Female cardinal
Blue jays
I think this fellow might be a junco
Woodpecker. I think this is a red-bellied woodpecker, but we also have a pure black and white one that visits every so often.
Woodpecker facing off with the male cardinal
For some reason, there’s an understanding among the birds that the feeder is a one bird at a time operation. The woodpecker is our most skittish bird, but he swooped in while the cardinal was still in the feeder. I swear I heard the cardinal hiss at woodie as he hopped to the roof of the feeder.
Do you have a bird feeder at your house? Who are the members of your flock? Anyone know whether I’m correct in my identification of the junco and woodpecker?
Today is a holiday in Ontario. While I’m taking the day off, Baxter’s covering the blog.
Since coming from Kentucky, I’ve learned that fresh snow is fun for bounding and sniffing.
But trail-blazing is hard work, especially with four legs to push through the snow.
Lesson for other puppies out there: When y’all get tired of bounding, it’s okay to follow the footprints.
Another lesson for other puppies: If snowshoes are involved, don’t follow too close. Snowshoes have tails that are easy to step on–or that can whack you in the chin if you’re not careful.
Anyone know if snowshoes come in doggy size?
Read Part 1 of this story.
My family wasn’t really good at pets. We had lots of animals in our lives, but most of our pets were birds–as in ducks. Not your typical pet. After living with us for a few years, the birds were usually rehomed (as the term is now) to farms with larger flocks.
My family did go typical once when my parents got us a puppy. Four little kids (I think we were all younger than 10) and a rambunctious puppy ended up being too much for my parents. They rehomed the dog. I still remember how my stomach hurt for weeks and weeks after losing my dog. It still hurts today decades later when I think of him. (And I hope in writing this post I don’t hurt my parents’ feelings).
I’m sharing this story to explain how, several years after the puppy, Bill the goose (gander) went from a family bird (which you saw in Part 1), to my pet, to a family pet once again (below, my Dad with Bill).
We’d had Bill for a few years. His duck friend Magellan had disappeared one spring night, and he’d been alone for a little while. My Dad, who’d been taking care of him, mentioned that he thought it was time that he found a farm for Bill.
I said, “No you can’t.”
Dad said, “Then he’s yours. You have to take care of him. Give him fresh water in the morning and at night. And you have to let him out of his pen everyday and spend at least 30 minutes with him.”
I said, “Okay.”
Now, I’m sure my parents thought there was no way I would stick with it. However, getting rid of our dog affected me more than they realized. There was no way I was letting them get rid of Bill.
I did exactly what my Dad said. Every afternoon when I came home from school, I would go to the pen in the backyard and let Bill out for a wander. We’d walk around the coop so that we had a straight shot from the backyard to the front yard. Then I’d start running.
Bill would open his big white wings and run behind me. He was an Embden, a breed that is primarily raised for meat. He was not the best flyer, but if the wind was right he could sometimes get up as high as my shoulder. Once in the front yard, Bill would decorously fold his wings along his back, and the two of us would walk down the road. At the corner, we’d turn around and come home.
After awhile, it was just accepted that Bill wasn’t going anywhere. He got a new duck friend, Buster. He got his summer trips to the cottage every weekend. He got a bathtub in his pen so he could swim whenever he wanted. When I got my first boyfriend–Matt–he got to take care of Bill when my family went camping (thank you, Matt).
Bill became, once again, the family’s pet.
Geese can live 20 years or longer. Bill was nowhere near that old when he died. Maybe 7. I’m not sure now. One day, he stopped eating. I tried hand feeding him, force feeding him, bringing him inside for a warm bath (it was winter and his outdoor bathtub–which he loved–had been drained for a few months). Nothing roused him.
Even though he was the family’s goose, at the core he was mine. So when I made the decision not to take him to a vet, my Dad didn’t try to change my mind. This was pre-internet, and searching for a vet that would treat a goose was much more challenging than it is today. As well, I still considered Bill a farm animal, and as harsh as it sounds I have different standards for farm animals than I do for other pets.
When Bill died, my Dad was very upset. He felt he should have found a vet for Bill. I remember my Dad tearing up as we stood over Bill’s grave in the backyard. This demonstrated that Bill was truly a family pet.
And maybe that’s why for the most part I was okay (although I’m sniffling and crying now as I write this). Bill had got to live out his life with his family. His whole life. And that’s all I wanted.
This goose (gander, really) and my long-ago little dog ended up being big forces in my life. They influenced how I thought about adopting a dog. They influence how I care for Ralph and Baxter now. Bill is the reason I want to have my own birds here at the farm. And you saw last week that Bill even influenced my choice of art for this house.
Last week, I said I would post the story of Bill. Today is Part 1. You can read Part 2 here.
He was known as Bill.
He’d been given the name before he was even born. It had been scrawled in pencil on the outside of the large white egg.
Each day as the egg was turned the name would disappear and reappear.
After more than a month in the warm incubator, a crack appeared in the egg. Bill was ready to get out. But he wasn’t strong enough to do it on his own.
Carefully the man chipped away at the shell, breaking off small shards with his fingernails. He stopped and waited, hoping Bill could wiggle his way free. It took a long time and more help, but finally the small gosling hatched.
His dark feathers were wet and plastered flat.
His fragile pink skin showed through.
For nearly a day, he laid on a soft cloth in a small cardboard box. He was too weak to move, unable to even raise his head. The man put a light bulb over the box to keep the small bird warm.
This is how Bill, my goose (gander), came into the world.
Bill soon found his feet. He was part of a small hatch–the only goose–and shared his box with just one duckling. But from the start, Bill considered himself more human than bird.
From his home in the corner of the kitchen he would keep an eye on what the family was up to. At night when the family went to bed, we couldn’t sleep because his piercing peep-peep-peeps would fill the house. Batman and Robin had just been released so we cut George Clooney out of the cereal box and taped him to the side of Bill’s box for company. It seemed to help.
Soon, Bill was big enough to move outside to the coop and its covered run. He and his duck friend, Magellan, made their home there.
Even though he lived outside, Bill made sure he was in on pretty much everything the family was doing.
Photo bombing.
Snow forting.
Gardening.
Cottaging.
A few years later, though, things changed.
Home on 129 Acres 