This is Hard to Tell you

The reason I started blogging was because of the lack of info out there. Sure, there was plenty of how to's on subjects, but none of them prepared you for the mistakes that came along with this life style. When I began, there were zero blogs or books or magazines that helped you tackle these things. It all started with butchering my own bird, and the lack of anatomy lessons that the books held. I'm from the suburbs, never held a chicken let alone butchered out before. And there seemed like no where to turn when something went wrong. I write to warn you, I write to help you, and I write to help myself. And now I have a story, this is a part of the simple life.


I was watching the very late local news last night. I kept hearing dogs barking. After a few minutes I realized that the barking was coming from my own yard. I went to the back door and opened it. There was two dogs, one had the neck of my angora goat, and the other had her rear. I screamed bloody murder, neglected to grab my gun, and ran out toward the two dogs and my beloved goat, Dora. The dogs ran, blood dripped off the goat's white dreads. I ran back up to the house and screamed for my husband, then back to my goat. She was standing, she was wobbly but standing. Our sheep, Donkey, making cooing noises at her. He wasn't leaving her side. I took my hands and tried to find the wound around her neck, and pressed. Unsure if where I was pressing was the correct spot. We were under a barn light, but the light was insufficient for what I needed to do. My husband asked what was going on from the back door. "They got Dora! Help me" he mumbled something and disappeared into the house. I was left alone.
I waited for my husband for a bit. I realized that the blood wasn't stopping. I stood in the 20 degree weather, in bare feet, a flannel pj bottom, and a punk rock band shirt. I took my shirt off. Good thing I still had a bra on, it kept a little bit of me warm. With my shirt now off, I used it to apply pressure to the wound as I waited for my husband. He soon came from the house with a flashlight. I used the flashlight to find the wound, I was dead on the spot already, but there was still the other wounds on her rear.
It took my husband some time to realize I was shirtless. And when he did, he handed over his jacket. Now what to do? We had to get her somewhere to work on her. To save her. My husband went back into the house and came back with a couple of towels. With a bit of effort, she was carried into the house and placed into the bathtub. One of the things my husband was doing while I was freezing topless, was to get out the iodine, bleed stop and a water bottle. Once she was in the tub, I quickly used the water bottle to flush away all the blood and find the wounds. There is no Vet ER for large animals any where close to us. At 1 am, you are on your own.
I found many wounds, none were punctures, all where deep slashes. We cleaned them and applied the bleed stop. It looks like the dogs removed her tail. Luckily it was a clean removal. I got her to eat a little, while the kittens stood guard. She tried to nibble them if they got too close to her. I was a bloody mess myself.
She is still laying in the bathtub. She has not tried to get up yet. But I think she will make it through the attack. This morning we will glue the wounds closed after recleaning them, and start giving her some antibiotics. As long as infection doesn't set in, I think she will be just fine.
So there you have it. This is reality on farms and homesteads all over the world. It just so happens that mine has been plagued lately with dog attacks, thefts and so forth. It use to be wonderful. Spent many years with calm and no deaths. This year. . .well it has put me to the test.

Miracle on a Dirt Road

Before I get into today's story, I have brought back the goat masthead by popular demand. Before I get a bunch of comments about how horrible I am, you should read the story that goes with it. No goats were hurt in the making of this picture.

Wednesday was an interesting day to say the least. I was and still am, in love with the world. Yesterday I was standing at the end of the drive, waiting for the Pre-K bus to arrive. As it pulled up, our calf Urth's Umbra came running and kicking in an attempt to get the dogs to play. Of course they wanted none of that. The bus driver opened the doors with the biggest grin I had ever seen on her. "what kind of cattle do you raise?" she asked, giggling at the sight of our playful calf. I told her Dexters, and her smile only got bigger. "We raise them too!" oh my, my heart leaped into my throat. I have been looking for someone close that had Dexters as well. "I thought they looked like my cows." I asked if she raised the long legged Kerry's like I do or the short. She told me short, and said that they were actually her son's and his wife's and that they just had a bull calf. She told me that we should all get together and talk. I agreed, I was thrilled.

That evening the Pre-K class had a Christmas program (and yes, this is a public school) We got all gussied up and went to watch our son in action. It was too cute. They did 'Twas the night before Christmas. My 4 year old was dressed in a business suit, and was the part of the play that says "And with a Dash" . He walked across the stage with a green brief case, that said Dash across it. Too freaking cute! Then they signed "silent night", then we sang as they signed it. The last part was them singing "We wish you a merry Christmas". After the program there was snacks. The bus driver and her son was there and we talked. They allowed their ADCA membership lapse and that was why I couldn't find them in the area. We talked for awhile, and it looks like they want to do a straight out bull swap. This is wonderful news! This was something we had thought about bringing up with other Dexter owners in Kansas. And it was him, not us that brought it up. The bull is short legged and horned. Pure Bliss.

My husband and I discussed selling our girls. It was I that brought it up. I was heart sick with the thought, and my husband was angry that I could even mention it. When I was 5 I was diagnosed with chronic depression, they call it clinical now. Than when I was 18, my first son died at 1 month old. Things have been rough, and I am sad most of the time, that was until I got my girls. Something about them snapped me out of it. They accomplished what years of meds and therapists couldn't. And here I am so desperate to save our home that I was willing to give up my happiness. My husband said it would be a last resort. Thanks to all of you, we won't have to do that. And we can build our herd and start making more money from them in the spring. We make a small amount with them right now, enough to cover feed every week.

But this bull, he will help bring even more of our dreams to reality. Ti's the Season, and many Miracles are happening on my little dirt road.

STOP!!!!

What overwhelming generosity.

But you can stop now.

You have met the goal. As I type this, you have stepped over the amount.

$1627!!!!

I am incredibly speechless, and most of you know that is rare for me. I always have something to say about everything. (hey, I see that eye rolling going on)

I am removing the donate button. Heads up to those of you that read via a feed, lj user especially, it might spit that post back out at you. I apologize if that does indeed happen.

All of you, all the commenter's and donors. You have restored so much faith in everyone that has stopped by. You might not know what you have done, but I for one will never, NEVER, forget it.

Lovemongering, wild at heart, I love that term!

My First Ingalls Moment

I had my very first Little House moment yesterday. That one brief moment when you think, didn't I see this episode? My youngest is in Pre-K. Yesterday it was snowing here, and the wind was fierce. I bundled my 4 year old up as well as myself and we headed out to wait for the bus. And as we stood there, our backs to the blowing snow, our faces wrapped in scarfs, our mittens tucked into our coats, I watched the snow blow across the road, wiping through our driveway and across the field, I thought I saw this episode. I could never walk away from this. Of course the Ingalls girls never waited on a bus, nor did they were a coat that said Harley Davidson, but, oh you guys know the blizzard episode. I think it was the scarfs that did it for me.

Onto other things. Some clarifications if you don't read comments. First, we called the bank as soon as we realized that we weren't going to be able to pay, like we thought we were. They never called us. We were trying to do the right thing. Second, because it was asked and since you are being so wonderful about this, the all or nothing price to keep the homestead after Christmas is $1537. As I type this, you have raised, $1337.00. I am flabbergasted, awwed, unable to say what I really want. The only thing that seems right, is that I am blessed. And Thank you, I am humbled.

I told my husband last night. I didn't get the response I was expecting. But than I was foolish in thinking I would get a reaction other than the one I got. He just stood there with an odd look on his face, and gave me a quick hug. It caught me off guard, but when I think about it, it does make sense. For those of you that haven't been reading very long I will tall you about my husband. He grew up living in a car in Denver Colorado. Poverty is something that he knows well. For the first time in his life he was successful. His name is well known in the motorcycle industry. And then all this happened. It is hard not to feel like you are worthy of nothing more than being poor when you grow up that way, try to get out of it doing something you love, only to find yourself right back in that car. He has been feeling like he should no longer be that good person. He feels like he keeps getting shit on (sorry for the word, but I did use it correctly). It takes him longer to see that he is being used, that's why he has me around. Recently our squatter (guess this is something else I neglected to share) bailed without paying his rent, 2 months of rent to be exact. That hurt my husband, because despite what we were told, we gave this man a chance. My husband doesn't want to give anyone else a chance. We have done it before and been burned. Ha! But we keep doing it. My point is, he is not use to people doing for him what he has done for others, neither am I for that matter. We can deal with rejection, acceptance is a whole nother matter. He wants to know what the strings are. Although he hasn't actually asked that. But this many people doing something for someone they haven't met, well it isn't normal. And you guys know that, so please don't fault him for it. I told him, it was a pay it forward situation, and told him about the deal I made. That made him feel a little better about it. He doesn't want to owe all of you, but if we can clear our debt to you, by helping out another family that we don't know when the time comes, than he accepts the help. He is a very proud man. I guess I might be on the verge of rambling here.

Thank you again. I find myself crying every time I open my emails. It is hard to wrap my thoughts around all this help. It indeed makes me humble.

oh wait, I do have to wiggle for you for a moment, before I forget. A question has been asked.

Do you wash your eggs? And how does one keep them from getting dirty in the nesting boxes?

Do not wash your eggs if you are not selling them. If you are selling them, wash well then you need to dip them in oil. The dirtiness keeps the pores of the eggs clogged so that bacteria doesn't get into them, if you wash them, you open those pores, hence oiling them afterwards. You should be able to just brush off any dirt with your fingers. Always wash your eggs before using. As for getting dirty in the nest, keep the litter clean and gather them several times a day. They will still get dirty, those things just happen.

The Mob Has Spoken

I had this very drawn out explanation to why I was uncomfortable with placing a tip jar on my blog. But blogger didn't save it to draft, so here is a run down.



My husband's work's Christmas party was last night. We went to Mosley Street Melodrama. I haven't laughed like that in years. Then I came home.



The Homesteading Mafia was here to break my legs.



I don't want to feel like I just wiggled and said, you watched me dance, now give me a buck.



I want to feel like I earned it.



Someone mentioned that I get paid other places to write, just not here.



Someone else pointed out that I would be the first on the tip jar band wagon if this was happening to someone else.



I am hard headed.



If I do this, I have to make you a deal. If I can find a way to fix things without using your money, I will save it and give it to someone else that finds themselves in this same problem.



You guys make me laugh and cry.



Time to turn this ho into a whore.


This is my pathetic look.

It's been fun knowing all of you.

Bank of America sucks! I really want to call them more names than that. I want to scream at the CRS and cuss him out.

As of Christmas Eve, The Neophyte Homestead will be no more. Apparently Bank of America wants all or nothing and is not willing to work with someone that got laid off, and can't find an equal paying job right now. The CSR told us that we had to quick sale. There is nothing else we can do. Good luck with that happening. We will have this months payment in a week, and than can pay some more in 2 weeks. But that isn't good enough for BANK OF AMERICA.

I am crying, we will attempt to make payments, but as I have learned in the past, if you don't pay it all, they send it back to you. My kids will have a sucky Christmas. I can't even afford to buy materials to make presents, All the money we bring in will go towards the house, and tying to save it. We're not going to make it to spring. I tried, I really did. I don't know what else I can do.

I have to go now. I don't know when I will be back.

Good luck to all of you on your dreams. I will be cheering for you. Even you, my reader from Bank of America. It's not your fault.

Merry Christmas!

Barn Raisin'!

Not really, but boy how I wish it was. Instead it was a garage raisin'.

Our garage has two wood swing doors. Very large, and hard to deal with on windy days. So much so that one of the doors has been pried open by the wind, and beaten up so much that it split in two, and fell. Not a big problem in the summer. But now here we are in the beginning of winter, and we have a motorcycle on the lift. Too cold to really do much work. Yesterday, my husband torn down the other door and built a wall, with only a 4 foot entry way. We do not keep cars in the garage, so the door only has to be able to allow for motorcycles to pass.

It was a tad heavy. But we got it up, and screwed into place. Today he will be building the door part of it.

Tomorrow I will have another winter project to talk about. Hope you all had a good weekend.