It has been brought to my attention

I was in a conversation with a long time friend, and she informed me that my masthead was a bit confusing the first time she saw it. And I come to find out that some find it disturbing. I will admit that I find that a bit funny. The reason being that every time I have tried to change the picture I get emails and comments (no matter what the post is about) to put the "does this goat make my butt look big" photo back up.

I always cave.

But I have realized (I am slow sometimes) that there are many new readers here since the last time I explained my masthead. Which a big WELCOME to all of you, has been tardy.

I have placed a link on the sidebar, that explains the picture.  Here it is for those that read via various feed readers >>> How to Sheer a Goat.

Yes Delilah is a goat, not a sheep.

And I leave the picture up as a reminder

Delilah's death>>>

Dora's (her sister) death>>>

Things I think about

We had a nice Fourth of July celebration. We are getting up there in years (yep made me giggle too) and have opted out of the large parties. We blew things up and ate really well ( if I can toot my own horn). I do hope you all had a great one!

About once a year I suddenly have this what if he dies week. It's funny because recently we have been playing the what happens when I die game. But I do think about Husband. It's been almost 90 days since my small stroke, and so far so good. However there have been some scary things happen. (if so inclined I wrote about it over here).

Husband caught me talking out loud in my half sleep last night, and I had to fully confess what I was thinking about. What happens to me and the homestead if Husband should die before me?

It is a simple break down, the majority of the animals would have to be sold off. I would have to learn how to do the things Husband does, and I would be lost and very depressed without him, Since I have thought over the different scenarios for years, it is time to take the steps necessary to be able to survive without Husband. However Husband has promised not to die before me, so it is all for naught.

On some happier notes

I am now posting on Facebook for Husband's motorcycle Shop

And my children are odd.





I was afraid to ask Medium what he was up to.

One of those days when everything dies

In the grand scheme of things, my problems are piddly. I have friends in Japan looking at far worse problems then what I had to deal with yesterday. But it is hard to keep preceptive when your day is full of difficult and woeful things happening right in front of you. When your livelihood and emotions are wrapped up in living things, death comes hard and personal.

My princess, my dear Eddie died in calving. It was sleeting the night she died, we didn't know she went into labor. We found her dead in the morning The calf never saw light.

While we were outside dealing with Eddie, I saw that one of our sheep had lambed. Trying to keep myself in better spirits, as Eddie's death is crushing, I went to see on the new lamb. As I checked him out I happened to look over at the old refrigerator that we use as feed storage. It is only 3" of the ground, yet there was a black lamb's head sticking out from under it. I yelled for Husband and he came jogging. He lifted the fridge and I pulled her out. She didn't look well, but I set her down and stepped back to allow the mother to go to her. She was rejected.

I scooped the lamb up and brought her into the house. As the sheep are wild because the previous owner had little to do with them, I had to run into town and pick up some lamb formula. Everything else was put on hold, while Husband tried to get some sugar water down her. She was dehydrated. She wasn't sucking. We had to force feed her. After 3 hours, she had energy again. She was able to stand on her own and was curious.

She was starting to suckle on her own. She was urinating and attempting to poop. (for those looking for info, your newborn lamb will shiver. This is good! Shivering shows that her temp is increasing. Don't put her under a heat lamp, as this could lead to pneumonia. Also a little molasses on her tongue will help give her some added energy, aiding in her temp regulation and help getting her to suck. She needs to eat to continue to warm up) We were ecstatic!

Several hours later she was limp and lifeless. She was unable to shiver to bring her own temperatures back up. I laid on the couch with her on my chest, and a towel covering us. I held her as she went through her death throes. Talking and touching her. I have no idea if this brought her any comfort, but it helped me. I held her while she stopped breathing, and continued to hold her after her heart stopped. This was about midnight. We spent 12 hours trying to save her.

I was so hoping to bring good news this morning about the lamb, rather then you having to read an entire post on death.

I started crying as I held the lamb. My dear sweet Eddie is gone, along with her calf, the lamb that we worked so hard to save is dead. I couldn't contain it and teared up.

This is life on a homestead, plain and simple. But just because life and death happens here, doesn't mean I will not or should not mourn. And I do. We celebrate both life and productive death. But all this. . .

On a positive, only 2 chicks died during shipment





And the bunnies are coming out of hiding. We have confirmed 5 little ones so far.

Life is Beautiful

My husband woke me up early Saturday morning with a "psst". I just wasn't in the mood to get up. I listened to the storms fight it out, off and all all night and into the morning. My husband psst, at me again. "your mom called about the auction."

I jumped up out of bed, the auction! I was going to be late for the farm auction that my mother and I decided to go to. "She said she didn't want to stand in the rain anyway." My husband chuckled after me.

"You could have told me that a moment ago." I yawned and grabbed his cup of coffee. I took a sip and looked out of the kitchen window. "Why is there a dog in the goat pen?" my mind was still a little slow from caffeine neglect. "Link is in the goat pen!" I exclaimed. Exclaimed seems like only a word used in pre-teen lit, but it is apt for my reaction. Our dog Link, a yellow mutt was standing just inside of the goat pen. After the punishment he received for the last time he was in there, well. . . he never goes into the goat pen, even when we are with him.

My husband hurried out the door, and I followed, calling Link out. He immediately came up to us, and Buckets, our bull Mastiff came out from under our back porch. My husband, who was a few steps ahead of me, began cussing. I looked over the gate, and one of the piglets we bought on Tuesday was laying in the mud, the back of his neck missing. A few feet away was Smokey, one of the three goats I bought my husband for his birthday several years ago. Then Delilah, the pregnant Angora laid dead. "My calf!" I screamed.

"She's fine." My husband told me as he walked back up from the field. "Where are the dogs?" He was talking about Buttercup, our pitbull/husky mix and Ya-ya our English staffy. I started calling for them. No answer. They didn't come running when my husband started the car, as they usually did. Sadly I walked back into the house and phoned my mother.

"About the auction, mom. um, I can't go. All my animals are dead." Then I had to explain, "not all. The cows are ok. And Donkey the sheep and Dora the Angora are fine. But all three pigs, Smoky, Trina, Arrow, and Delilah are all dead. So is my laying goose. Donkey and Dora only survived because of our neglect to shear them yet. They are hurt, but not deathly." My mom was upset. The pregnant angora was her's. She offered to come help, and I accepted, my husband needed to get to work and I wasn't able to do all of this alone.

I came back outside where my husband was putting up a part of the old swing set. He informed me that the pigs were a fresh kill, we need to process them. Visions of road kill eaters flashed through my head, but I knew that this was something we had to do. It wasn't the first time we had processed a fresh dog kill, I have done it with chickens. But it is enough to make your stomach roll.

We hung the three piggies by there back feet, and that is when the neighbor across the way arrived. Such relief! This man has processed pigs before, he will know how. I won't go into details about what happened here, for now.

My oldest son came outside, the dogs our on the front porch. My husband called and the didn't come, he had to walk up there and flush them out. They had been hiding up there all this time that we had been searching for them. Then my mother arrives with my uncle. With the dogs secured in the house, my mother and I start dragging goats. Smokey, my poor wonderful Smokey who thought he was a dog, and would beg, and jump on you. Pregnant Delilah, who we were just starting to see a once abused personality emerge, and we were happily awaited the birth of her babies. Tina, Smokey's mother was found next to one of the cars in the field. She loved those cars, jumping on the roofs, bleating out at the world. My goose was next to the fence, no sign of her gander. Arrow, timid Arrow was in the cow side of the barn, along with the only two living fiber animals I have left. And my sweet sweet gander, waiting for his mate to come back. It was heavy, both physically and emotionally to move all the dead. But with the deed done, we had to go back to the pigs.

My husband stoked the fire for the water to boil. My mother decided that since my husband wasn't going to work, then she wasn't needed, and went on her way.

The two dogs responsible for all this carnage are gone. Ya-ya was my husband's princess.

I moved gander into the pen with the chickens, all of whom survived this. He seemed better once in there, but the calls to his mate go unanswered.

This morning I am tired, bruised, sore and feeling weepy. I have cried several times over these few hours. No one understand or can tell me why our dogs that grew up with these animals, snapped. I think it had something to do with the pigs. I have, on the bright side, things to say. But now, reliving yesterday once again, those bright sides aren't there. Maybe the will be tonight.

10 of my animals are dead. And I hurt.

RIP Lumpy

The Past

This poor thing was found beaten. I thought she was dead. I was surprised to see her chest rise with a breath. I brought her inside and we nursed her back to health. My father called her no fear, because she wasn't scared of anything.

The Present

Yesterday the neighbors dogs came into our land and tore her apart. The neighbor doesn't care.

Chocolate layer

This is Chocolate, my favorite layer. She loved playing hide and seek with her eggs. Choosing to cross over the storage area of the barn and laying on the other side. Recently she discovered how to get out of the enclosure all together.
She was the queen of the barnyard. Nothing caused her to fear. Except for the ducks. One would hold her down while the other tried to mate with her. It was horrible, and I was glad to be rid of the ducks.

Yesterday my oldest son ran into the house to inform me that Ya-Ya {our puppy} had been chasing Chocolate. He said he scolded her and moved on. I went outside to move the garden hose and check to see if she was too traumatize. I found her at the side of the garden. The puppy had killed her. It wasn't vicious death, it was a puppy death. She played with the hen until she died, no visible injuries. I was devastated, and ran to find my husband. He didn't even glance from the tree he was water and said "Dress her." Are you serious? I sulked back to where my Chocolate laid and picked her up. She was still warm and pliable, so death had visited only a short time before. I carried her back to my husband and told him he needed to bleed her out then so I could get the water boiling.

Maybe it was my mood, but I was in no hurry to do this. But the water began to boil and I moved outside to the tree where Chocolate now hung. I hard scalded her for a count of 30 and began to dress her. Oddly enough, the job only took thirty minutes. I must be getting better at this. She is now cut up and in the freezer. I will miss that hen.

I might be the only one here that finds this fascinating. But the picture below is of the developmental process of an egg. The fully formed egg is not one of Chocolates. We had that for dinner, before all this happened. But she does have at least one more egg out there that I will find this morning.
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It's Wednesday. That means I am once again pushing for sponsors. On JULY 29th I will be blogging for 24 hours to raise money for Farm aid. Please think about sponsoring me. There is only 3 days left! Family farms around America are disappearing because of big companies and financial woes. Do me a favor, look in your pantry and grab a can of veggies. Then go to your local Farm Market or produce stand and buy the same veggie from them. Could you feel the price difference, can you taste it? What happens when the farmer you just bought from can no longer afford to pay back their loans.? How would you feel if a home that has been in your family for 100 years is suddenly bought out from under you by a corporation? Farm Aid helps those farmers stay on their land. Not only do family farms need your patronage, but Organizations like Farm Aid to help them when things get too dark for them to handle alone. Please Sponsor Me!
And if you are unable to sponsor me, please stop by on the 29th to cheer me on.

Brooding chicks.

Allow me to start by saying that the following is not about my first time brooding chicks. It is my third. But it is my first time with bantams. The two sets of layers and heavies were not too traumatic, though we did have a problem with one of the ducklings pulling feathers and killing our two turkeys. Turns out {referring back to one of my homesteading books} the duck had a vitamin deficiency and that dandelion leaves and clovers were the remedy. Or so the books claim. Maybe it is now just a habit, but that duck is still a menace.

“Most hens today have had the nesting instinct bred out of them” My father-in-law agrees with that statement and informs us that should invest in some bannies. My husband and I discuss this at great lengths. “Bannies?” “Yes.” {We are wonderful conversationalists} We do have an option, buying an incubator that would be placed in the house. But do we really want them inside where our two-year-old can get to them? He already gets into the fridge and laughs hysterically as he breaks open the eggs on the dog. And then there is the fact that the geese and rooster loathe the child. He has been goosed and spurred {a couple of times were through the fence} yet he still wants to help gather the eggs. I carry the stick of doom when I enter the pen, not only to protect the boy, but also myself. {The roosters are holding some type of grudge against me} The bantam idea seems to be a brilliant one. We can set up a smaller pen for them, move the hatch able eggs over, and our two-year-old can safely help me with them.

Back to the catalog. We decided which ones we want and I go online to order. What’s this? I have an e-mail from the hatchery we order our chicks from. They have more bantams than they can sell and have them on special. I jump on that deal immediately and order the minimum of twenty five chicks, with plans to give a few to a friend.

Three days pass and I receive a phone call from the postoffice. The woman on the line was very concerned and I reassured her that they were fine, and that we would be by shortly. Unfortunately my car was not in working order and I had to call the motorcycle shop that my husband works at. I ask his boss to tell my husband that “the chickens are in.” Apparently the boss found this amusing and asked if it was code for something illegal.

Two hours later my husband arrives with a very large box. Twice the size we were use to getting. I had prepared the brooder {a kiddie pool, heat lamp, feeder and water} in the master bath. Anxiously we open the box. Aaaawwww how cute! We moved them one by one into the brooder, counting one, two three...twenty five...forty...sixty. Sixty bantams! But I had only wanted and paid for twenty five! The hatchery hadn’t been lying when they claimed to have too many bantams in stock. Twelve of the little ones had died in transit, the total they sent us was seventy two birds.

When receiving three days old chicks, you have to check and see if their bowl movements are blocking their vent. I checked them as I placed them into the brooder, wiping off the ones that needed it. That night we fell asleep to the sounds of chirping.

I found two dead the next morning. Were they too cold? I moved the heat lamp lower and checked the thermometer. A few hours later I found another dead and one dying. What was happening?

I look through my homesteading books hoping that they could explain this to me, nothing. What was I doing wrong? I was doing everything that I had done before. I checked the hatchery’s website, nothing. I tried general chicken info on the web, nothing. I removed the chicks from their brooder, washed it and changed the litter. I cleaned out their feeder and waterers. A few hours pass, and more have died. Why can I not save them?

I am not sure how I decided it had something to do with their vents, but I checked and some of them did have blockage. I cleaned them off, and every two hours I would return to clean them again. No one said I would have to wash chicken vents the rest of their lives. No more had died, but we had lost almost half of them, I guess, to my incompetence. My husband came home the next day with four turkeys. Guess what turkeys like to do. You got it, no more cleaning chicks for me.

The day came that the chicks could go outside, and we placed into the nursery. We have adult chickens and water fowl, so it is wise to introduce them slowly. {A word to the fledglings, when building a nursery, make sure it is completely enclosed, no open areas at all. } A few weeks pass, and we are very happy with our 30 + bantams. The turkeys think I am mommy, and watching all of them run through the tall grass was a joy. And now I welcome you to spring time in Kansas.

80+ miles per hour winds hit our home. The shingles on the deck flew about as our trampoline took flight. Too dangerous to go out and check the babies, so I am forced to wait until morning. With the rise of the sun I am out in the flooded field desperately calling for the bantams. I find only nine, and one turkey. The wind had sucked them out of the nursery. My husband and I looked through our fields, finding only three more, dead. It was a horrible day for me. I had grown so attached to our little ones. I broke down and cried. I messed up. I spent the remainder of the day, up past my ankles in mud, shoring up the nursery. I could at least try and save my remaining flock.