We got a deal on hay.
In the morning we drove the truck to Wainfleet to borrow a big thrower hay wagon, so we could drive slowly to Vineland to pick up hay. It was a nice drive. It was nice to just sit and talk and sip scalding cups of coffee while the rain turned to snow.
We arrived at the hay barn and everything was very old, but well kept and neat as grandma's kitchen. The old Dutch guy who helped us load was sturdy. His age was somewhere between sixty and seventy and he was in better shape than both Brent and I put together.
It took an hour to load the 230 bales into our wagon and we were sweaty in the cold morning, but proud as the old dutch farmer pulled the wagon out of the barn with his old massy tractor.
He asked if we were interested in a baler. Sure. Who wasn't interested in a baler?
He took us out back to his canvas covered barn and we were shocked at all the new farming equipment. It was like a John Deere showroom. Harvesters and double rear wheeled four by four tractors. More haying equipment than I could imagine. While standing in tractor heaven I asked why he was driving the old 1950's massy and he said "she's my favorite.".
Driving home with our load Brent and I scarfed back bananas, almonds and water. We discussed different lifestyles and how a dutch farmer survived all these years and raised nine kids. You don't have to go overseas to see different cultures. Just ask a farmer.
Back at home we decided not to unload in the leanto where the hay would be used because of the mud, so we unloaded into the slightly less wet back garage. Our good friends Tim and Tanya showed up in time to unload and we owe our friends a debt of gratitude for all the free (paid in beer and food) labour. We chatted with each other, panting as we threw the bales and the boys stacked. It's a great work out and a great way to laugh at each other. I get to throw fifty pound hay bales at my husband - there isn't a wife alive who hasn't had moments where they'd like to whip something at their husbands. It's a good marriage building experience and trust exercise. No wonder farmers have such good relationships.
We finished the day with a beer and a heaping helping of gratitude. Sometimes it's dangerous to stop by and you might be wrangled into unloading hay. Just ask Darren V about the second load of hay. He was wearing his good shoes too.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Friday, April 22, 2011
It's not all Roses, but it is MUD
Life on the farm during the spring thaw is a challange. It's too wet to use any equipment and too brown for any natural food to be available. The animals are outside more and starting to forage for themselves, but still very excited to see grain or hay coming from their humans.
The rain has been heavy and the sky sadly lacking in sunshine. The waiting continues with heavy hearts as we dream of spring. When the grass is green and full and the trees blooming with leaves. Gardens fill in with beautiful life and flowers open and spread their scent.
However, now is time for rain. Mud. Wet. Clay.
I could use a row boat to feed the animals as the mud is thick enough to pull off my rubber boots. I was carrying a bale of hay across the horse paddock yesterday with Autumn hot on my tail when my boot sunk six inches and stayed. I put the bale down, while Autumn pulled at the hay, and had to use both hands to free my boot from it's muddy grave.
I wiped my muddy hand across my wet brow and gave Autumn's neck a gentle push and continued to the tractor tire hay feeder. I was covered and sadly wearing my favorite lambie jammie PJs. I love to feed the animals in my PJs.
The ducks are surprisingly hardy and are seen waddling around the muddy paddock in search of bugs. The chickens are even braver as they wander around the muddiest parts of the field hoping to find a juicy worm.
It seems everything has turned the same drab brown as the ground, trees and fields. It's a horrible mud brown that sticks to everything. My floors are constantly dirty as is my little Princess Super Tazil Puppy Dog.
Taz is constantly in search of mud. You can put all three dogs in an area with one mud puddle and Taz will lay down in the middle. Gizmo will walk gingerly around and Poco will get wet, but only if it's something valuable.
How can one little eight pound pup bring in so much mud? She actually waded into the pond today while frog hunting and was a filthy shivering mess when I went to check. She's devoted.
I wait with little patience for Summer, but then the bugs and heat are our newest complaints. Thank goodness I live in Canada where the seasons are constantly changing.
The rain has been heavy and the sky sadly lacking in sunshine. The waiting continues with heavy hearts as we dream of spring. When the grass is green and full and the trees blooming with leaves. Gardens fill in with beautiful life and flowers open and spread their scent.
However, now is time for rain. Mud. Wet. Clay.
I could use a row boat to feed the animals as the mud is thick enough to pull off my rubber boots. I was carrying a bale of hay across the horse paddock yesterday with Autumn hot on my tail when my boot sunk six inches and stayed. I put the bale down, while Autumn pulled at the hay, and had to use both hands to free my boot from it's muddy grave.
I wiped my muddy hand across my wet brow and gave Autumn's neck a gentle push and continued to the tractor tire hay feeder. I was covered and sadly wearing my favorite lambie jammie PJs. I love to feed the animals in my PJs.
The ducks are surprisingly hardy and are seen waddling around the muddy paddock in search of bugs. The chickens are even braver as they wander around the muddiest parts of the field hoping to find a juicy worm.
It seems everything has turned the same drab brown as the ground, trees and fields. It's a horrible mud brown that sticks to everything. My floors are constantly dirty as is my little Princess Super Tazil Puppy Dog.
Taz is constantly in search of mud. You can put all three dogs in an area with one mud puddle and Taz will lay down in the middle. Gizmo will walk gingerly around and Poco will get wet, but only if it's something valuable.
How can one little eight pound pup bring in so much mud? She actually waded into the pond today while frog hunting and was a filthy shivering mess when I went to check. She's devoted.
I wait with little patience for Summer, but then the bugs and heat are our newest complaints. Thank goodness I live in Canada where the seasons are constantly changing.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Another Car? Really?
A year ago I sold my 1998 Volkswageon Jetta TDI with nearly 500,000 kms on the original engine and body. I really loved that car, but it had reached the stage of life that required a large influx of work and I didn't want to invest into a car over a decade old.
Brent and I thought we could get by with his Jetta aka "the tomato" and the F350 truck, but we soon learned that the price of fuel would make it next to impossible to affordably drive the one ton dually. We started looking for something fuel efficient and cost effective.
Together we decided to purchase a vehicle from Florida and drive it home. In mid-December we flew south and brought home the 1986 mercedes benz. She is a tank. We named her Bertha and it became apparent that Bertha was a thirsty girl. She was also old.
It didn't take long before the car hunt began again. With Bertha listed on numerous websites I started my search for a car that was a little fresher. Perhaps born in this decade.
After some internet research and talking with friends the first thing we decided was to discover what was most important to us in a vehicle. In about a second we agreed it was fuel efficiency. We also wanted something green and friendly.
Size was our next discussion. Eke. We had the truck for big things, so size was not an issue. We don't have children and our three little pups will fit anywhere. When I saw the Smart Car I was drawn. It fit everything we wanted including: size, green and at 68 mpg it is the most fuel efficient vehicle on the road.
Hours were spent looking on line for our Smart and the prices were all over the place. Ten grand could buy you a 2010, 2009, 2008-05. Milages ranged from 40-156,000 kms. We set our budget and struggled to find our Smart.
We weren't in a rush, but when I found the 2006 with 56,000 for under $8000 I was excited and she was close: St. Catharines. Most of the Smarts for sale are in Toronto. They market it as a city car, but I think they're missing the rural market who are forced to drive fifteen minutes or more to hit a grocery store.
We learned that Smart came to Canada in 2005 and to the United States in 2008. They introduced a gas version (much less fuel efficient) in 2008 thinking it would be better received than the diesel. The first Smart was created by Swatch and Mercedes in the mid 1990's and the engine notably died at the 60,000 km mark.
After over a decade of German engineering the three cylinder Smart will go forever on a thimble of diesel fuel. It makes my environmental heart beat a little faster.
I was overly excited when we pulled into the dealership to look at the 2006 and when I walked up I immediately said "no. no. no." It was so small up close. Tiny. I could see why people would make fun of this clown car, but then I drove it. The passenger compartment was spacious and extra care was taken to make the driver's side comfortable. The car ended abruptly behind the driver's seat, but you could still fit a couple of puppies and some groceries in the back.
The semi-automatic shifting was fun and the vehicle was peppy. I loved it as soon as I pulled a U-turn in the middle of a narrow street. Fun to drive and fun to park.
On the QEW it was stable and quickly accelerated up to 130 km/hr without hesitation. We passed a few transport trucks with ease and moved through traffic with agility. I was searching for a draw back and couldn't find one, except my husband was not that keen on the Smart. A guy thing, but it was too late because I was smitten.
Now, to negotiate. Gizmo's time to shine.
Brent and I thought we could get by with his Jetta aka "the tomato" and the F350 truck, but we soon learned that the price of fuel would make it next to impossible to affordably drive the one ton dually. We started looking for something fuel efficient and cost effective.
Together we decided to purchase a vehicle from Florida and drive it home. In mid-December we flew south and brought home the 1986 mercedes benz. She is a tank. We named her Bertha and it became apparent that Bertha was a thirsty girl. She was also old.
It didn't take long before the car hunt began again. With Bertha listed on numerous websites I started my search for a car that was a little fresher. Perhaps born in this decade.
After some internet research and talking with friends the first thing we decided was to discover what was most important to us in a vehicle. In about a second we agreed it was fuel efficiency. We also wanted something green and friendly.
Size was our next discussion. Eke. We had the truck for big things, so size was not an issue. We don't have children and our three little pups will fit anywhere. When I saw the Smart Car I was drawn. It fit everything we wanted including: size, green and at 68 mpg it is the most fuel efficient vehicle on the road.
Hours were spent looking on line for our Smart and the prices were all over the place. Ten grand could buy you a 2010, 2009, 2008-05. Milages ranged from 40-156,000 kms. We set our budget and struggled to find our Smart.
We weren't in a rush, but when I found the 2006 with 56,000 for under $8000 I was excited and she was close: St. Catharines. Most of the Smarts for sale are in Toronto. They market it as a city car, but I think they're missing the rural market who are forced to drive fifteen minutes or more to hit a grocery store.
We learned that Smart came to Canada in 2005 and to the United States in 2008. They introduced a gas version (much less fuel efficient) in 2008 thinking it would be better received than the diesel. The first Smart was created by Swatch and Mercedes in the mid 1990's and the engine notably died at the 60,000 km mark.
After over a decade of German engineering the three cylinder Smart will go forever on a thimble of diesel fuel. It makes my environmental heart beat a little faster.
I was overly excited when we pulled into the dealership to look at the 2006 and when I walked up I immediately said "no. no. no." It was so small up close. Tiny. I could see why people would make fun of this clown car, but then I drove it. The passenger compartment was spacious and extra care was taken to make the driver's side comfortable. The car ended abruptly behind the driver's seat, but you could still fit a couple of puppies and some groceries in the back.
The semi-automatic shifting was fun and the vehicle was peppy. I loved it as soon as I pulled a U-turn in the middle of a narrow street. Fun to drive and fun to park.
On the QEW it was stable and quickly accelerated up to 130 km/hr without hesitation. We passed a few transport trucks with ease and moved through traffic with agility. I was searching for a draw back and couldn't find one, except my husband was not that keen on the Smart. A guy thing, but it was too late because I was smitten.
Now, to negotiate. Gizmo's time to shine.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
The Birds
When I was a child my mother used to feed the birds. She had this wood and glass bird feeder that was right outside the kitchen window and I can remember watching the brightly coloured birds battling for seed. I'm certain my father made it back in the eighties at moms request.
That same bird feeder still sits just outside the kitchen window, but the glass is long gone and the wood is heavily weathered from decades in the elements. I started feeding the birds again last fall and it took several months for the birds to come.
It's March 2011 now and the birds are back. The bright blue jays fight with each other only to be kicked out by the mammoth black birds. The adolescent half red cardinals wait in the trees for the coast to clear while their fire engine red adult counterparts are not shy about getting their seeds.
The pairs of mourning doves return to the same place every year. I remember mom telling me that they mate for life and that was something I chewed on steady. I would picture the medium sized grey doves meeting in high school and getting married. Marriage really meant something to the monogamous mourning doves. It meant a family and a life of traveling together. Never farther than few steps they raised their young and stayed together. Until I was twenty I thought they were morning doves and when I found out they were mourning doves I wondered why they were so sad all the time. Was it marriage?
The oldest known mourning dove is over thirty-one years old. Should their mate die they never mate again. A single pair can produce up to six offspring per year. The wings make an usual whistling sound upon take-off and landing with speeds up to 88 km/h, but their name comes from their plaintive woo-oo-oo-oo call. It has nothing to do with being sad, they merely sound sad.
Ironically, in 1971 (the year I was born) the mourning dove was named the Wisconsin State Symbol of Peace. Wisconsin is the home of my favorite NFL team the Green Bay Packers, who won the Superbowl in Texas this year. No wonder I'm a big fan of the mourning dove.
It's amazing how this thread ran from doves to football.
I still enjoy watching the birds and went so far as to buy an eighty-eight pound bag of bird seed from the local feed store. It was thirty dollars for the big bag and considered a steal because it's fifteen dollars for a ten pound bag at the grocery store. This is the complicated economics of feeding the birds.
Taz often sits at the window in her heated bed and I know she's working hard on patrol, but I wonder if she is enjoying the birds too.
Below is a video outside the window of the birds enjoying the feeder durning our spring snow storm. I swear the red cardinals make the snow brighter.
That same bird feeder still sits just outside the kitchen window, but the glass is long gone and the wood is heavily weathered from decades in the elements. I started feeding the birds again last fall and it took several months for the birds to come.
It's March 2011 now and the birds are back. The bright blue jays fight with each other only to be kicked out by the mammoth black birds. The adolescent half red cardinals wait in the trees for the coast to clear while their fire engine red adult counterparts are not shy about getting their seeds.
The pairs of mourning doves return to the same place every year. I remember mom telling me that they mate for life and that was something I chewed on steady. I would picture the medium sized grey doves meeting in high school and getting married. Marriage really meant something to the monogamous mourning doves. It meant a family and a life of traveling together. Never farther than few steps they raised their young and stayed together. Until I was twenty I thought they were morning doves and when I found out they were mourning doves I wondered why they were so sad all the time. Was it marriage?
The oldest known mourning dove is over thirty-one years old. Should their mate die they never mate again. A single pair can produce up to six offspring per year. The wings make an usual whistling sound upon take-off and landing with speeds up to 88 km/h, but their name comes from their plaintive woo-oo-oo-oo call. It has nothing to do with being sad, they merely sound sad.
Ironically, in 1971 (the year I was born) the mourning dove was named the Wisconsin State Symbol of Peace. Wisconsin is the home of my favorite NFL team the Green Bay Packers, who won the Superbowl in Texas this year. No wonder I'm a big fan of the mourning dove.
It's amazing how this thread ran from doves to football.
I still enjoy watching the birds and went so far as to buy an eighty-eight pound bag of bird seed from the local feed store. It was thirty dollars for the big bag and considered a steal because it's fifteen dollars for a ten pound bag at the grocery store. This is the complicated economics of feeding the birds.
Taz often sits at the window in her heated bed and I know she's working hard on patrol, but I wonder if she is enjoying the birds too.
Below is a video outside the window of the birds enjoying the feeder durning our spring snow storm. I swear the red cardinals make the snow brighter.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Poco and the ides of March
Caesar:
Who is it in the press that calls on me?
I hear a tongue shriller than all the music
Cry "Caesar!" Speak, Caesar is turn'd to hear.
Who is it in the press that calls on me?
I hear a tongue shriller than all the music
Cry "Caesar!" Speak, Caesar is turn'd to hear.
Soothsayer:
Beware the ides of March.
Beware the ides of March.
Caesar:
What man is that?
What man is that?
Brutus:
A soothsayer bids you beware the ides of March.
A soothsayer bids you beware the ides of March.
Ironically, it was on the ides of March that Poco came to the farm as a foster dog in 2009. We knew there was something damaged in Poco from the moment he wandered, shaking, into our lives. We didn't know if the damage was permanent or malignant.
We joke that Poco is an ex-navy seal because he's seen things nobody should see. He's survived five years of hell and came through the other side a mere shell of the dog he may have been. Poco was not only starved, but he was beaten and left to die. There is a difference between neglect and abuse.
I can only speculate on the things Poco survived. I have gut wrenching visions of Poco tied to a tree outside, sitting stoically in the snow. At first I thought he'd be dreaming of food. A cookie or a kind word, but when I delve deeper I can feel his wish for death. If this is life, then his mind gave up three years ago, but his body didn't died.
I'm at the vet's office and he tells me Poco is blind in his right eye. Why? Retinal detachment. How does that happen? Trauma. It was probably some kind of trauma that lead to his blindness. I've seen retinal detachment in massive trauma and I can only speculate that head trauma from a human has caused a young dog to be unnecessarily blind. I am enraged.
Poco is six years old and he has the crippled damaged body of a fifteen year old dog.
I ask the vet about his back legs and Dr. M gently flexes and moves the atrophied limbs. The vet sighs and says, it doesn't look like he's in any pain. It's just how his legs have healed. They broke his legs. He has a funny walk.
the vet: How's the rest of Poco?
Poco's Mom: he shakes. He shakes for hours several times a day.
the vet: is it just when it rains or there are loud noises? Is there a trigger?
Poco's Mom: No. The rain makes it worse, but even when it's not raining he shakes. He wakes up in the middle of the night having night terrors and cuddles, growling for comfort. We've tried L-theanine for the past year with limited positive results.
the vet: lets try something new.
Clomicalm or clomipramine hydrochloride is a tricyclid antidepressant. Tricyclids have been replaced in humans by the safer SSRIs (Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors). Tricyclids are more effective at keeping serotonin, the neurotransmitter that makes you feel good, available in your brain, but if a person overdosed on tricyclids it was fatal. SSRIs, like Prosac, are much safer. Even if taken in large quantities SSRIs are fairly benign unless mixed with other drugs. I control Poco's consumption, so his dose is strictly regimented.
Clomicalm or clomipramine hydrochloride is a tricyclid antidepressant. Tricyclids have been replaced in humans by the safer SSRIs (Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors). Tricyclids are more effective at keeping serotonin, the neurotransmitter that makes you feel good, available in your brain, but if a person overdosed on tricyclids it was fatal. SSRIs, like Prosac, are much safer. Even if taken in large quantities SSRIs are fairly benign unless mixed with other drugs. I control Poco's consumption, so his dose is strictly regimented.
I said I'd never put a dog on anti-depressants, but I don't know what else to do? He's been traumatized. He's terrified for long periods every day and I don't want him to continue to believe THIS is life.
The vet explains: It gives the dog the opportunity to experience life happy. Once they learn joy then they can be weaned off the medication slowly and probably won't need it anymore.
I feel a little desperate as I agree. The vet tells me Poco will be a new dog, if it works.
As I drive home from the vet's office my hands grip the wheel and I choke back tears. Poco quietly crawls onto my lap and lays down. He's afraid after the trip to the vet and is seeking comfort, while growling. I pet his head and cheek trying to organize my thoughts. I have so many.
I'm angry, no furious, at what has become of this pup at the hands of people. I'm sad and dishearted as I look into his one good eye. I feel pity for a dog who did nothing, but be selected by the wrong people. Poco vibrates with residual fear, but he's exhausted and eventually puts his head on my lap to rest.
I realize there is only a shell of a dog left and I can see a fraction of the glorious, royal beast he might have been once. I loath these people.
We figured Poco has post-traumatic stress disorder and has relapses. It's been two years, but he keeps going back. Night terrors, lashing out, shaking and the deep stench of fear surrounds this dog. His tail tucks as he moves trying to go unnoticed. He no longer has dreams of love. He's given up and the only thing keeping him here is his beating heart, and even his cardiovascular system is damaged.
He went from 8 lbs to 12 lbs, but that isn't going to solve his mental healthy issues.
I've tried love, good food and patience, but we haven't had a breakthrough. He's still a fearful dog with no confidence and unconcerned with living. We'd given him two years at the farm and now its time to try something new. Something wonderful and hopeful.
Poco had his first Clomicalm Tuesday, March 15, 2011 with dinner. I have such high hopes on the ides of March.
We figured Poco has post-traumatic stress disorder and has relapses. It's been two years, but he keeps going back. Night terrors, lashing out, shaking and the deep stench of fear surrounds this dog. His tail tucks as he moves trying to go unnoticed. He no longer has dreams of love. He's given up and the only thing keeping him here is his beating heart, and even his cardiovascular system is damaged.
He went from 8 lbs to 12 lbs, but that isn't going to solve his mental healthy issues.
I've tried love, good food and patience, but we haven't had a breakthrough. He's still a fearful dog with no confidence and unconcerned with living. We'd given him two years at the farm and now its time to try something new. Something wonderful and hopeful.
Poco had his first Clomicalm Tuesday, March 15, 2011 with dinner. I have such high hopes on the ides of March.
In the Shakespearean play Ceasar the ides of March is the day Ceasar will be assassinated by a group of conspirators, including Brutus and Cassius, his beloved friends. Despite numerous and improbable premonitions such as: the soothsayer's warning, some fearsome thundering, his wife's dreams, and so on—Caesar ventures on the ides to meet his doom.
Poco went forth that day to meet his death at the hands of the humane society, but was saved at the last minute by Pomeranian and Small Breed Rescue and our family. We were willing to take a chance and we're still waiting for him to take a chance on us. Ironic, that his next step is taken this same day.
There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you. I will continue to try and tell Poco's tale and hope it brings a troubled dog peace.
There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you. I will continue to try and tell Poco's tale and hope it brings a troubled dog peace.
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