September 11, 2008: Love Leaves a Memory
Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal. (from a headstone in Ireland)
When I think of the term, "loved one", I think of my family and friends. I also think of my 4-legged fur kids.
The grief is still fresh from the recent loss of our fur-kid, Greta. ( see picture)
When Greta came to live with us in August of 2002, I didn't know the depth my heart would be smitten by a ribs-sticking-out, circle-tail, anxious sort of dog. Greta seemed to be a wild spirit back then. She showed up at a farmer's doorstep one day. Instead of shooing her away, the farmer took Greta to our vet.
Our kindly vet placed Greta with one family...and then with another. The first family kept Greta less than a week before taking her back to the vet..."Too strong," they said. The second family also returned Greta within a short amount of time. "A killer," they said after Greta had killed and eaten a barn cat.
So the vet took Greta home with her. That wasn't a solution, either, because Greta tormented the vet's pot-bellied pig and got into fights with her other dogs. The next step was to kennel Greta at the vet's office. That's where we came in. We had opened our home to other abandoned dogs and were asked to foster Greta until a suitable home could be found. However, over the next few months, Greta maneuvered her way into our hearts and never left.
We got off to a shaky start. The first day, Greta stalked and killed a hen turkey. I overlooked that transgression because I could count every one of Greta's protruding ribs. She had hunted and killed to survive. So I told her those days were over. And thus, she came to understand that a meal or two would be given to her daily. And in time, her ribs took their place under a well fed frame.
Although we never let our dogs outside alone, sly Greta once disappeared in tall grass during a walk. We found her strolling along the side of a nearby country road. "Not good," we scolded her. It took time and watchfulness on our part before she learned to stay within the boundaries of our property. There were exceptions. In the spring, the strong scents of an awakening woods would sometimes lure Greta deep into it's depths. She turned a deaf ear to our calls. A few hours later she would wander home covered in burrs, looking satisfied, tired, and a bit remorseful.
It became obvious that this sweet girl loved life, loved her new family, and loved visitors. Greta greeted all with her long, thick tail that wound in fast circles, loudly whacking whatever was in the way. She would wiggle all over and lavish us with wet kisses. When one of us was sick or sad, Greta would lovingly bring a toy and lay it next to us. Some mornings I was awakened by the toy being shoved into my sleeping face and the ever thumping tail. I miss those mornings.
Greta remained a faithful, exuberant companion through those 6 years. Her gentleness and patience were evident. Our granddaughters would lay on the floor with Greta and use her broad back as a pillow. ( see picture) And when we brought Jazz home as an 8-week old puppy, Greta agreed to become his surrogate mother. She was patient when he tried to nurse from her. She allowed him to snuggle and sleep against her warm body. She endured his puppy playfulness. ( see picture)
This past spring it was evident that age was overtaking Greta. Her gait was noticeably slower, climbing steps was harder, and she spent more time on the sidelines than participating in life. I often lay on the floor next to Greta. As I stroked her graying head, I would whisper to her. I asked her to tell me of her life before coming to live with us. I wanted to know how old she was and who had loved her first. She never answered me, of course, but looked at me with her wizened, dark brown eyes as if to ask, "Does it matter?"
When July came, Greta refused food and had a fever. Her once bright eyes were narrow slits of pain. On her last day, she lay in a comforter lined crate at the vet's...unwilling to move. Her breathing was rapid, her eyes closed, her mighty tail lay limp. I wanted to plead with her, "One more day. Stay one more day. I don't want you to leave." But it wasn't to be. Greta left us suddenly before we had a chance to say our final good-byes and crossed the Rainbow Bridge.
Pet lovers know all about the Rainbow Bridge. It is said that upon death, our beloved pets cross the Rainbow Bridge to a lovely place where they are whole again. They frolic and wait for us to cross over from this world.
We shall meet again. What a joyful reunion that will be.
July 1, 2008: Shades of Summer Hues
Summer: Dirty hands, iced tea, garden fragrances thick in the air and a blanket of color before me, who could ask for more?
Bev Adams
Don't you just love summer and the freedom to step outdoors and enjoy activities without layering clothes?
Summer's hues are so vibrant. One of my favorite shades of summer color is berry red. A couple weeks ago I talked about picking luscious, red strawberries. Today I spent an hour and a half picking 9 pounds of sour cherries off our tree. This is the largest gift of cherries the tree has presented us since it's planting. Late frosts have ruined past year's crop of sour cherries. But this year the tree escaped the clutches of a late frost and produced a bounty of rosy red sour cherries. And yes, I "thanked" the tree!
Someone once said you can never appreciate the shade of a tree unless you sweat in the sun. Well, the dogs lazed in the shade of a nearby apple tree as I picked. Their only requirement was to keep me company. I'm the one who perspired in the sun as the cherries were picked one by one. But I didn't mind. It was a satisfying task because it reminded me of childhood days gone by.
My parents had two huge cherry trees in the yard. Us four kids would spend hours each summer right before the 4th of July picking sour cherries. As we labored, the juice from the cherries would run down our arms and make us sticky...which attracted the attention of flies...and bees! Still we scrambled up tree limbs and ascended a ladder to reach the uppermost cherries. When the many pounds of cherries were picked, our entire family sat in a circle in the small kitchen pitting each cherry with a hairpin. (no lap of luxury was found at our childhood home!) At long last, the mounds of cherries were pitted, bagged, boxed, and frozen. Our reward for the sticky, hot work was delectable cherry pies all winter long. If I close my eyes, I can still smell the sweet aroma of cherry pie baking in the oven.
Vibrant greens are also unmistakable hues that belong to summer. These days I delight in watching the newest poults lined up in a row among the emerald blades of grass or meandering along the garden fence next to their moms snatching bugs for dessert.
Inside the garden fence, my senses are inundated by a diversity of shades of green. Lettuce, swiss chard, snow peas, beet greens, onions, cabbage, and more all grow upward, embracing the sun. Fresh summer veggies tease the tastes into wishing summer was 12 months long.
And black? Can it be summer color??? Picture a dainty, wild black-raspberry with a taste as delicate as honey. My husband and I found a wild, black-raspberry bush growing along the lane. It's a treasure among the weeds. We carefully plucked the wild raspberries from the bush before the birds had their fill. The taste is exquisite.
Ahhhh summer...don't you just love it?
June 19, 2008: June Bliss
| Doubtless God could have made a better berry (than the strawberry), but doubtless God never did” |
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William Allen Butler
What is pure bliss at the beginning of summer? For me, it's the first bite of a plump, juicy strawberry.
I'm loving these first weeks in June because it is strawberry picking time. No matter how many pounds of strawberries you buy at the supermarket, you cannot come close to the sweetness of a home grown berry. It just won't happen. AND you can eat a whole cup of strawberries for only 45 calories per cup. It doesn't get any better than that!
Growing up, we grew most of our food. My parents had a huge strawberry patch. I didn't mind picking the succulent berries because I could pop a few into my mouth as I picked. Ohhhhh...ahhhhh...savor the taste. We ate strawberry shortcake night after night for supper. That was all we had for supper, too....strawberries and shortcake with milk. It was an easy meal for my mother during the time of year when the garden was fruitful. Even though our family ate a ton of strawberries, mom had plenty left over to make heavenly strawberry jam. Mmmmmmm....
This past week and a half my husband and I have been in our organic strawberry patch picking berries (and pulling those hated nutrient-sucking weeds). So far we've picked approximately 30 quarts of berries. We share most of them with family and neighbors. Of course, we eat a lot of strawberry shortcake, strawberry pie, and strawberry milkshakes. Extra berries are frozen for smoothies I make during the year.
As we pick, my husband and I can't help but notice that the largest and ripest strawberries in the patch are targeted by the slugs. It's so disconcerting to spy a huge berry on a plant only to discover 3 or 4 neatly chewed holes in the berry. The slugs don't eat much, but they do ruin any berry they snack on. We pick those slug-eaten berries anyway, and feed them to the turkeys. At least they aren't wasted. I swear the turkeys obsess over strawberries as much as I do. When they see those red berries being thrown into their area, they come at a full turkey trot to gobble them up. I think I can hear them burp and smack their beaks in satisfaction when finished!
Jazz, my 18 month old German Shepherd, ate a few berries the other day. I don't think he'll eat any more. The following day he had a stomachache and very loose bowels. I told him, "Dogs don't eat strawberries, Jazz." I think he "got my drift" because he hasn't sampled any since.
Don't take my word for the lusciousness of strawberries. Find out for yourself. If you are lucky, you'll stumble across a strawberry farm where you can pick your own. There are a lot of strawberry festivals, too, where you can delight in divine shortcakes and pies. Or plant a few strawberry plants this fall. You'll be giving yourself "high 5's" next June when you pop that first, scrumptious berry of the season into your mouth! Ohhhh.ahhhhh.....it's pure bliss. |
June 5, 2008: Change
Change is inevitable-except from a vending machine. Robert C. Gallager
Where does time go? I’ve been sucked up in the waterspout of changes in our family in the past few months.
My husband was laid off from his job early this spring. Because so many people are also coping with that nerve-wracking change, I don’t need to explain the tension a job lay-off can bring to a household.
The most difficult change is adjusting to the absence of my sister, Jan. Whoever said “time heals all wounds,” isn't exactly “on spot”. I have been spending hours helping my sister’s husband sort and distribute her beloved belongings. My sister was a collector of antiques and anything old. She had a knack for decorating that turned one person’s junk into eye-candy. Finding new homes for the things she loved deepens my sadness. It’s a finality that my heart is fighting to accept. (See Photo)
In addition, I try to pour some of my time each week into my elderly parents’ lives. After two hip surgeries and months in hospitals and nursing homes, my mom came home in mid-Feb. That seems like a long time ago…time for getting back to normal. For the elderly, once normal is lost, it may never return in the same “package” .
Despite intensive therapy, my 90 year old mom is unable to walk by herself. She is stronger, can stand for short periods of time, and can use her legs to push her wheelchair around the house. However, for a woman who once worked along side my dad on the farm, raised 4 children, and worked in a factory…this progress is in slow motion. Being dependent on my father for round-the-clock care is an “in your face” reality that is a hard pill for my mother to swallow.
On a lighter note, springtime on the farm soothes my soul and keeps me grounded. I delight in the busyness of the animals. I watch the turkey hens with great admiration. A hen instinctively is committed to raising a clutch of poults. First she spends days searching far and wide for the perfect place to nest. Some of our hens nest in the bushes next to the house, others choose a protected place in the woods or in tall grass under a pine tree. One hen is nesting in a shed. And a gray hen decided the perfect place for her was in the corner behind our garage. This isn’t the safest spot because of human and dog traffic in and out the back door of the garage. Curious dog noses were constantly poking in the hen’s space. To avert disaster, my husband placed a fence around the hen. I attached a sheet to the fence which served as a curtain. The hen was then completely hidden from view. (see photo ). And the dogs were more willing to give the hen peace.
Hens sit on a clutch (8-12 eggs) for 28 days until the poults hatch. (How many of us moms would be willing to sit still on lumpy eggs through all kinds of weather for that amount of time? ) The hen leaves the nest once a day to eliminate and eat. She remains faithful to her clutch and does not move from her nest during the last two days before the poults hatch. Her reward is fuzzy poults. The hen will remain on the nest until the last viable egg hatches. Then she leads her baby poults into the wide, wide world.
Two hens nesting in our bushes had a visit a few weeks ago by a dreaded skunk. The skunk left it’s stinky “calling card” on our bushes. Only one lonely egg escaped the skunk’s clutches. That egg hatched into a curious yellow poult. (see the gallery for photos of the yellow poult and the two hens)
On the first 80 degree day, we had 20 poults hatch. Eighteen of those poults remain. Poults are in grave danger the first months of their lives. Predators like cats, skunks, weasels, hawks, coons, etc. can easily snatch a poult. The hens keep close watch, but poults, like children, tend to roam too far from safety.
Each evening, my husband and I round up the hens and poults. We chase them into the shed where they remain safe for the night. The poults are speedy little creatures. Some of them follow their moms into the shed like good little poults should! The remaining poults run, circle, fly, and weave trying to get away from us. After much effort, we succeed in getting all of them into the shed. WHEW!!! Who needs a treadmill??
Ahhhhhhhhhh…spring….a time of many changes is my favorite season.
April 14, 2008: The Magical Turkey Egg
A true friend is someone who thinks that you are a good egg even though he knows that you are slightly cracked. Bernard Metzer
What do you do with a turkey egg? I get that question a lot.
Our turkey eggs are rich in nutrients because our birds range outdoors during the daytime and forage for much of their food. Their diet varies with the season. Besides the usual grain-based turkey food in their feeders, scratch, corn, and hay is added to their winter diet. From spring until late fall, the turkeys dine on new shoots, roots, grasses, insects, seeds, acorns and thorn-apples. Year 'round treats fed to the turks include apples, lettuce, watermelon, grapes, strawberries, and bread.
Eggs are an excellent source of protein and riboflavin. An egg yolk contains an incredible amount of nutrients such as choline, folate, lutein, zeaxanthin, and Vitamin D. Some people think of an egg as a perfect food.
Heritage turkey eggs have a richer flavor and are larger than chicken eggs. (See the photo of the eggs in the frying pan.) Turkey yolks are a deeper yellow, also. You can use turkey eggs exactly as you use chicken eggs. When a recipe calls for two chicken eggs, substitute one turkey egg.
Sometimes our dogs are treated to the delicacy of turkey eggs. They will crack the shell with their teeth and slurp the raw contents. What a feast!
You won't find turkey eggs in the store because unlike chickens who lay all year round, heritage turkey hens only lay eggs from late March until late-summer. Some hens are very serious about motherhood. Once they lay a clutch of eggs, they will begin sitting until the poults hatch. These mamas are done laying for the season and concentrate on raising their brood. Other hens could care less about motherhood and will leave their eggs wherever they drop. Those hens continue to lay eggs through the summer months.
If you have a chance to eat a turkey egg, you 'll be so amazed at the rich flavor that you'll want to thank the hen for making such perfection.
What makes the turkey egg so magical? The egg does double duty. It is not only a rich source of protein for food...it can also produce another turkey!
Now I'm getting hungry. I think I'll fix myself one of nature's best foods....a turkey egg. I love them sunny-side up with toast. YUM!
Extra Links:
Cute Song for kids about eggs
Info on health benefits of eating eggs
April 2, 2008: Breeding Time on the Farm
April prepares her green traffic light and the world thinks Go. ~Christopher Morley, John Mistletoe
What do you think of when you hear the word, spring...sunshine, baseball, golf, bicycle riding, gardening, green grass?
For heritage turkeys, spring starts before the official day on the calendar. Usually the first or second week of March begins a flurry of activity. The longer daylight signals turkey brains to begin the mating ritual. The toms reestablish dominance. The honor of mating goes to the largest and nastiest tom. (he will be challenged again and again during the breeding season as younger toms add weight) At first, we find an egg or two every other day. This number rises as April begins. The younger hens will not start breeding for a few weeks, so there will be more eggs as time goes on.
The hens are in a frenzy looking for nesting places. Because of the deluge of rain we continue to experience, the ground is soggy and slow to drain. Dry nesting sites are at a premium right now. Some hens will share a nest. Others kick intruding hens out of their space.
Daily we see hens searching through the woods looking for the perfect spot to lay a clutch of eggs. They seem oblivious to the danger of nesting in the woods. Animals such as skunks, weasels and raccoons will steal the eggs under the cover of darkness. A larger worry are the coyotes that live in the woods across the field. A setting hen becomes a dinner invitation. Thus, my husband and I do our best to find nesting hens in the woods. We move them and their clutch to the safety of a building.
One smart hen, an older gal, is nesting in the shed that houses Whiskey. It's warm, dry, and there's straw in the corner for a cushy nest. But not all is well even in the shed. Whiskey has already discovered the hen's nest and eaten one of her eggs. We solved that problem by building a barrier so Whiskey can't gain access to the nest.
Other hens are scratching vegetation away from the outside of the barn, behind bushes, etc. to make a suitable nesting place. We wish the hens wouldn't get so frantic about nest building until the end of April. By then the trees are leafing out and vegetation is growing providing better cover for the nests. But...the hens are instinctual and zoned in on finding that perfect spot for hatching poults.
Three hens are currently laying eggs behind the honeysuckle vine next to the house. That's a favorite spot for the hens each spring. Two or three usually share that cozy corner.
At this time of year, my husband and I are picking up all eggs that we find. We don't let the hens get a clutch until later in the spring when conditions are better for raising poults.
A hen will keep laying an egg every other day until she has a clutch....usually about 12 eggs. I haven't figured out how a hen knows she has a clutch. Apparently, nature whispers in her ear that there are enough eggs to set on.
Yes, spring is a glorious time of the year. This burst of activity among the heritage turkeys will last for several months.
February 21, 2008: No One Should Have Six Dogs
Animals are such agreeable friends - they ask no questions, they pass no criticisms. George Eliot
Last weekend we had SEVEN dogs! That was great fun because we not only had our two grand-girls visiting, but we also had the girls' dog, Fozzie, at our house.
Fozzie is a raw-fed dog just like my gang. But for some reason, people food has special appeal to Fozzie. She LOVES people food, and has perfected the art of polite begging at the humans' table. (much to her owner's chagrin) In Fozzie's defense, she is too cute to ignore. She quietly lays close to my feet when I'm eating. Fozzie doesn't have to bark for food...she has "those" eyes working it for her. When I look down at her, my heart melts when I see her warm, brown eyes gazing up at me. "Those" eyes plead, "I'm starving. I need people food." Who can resist?
Fozzie especially LOVES cheese, which is why I've nicknamed her Mozzarellie. It's such a suitable name for her! She doesn't mind the nickname, either, as long as cheese....people cheese follows!
But most of the time we "only" have our 6 dogs. I enjoy telling unsuspecting people that we have 6 dogs. First comes the quizzical look which implies, "No one should have six dogs." The next response is verbal, "Why do you have 6 dogs?" My usual comback to that question is: "To love." For some reason, those two, simple words leave "dog-less" people speechless. Unfortunately, they have no clue as to what degree dogs are such loving and agreeable friends.
Now don't rush out and come home with 6 dogs. I don't recommend that! Owning any number of dogs is for true dog lovers.
Dogs, like children, need to be taken care of. That care is often UNglamorous. For example, you have to be willing to clean up doggie doo-doo. Even potty trained dogs need a poop scooper outdoors. You don't want your neighbor accidentally stepping in dog doo when she brings you a plate of cookies. So scoop you must if you choose to live with dogs.
An iron stomach is also a prerequiste to dog ownership. Even the cutest dogs can puke inside the house. That "stuff" can be nasty, too. Just an hour ago, my nose led me to the bathroom. After a couple of long sniffs, I knew something foul had happened. There in the corner lay a large, brown, smelly pile of dog vomit. Guess who cleaned it up? Yep, I did. I used paper towels, a bug bucket of warm water, and a disinfectant. Rubber gloves are also necessary. Now the bathroom smells fine. Just part of the job.
People say "Kids will be kids." Well, I say, "Dogs will be dogs." Taking care of a dog encompasses some not so pleasant duties. But, the companionship you get in return makes it all worthwhile.
February 8, 2008: The Circle of Life
Some people, no matter how old they get, never lose their beauty - they merely move it from their faces into their hearts. ~Martin Buxbaum
My mother has always been considered beautiful. Even now at age 89, she still colors her hair and sees a stylist. Her best feature is her big brown eyes. But time is seizing control over her body, and she's become as fragile as a teacup.
Lately I have been spending too many hours at the hospital visiting my mother who has had two hip surgeries in two months. I don't know how her frail body handles so much assault.
Hospitals are curious places to sit and TRY to while away the hours. Watching t.v. is a good past time. But the television in mom's room is situated almost at the top of the wall. As a result, I go home trying to get my neck to bend back in place so I can view the road instead of the sky on the drive home.
Eating is also a good past time in the hospital. You can eat as slowly as you like because there is little else to do. Fortunately, my mom is in a hospital that allows patients and guests to choose food from a menu. I like that. On a scale of 1-10, the food is a 7.5. For a score closer to 10, the menu would need to include fresh fruits and veggies. How can people heal when they are served veggies and fruits that are soft enough for baby food?
A good book, a computer, or a quiet hobby such as knitting is a necessity if you're staying at the hospital for hours. Hospital patients sleep a lot. Sometimes visitors , too, fall asleep from sheer boredom.
If you like privacy, do everything in your power to avoid being hospitalized. Even if you're in a private room, there is always a trail of nurses, therapists, doctors, consultants, custodians and visitors flowing in and out of a patient's room. The nurses measure everything from your blood pressure to the amount of urine you void. Sometimes they cart off your bm for testing like it's a prize they just won. Privacy? Forget it!
Despite the winter weather, I long to open the window in mom's room. Just a mere crack would help. The air in the room is stale, stifling hot, and smells of chemicals.
I find that many older folks live in the past where they felt secure and in control. My mom spins accurate tales of her childhood. Listening to her is better than reading a history book. She remembers the smallest details of life growing up during the depression. She talks about taking fried egg sandwiches to school day after day because the chickens were the most dependable source of food. She remembers her dad, my grandfather, providing the family entertainment by playing his banjo and singing. She recalls waking up Christmas morning and being excited to find a single, fresh orange at each child's plate. She talks about unheated, smelly outhouses, shucking corn by hand, milking cranky cows, and being forced to quit school at 16 to stay home and help on the farm.
BUT ask my mother what she had for lunch that day and she draws a blank. She's been in a nursing home and hospital for so many weeks that she's starting to call her bare, dreary room "home". She doesn't remember that she fell at home and broke her hip. Only occasionally does a glimmer of light come on in her eyes. That's when she asks how soon her great- grandchildren will be back to visit her. Their pictures and drawings decorate her room.
Then the light goes off and my mother remarks that she's going into the kitchen to cook supper. She asks what I'm hungry for. I answer her because in her mind she's at home in the kitchen preparing a meal for the people she loves. The past is a much happier and safer place to be than a hospital room or a nursing home bed.
When my visit is over, I kiss mom's wrinkled forehead and look into those big brown eyes as I say "See you soon." I have a new appreciation for the circle of life. And in my heart, I know my mother will soon complete her circle.
February 1, 2008: A Hair Machine
The trouble with any unwritten law is that you don't know where to go to erase it. Glaser and Way
If you own a larger dog, you're probably aware of an unwritten law that says dogs shed twice a year..in the spring and again in the fall. Would someone please inform my canine crew of that law? Doing so might reduce the number of hair balls that continually form, grow, and roll around on our wooden floors.
Harley gets top spot at our house for being the most prolific shedder. (see the gallery picture of a bucket plus of just brushed Harley hair) It's almost February, and Harley is still shedding. I'm not talking about a few hairs here and there. I'm talking about visible clumps of loose hairs that make you want to run up to him and pluck them before they fall out and make more rolling hair balls.
Just last weekend I brushed another half a 5-gallon bucket from Harley's body. If it hadn't been so darned cold kneeling on the snow covered ground, I'd have brushed an entire bucket full. I keep telling Harley that it's the law that dogs shed in the spring and in the fall. Last I knew, January is NOT considered fall... but Harley doesn't seem to "get it" and keeps on cranking out big clumps of hair.
To make matters worse, Harley HATES being brushed....HATES it. But I tell him, "Harley, it's not a choice. It has to be done." Harley tries to hide when he sees me coming with the Furminator. For heavy duty shedders like Harley, I use a Furminator. Consumer report says (quote) "Our tests found it to be an effective, easy-to-clean device that was a breeze to use." Nothing beats a Furminator for easily and effortlessly reducing the amount of loose hair on a dog's body! <I should know. I've tried every dog brush on the market. >
Did I say Harley HATES being brushed? I think that's because he was hit by a car at 6 months of age...long before he came to live at our house. I'm sure he still remembers the pain of crushed legs. So I try to be very gentle with the brush. If I'm not, he'll remind me with a yelp and a nip to my hand. I've found the best deterrent to those nips is having my husband take a firm hold on Harley's collar while talking to him in a "sing song" voice. The "sing song" voice keeps Harley's mind off of what the Furminator is doing to him. A brushing session always ends with kisses and treats and "atta boys". For sure, Harley is a hair machine.
He isn't our only dog who seems mixed up on the seasons this winter. Whiskey blew her coat in early January. Lately, Greta is also getting that "shaggy dog" look with clumps of hair loosening everywhere on her body. Even fat Badger beagle is shedding. He got a bath last weekend, and we retrieved lots of hairballs from the tub drain during his bath. Ahhhhh...it seems the Furminator won't get a rest even though we're well into winter.
So what is going on with these dogs? I wish I knew. In the meantime, our vacuum cleaner, a Rainbow, is also always in action as the hair balls start collecting in corners of the house. Keeping up with shedding dogs seems to be never ending. But...that's part of life with dogs.
On a "GREEN" note, I recycle all hair brushed from the dogs. I save the hair in buckets in the garage. When spring comes, I place clumps of dog hair around flowers and tender veggies. The hair does wonders to keep hungry bunnies from eating my plants. (Think: "Smells like a dog's nearby.") The hair also becomes compost and feeds the plants. Pretty nifty, huh!
January 31, 2008
Update on my mother: My elderly mom has survived two hip surgeries in two months time. Progress is very slow. I wish to thank everyone who prayed for my mother. Please continue to pray for her as she struggles to regain the ability to walk.
Stay tuned for a new blog tomorrow.
January 18, 2008
As you may remember, my elderly mother broke her hip last November and had surgery. We recently learned the surgery was
unsuccessful. My mother has to undergo a total hip replacement tomorrow, January 19th.
Please keep my parents in your prayers. Thank you.
January 9, 2008: Don't Spit!
"Beware of spitting against the wind!"
Friedrich Nietzsche (German philosopher)
Okay, so now I'm complaining. Yes, it's warm again today, but the sky isn't a pretty sight...there are too many angry clouds passing quickly overhead. The pine trees out front are thrashing feveriously back and forth in the high winds. This is not a "wannabe spring day". It's a day that Mother Nature uses to whip us back to winter thoughts.
For certain, today isn't a good day to be spitting against the wind.
The dogs' daily romp in the yard and field was ridiculously wet. I might as well have taken them to the lake because huge puddles have accumulated everywhere after the deluge of overnight rains. Water is a commonality between dogs and children. Both are magnetized by the attraction of sloshing through wide puddles. Thus, I watched the water spraying copiously from the dogs' undersides as they cavorted like children.
When he gets hot, Jazz flops down into a puddle that completely surrounds his body. He lays there soaking it all up until Rosie gets close. Then like a cat after a mouse, Jazz leaps out to pounce on her. White Rosie's entire body is dotted with mud flecks. She almost looks like a Dalmatian instead of a German Shepherd. Harley lumbers through the deep water. He only seems to worry about finding the right clump of tall grass to pee on. And old Greta does her best to keep up with the younger dogs. As she runs her tail whirls in tight circles.
All of them need to be hosed down before going into the garage for the pre-house wipe-down. Harley wants nothing to do with having his belly and legs sprayed. I have to coax him close to me with a treat. Then I can grab his collar and spray his belly with my other hand. Greta obliges me. She's such a good girl and does anything for her humans. Rosie and Jazz get a drink from the hose before standing still while I hose them down.
The turkeys don't like wind. They can't hear predators as well. They gather in a group behind the shed or in the midst of the woods to shield themselves from being buffeted by the wind's force.
Personally, I'm ready for freezing temps. When the ground freezes, the dogs feet don't sink deep and throw up mud balls as they run. I don't have to use two towels per dog to wipe them down nor do I have to wash a load of towels daily. I'll be happy when the wind becomes calm, the ground is hard, and we have some snow to brighten up the ugly landscape. There is nothing pretty about today. For now, I've had enough of spring in January.
January 7, 2008: A Wannabe Spring Day
Quote from David Letterman: The weather here is gorgeous. It’s mild and feels like it’s in the eighties. The hot dog vendors got confused because of the weather and thought it was spring, so they accidentally changed the hot dog water in their carts.
The hot dog vendors aren’t the only ones confused by today’s temps in the upper 60’s. Did you throw open the windows at work or at home? Did you discard your heavy winter clothes in favor of shorts and a t-shirt? Did you have spring fever and want to skip work?
This change of weather gives a sweet taste of what we’ve been missing, and makes us want to forget it’s January in Ohio. Agrh… weather is fickle and not always predictable.
My grandma was a smart lady and taught us how to forecast weather just by being observant. Grandma used to say things like: Ring around the moon is a sign of weather change; the larger the ring, the sooner the change. When bees stay close to the hive, rain is near. Flies bite more before the rain. Leaves turn bottom side up before a storm. And you’ve probably heard or personally experienced this one: When teeth and bones and bunions ache, expect clouds to fill the lake.
Animals are also a sure way to forecast weather. Grandma said the cows got restless and noisy before a weather change. When storms approached, the cows would form a tight circle.
On the other hand, turkeys tend to fight before a major weather change. Thus, it’s been a wild day in turkey land at our house. Both hens and toms were running around the woods this morning…feathers ruffled, tails fanned in fighting posture. If you’ve ever heard the saying, “They sound like a bunch of hens.” you’d understand the meaning when you hear the shrillness of fighting hens. While the hens chase each other silly, the toms fight by jumping and hitting their opponent with their extra long toenails and razor sharp spurs. Warmer weather and the start of longer days signal the approach of mating season. No tom worth his feathers wants to be left on the sidelines when a hen is ready to mate.
Dogs, like humans, get the urge to get outdoors on nice days. My canine crew sat longingly looking out the windows all morning. I gave in to their pleading glances and took them outside for a lengthy romp. After rolling each other in the mud, they ran through the field hunting for mice and rabbits hiding in clumps of standing grass.
When I called the dogs in, they came panting into the garage. Their tongues slurped up water from the bucket before they cooled off by lying in the spilled water. I took Rosie and Jazz back outside to hose off their muddy undersides. They don’t mind. It’s a gloriously warm winter day, and the cold water feels good on their skin. The last step in this “take the dogs outside” process always involves tediously wiping them down with towels before they are allowed inside the house. They are content and ready for a snooze.
Yes, weather is always good for conversation. This week’s weather reminds me of a weather joke: Why did the weather want privacy? Because it is changing.
To see photos of the dogs and turkeys romping, visit our photo gallery!
December 7, 2007: A Two-Hat Day
Some days I would go without any fire at all, and eat raw frozen meat and melt snow in my mouth for water.
Buffalo Bill
This morning was a "two hat" day. That's two winter hats, a sweatshirt with hood over the two hats, and finally a winter coat with hood over the sweatshirt hood and two hats. Oh...and don't forget the gloves and boots. I'm pretty sure Buffalo Bill would consider me a big wimp!
Whenever I catch myself grumbling about the cold and snow, I think of Buffalo Bill eating frozen, raw meat and "drinking" snow. My dogs could live like that....but me? No way. I like to think I'm a hardy, country girl...but I like my creature comforts!
Humans don't get too excited by a snowy yard...but my dogs go "bonkers" when it snows. Even our pudgy beagle seemed to enjoy being outdoors this morning. Badger chases the birds out of their nightly nesting spot in the thick bushes by our back door. Then he sticks his nose deep into the snow and "snuffles" a long burrow through the yard. I can't imagine how he keeps from snorting snow into his nostrils. When his feet get cold, he walks on 3 legs with one back leg held high like a flag. That's his signal for me to put him back in the house.
Rosie and Jazz zigazg through the garden and around the yard...chasing each other with wild abandonment. When they get tired of playing tag, they jump on each other and roll in the snow. They glance at me with glee in their eyes. Greta, older and wiser than the young dogs, is satisfied to plod through the snow with her frozen blue ball swinging from her mouth. I worry the ice on the ball will stick to her tongue. She follows me as I do my chores, dropping the ball only long enough to take a treat from my gloved hand.
Harley's feet get cold easily. After he's done his "duties", he'll lay in the snow near the house and watch the others play.
Whiskey is outside on her long cable. Her only interest on freezing mornings is food! The turkeys skirt a wide path around Whiskey. They don't want to be her breakfast!
As I go about my morning duties of watering and feeding the turkeys, I stop to check food in the bird feeders. I also bring fresh water to the birds.
Did you know animals drink as much if not more water on a cold day as they do on a hot day? I find myself filling buckets again later in the day....just like I do on smoldering, summer days.
My last stop of the "two hat" morning is the turkey shed where mama hen and her 7 new poults are noisily pecking at their frozen water dish. (Yes! We had a surprise hatching just 3 weeks ago...highly unusual for this time of the year in Ohio.) It takes a trip into the house to thaw the waterer. I add
a tablespoon of sugar to the water to give the tiny poults some extra energy. It'll be a miracle if they survive until spring, so I try to give them
every chance I can. I'll be back outside later in the day to check on them. Their mama has been keeping them warm enough so far.
I find "two hat" days invigorating and energizing. Still, when all the chores are finished, I'm ready to take my dogs into the house and cozy up to a warm breakfast!
To see the photos of the dogs enjoying the snow, visit our photo gallery here:
December 3, 2007: A Release, A Chance, and An Awesome Homecoming
Sweet memories provide a comfortable parachute, allowing us to float through less than perfect moments and providing a safe landing on the other side of adversity.
The good news is that my mother survived surgery for her broken hip and is now in rehab. It's a long, slow and painful process for her. But it's also a chance for her to live somewhat independently again. I don't know what is more difficult to deal with right now: my dad who tearfully watches mom struggle with therapy or my mom who repeatedly begs to go home.
Through these intensely stressful days of weeping and memories and road trips to and from rehab, I am able to come home to the overwhelming love of my dogs. They sense my dispair and provide comfort through their constant presence. Sometimes I catch one or more of them lying quietly near my feet, staring intently at me...I think in their own way, they are saying they understand my sadness. Their tongues
lick away my tears.
What I find hugely dispairing is that my mother has never known the comfort of sharing her life with a pet. When mom was a little girl, she was unfortunately bit by a neighbor's dog. For the remainder of her life, she disliked dogs. Despite her dislike, my dad raised hunting dogs.
Of course, the dogs were never allowed in the house. My mom paid them no attention. That didn't stop my siblings and I from sneaking scraps of food to the dogs or hanging out with them every chance we had.
Recently, a therapy dog was visiting the patients in the rehab center where my mom is currently housed. There was laughter and giggles
eminating from each room the dog visited. Obviously, the therapy dog brought cheer to the sometimes dismal days of nursing home living.
When the therapy dog's owner asked if my mom would like a visit from the canine, you can guess my mom's reaction. It was a resounding,
"NO WAY." that made me wince.
How relieved I was to come home that day and find five joyful canine faces waiting at the door. Now that's an awesome homecoming.
November 12, 2007
I regret to tell you that my elderly mother fell early this morning and broke her hip. I will be spending much of my time in the days ahead with my dad and my mother at the hospital.
My sister, Jan, is still earth bound. I know she will be leaving us very soon. Her husband tells me that Jan is very peaceful , and I find that comforting. She understands how much she is loved.
Sometimes God throws a lot at us at one time. Please pray for my family.
I'll be in touch as soon as possible.
November 9, 2007: A Life Journey Nears the End
Bless you, my darling, and remember you are always in the heart - oh tucked so close there is no chance of escape - of your sister. ~Katherine Mansfield
The word, sister, evokes many emotions right now. My older and only sister, Jan, was taken to hospice this past Monday. As you know, she has cancer. Her condition had deteriorated and my brother-in-law, Walt, could no longer care for her at home. We expected that news, but we hoped it didn't come so quickly.
Last Wednesday, my husband and I drove my parents to visit my sister at the hospice. The drive was a tedious 3+ hours. I think we all had to push ourselves to enter the hospice door. Although we love seeing my sister, this time was completely different from past visits. We all knew this visit would probably be our last.
Hospices are very still places. The door to each room is closed, and most of the time, only nurses can be seen walking the halls and checking on patients. We were comforted when we opened the door to my sister's room and she recognized each of us.
Tears flow freely at a hospice. There is no shame in showing your emotions. There is a hush about the room and a feeling that angels hover above my sister, waiting to accompany her to heaven.
Each of us spent time alone with Jan so we could whisper our thoughts to her. In return, she had something to say to each of us. Jan's voice is tiny and almost inaudible. We leaned close to hear her, wiping the tears from her eyes as well as ours. Her body is now barely visible under the covers. Only her thin arms and beloved face protrudes. But it's still the Jan we have loved all these years. Her spirit was present and alive. http://community.local12.com/photos/fur_and_feathers_a_pet_lovers_blog/picture2149205.aspx
We leave the hospice with heavy hearts...each of us lost in our own thoughts and sadness filling our hearts. As difficult as this visit was for my elderly parents, it gave them the chance to say a final goodbye to their cherished first born.
We are filled with apprehensions. The thought of losing a vibrant member of our family is overwhelming. Tears fall and our voices choke as we speak of Jan on the ride home. Yet we know that what awaits my sister is Glory.
November 5, 2007: Leg Lifts Anyone?
A calm (of sorts) is settling over our home. Since talking with Jazz's breeder about his silly "teenage" ways, I've chilled and don't stress as much about the pack order.
Rosie remains top dog. (after ME, of course!) She and Jazz are very close. I believe he wants to be in line right behind her. (for now)
Harley's tactic is avoidance. I can almost read Harley's mind when a snarling and barking Jazz jumps on his back. Harley is thinking, "Why me? What have I done?" I also think Harley seems sad that Jazz doesn't yet appear to recognize he is already submissive.
Now Jazz and Badger's relationship is more difficult to figure out. They still play together. Their "wild boy" play times are early in the morning and before our evening walk. They tear around the house. (to my chagrin) When I tell them to stop running, the two male dogs are like small children. They dash to our bedroom where they think I can't hear them. But my ears pick up Badger's quick little paw steps tearing about the bedroom trying to avoid Jazz's body slams. So like a "good mom", I check on them...mostly to make sure I still have a bedroom to sleep in. I've caught Jazz on our bed with his head hanging down over the end. He looks like Snoopy on top of his doghouse...at attention and ready to pounce. The flying feet and short barks eventually wind down with Badger slinking off to sleep on the landing.
You can tell I don't have pack mentality because I don't yet understand how the two boys, Badger and Jazz, have so much fun together. And the next minute Jazz has Badger pinned down and is in his face. Personally, I don't think Badger gives one hoot about being above Jazz on the pack ladder. But what do I know? I'm only human. Boys will be boys, I guess.
There is a new game in town, also. Jazz has been stealing food from both Harley and Badger. When that happens, Harley and Badger lower their heads. They look pitifully up at me as though they are saying "HELP"! I don't know why they don't growl at Jazz and show him their pearly whites. Instead, I find myself intervening and telling Jazz in my fiercest "leader of the pack voice" that NO, he can't steal his pack mates' food.
Last week I heard this pitiful sound coming from our back room. It was the sorrowful howl of a little beagle boy. Badger was trapped! Jazz was laying across the doorway to our back room blocking Badger from getting into the main part of the house. Geeze. This is yet another attempt by Jazz to lord his new found size and strength over Badger! So I dutifully rescued Badger and lead him (snarling) past Jazz! I had to stifle a giggle because the same Badger who was crying moments before was trying to impress Jazz with a growl! This rite went on daily for almost a week and has faded into history. (xx...my fingers are crossed)
As you can tell, Jazz is still elbowing his way into a new pack position. At almost 11 months, he is very aware of his growing size and strength. Outside I can't help but notice Jazz lifting his leg higher than his body and marking every rock and weed with his pee. Guess he's pretty proud of how high he can lift his leg! (Maybe he's been secretly working out with Billy Blanks!)
November 2, 2007: Note from this blogger
The writer of this blog would like her readers to know that she has not been able to write as frequently lately due to family issues. She thanks you for your patience and looks forward to posting a new entry as soon as she can.
October 25, 2007: Cancer, An Omnious Fog
A sister is a special gift . It's a gift you want to hold on to and treasure.
My gift, my sister, is older. She carried me around, played in the sandbox with me, read stories to me, sang to me, danced with me... and sometimes was unkind....as all sisters can be. Then my sister grew up, went away to nursing school, got married, and moved to a neighboring state. I felt abandoned. I wasn't old enough yet to understand that siblings expand outward in their own direction as they grow up.
When we both had very young families, my sister moved to Florida and lived there for many years. The feelings of abandonment intensified because, to my chagrin, we only saw each other once or twice a year. It was never enough. But there was much laughter and gaiety when we were together. You see, I have always viewed my sister as a segment of the sun. Wherever she goes, people seem drawn to her warmth. They stop and chat like they've known her forever. She has an infectious laugh and a genuine interest in others that puts people at ease. Selfishly, I wanted more of her sunshine in my life.
Last year my sister moved back "home" to a neighboring state to be near her children and family. Now I know that like a circle, siblings come back to each other. I was overcome with joy that we would now live within driving distance of each other. We could finally spend time together doing all the things sisters do when they live close to each other.
What is the saying about the "best laid plans of mice and men" ?? My sister has cancer. The cancer is a spreading, ominous fog that has settled over my sister's life and wrapped the gaiety and laughter in a hushed shroud. The conversation, once lilted and light, is now soft and
muted. Our chats now consist of how to combat her serious weight loss, the inability to eat more than a few bites of food, the need for extra fluids, the exhaustion, the nights filled with vomiting (and worse), the next chemo treatment, the next doctor's appointment, the next MRI, the next blood test, and so on.
My sister is a strong, gritty woman. She has been fighting cancer for many years. We used to talk about next year. Now our conversations speak of closer days to come. There is a wistfulness in my sister's voice that deepens my sadness. We've shared so much laughter, and now we're sharing more tears.
If you have a special sister, have fun with her, enjoy her, laugh with her.....and hug her tightly.
Remember that " Every tomorrow has two handles. We can take hold of the handle of anxiety or the handle of faith." Henry Ward Beecher
I choose to grab hold of the handle of faith.
October 22, 2007: For the Love of a Dog
No man can be condemned for owning a dog.
As long as he has a dog, he has a friend;
and the poorer he gets, the better friend he has."
- Will Rogers
Disgruntled, discouraged, annoyed, frustrated..those words describe how UPSET I am over the rising costs of living. It's becoming a HUGE challenge for the average person to pay for their family's basic needs. And in our case, family includes "fur kids".
Caring for a diabetic dog is expensive. There is no getting around it.
Some family members have suggested we put Whiskey "down". How can anyone look into those trusting brown eyes and consider killing a pet that still enjoys a quality of life? It's not an option at this time. What IS an option is searching for the cheapest meds.
The price of insulin for Whiskey's twice daily injection has skyrocketed. We pay $38 for a vial that lasts about 6 weeks...or $6.33 a week. Heaven help us if we accidentally drop the glass vial and it shatters. That hasn't happened...but my husband has misplaced a vial.
Actually, the insulin cost is a "drop in the bucket". Whiskey also needs a pancreatic enzyme called PancreVed. (or pancrezyme) PancreVed is a digestive aid in replacement therapy where digestion of protein, carbohydrate and fat is inadequate due to exocrine pancreatic insufficiency. In layman's terms, without the PancreVed, Whiskey's poo is explosive. She needs it. We need it!
PancreVed is a powder. We purchase it in a 12 ounce container which lasts approximately 7 weeks. In the past, we've always purchased the PancreVed at our vet's. When we first purchased the PancreVed for Whiskey, we paid slightly less than $100 for the 12 ounce bottle. <GULP> Are you ready for this? The last time my husband brought a bottle home from the vet's, the cost was $140. I about "had a cow" ! (MOOO)
Searching the Internet led me to a discount pet drug company where I could purchase the same 12 ounce PancreVed for $107. (including shipping) I called the vet's office to tell them. They weren't impressed or interested. It was explained to me that the vet's office orders all their meds from one company. Unlike the rest of us peons, they don't search for the best price. All they have to do is pass the cost on to their clients. How handy....
I refuse to pay $140 for the PancreVed when I can get it for less. So I asked for a prescription from the vet. The prescription cost $5 for the 30 seconds or less it takes to write it out. <figure 17 cents a second> I'm not picking on vets. I like our vets. I know their bottom line is profit. But whatever happened to giving us "average Joe's" a little break now and then? It's ridiculous. One of these days we're going to have to pay for a breath of fresh air.
Long story short, I faxed the prescription to the on-line company. In 4 days, the PancreVed was in our mailbox. At $107 a bottle, we can add another $16 a week to Whiskey's medical tab. YIKES! But that's still cheaper than the $140 bottle from the vet.
Did I mention Whiskey is also on a thyroid medication called soloxine? More $$.
But we know she didn't ask for diabetes. It's not her fault.
Before you bring home a new puppy or a rescue, you need to consider the dog a lifetime commitment. Dogs aren't disposable like diapers.
Also, please thoroughly research the benefits of raw feeding and the detriments of the large number of vaccinations our animals are subjected to.
Doing so will minimize vet visits and will give your pet a healthier, longer life.
October 18, 2007: Whiskey is Not Alcohol
Scratch a dog and you'll find a permanent job.
Franklin P. Jones
Whistle for Whiskey and you won't get a shot of alcohol. You'll get our sixth dog, Whiskey.
Whiskey is an 11 year old Husky mix. When we first met her, she was two years old and named Liquor. (or maybe it was Licker??) Doesn't matter. She soon answered to Whiskey.
Whiskey had been picked up as a stray and taken to our vet. Her owner no longer wanted her and refused to take her home. At the same time, our vet knew we were looking for a "shed companion" for our son's coon hound. The vet asked us if we'd give Whiskey a home.
She explained that Whiskey had always been an outside dog and didn't like other dogs. If another dog gets in Whiskey's face, her lips turn up into a "smile". (That's what we call it when a dog curls it's lips into a teeth baring "get away from me" snarl.)
So Whiskey came home to live in a secure shed with Lucky, the coon dog. They each had a separate area with an insulated, straw filled house and access to a large dog-run outdoors. It was a good fit. Lucky tolerated Whiskey, and Whiskey ignored Lucky.
Years passed and one day Whiskey got very sick. She was diagnosed with diabetes, and we entered into a new realm of dog care. Besides giving Whiskey two insulin injections per day, we also had to deal with terrifying seizures when her sugar level went haywire.
I didn't even know dogs got diabetes. When the vet told me that she was seeing more cases of diabetes than ever before, I began searching the Internet to see if I could find out why this diagnosis is becoming too commonplace. I stopped feeding kibble (dry dog food), stopped vaccinating Whiskey, and began feeding raw to all of our dogs.
The results were thrilling. Whiskey's insulin usage dropped from 22 units twice a day to it's current level of 10 units twice a day. She hasn't had any seizures since I've switched to raw 3 years and 8 months ago. Another benefit is that Whiskey has outlived her prognosis by almost two years.
One upsetting side effect of diabetes has been blindness. But Whiskey didn't spend any time mourning the loss of her sight. She's amazing and has adapted to the darkness. She still loves being outdoors with us, going for walks, and trying to sneak up on turkeys. Sometimes she runs into an object outside. She doesn't get upset like a human might. Instead, she registers surprise and goes around it.
And yes, Whiskey gets a lot of coddling. Her favorites are belly rubs, sweet talk, and extra treats. Last week she enjoyed a day at the "spa"! I cut her toenails, brushed out all of her loose hair, and gave her a bath in the bathtub. Her body language told me she was relaxed and happy.
We know the diabetes has made Whiskey's life precarious. However, for now, we revel in the fact that she's still with us and as sassy as ever. See pictures of her in the photo gallery:
http://community.local12.com/photos/fur_and_feathers_a_pet_lovers_blog/default.aspx?ppage=2
Next time I'll discuss the expense of caring for a diabetic canine.
October 15, 2007: Heritage Hen on my Head
No kidding! A hen flew on my head yesterday, and it wasn't a trick!
If you look back at the pictures in the gallery, you'll see a gray heritage turkey hen sitting on her nest next to a tree. That's the hen who attacked me!
Recently, the gray hen in the photo hatched 6 little poults. My husband and I moved the hen and her poults into a pen inside our shed for safety. First, we chased the hen off of her nest and grabbed the babies and put them in a clean box. Then we walked to the shed with the crying poults The hen frantically followed their cheeping into the pen. It is our experience that very young poults "disappear" quickly when left with the hen to free range outdoors. We believe they fall prey to cats and hawks and weasels during the day. Even though the hen fearlessly guards her poults , they still get stolen. She isn't able to protect all of them as they spread out around her during the day to scratch for insects and other "goodies". ( You can see a picture of poults following their mothers in the photo gallery. http://community.local12.com/photos/fur_and_feathers_a_pet_lovers_blog/default.aspx?ppage=2) Turkeys don't see well at night, so a setting hen can succumb to a predator scooping her poults out from under her.
Yesterday I went into the gray hen's pen to check on her and the poults. I also needed to change the water and add feed for the poults. One poult had died during the night. It's very late in the season for poults to be hatched, and this little poult never thrived. Sad...but a fact of life. A poult must be strong and thrifty to survive to maturity.
In the past, I've been charged by a hen protecting her brood. The hen ran at me with wings spread out and feathers puffed up to make herself look larger. She flew up and smacked me with her feet. (similar to a karate kick) This can be dangerous as the toenails on a turkey are ultra sharp. That's why I anticipate this behavior from the wilder hens and attempt to keep my distance when they have poults.
Other hens are friendly and docile. They will let me examine their poults without being a menace. Those are the hens I like!! It's the maniac hens that I have to watch out for.
And I was not thinking about the consequences of my lax behavior when I went in to check on the gray hen and poults yesterday. As I bent down to remove the dead poult, the gray hen launched a sneak attack from behind. With her wings outstretched, she hurled herself at the back of my head.
No, I'm not hurt. Just my feelings are slightly ruffled because I forgot to remember to be cautious of maniac mother hens. I'm not mad at her. She was only doing her job and protecting her poults.
TURKEY TRIVIA ANSWER: A mature turkey has approximately 3500 feather.
October 11, 2007: Turkey Flock Mentality
Nature does nothing uselessly.
Aristotle
Humans strive for equality, but equality doesn't exit in the turkey world. There is a definite pecking order in the flock. And as the quote "Nature does nothing uselessly" (Aristotle) says, I'm certain the purpose of the pecking order is the safety and longevity of the flock.
When I bring new turkeys into the flock, they are immediately outcasts. They are pecked, chased, kept away from food and water UNTIL the flock comes to accept the new birds. Until such acceptance happens, the new turkeys must avoid the flock. They live on the outreaches, always keeping their distance. The new turkeys eat and drink when the main flock has gone to another area. Sometimes a hen or two will stay behind the main flock and actually "guard" the food and water from the new turkeys. If any of the new birds is unable to run or hide from the others, it may be pecked to death. There is no mercy among turkeys. A new turkey means less food and water for the rest of the flock, and they aren't going to give up their necessities easily.
In my experience, it usually takes upward to 5-7 days before a new turkey is accepted. Even then, it's allowed to eat and drink after the older turks are finished. I have observed that the hens rule the "roost". The hens fight among themselves as nastily as the toms do to earn that top spot in the flock. The toms will stand around with feathered tails displayed and watch the hens fight. Occasionally the toms also join in and help beat up the weaker hen.
At the present time, I have a young hen (hatched this past summer) whom I've named Magnolia. (Maggie for short) Despite her young age, I know Maggie means business. She's always the first to scold me when I come into the turkey area. Her noisy clucking tells the others I'm in their space. Maggie seems to keep the younger turkeys in line. She leads them to different parts of the woods or the field where insects might be more plentiful. She's an obstinate girl and is usually the last of the young turks to go into the shed at night. I guess it's her way of letting me know she's the boss!
Now Maggie is not the "lead hen". She's too young for that job. The older hens still chase her from the food and water until they've had their fill. But I have a feeling Maggie will vie for that position when she reaches maturity.
It isn't just the younger turkeys who are at the bottom of the pecking order. Weaker older turkeys are also down at the bottom . When we let the turkeys out of their shed in the morning, some of the hens and maybe a tom will stay behind on the roost. They eat/drink last. It's just the way it is. They don't complain. Turkeys seem to know their place in the flock. They figure it out without interference from humans.
Our turkeys spend their days outside in our woods and field. They are out in all types of weather. There is security in a group. The flock has many eyes to watch for predators during the day. They roost in a shed at night to keep them safe from raccoons, foxes, coyotes, owls, etc.
The next time you complain about your position in your family or at work, be thankful you are not a turkey!
Here's another turkey trivia question: Approximately how many feathers does a turkey have?? (watch for the answer in the next blog)
October 8, 2007: Who's the Top Dog in This House Anyway?
Multi-dog families take work and dedication. Besides the physical work of always wiping feet before entering the house, vacuuming up hair, trimming toenails, bathing, exercising, washing dog bed covers, there is the mental work of dealing with the dogs' personalities. As you know, we lost Ladybug a year ago and then added Jazz last February. At that time, Jazz was 8 weeks old and at the bottom of the pack. Now that he is 10 months old and much bigger, Jazz is trying to find a new place in the pack. Lately he's been jumping on Harley or Badger. It's scary because it sounds like Jazz is attacking them. There is a lot of ferocious growling and nipping going on. Although both dogs come out of the tussle unscathed, it still makes me uneasy. I have experienced very little of this behavior from our dogs before Jazz.
When Ladybug was with us, she was dominant and "ruled the roost". Then Greta came along. Greta had a dominant personality as well and has scars from earlier dogfights. Thankfully, she and Ladybug quickly worked things out. Greta is older now, and has no need to fight. She's content to be outside with her nose to the ground looking for mice in the field or just watching the world go by. Rosie is very laid back and easy going, but don't let her calm demeaner fool you! She's the alpha dog at the present time. Her weight and size gives her a definite edge. She has put her body between Jazz and Badger when their play got a little out of control. (We think she's telling Jazz to leave Badger alone!) She will occasionally push the other dogs away from me. They defer to her, also.
Harley just wants a comfy place to lay his head, belly rubs, and food. He's a "whatever" boy. He thinks his job is to guard the house and sleep! Badger is more particular. There are certain times of the day when he demands attention from me or my husband. He's so cute that it's hard to ignore his pleading, big brown eyes. Badger also likes to play with Jazz in the morning and before our evening walk. Otherwise, he's off by himself watching the world go by from his special spot on the stairway near a window. (And of course, beagles have a perpetual empty pit in their stomachs, so Badger is always ready for food!)
Jazz is from a working line of German Sheperds. He's a go getter. Now that he's older, he is no longer content being at the bottom of the pack. So he's moving up! I did call Jazz's breeder for ideas on how to handle pack behavior. Valerie's a good listener, knows her dogs inside and out, and is always helpful. She emailed several websites for me to read about handling this type of situation. Here's a couple links that you will find useful if you , too, have a multi-dog family or are thinking of adding another canine to your "pack". http://k9deb.com/nilif.htm http://www.geocities.com/Augusta/2525/multidogs.htm And you can always google canine dominance. You'll get lots of hits.
Although this new "I"m gonna jump on you first." behavior from Jazz doesn't happen often, it's still something I need to be aware of....OR maybe I need to just let it play out. Dogs are like children in some ways....it's best to let them settle their differences themselves with as little interference from you as possible.
TRIVIA QUESTION ANSWER: A turkey has 157 bones.
October 3, 2007: Turkey Saddles and Snoods
Google the word snood and you'll get 910,000 entries. A few entries tell about a beautiful hair adormnent or a style of head covering. But most of the entries are for the popular computer puzzle game, Snood.
I had to skim pages of websites before I found one that told about a turkey snood. A turkey wears a style of head covering? Not exactly!
The snood is a fleshy appendage above the male turkey's beak. It can stretch to twice it's ordinary length and turns bright red during courtship or when the male is excited. Female turkeys supposedly prefer long snoods. And males (or toms) assess the snood lengths of other males before engaging in a battle because the snood length is a good predictor of victory. That's probably because older toms have longer snoods and weigh more. ( See the photo album for pictures of a tom's snood. )
Tom turkeys fight amongst themselves for the right to mate. It's not a pretty sight, and you don't want to get in the way of fighting toms.
Toms twist their necks together like a pretzel when they are fighting. They also use their powerful wings to pummel their opponant. Toms don't need kickboxing classes. They already know how to kick and slash with their sharp spurs. When toms are fighting, you'll also hear a lot of high pitched "turkey hollering" going on. Fighting toms get the entire flock excited and "talking", so the noise is intensified. The strongest tom will win, of course, but he will be challeneged by other toms in the flock many times during the mating season.
Mating season in Ohio usually starts in early March and lasts through the summer. In my experience, the hens don't really care about snood length. They determine when they are ready to mate. A hen will sit down in front of the males to show she's ready to be mated. Then the dominant male will step onto her back to mate her. Because the tom has such sharp toenails, his nails often slice into the female's back.
(not a pleasant thought, is it) For that reason, our hens wear a "saddle" from March until late Sept. The saddle fits over the hen's wings and covers her back. The saddle helps the tom get a good grip on the hen's back while preventing injury to the hen.
Our hens usually lay an egg every other day during mating season. Once the hen has a clutch of eggs (10-18 eggs), she will sit on the
eggs for 28 days. Turkey eggs are larger than chicken eggs. Poults (baby turkeys) will hatch at the end of those 28 days. Poults are
cared for by the hen for several months. She teaches the poults how to eat and drink, and most importantly, how to hide from predators.
Lastly, try this turkey trivia question: How many bones does a turkey have? I'll answer that next time.
October 1, 2007: The Decision to Ditch "Dog Food"
Myth: RAW MEAT WILL MAKE MY DOG BLOODTHIRSTY.
What does this mean, exactly? How does feeding a dog what it was designed to be fed make it bloodthirsty? By nature the dog is a carnivorous predator. A dog that chases things (with or without killing them) is just being true to what it is: a dog. Feeding a dog meat is not going to turn a dog into some vicious animal that will attack every living thing that moves. For additional information about this myth and other rawfeeding myths, go to this website: <http://rawfed.com/myths/ >
Yesterday my husband and I butchered a few turkeys. Our dogs like them for dinner as much as we do. If you visit the photo gallery linked to this page http://community.local12.com/photos/fur_and_feathers_a_pet_lovers_blog/picture2019501.aspx, you will see a picture of a butchered turkey sitting on our dining room table. It hasn't been "finished" or cleaned for human consumption, meaning we did not remove all the pinfeathers or clean it up. (the dogs don't care if they eat pinfeathers) In the photo, Jazz is sniffing the butchered turkey as it sits on the table. Other than an extended sniff, he did not touch it. That's because my dogs are trained to leave their food alone until I give it to them. The turkey in the picture sat on the table for about an hour until my husband had time to cut it into pieces. Then I fed the dogs outdoors.
When people learn that we feed our dogs raw meat, they often think our dogs will kill the turkeys. That has only happened once. After Greta came to live with us 5 years ago, she did kill a turkey. She was starving. Although we weren't happy about it, we understood. Since then, she has learned not to touch the turkeys. That doesn't mean she no longer wants them for a meal. Greta will whine and lick her lips as she watches the turkeys. But she knows the turkeys are off limits for a meal.
Our puppy, Jazz, loves to chase the turkeys. They squawk and fly. He thinks it's the greatest fun since dog toys were invented! But we are teaching him to leave the turkeys alone. Most of the time, a "leave it" command will cause him to stop in his tracks. He has never tried to catch a turkey , let alone eat it.
In addition, our neighbors raise cows. You won't see our dogs running over there to take a bite out of the cows!
Just remember, dogs who eat meat are not automatically bloodthirsty creatures who will visciously attack another animal or you!
September 28, 2007: Turkeys-Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder
Consider it the best part of an education to have been born and brought up in the country.
Amos Bronson Alcott
When I was a teenager growing up on a farm, I couldn't wait to get away from the farm and live in "civilization." I craved excitement...not the daily humdrum of endless chores and isolation (teen-age translation: no neighbors close by). While I always loved farm animals, I grew restless with the monotony of caring for them. The only excitement on the farm was when the cows got out of the fence and wound up two fields over or the pigs got loose and decided to hide out under the vast barn floor or when the ram chased my mother all around the yard. But that wasn't the excitement I was looking for at that stage of my life.
Now that I'm older, I find the country calming. I feel like I've come "home". Each day is an endless vacation day because the only noise I hear when I step outside is nature. My view is songbirds, woodland animals, tall trees, fields, and gorgeous sky. Who could ask for more? Yeah, I'm country at heart. I guess you have to love it to appreciate it.
Most important to me is that those early years on the farm helped me learn life lessons like a strong work ethic, finishing what I start, and never giving up.
While I've always loved animals, poultry was never my favorite kind of bird. Grandma had chickens, and they would fly straight at me when I tried to gather eggs from their nest boxes. Such actions didn't endear the chickens to me. There was no way I was ever raising poultry.
That all changed the day my dad, a lifelong farmer, asked me to raise his small flock of heritage turkeys. Dad needed more time to care for my mother. I thought, "Well, they aren't chickens. And although they aren't exactly good looking, they are kind of pretty." I didn't want to disappoint my father, so I said, "Sure. I'll take them." That was 6 years ago, and that small flock was the start of my journey into "turkeyland". Who would have thought that turkeys actually DO have personality? And some people form an attachment to their turkeys. More amazing is the fact that some turkey owners let their pet turkeys live in the house! Bet you didn't know that!
I think my friends and relatives still look at me a little strange. They understand my love of dogs....but turkeys? "What ugly birds.", they say.
I have to disagree. While turkeys are not what most people call beautiful, there are different varieties of Heritage Turkeys. Their plumage is very pretty.
Here's a link to a page that has pictures of the different varieties of Heritage Turkeys. I'm sure you'll find a variety that is your favorite.
September 27, 2007: Just What Are Heritage Turkeys?
Papa, potatoes, poultry, prunes and prism, are all very good words for the lips.
Charles Dickens
Say the word turkey and the first thing that pops into a person's head is...Thanksgiving...poultry (think turkey), potatoes, pumpkin pie, etc. The only trouble is that the Thanksgiving turkeys we buy from the store are broad-breasted white turkeys...not heritage turkeys.
I doubt Norman Rockwell envisioned a broad-breasted white turkey in his Thanksgiving painting, Freedom from Want. His visions no doubt were of the succulent meat of a heritage turkey....a turkey our ancestors raised to help feed their families.
Here's a little history of the Heritage turkey. This information is taken from the Heritage Turkey Foundation. (read more at their website, http://heritageturkeyfoundation.org/).
Most breeds of heritage turkey were developed in the U.S. and Europe over hundreds of years,and were identified in the American Poultry Association's turkey Standard of Perfection of 1874. Prized for their rich flavor and beautiful plumage, heritage turkeys are ancestors of the common broad-breasted white industrial breed of turkey that comprises 99.99% of the supermarket turkeys sold today.. But the heritage breeds still exist and are making a comeback. America's heritage turkeys were bred for fine flavor, beauty, and "thriftyness" or good yield of meat. They needed to be hardy, self-reliant birds. After all, they were sometimes herded to market in flocks.
By 1990 heritage turkeys were very near to extinction. But today they are making a comeback due to a renewed market and respect due to their flavor and superior biological diversity. Heritage turkeys can mate naturally. Broad-breasted whites cannot mate naturally because of their size.
Also, while supermarket turkeys grow to an average of 32 pounds over 18 weeks, heritage birds take anywhere from 24-30 weeks to reach market weight. Those who have tasted heritage breeds say the cost and the wait are well worth it.
Now that you've had a little history on the background of Heritage Turkeys, I'll begin to tell you about my experience raising heritage turkeys, their quirks, their daily antics, etc. Stay tuned!
September 25, 2007: Puppy Therapy
When you feel lousy, puppy therapy is indicated. Sara Paretsky
Losing Ladybug in September of '06 left a gaping void in our lives. In time, we realized we needed puppy therapy to begin to fill that emptiness. Ladybug would have wanted us to move forward. She would have wanted us to experience the joy of having another "follow me everywhere" puppy.
We found just that puppy last February. Today Jazz is an intellligent, sweet, and joyful 9 month old AKC German Shepherd. He came to us from Valerie Miller in Barberton, Ohio. http://www.vomhausweinbrand.com/ Jazz's AKC name is Dozer Vom Haus Weinbrand. Jazz is everything Valerie said he would be...and then some.
He has fit into our family like a hand slipping into a well worn glove. Jazz has super ball drive. Playing ball is one of his favorite things to do. He'll play ball with us until we think our arm is falling off! Another of his favorite things is eating! Jazz was weaned on raw and thrives on raw. You can follow Jazz's steady growth from the pictures in the photo gallery. http://community.wkrc.com/photos/fur_and_feathers_a_pet_lovers_blog/default.aspx Jazz still has some growing to do, but we tell him he's a "big boy" already!
Who knew that raising an active puppy has a weight loss benefit. Well, think about the Mazda commerical that has the words "zoom, zoom , zoom" in it. Now think of Jazz zoom, zoom, zooming about our property. All that zooming beside him has helped me lose 20+ pounds since February!! (without trying!) I call it 'puppy therapy plus' !
In future blogs, I will continue to describe life with Jazz, our "zoom zoomer."
Until then, stay tuned for a glimpse at rare heritage turkeys.
September 20, 2007: Harley is A Keeper
Dogs are miracles with paws. ~Attributed to Susan Ariel Rainbow Kennedy
Recently I had a birthday. I received a card from my parents that has very special meaning to me. I refer to a card like that as a "keeper"....one to be kept.
Seven years ago, a kind vet felt Harley is a keeper. Harley is a purebred German Shepherd who collided with a car at 6 months of age. His front and back leg on the right side of his body were crushed. His owners told the vet to put him to "sleep". But the kind hearted vet took Harley to an orthopedic surgeon and had the bones, etc. in his legs put back together with plates, rods, and screws. Harley spent the next six months or so recuperating from his injuries. A person who worked at the vet's office took Harley home as a favor to the vet. She was very busy and had little time for Harley and the other dogs in her care.
When I first saw Harley, he was two years old. The vet, knowing I have a penchant for GSD's, asked if I'd adopt Harley.
Oh my! He was a wild, unkempt boy! He had few manners, his hair was matted, and frankly, he stunk. I don't know exactly why, but my husband and I took him home with some trepidation.
Harley had a bath, nails cut, and was brushed. It took awhile, but he learned to do his "business" outside. He learned to come when called. He learned a lot of things that are necessary for a dog to live in the house. We saw him blossom into the dog he was meant to be. Watching him romp and play with our other dogs is a joy.
Today Harley is 7 1/2 years old. He runs slowly and walks with a limp. Arthritis is setting into his injured legs, but we believe a good raw diet is slowing down the progress of that disease.
It's okay that Harley prefers laying down to sitting or standing. He will spring into action and be the first to bark at a strange car in the driveway. Yet he's friendly and gentle with everyone he meets. Who can resist his warm, brown eyes?
Yes, Harley is a keeper. It's a miracle he survived the crush of an automobile as a pup. He's here to stay as long as he can.
(P.S. I'll be out of town for a few days. When I get back, you'll meet our puppy, the JazzMan.)
September 17, 2007: A White Rose
Anybody who doesn't know what soap tastes like never washed a dog. ~Franklin P. Jones
It's a fact. White dogs need more baths than darker dogs. It's just like wearing a white shirt...spills, splashes, etc. glare back at you. Our dogs are outside for several hours a day. They roll around when they play, slide in the dirt, dig in the garden, etc. Spring and fall rains make the ground muddy. On those days, all we can do is sigh, wipe the dogs down, and give Rosie (another) bath if she's too dirty to come into the house.
Rosie came home with us when she was 3 months old. She briefly lived with a couple in a neighboring city. They decided they couldn't take care of her, so we went to meet her. Like all puppies, she was lively and always skidding around on 4 paws! She was also a beautiful, white purebred GSD. She was large boned and had huge puppy feet. To my delight, she was the easiest puppy I've ever trained and very laid back in the house.
When you rawfeed, puppies grow more slowly instead of in spurts. Rosie grew and grew and grew. She didn't seem to finish growing until she was a year and a half old. Now she's about 120 pounds. That's large for a GSD.
I love brushing Rosie. Her hair is cottony soft. It doesn't have the coarser texture our other shephards have.
Vistors find they cannot approach Rosie and pet her. She needs space to sniff them, bark a couple barks, and then stand back to size them up. If Rosie feels the visitor is nonthreatening, she'll allow herself to be petted. She might even lay her head on the visitor's shoes. Rosie warms up to women quicker than she warms up to men. But she loves children at first sight.
All of our dogs go "whacky" when it's time to play outside. Rosie has a "Jolly" ball. It's big and has a handle on it. She will mouth the ball until the handle sticks up. That's for us to grab onto! We throw the ball as far as we can, and Rosie sails after it and scoops it up. This scenario is repeated over and over during playtime outdoors.
Rosie is now two and a half years old and a sweetheart. You can see pictures of her and her "Jolly" ball if you click the photo gallery link above.
In my next entry, I'll blog about Harley...another rescue who was hit by a car at 6 months of age.
September 14, 2007: The Life and Loss of Ladybug, January 1996-September 2006
"You think dogs will not be in heaven? I tell you, they will be there long before any of us" ~ Robert Louis Stevenson
Anyone who has shared their life with a dog will understand the heartbreak of saying good bye.
A year ago today on September 14, 2006, I lost my Ladybug, a beautiful purebred German Shepherd. It was the most heart wrenching day. Here's her story:
We aquired Ladybug when she was 15 months old from a breeder in Southern Ohio. Without going into detail, let me just say that Ladybug had been through a lot in her short life. She came very close to being "put down" before she was a year old. We were so fortunate to find her.
When I first saw Ladybug, she put her front feet on my shoulders and licked my face. She was so joyful. It was love at first sight. I cannot explain the closeness I felt with Ladybug. You have to be a dog lover to understand that intense bond.
For the next years, Ladybug was my shadow. During my free time from work, she and I did everything together. She was one of those dogs that you trusted with your life. She was calm, loving, obedient, and wonderful with children as you can see from her picture. (click on the gallery link) She was also extremely protective of us and our family. One afternoon my husband was chasing our oldest granddaughter in the yard. Lily was running away from grandpa and screaming. Ladybug sprung into action and gently nipped my husband in his back end to let him know he wasn't suppose to chase "her" little girl!! We couldn't be mad at her because we understood her devotion to our grandchildren.
Last September, 2006, Ladybug seemed more quiet than usual. That was the only clue that we had that something awful was about to happen. On Sept. 13th, she began dragging her front leg. By the next morning, she couldn't walk. A trip to the vet confirmed my worse fears. Ladybug had a spinal tumor. By the afternoon of the 14th, she had lost all feeling in her left side and was almost completely paralyzed. She lay very still on a blanket in my lap. Her beautiful eyes told me what I needed to know. Thus, I made the decision that no dog lover wants to make. It's the decision that you dread and hope will never come to pass. I sent Ladybug across the Rainbow Bridge to wait for me. She was 10 years and 8 months old. She was much too young to have to take that trip.
I miss her every day.
September 12, 2007: Badger the Beagle
"Money will buy you a pretty good dog, but it won't buy the wag of his tail." - Henry Wheeler Shaw
If you've ever owned a Beagle, you know that their entire body is run by their nose! They were bred for hunting and that's what they do best. When they are on a scent, they bay loudly, and their tail wags incessantly.
Our beagle, Badger, is 6 1/2 years old. His owners abandoned him as a puppy. He lived with our vet until he was two years old and came home with us. Like most beagles, Badger is usually very sweet and calm. He loves children. He gets along well with our other dogs, but doesn't realize he's small. If the other dogs play too roughly, he lets them know they need to "back off"! He certainly doesn't lack courage.
Badger is usually on a leash or a long cable outside. The few times he's been "free", he's run off at break neck speed to hunt in the woods. His short legs can easily outrun a grown man! Fortunately, his baying tells us which direction he's gone. But beagles don't stand still when hunting and can go in circles, double back, etc. Wherever the scent goes, a beagle frantically follows. Thus, it's difficult to actually catch Badger because he doesn't stop for any human when hunting. He even forgets his own name and will not come when called. That's the reason I take my big dogs (the GSD's) with me when Badger has gone on an unscheduled hunt. The big dogs think he's playing and surround him. That allows me time to grab Badger before he takes off again. I'm sure Badger thinks I'm a "spoil sport"! He doesn't know that he is safer at home with us. He doesn't know about cars and trucks and guns. He doesn't know we want him to live a long and spoiled life.
Beagles definitely have a mind of their own. If you want a beagle for a pet, remember they take a lot of training. That being said, we love our Badger. He's a gentle boy who likes nothing better than to snuggle with you in bed or on the couch at night. Oh....he snores, too!
September 11, 2007: Greta, A Gentle Soul
"Who can believe that there is no soul behind those luminous eyes!" ~ Theophile Gautier
Greta came to live with us in August of 2002. She's an old soul and a rescue. If only Greta could talk. Many times I ask her where she came from, who loved her first, and how she ended up as a stray at a farmer's door. If she could only speak, what stories she could tell us.
Greta is a GSD (German Shepherd Dog) mix. When I first saw her, she wasn't very pretty. Her rib bones protruded from her body. She was emaciated. But, oh that tail. When she's happy, her tail goes in circles....whop, whop, whopping on everything nearby. Who could resist a dog whose tail tells you it's happy in your presence?
And, thus, Greta came to live with us. She has endeared herself to us. She's sweet, gentle, and willingly follows me from room to room. Greta endears herself to all visitors by bringing them one of her toys. Outside, she's a hunter of squirrels and birds. Thankfully, she's obedient and comes (most of the time) when called. During her first days at our home, she did catch and kill a turkey from our heritage turkey flock. We forgave her, and she's learned to leave the turkeys alone. Now that she is well fed, she no longer has to kill to survive.
Greta's old bones sometimes creak and cause her to limp. Still, she's eager for a romp in the field, running behind our 4-wheeler with the gleefulness of a much younger dog. We are thankful that she came to live with us. We will make sure her "golden" days are filled with good, raw food and plenty of belly rubs.
In my next entry, I will talk about another of our furry companions.
September 10, 2007: Priceless Tails
No matter how little money and how few possessions you own, having a dog makes you rich. -Louis Sabin
I consider myself very rich because my husband and I live with 5 dogs. When we have a tough day, the dogs greet us at the door with furiously wagging tails and our stress melts away. When we are sick and moaning on the couch, the dogs lay beside us with big, sad eyes. They can't bring us chicken noodle soup and kleenix, but their presence soothes our souls. When we work on our property, the dogs play nearby. Their noses know what's been there before us. Dogs don't need television, computers, or gameboys for entertainment. We are their life. They gleefully go on long walks with us, savoring every smell. When we sleep, they are there to guard us during the darkest of nights. And what are the first faces we see upon awakening after a night of slumber?? Happy dog faces lick the sleep away. Who could ask for more devotion than that?
In my next entry, I'll introduce one of our companions.
Sandy
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