Indiana Jones and the temple of turkey

"Listen up, turkey...if you don't run, I can't chase you..." 

I watched my dog follow the turkeys around the yard today. It's a slow speed chase through the underbrush, over the porch, and around the house. He never catches them, and you can tell this is by design. He just wants to keep them in his sights. If they run, he runs. If they walk, he walks. If they stop, he nudges them to get them to run again. It's fun to watch. But it makes me wonder what Indy's motives really are.

Is he just enjoying a little playtime with turkeys? Or is he thinking of the future. Is he aware of their true purpose in life? Can he puzzle out the reason they're here? After all, the turkeys of today are tomorrow's leftovers, right?

One of these things is not like the others, one of these things just doesn't belong. 

When the turkeys are out, Indy can be found in their midst, and when they're in their pen, he can be found napping at the entrance, waiting for them to come out again. In the end, I think he's just having a grand adventure. The chickens have become boring--yesterday's news. The turkeys are new and exciting, and they make weird noises. And dogs love things that run around and make noises. Indy practically worships the ground they walk on.

Like he's worshiping at the temple of turkey. I'll be interesting to see what happens as the birds grow up.

Until the next time...I'll leave you with more pictures of Indy and the turkeys.

what do you mean, I can't have a mongoose?

I had to take Indiana Jones, mastiff extraordinaire, to the vet today. For reasons unknown, his leg was horribly swollen, and it was oozing fluid from a small wound. He made deep growling sounds when I touched it, though he let me clean it up and put medicine on it without putting up much of a fuss. Still, my poor doggy was in pain, so off to the vet we went.

After a short wait for the country doctor, we were told Indy had been bitten by a copperhead. Now, I saw no snake, and Indy never cried out or behaved the way one would expect a dog to act when bitten by a snake, yet the vet looked at the symptoms and was quite convinced. The choices were simple. Indy needed antibiotics for infection, and something for pain and swelling. Luckily, the wound was draining, or so said the vet. 

Indy narrowed his eyes as the doc approached with a syringe filled with antibiotics, and the doc, smart man that he was, asked me if I would be able to stick the dog if he wasn't able to get close enough.

"Umm...yeah?" I agreed.  But I didn't really want to handle the needle in this operation. Instead, I opted to hold the biting end of the dog while the doc stuck him in the butt. No one died during the procedure, and even after a nasty shot, Indy was more than willing to make friends with every dog in the waiting room on the way out.

Indy is expected to make a full recovery, though it will take a while for him to fully heal. All in all, it's been a horrible experience. As for me? I'm never going outside again. There are copperheads in them there woods! And my husb--I mean, the IDP---says I can't have a mongoose. Something about them being illegal in the US.

I say, damn the laws and get me Rikki Tikki Tavi...stat! 

Until the next time...I'll be staying indoors. 

just another day on the farm

​Here's another photo blog summing up the last few crazy days on the farm.

Chicks dig the dog

Oh no! Another breakout! Whatever shall we do?​

Escaping pig!​ You'd better run...Indy's on the job!

"That piggy's not supposed to be in the yard, is he?"

This little piggy cried, "Wee, Wee, Wee!" All the way home.​

And the mighty hero rests with his fan club.​

chasing bacon

Isn't Monday bad enough on it's own merits without tossing in a game of chase the bacon? And I'm not talking about a breakfast, or the newest thing in porn. I'm talking about five bad little piggies stampeding their way out of their fortress to run rampant in the yard...again.

I was busy working on interview questions at lunchtime, paying little attention to the goings on outside the window, but when my daughter came downstairs and looked out the window, her exclamation of, "Pigs!" had me on my feet and out the door in record time. ​

It took the two of us, and a bucket of feed to coax the pigs from the next yard over back into the pen. But within a few minutes, they were blissfully wallowing in their water trough again, and I was back to work on my interview.

I'd done it. I'd captured them. I'd secured them. All. By. Myself. I was officially a pig whisperer, and those same pigs were happily  locked up, doing whatever pigs do in the daytime.

And then they weren't. Happy that is. In fact, they were downright miserable.​

It was almost eight o'clock in the evening and the sun was heading down over the horizon when the pigs started to stir behind the gate. Their squeals carried into the house like the mournful cries of sea monsters or rodents of unusual size. I didn't know what they wanted, they'd already been fed twice. It was obvious they wanted something because the leader, Napoleon, was bashing his head against the gate in what appeared to be an attempt to break the latch.

It's funny how cute, seemingly sweet, pigs can so quickly morph into raging bulls when they band together with a common goal. That goal being escape. Even as I'd armed myself with a bucket of feed and a broken rake handle (hey, one can never be too prepared around pigs) they broke free and went on a rampage. ​

The first stop was the chicken's feed, where they decimated every bite, stomping on the empty feeder before (literally) heading for greener pastures. ​

I called out to the dogs. I don't know why I did it. It's not like the dogs have been much help to me in the past, where the pigs were concerned, but I was here alone and it gave me a false sense of security to have them near me.

Did I say false sense of security? Because my dogs rose to the occasion this time, running circles around the pigs and barking like junk yard dogs. My beloved Indiana Jones, Mastiff extraordinaire, took it upon himself to herd the wild and crazy party pigs around the property at top speeds, nipping at their...errr...bacon, as they went. ​

I felt like I was in a front row seat at the coliseum watching my mighty mastiff go up against a lion. The dog that was terrified of the pigs just a week ago was suddenly circling and attacking with vigor. He was not about to let these pigs out of his sight until they were back in their paddock.

"No, Indy!" I screamed as panic gripped me. It was a high speed bacon chase, but he was chasing them in the wrong direction. "Not toward the open road!" I ran behind them, still waving my broken rake and a handful of hot dog buns, being trailed by a group of chickens, just waiting for the bread to drop. ​(This is where the film crew would have come in handy.)

Somehow I managed to break the language barrier with Indy and he circled a small group of pigs around again, chasing them toward the pen. I couldn't keep up, but I watched, panting along behind them (chickens running behind me, still waiting for me to trip and drop the hot dog buns) as Indy clamped his teeth into the pig's rump pushing it forward until it ran directly into the former duck pen. ​

Holy crap! He did it!​

I don't know who was more surprised, me, the dog, or the pig. We had one locked up, and Indy went back out after the rest. Once he'd captured the leader, the others followed soon after, and as the sun finally set, blanketing the farm in darkness, all five pigs were back where they belonged, and my poor dog was exhausted. As the chickens feasted on buns.

The moral of the story? It's a dog eat pig world out there, and you pigs better not forget it! I guess it's all in a day's work on the crazy haunted farm, right?

Until the next time...I'll be taking a few Advil and a long ass nap!​

welcome to the chicken show

Well, it happened. I woke up with a miserable wine headache and decided I don’t love wine after all. It was bound to happen. Love like that is fleeting.

I was desperate to sleep in, especially with the lovely dreams I was having…lovely wine induced dreams, I have no doubt…but the husband was insistent. We had things to do today.

Such is the life of a farm family…welcome to the chicken show.

Here’s our oldest Henrietta (also known by their “chicken names” as Black Australorps.) She’s between five and six months old and should be laying eggs any day now. I ask her daily to hand over her eggs, but so far she just laughs at me in that chicken cackle she has. Oh, I’ll get her eggs…you just wait and see! Speaking of wait and see…you can just make out the green and purple irridescent colors in her black feathers.

As you can see, the baby chicks are getting bigger by the minute. We put them outside right next to the Henriettas to let them all get acquainted.

The little rooster thinks he’s the big man on campus, despite his size, and I have a feeling the Henriettas will teach him a thing or too before he’s full grown.

Have I mentioned yet how much fun I’m having keeping up after a bunch of birds? Who knew when my own baby birds left the nest several months ago that I would replace them (as if I ever could) with a bunch of REAL birds? They’re certainly a daily distraction, if nothing else. And one day soon, I’ll have fresh eggs. Do you hear me chickens? Get with the laying already!

So…remember how my husband dragged me out of bed at the crack of dawn this morning? Well, maybe it was the crack of ten, but it was way before I was ready, that’s all I can say. I cleaned the bathrooms, the living room, the kitchen (including washing every dish in the house…by hand!) and I even did a few loads of laundry in that scary basement.

But now, it’s time for bed…I need another night to sleep off this wine headache. And I think my dog agrees, and he didn’t even have any wine.

Until the next time…I’ll be dreaming of a live in housekeeper!

ahhh...the secrets of marital bliss

After what can only be described as a miserable weekend, I had a lovely Sunday night, followed by a pretty good Monday, and a great Tuesday.

I even shaved my legs!

I’m going to chalk it up to marital bliss. And then I’m going to attempt to deconstruct what that means, exactly.

You may remember reading about me latched onto the free internet at the local McDonald’s late Saturday night, as I sat in my car with my dog and my laptop after an argument with my hubby. My mom called me the next day to make sure I made it home safely (which, of course, I did). I only spent an hour in my car, writing my blog and surfing the net…making a point, if you will. And I think it was a point well made.

The truth is, it takes time and distance from an issue for any true resolution to come out of it. And maybe just a little groveling. I’m pretty sure washing a few loads of laundry, plus a sink full of dishes (and making a home cooked meal) will get most husbands out of the proverbial dog house. Mine included.

Now I just need to convince the dog that all is forgiven. Indy is much less forgiving than I.

Once upon a time, I had to contend with toddlers climbing into bed after a scary dream. As they grew up, it was the assorted issues kids seem to have right at bedtime. A drink of water, a trip to the bathroom, a story. And after that, it was teenagers out with the car that created stress and worry, effectively squashing any chance of romance.

Indiana Jones, the mastiffNow, living on the farm…kids grown and out…it’s the dog who wants to climb into bed with us.

Indiana Jones, the mastiff has decided to challenge my husband for my attention. And let’s face it, there’s nothing like a little competition to get a man to step up to the plate, right?

That and freshly shaved legs.

But I’m not going there…

Until the next time…I’ll be sleeping in the middle.