Long Time, No Write

Things have been slightly nuts here. Scratch that. Things have been full-on cuckoo nuts here. The details aren't glamorous, just the usual holiday crunch on top of trying to open a business. When I'm not submitting reams of paperwork to the city/county/state for the store, I'm feverishly knitting dishcloths and leaning way too heavily on Amazon to wrap up my shopping.

Thus, I'm all manner of distracted and haven't had the time or mental oomph! to post anything. So here's an update from the Boggy Hollow crew, in a nutshell.

Bunnies - Marshmallow is *possibly* pregnant. We'll know definitively in another 20 days or so. We're moving her hutch into the basement, just in case, to keep her and the (maybe?) babies out of the weather.

Dogs - We've started up fostering again! We hosted a sweet little girl named Mariah for just 8 days this month before she moved on to her forever home. We were lined up to pick up a Pyr/Aussie pup to foster today, but he was adopted at the last minute. Fostering is work, but it's so rewarding.

'Riah and Rexy, snoozin'

Chickens - We've already lost a few this Winter to a trio of raccoons that were slowly picking off the less-wary gals (the ones who roost up outside regardless of how often we've wrestled them into the safety of the coop at night.) Rex managed to tree the thieves one night and Bill gave them a little something to think about with a few pellets to their butts. No one has gone missing since!

Goats - We still have 6, five girls and one stinky boy, though that number is about to grow soon. 

Greetings from the Boggy Hollow maternity ward!

Ol' Bluey, as wide as she is tall.

Buckley, the cantankerous, highly smelly, soon-to-be Papa of the lot

And that's about it. The giveaway is still forthcoming, though I'm rapidly reaching knitting fatigue, so the goodies contained therein may be slightly different that originally planned, but still good stuff for all that. In the mean time - have a wonderful Christmas/Solstice/Ugly Sweater season, and kindly chug a mug of something spicy and bourbon-laced for me. ;)

The Fearsome Protectors of the Hollow

At this time of year, Rexy, our Great Pyrenees, likes to spend his nights in the yard rather than in the house. Occasionally he can be lured in with the promise of a treat, but for the most part, he likes to stay at his post and bark at mystery critters who dare venture on or near his territory.

Aside from the barking, which, believe it or not, you eventually learn to tune out 90% of the time, his nighttime patrols have been nothing but good for our plants and critters, protecting them from coyotes, raccoons, possums, deer (the plants), etc. And, just like a baby's cry, you can tell the broadcast woe to ye who trespasses in MY yard bark from the rapid, snarly, I've got a predator cornered and I could use some backup bark. Last night featured the "got him!" bark, and so Bill went to investigate.

Imagine, if you will, a giant white dog snarling and doing a very fine Cujo impression, while looking straight up in the air. You need to look, but you're pretty nervous about what could be up there too... because it's mostly big things like wildcats and bears that scale telephone poles.

Bill shined his headlamp beam in the direction if Rex's frantic barking and saw... a ginormous grey owl sitting up on the power lines.

Yes indeedy, our Livestock Guardian is 24/7 and dead serious about his job. Luckily, all of our fowl were put up for the night (except the turkeys, who refuse to roost in the coop) and everybody was present and accounted for as of this morning.

Just when I think I can't love my pooch anymore, he kicks butt in a brand new way and I'm in awe of him all over again.

Not to be outdone, Penny also earned her farmdog-in-training stripes this morning at breakfast.

Just as I was walking onto the dining room, I see her playfully batting at something, then pick it up in her mouth and fling it, then chase it down and bat it some more. Figuring that it was something she shouldn't be eating, as per usual, I move to take it away from her just as she looks ready to chow down on a mammoth Wolf Spider. EEK!

Between Scarlet and I, we managed to distract her from her kill long enough to gingerly scoop it up with a paper towel and dispose of it, meanwhile lavishing the intrepid huntress with praise and offering her a biscuit in place of her venom-y snack. 

These two, I tell ya... Rescued pets rock!

The mighty beasts themselves.

Rainy Days and Mondays... A Whiny Rant from Farmer Crankenpants

Today has not been my day.

I suffer from insomnia, so I'd only had about 4 hours of sleep before the tsunami of poo, also known as Monday, decided to slap me awake(ish).

The first thing was a phone call, bright and early, from an uncharacteristically chipper gal at the post office. I wouldn't have even picked up, tired as I was, but Scarlet was still home and so she answered, then handed me the phone while I was still 90% unconscious. "Good morning! Your chickens are here!" Awww... what the crap?! I had the chicks' arrival written down on my calender as being slated for Friday. The run that these little guys would be moving in to in the coop hadn't even been set up yet. Oy.

So I drag my buns out of bed. I make myself a ginormous iced coffee. I have about two swigs of it before I get a call from the garden supply company that is delivering the 25 cubic feet (yards? Whatever. A smallish mountain.) of soil that will be going into our new raised beds. The driver is running a touch late - is it ok if he comes in 30 minutes? I say sure, but I have to run to the post office super quick to pick up my box of chickens first. "Your what?" Having to explain interstate chicken delivery to a stranger who seems to have decided, rather hastily, that I'm half batshizz crazy... Just. Not. Helping.

After the call, I threw on some clothes and put a very sad Penny into her kennel, then ran to the post office to pick up my chicks. The only bright spot in my post office jaunt was getting to show a little kid my package o' peepers. The surprise and delight on his face when he saw and heard the chickies going bananas was awesome. It's one of the aspects of farming in the city that I straight-up live for. Watching a kid break into a smile when they see a baby goat go bouncing by, or just after they pull up and take a chomp out of their first bright purple carrot, dirt and all - it makes me so dang happy.

Alas, the happiness was fleeting.

About 30 seconds after I pull into the driveway, the dirt delivery guy shows up. I have a package of shivering, mildly-traumatized poultry that need dealing with, and now this fella who needs my input on where to heap my dirt. I gave him two potential choices - both were rejected. He wanted to dump the dirt a little further into the yard. You got it, chief. Go nuts! I leave him to it, and go to put my peepers in the coop.

I no sooner unpack my peepers than I notice that we have a jailbreak unfolding. The chicks are still small enough that they can get through the holes in the chicken wire, and have wandered into neighboring runs. Crap. I round up my freshly liberated chicks and ponder a plan B.

I slap a temporary home for them together in a galvanized water trough. I stash them in our back room, hopefully securing them by closing the the two doors that separate them from the range of Penny the Huntress, freelance chicken murderer.

Sweet. I have two seconds to sit down and chug my nearly-forgotten cup of coffee. Then I realize that I've nearly forgotten something else that is kinda critical - that I need to show the chicks how to drink their water. It's been so long since we've had baby chicks here that I didn't even remember that chickies don't come with that knowledge. I went to check on my peeps only to find that - yep - these guys and gals were going to need a little help in the drinking department.

Check out the rocket scientist STANDING in the water, just chillin'. 

I'm about to sit down and starting teaching these chicks, one by one, the dip/scoop/tilt-the-head-back drinking method when there is a knock at the door. It's the dirt delivery guy. His truck is stuck. Super.

I go outside to help him find some wood scraps and gravel to throw under his truck tires. In my haste, I fail to secure the front door completely. To Rex, that is an as good as an engraved invitation to take the heck off.  Out-muther-frackin'-standing! Cue the parade of helpful neighbors driving/biking/jogging by who stop to let me know that "Your dog is out!". You don't say! Is that why I have a leash in one hand, a chunk of ham for a bribe in the other, and a completely humorless/borderline apoplectic look on my face? Thanks so much!

To recap, I have - 

a) thirsty, travel-weary chicks who can't drink until I show them how,

b) a d-bag escape artist dog who thinks that my limping down the road after him - IN THE RAIN - is some sort of great sport, 

c) a tiny terror of a dog who is just waiting for her opportunity to devour the thirsty baby chickens the first time I space out and leave a door open,

d) a dump truck in my front yard that is digging some fabulous, giant holes with its slipping and spinning tires and still not going anywhere. 

e) zero point zero percent blood sugar/circulating caffeine in my system.

Can I dig a hole and crawl into it now? 

Finally, finally, the dirt-guy got his truck out, Rex wandered back up to the porch and eventually back into the house, the chickies seem to have settled in a little - drinking lessons are still forthcoming, Penny hasn't visited death upon anyone/anything yet today, and I've made a dent in my great, highly-tragic caffeine deficit. 

Still, I think this will be a PB&Js for dinner kinda night. And woe unto the child who dares complain - WOE UNTO THEM. 

Serenity now!

Dog Shaming

My pups are angels, angels I tell you, 99% of the time. But when they go rogue, boy do they ever. 

At least Rex has the grace to look abashed for his antics. Penny, god love her, as usual, looks clueless as to why Mama's miffed. Chickens aren't chew toys, Pen. 

It seems that it may be my lot in life to be surrounded by adorable hooligans. Oy...

Critter Census - Spring 2013

For better or for worse, these numbers are likely to change due to either loss or gain - hopefully gain - within the next 12 weeks leading up to Summer.

Chickens - 14

Sir Rosco Peckins - Lavender Orpington roo
Leroy Brown - Splash Cochin roo
Leon - Black-laced Red Wyandotte roo
Lacy - Silver-laced Cochin hen
Coo-Coo - White/Wheaten Americauna hen
Amelia - Dark Americauna hen
Rose - Brown Americauna hen
Gracie - Golden-laced black Polish hen
Puffy - White Silkie hen (currently sitting on 9 eggs at last count)
Ewok - Brown Americauna hen
Miss Bitey Pants - Black "Policauna" hen
Jasmine - Black Policauna hen
Australorp hens who's names I don't remember (2 of them)

The coyote seems to have picked off a few look-alike hens without our notice, based upon our slowly but steadily shrinking flock. 

Guinea Fowl - 2

Spotty & Sylvia - Pearl Grey hens

Rabbits - 1

Prince Charming - Neutered mini-Rex male

Goats - 19 (Aye, chihuahua!)

Blue - 11 year old Agouti Grey, disbudded Nigerian Dwarf doe
Chardonnay - 5 year old Caramel brown, blue-eyed, gopher-eared, disbudded mini-Lamancha doe
  Chardy's twins - dark in color, doelings
Hop - 2 year old Fawn & White spotted, gopher-eared, mini-Lamancha doe
  Hop's male kid - White & Grey, ND "erect" eared, disbudded mini-Lamancha wether
Valentina - 2 year old Fawn colored, elf-eared, mini-Lamancha doe
  Valentina's twins - Fawn/buckskin colored, gopher-eared
Liberty - 1 year old Caramel brown, blue-eyed, gopher-eared, mini-Lamancha doe
  Liberty's kid - Black with white markings, disbudded
Hope - 1 year old Caramel brown, blue-eyed, gopher-eared, mini-Lamancha doe
  Hope's kid - Fawn colored, disbudded
Sidney - 4 year old, White with black markings, erect-eared, disbudded Alpine doe
  Sidney's kid - disbudded wether
Sophie - 3 year old, White with black markings, erect-eared, disbudded Alpine doe
  Sophie's kids - Black & White, gopher-eared, disbudded, mini-Lamancha/Alpine doeling
                         Black & White, erect-eared, disbudded, mini-Lamancha/Alpine wether
Buckley - 2 year old, Buckskin colored, gopher-eared, mini-Lamancha buck

I feel bad that I can't recall off the top of my head all of the pertinent details about all of the new babies, but between my memory issues and the landslide of babies born in the past two weeks, I'm just out of my depth at the moment. :\

Pigs - 3 (I'm not too committed to learning these guys' names, and so I venture a guess at who's who here.)

Baykin(?) - 9 week old spotted gilt
Prosciutto(?) - 9 week old black gilt
Porkchop(?) - 9 week old black barrow

In addition to our livestock, we have the pets - dogs, Rex & Penny, curmudgeonly old box turtle, Bob, and our lone parakeet, Applesauce. That brings our grand total to 43 critters. HOLY CRAP.

Alien Angry Girl vs. Predator

Y'all know my Rexy-boy, right?

First week home, January 2012

Rex is a Great Pyrenees/Pyr mix of some sort. His pink nose is the big giveaway that he's probably not a pure Pyr, but his personality and instincts are ALL PYR, for better or for worse. As you probably know, if you've read this blog much, Great Pyrenees are a breed of Livestock Guardian Dogs, or LGDs. LGD's are 99% instinct, having been bred for a thousand years for single purpose - to protect their charges. Noble though they are, this take-charge attitude also has a downside - intense pigheadedness. LGD's are notorious for disrespecting personal space and property lines, answering instead to their highly tuned senses and instincts about where their dominion begins and ends, and who/what poses a potential threat to their humans and critters.

Knowing this full well, we shored up our fencing before we even adopted Rex. Much like a toddler will gleefully hone in on the one thing that you missed in an otherwise airtight, baby-proofed room, Rex let us know pretty quickly that anything short of chain-link and barbed wire would not deter him from exploring the whole of North Olympia at his leisure. So we patched, and re-fenced and fortified until, at last, it seemed like we'd tightened up our borders sufficiently.

Every once in a while, the lines were still breached. Usually, a careless kid or a half-frozen gate latch was to blame, but lately, Rex was escaping like clockwork from parts unknown. We wouldn't realize that he'd even gotten out until he pranced his fluffy butt right past the front window, proud as could be, right down the middle of the road.

And of course, he does not come to his name once he has tasted sweet, sweet freedom. Instead, he looks at you over his shoulder, does a playful bounce, then takes the hell off, like it's a game. It is infuriating.

So after he'd demolished and weaseled out of the fence about a dozen times this week, we felt that we were out of options, and had to install a run. Today was his first day on the chain gang, and he was none too thrilled about it.

Who would think to take advantage of the fact that our guardian was tethered and effectively useless? Why Mr. Coyote, of course! 

At a quarter after twelve this afternoon, just as I was getting ready to go and get my hair cut, I heard an almighty ruckus erupt in the chicken yard, followed by a trio of panicked hens running across the driveway. Uh-oh.

So I run to the chicken yard in time to see a young coyote hauling ass through our bog. $%@*!!!

The chickens are in the driveway, perched on top of the fence, and running around bocking like mad. I try to take a quick inventory of who's there. I'm not seeing Sir Peckins, Gracie or Cotton. After another minute of searching, I find poor Cotton, our only Cochin hen.

Cotton, in happier times.

Determined not to let the @$$hole coyote have what is left of her, I scoop up her still-warm, fluffy little body and bring her back to the driveway, where I stash her away in an unused trash bin until Bill and the girls can come home and bury her. I still can't find Gracie or Peck.

I attempted to round up the rest of the chickens, but even with the bribe of fresh bread, they won't come into the coop where I can lock them up safe. Then I think, my goats!

Kidding time is potentially close, so my does are extra fat and unwieldy, and at any given moment, there may be babies on the ground and the smells that accompany a birth that would serve as a powerful attractant to a carnivorous predator. Great.

So I fetch Rexy off of his run and onto a leash, and we slip and stumble our way through the mud, up to the goats' pasture. Nine out of nine. All present and accounted for. Whew.

I'm reluctant to go back inside while this jerk of a coyote still lurks around who knows where, but my knees are beyond trashed from the unexpected scrambling and trudging along side of and being pulled by 75 pounds of excited dog. I decide to check the chickens just one last time. As I try, once again, completely fruitlessly, to round up the chickens, from about 9 feet up in a cedar tree I hear a flutter and then see Miss Gracie descending. Oh thank you, patron saint of chickens, whoever you are.

And as I'm about to give up and head on in to ice down my knee and call my neighboring farmers with a warning about the coyote, a shrill and fervent bocking erupts from behind the coop. I check to see if the damn coyote is back, and instead I see an out-of-sorts Sir Peckins, frantically making his way back from the far end of the chicken yard. The bastard coyote only got the one hen then, and in the end, he won't really get her, as we'll bury her deep under the big alder tree.

It's slightly nuts how such a physically and emotionally exhausting half hour can run you through the entire spectrum of emotions - anger, fear, sadness, determination, relief, thankfulness - and, for all it takes from you, leaves you more certain than ever that you are in the very heartbeat of your calling. To know this property and my critters are the things that I know and that working with them gets my blood pumping with purpose gives me another level of peacefulness and determination in going into this surgery and following through with the rehab and PT that it is going to take to get me well and truly on my feet again and outside working my farm. 

Bring it on. :)

A Lucky Penny

Just when I think we can't squeak one more critter onto this little farm, I accidentally fall in love with one and we end up doing it anyway. Meet our newest baby, sweet & spunky Miss Penny -

You see what I was up against? I was dropping Livy off at her boyfriend's house, when Penny, (who along with her brother, was being fostered by Liv's fella's Mom) came to say hello, her curly tail wagging so furiously that her whole booty was moving. I picked her up to say hello and was bathed in sweet puppy kisses and, well, it was love at first smooch. We were able to adopt her just 3 weeks later, which kinda sorta felt like an eternity, waiting for your baby to come home.

Today was her third day in la casa de Jackson. It's going pretty well. We have had mixed success with the potty pads. She'll pee on them a little more than 50% of the time, but won't use them for poo at all. No, she prefers to take care of that business in the hallway.

Being that she's only about 10 or 11 weeks old, that's not really that bad, but we definitely still have some work ahead of us. I honestly never thought I'd do puppydom ever again, but it seems cupid had other ideas, and so here we are.

There have been a few minor bumps, mostly in trying to integrate Penny & Rex. A 75-pound dog and a 3-pound dog don't mix so well immediately. He's wanting to play with her, and she very rightly is slightly intimidated by the lumbering, happy-go-lucky giant. He keeps wolfing down her puppy food, which has not earned him a ton of goodwill from Penny, but they seem to be ok, if a little leery of/intimidated by one another.

Big Boy meets Bitty Baby.

We're needing to be a little extra vigilant ourselves, as we're used to frequently stepping over an enormous, bright white pooch who's pretty hard to miss. Now we have a teeny, tan (same as our carpet) fluffy shadow that follows us everywhere 24/7. I live in fear of somebody stepping on her. :-\

In spite of the minor chaos that adding Penny-pie has created, we're all already crazy in love with her. She is a world-class snuggler who emits a surprising amount of body heat for her size. I challenge anyone to sit down with a snoozy Penster and a lap quilt and try to stay awake for more than 10 minutes. It cannot be done!

Between Penny's sweet and spunky personality, and Rexy's protective lovebug-thing, I feel about as lucky a pup Mama as you can get. Now - If I so much as talk about adding another pooch to the brood (besides fostering) you have my blessing to turn me in to Hoarders: Farm Nerd Edition.

This may or may not be the right time to mention that we'll shortly be in the market for some piglets...

Our Girl Goes Home

Tomorrow, Cici goes home with her forever family, a wonderful couple from British Columbia. Yep, our Great White pup is headed for the Great White North.

Bringing Celeste home, just off the transport from Texas.

We met Cici's new family yesterday, and they are amazing people. She's going to be an only dog in a home with woods to walk in, and visiting grandkids who will lavish love on her. Her new Mama sees charity work in Cici's future, as a visiting therapy dog for local hospitals. Honestly, she will have the kind of life that no one could have expected for her, based on where and how she started life. It's maybe a little bit like watching your daughter leave home to marry a wonderful man. You know that she's on promising, amazing new path, but you are still a little sad to see her break away from your fold, your emotions oscillating between pride, joy and gut-wrenching pain, each in their turn. That's my baby right there.

Cici was born on a ranch in East Texas, and along with 36 other dogs, was surrendered to a kill shelter by the ranch owner. She was rescued by a network of compassionate, tireless individuals within the SPIN (Saving Pyrs In Need) and the Great Pyrenees Rescue Society organizations. She was significantly underweight, and had had very little direct interaction with humans, and was therefore untrained and totally inexperienced with the concepts of love, trust and security. The vets who saw her upon intake at the shelter estimated that she would reach a maximum of 60 pounds, full grown. Her undersized adult weight will be a life-long reminder of the insufficient nourishment she received in her infancy.

Her previous experiences in life had taught her that food was a scarce and extremely valuable commodity, and so she would eat until she was full, but continue to guard her food bowl, even going so far as to sleep by her dish, lest Rex (or us humans) try to take her food. It was heartbreaking to see.

She was absolute sweetness personality-wise since day one, but the trust and training were much slower in coming. Pyr's are incredibly intelligent dogs, and so the bulk of Cici's "training" actually came from following Rex's example. We also used positive reinforcement ("atta girls" and bribery via treats)  to teach her very basic concepts like sit.

She's been with us for about 6 weeks, and has grown tremendously, emotionally and physically. She's gained a good 5 pounds, started growing a new, healthy winter coat, and works and plays in lock-step with Rex; barking at bicyclists, deer and the UPS man, checking in on the welfare of the chickens and goats, and competing for the prime, pre-warmed-by-Mama's-butt, spot on the couch. She feels like this is her place too now.

And it has been. She and Rex have been a great team. Joggers smile and say hi to the pair of sproingy, giant white fluff balls each time they pass. People ask us about the breed all the time now, Great Pyrenees being a fairly uncommon and heretofore relatively unknown breed in Western Washington. The resurgence of urban homesteading and hobby farming has made the Livestock Guardian Dog a relevant consideration for families and individuals who want to raise their own food and food animals in cities and towns where raccoons, rats and coyotes, among others, have adapted to our urban sprawl and set up shop quite efficiently, gobbling up backyard chickens and bunnies like drive-thru hamburgers. These pups earn their keep, keeping the predators at bay, while respecting your livestock and totally running away with your heart. To me, they are dream dogs, the perfect breed.

So I guess I'm a sort of Pyr evangelist. Which is one of the things that I must remind myself of every time I think about Cici moving on. She might be the first Pyr that a lot of folks meet, in her neck of the Canadian woods. Her finding her forever home means that we will have room in our home for another dog who might otherwise be euthanized due to shelter overcrowding. This is the best possible outcome for everyone involved, especially for Cici. That doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt.

Safe travels, Cici-beans. You've made your Mama so proud. 

My pair o'Pyrs. Who says dogs can't smile? :)

Puppy Love

Our sleeping beauty, sweet Celeste

Growing up, we had quite the assortment of dogs come into our lives through the years. Our family opened our home and hearts to everything from a Bull Mastiff (a lumbering, gentle, ox named Red), a goofy, deceptively fierce-looking Doberman (Rip), a sassy, self-possessed Lhasa Apso (Yoohoo), a Terrier/Shi-tzu mix (Mikey) to a very unprissy toy Poodle, Gee-Gee. All were rescued.

So I grew up with no leanings toward a particular breed or type of dog. I also didn't grow up with the notion that many people seem to have, wherein "getting a dog" means that you get a brand new, unnamed, history-free puppy. All of our dogs came with names, quirks and histories, for better or worse.

So it wasn't really a surprise that last year, when we decided that our farm & family were ready to add a dog to our ever-expanding brood, that we immediately looked into adopting. I did my due diligence in researching dog breeds that were a good fit for life on a farm - protective yet gentle. My research lead me to a class of dogs that, up until that point, I'd never heard of, Livestock Guardian Dogs, (LGD's). 

The general disposition of an LGD hit exactly the right notes in terms of what sort of dog we were seeking, a defender or critters and kids alike, sweet-tempered and smart. How I landed on the Great Pyrenees specifically, I don't remember, but boy am I glad I did. :)

In addition to adopting our boy, Rex, (a Great Pyrenees mix) last December, this past weekend we took in our first foster dog, Celeste, also a Great Pyrenees. She and Rexy fell in like peas and carrots! She didn't have much in the way of attention or socialization in her previous life, but she is all sweetness, and as Pyrs are known to do, is learning a lot from Rex's example. It has been impossible not to fall in love with this little girl.

That being said, we do not have any plans to adopt Celeste ourselves. We'll miss her terribly when she finally moves on to her forever home, but, for now, we've decided that keeping our home open to fostering one (or eventually, multiple) pups in need is a higher priority than adopting a dog outright. Rex is a very accommodating boy, and a really good Alpha for our fosters to learn from, but he has first claim on our time and resources, and we don't want to overwhelm him or take any time or attention away from him. So far, it hasn't been an issue - he's loved having a playmate again! - but we're vigilant about making sure that he remains secure in his place as the big cheese around here. 

These past couple days have really affirmed that fostering is for us. Celeste has given us, especially Rex, so much companionship and love already. Being able to share our lives with these amazing critters is one of the greatest gifts of this farm life we've embarked upon.

If you're interested in learning more about LGDs, Great Pyrenees dogs or pet foster and adoption in general, I've included a few links that might help sell you on the idea, but be warned - once you open your heart to a pet in need, you kinda-sorta become addicted to being surrounded by fluffy little lovebugs all day.

Consider opening your home to a rescued pet. Be each other's miracle. :)

Great Pyrenees Rescue Society

Saving Pyrs In Need

Petfinder

General foster dog FAQ's (courtesy of the Seattle Animal Shelter)

Sir Fluffelbutt Saves the Day!

Rex is already earning his LGD stripes! Last night he alerted us about a disturbance in the farm force, and Bill and I went to investigate. Long story short - Bill saw a red fox in the road, and my chicken security double-check revealed a few lapses on the chicken-locker-upper's part.

Luckily, Rex's heads-up was enough to get us outside in time to beat Mr. Fox to the punch. Big atta-boys and belly scratches were given, and the head of security went calmly back to his post (the front porch) to continue his watch. :)


Defender of the Flocks, at rest.

I have to say, even though Rexy isn't a purebred Pyr, he has been a kick-ass farm dog and companion, as promised by the wonderful people at the Great Pyrenees Rescue Society. We are so thankful to everyone who lobbied on Rex's behalf to rescue him and find him a good forever home.


Rest easy, Sweet Rexy. You are home.

Rex, The Motivational Chewer

This is Rex. Rexy is our new foster (soon to be adopted) livestock guardian dog/farm pooch. He is a Great Pyrenees mix who looks and behaves very much like a standard Pyr, with the exception of his pink nose and his lack of black "eyeliner" that is a hallmark of the breed.

I initially learned about Livestock Guardian Dogs (LGD's) at the same time that I was learning about keeping and caring for goats. There are many LGD's who have been bred for hundreds of years to protect the critters and people in their charge. The Great Pyrenees breed was developed and used in the Pyrenees mountains of France and Spain, as well as elsewhere throughout Europe, to guard sheep and other livestock from various predators. An LGD is not a herding dog. His job to to alert you to the threat/presence of predators and to keep predators at bay.

I found our fella through a Great Pyrenees rescue that works primarily out of Texas, where Pyr's are a favorite livestock guardian choice for ranchers. Unfortunately, because the dogs live out in the field with their flock, and are often not neutered or spayed, the result is unchecked breeding and an overwhelming abundance of Pyr's and Pyr mixes flooding Texas shelters.

Our boy was either picked up by or surrendered to the Ft. Worth animal shelter, where he lived for three months - an extraordinary length of time in a "kill shelter". He was repeatedly passed over for euthanasia because his sweet demeanor melted the hearts of his caregivers, and caused them to lobby on his behalf for more time to get him to a foster or forever home. They contacted SPIN (Saving Pyrs In Need), and Rex and another Pyr were rescued by Lynnette, a small-scale goat & chicken hobby farmer, just like me. She took him home to her pack and gave him the love and socialization that he'd missed out on for so long. She also managed to feed him up good - he came into the shelter weighing 51.5 lbs, and came to us weighing 65! He's still a lean boy, so I can't imagine him 15 pounds lighter. God bless foster parents of all kinds!

So our pup finally arrives here in the great northwest after a 5 day long trip from Texas. He's nervous, itchy and very tired. His first few days here were bumpy - he chewed into a computer cord, ruining it, ate two skeins of yarn, one shoe, one knitting project and the handle of a Care Bear umbrella. He also put his teeth on Livy, which gave us pause about whether or not he was going to be a good fit with our kids. Time and behavior modification (on all of our parts) has since convinced us that he is the right dog for our little place. He has twice alerted us at night to deer and possibly raccoons in the vicinity of the compost bins and goat pens, and has been "leaving his mark" all over the place, letting the foxes, raccoons, opossums and coyotes know that the era of easy pickins is over, and that there is a new carnivore in town. It's only been 10 days since he came home with us, but the chicken thief, whatever it was, hasn't struck again since.

So he's keeping us safe, as advertised, and seems to be sending me a message with his choice of chewing items - the computer cord, the yarn, the knitting needles - basically telling me, Mama, if you sit on your butt and ignore me, I will remove the things that are distracting you via CHOMP, so that you can play with me again.

Message received, buddy. Let's get out there and frolic with the goaties! :)