Katy's Big Day

Katy kitty got the green light today from Dr. Strasser. She was released from spending 6 weeks in an extra large dog crate in the kitchen...

At the beginning of October Katy and two siblings were trapped under the girls bathroom at RT and Bee's elementary school. The janitor set a humane trap and pulled the little family out revealing that Katy had a very injured left hind leg. Of course, families took the other two kittens leaving "injured kitty" in the trap in the janitor's room.

As soon as I arrived at school to pick up the kids, Bee begged me to go see the kitties... I was sunk right off the bat. Greg was also at school with me. You can probably guess the rest... We told the janitor that we would take the injured Kitty to our friend Dr. Strasser and see if he would "help" us out with this poor little thing. And help he did.

Katy had a displaced femur fracture that had probably happened a week previous. Her leg muscles were severely contracted as her body attempted to stabilize the broken bones. We went to see Strasser and he gave us two options: 1. amputation 2. put a pin in that will be wired to her femur. We opted for option 2. The surgery went beautifully and after two weeks of "healing" in the crate and escaping from the crate, she had rebroken the bone, and she was off to another surgery. This time a plate with 8 pins was put in that spanned almost the entire length of her little leg bone.

Four more weeks in the crate in the kitchen and this morning, with our fingers and toes crossed, we headed back to the hospital for an x-ray that would hopefully show she was good to go and get the green light for a new life on the outside.

I took 54 pictures of her this afternoon enjoying her first moments of freedom. Nearly all of the pictures were blurry and crazy due to the nature of my subject... I opted to post a resting photo of the new and hopefully improved Katy Kitty.

Note: Katy was named after the Dr. that did her initial intake appointment and assisted on her first surgery. We just couldn't bring ourselves to name this beautiful little girl Richard...

Merry Christmas to All

Yesterday afternoon we set out on our yearly holiday journey to Fresno - one of our favorite traditions. Yes, really. We loaded into the truck at 11:00 a.m. for a two and a half hour trip. We were loaded with the usual bikes, dog crate, duffle bags, etc. But, this trip we had a small borrowed trailer in tow. We needed to bring it to " transport furniture back home." Little did RT know that that little trailer was actually carrying his new/used Christmas quad, against my protests... My husband very patiently explained to me that ponies are dangerous too, and we had already taken that plunge...

We arrived five hours later after first dropping Katy Kitty at the kennel, stopping by the grocery store, making an additional stop at the tack shop, then one last teensy stop at McDonald's. Oh, and an additional stop at the Costco in Fresno... not busy at all... hahaha.

Three dvds later we pulled up to the ranch and unfolded out of the truck., Violet the dog, was thrilled to be back in her home town. And, of course, the kids were even more thrilled as they view the ranch as their favorite place on earth. In fact, when they were quite a bit younger we actually left our first family trip to Disneyland a day early - at their request - to return to the ranch and stop over for our extra days... crazy children... i-yi-yi...

Christmas eve was spent eating mexican food with family, playing with dogs, wrapping presents, and enjoying ourselves. Christmas eve night was spent tossing, turning, fighting for covers, then fighting a dog and two children for room in the bed. Threatening Ri if he didn't settle down and quiet down. Then finally giving up as I was so disoriented from lack of sleep and the fact that my watch battery died, so all night long I thought is was 1:48 a.m. Weird.

Once everyone awoke this Christmas morning, we drank coffee while threatening RT to settle down and quiet down while we waited for the rest of the family to gather. No present shall be opened without all members in attendance... So, the wait from 6:15 a.m. to 8:45 a.m. lasted about 9 hours. But, soon enough, the kids received their Santa presents: 1. split-ear headstall and bareback pad and 2. a quad... And no, that doesn't seem a little unfair, as we reminded Iz about the pony waiting in her stall back home... oh, yeah...

We ate a delicious breakfast for lunch, then set out on our annual dog walk around the alfalfa fields. It was our worst showing to date with only 6 dogs and 5 humans. One year we had 23 dogs at Christmas with 16 dogs on the walk. That's a lot of dogs.

The rest of the day has been spent eating yule log, playing with toys, looking at cows, trying to tie a ribbon on the pot-bellied pig's tail - a dare by Cousin Amy, and watching movies. Oh, and of course, wrangling dogs, calling dogs, stopping dog fights, talking about dogs, picking up dog dirt, and photographing dogs. All in all, another excellent day!

As I I type I can hear talk of the next meal. I better get up and walk around. I have more eating to do...

The Christmas card...

Well, I'm back and I'm just going to pretend that time hasn't passed. There has been no gap in my attempt at blogging and no important events have transpired since I last posted...

O.K.

So, this morning there was finally a break in the rain, so I decided it was time to shoot the family Christmas card. December 20th... five days to spare - perfect. I wanted to shoot the kids with our precious and recuperating new kitty, Katy. But then Miley walked by so we snagged her up, too. This yearly event is always a challenge, which baffles me, as it is one of the easiest things for the participants to do.

1. stand still
2. smile

Yet it never fails that the kids are lame, I yell, the poor animals that were selected for that year's card fight to get away, and the end result is a mediocre shot of naughty kids with frightened animals. By the way, Bee and Danger Boy, Santa was watching...

And, as you can see from the evidence posted, that this year's session was no different. Except it was the animals that were fighting, not the children. They were laughing like goons - equally frustrating. Overall, a pretty accurate portrayal of our peaceful and loving family...

Not.

the wonderful world of chickens

Since I last wrote a lot has happened in the chicken world on our farm... First and foremost, our two bantams made the trek to the County Fair. And what an eventful trip that was. The festivities started before we even loaded the car. Adding to my list of first time things I've done this year is bathing a chicken... wait - bathing and blow drying a chicken. How, you might ask. Why, is also a common question...

Well, before the ladies could go to the fair they had to have their nails trimmed, their beaks trimmed - awkward, and they had to have a bath. Amelia was my first victim. I systematically quicked all eight of her toe nails. The poor girl left little tiny bloody nail prints all over the towels. The beak trimming went flawlessly. And the bathing was a hilarious event. Two salad bowls were filled with warm water and placed in the sink - one with mild soap and the other with clear rinse water. Then splash, in she went. I have to say, after a few initial flaps and flutters, she seemed to settle and actually enjoy it. Wash, wash, wash. Rinse, rinse, rinse. And off to the blow-dry station. Now this Amelia loved! She cleaned and preened and relaxed under the warmth of the dryer. Beautiful Golden Seabright ready for Fair.

Repeat with Annabell, BB Red Old English Game bantam. Also a lovely outcome. I will write later about our complete 2010 County Fair experience.

just like I thought

Well, I was right... it did slip my mind to faithfully add to our blog. It's not for lack of cool things happening around the farm - it's just the pace of impending springtime that hurries life right along... soccer, lacrosse, school, 4-H, gardening, mowing, baby goats, birthdays, eggs, eggs, eggs, and so on.

So, let's back track and welcome Jane and Derby to the farm and family. Jane, Castle Rock Lady Jane Grey was purchased in March for Bee to use as her 4-H goat. Stella, the three-teated-death-warrior has spent the last three weeks trying to kill baby Jane. Stella used to be a sweet, docile Nigerian Dwarf goat until we brought Jane home... Jane's job is to be a super star in the show ring! Stella's new job is to be Tessa's little sister and BFF.

The first night that we brought Jane home was so awful. The goats were so mean to her, and she was so lonely that I promptly called the breeder the next morning to arrange for a "loaner" wether to keep her company. Turns out wethers are throw-away goats since there is no breeding/money making use for them. So, back in the car to Vacaville I go to pick up Jane's brother, Derby. On loan for a month.

Now, let me explain the weird names... the breeder we purchased Jane from only names her goats after flowering or native plants. The parents of Jane were named after a lupine and a rose... so that's the flower varieties that we got to choose names from. Lady Jane Grey is a rose. And after seeing the "loaner" wether - who also happens to be Jane's brother - I knew I wanted to keep him, even though that decision hasn't been made official yet. Anyway, we needed to call the little guy something and since he looks like he is wearing blinkers like a racehorse and runs everywhere, we quickly googled the name of a rose... Kentucky Derby. So, welcome Derby!

So, we have been bottle feeding these two baby goats for about three weeks now. It has been a super cool experience for our family and the goats are just lap dogs because of it. We slowly transitioned them from goat's milk to vitamin D cow's milk right from the store - how easy is that? And I have to say that sitting out in the goat stall at 6:30 a.m. in my pajamas and jacket feeding babies and drinking coffee have been some of my best mornings on the farm. Not many people can say that they start their day like that - and I feel very lucky that I get to!

rain

rain.
rain.
rain.
rain.
more rain.

reduced for quick sale

After we started feeding grass hay to Tessa we had new tenants move into the barn... mice. The hay had a tiny amount of oats and seeds that apparently were quite yummy to farm varmits. What's a pesticide-free farm to do?

Meet Henry, the new barn cat. Henry was reduced for quick sale at the Animal Shelter. RT and Bee and I found him online on New Year's Eve day. The shelter was running a special on senior cats - adopt one for free. So, on a whim, we trekked down to the shelter to find "Cheyenne" - ack! This guy was definitely not a "Cheyenne." He was a big but skinny mellow cat. We instantly loved him and had to take him home. He had already had "the surgery", so he was good to go. Well, we find out later that it was a surgery that had gone a little wrong - hence the first vet visit that was scheduled while on the way home. So much for a free cat... And actually so much for going home. After "Cheyenne" had braved the shelter fro three weeks, he was fortunate enough to sit in the car in a crate while we went out to lunch and then on to Costco.

While at lunch that day we tossed around many names, but we finally decided on a dignified, simple name for a seemingly simple guy... Henry. Henry spent the first week on the farm in a huge crate in the goat stall. Strange and unusual roommates I'm sure he was thinking. His crate was in the barn, so that he could learn where to sleep and work. Mieces to pieces... Well, about 24 hours after Henry arrived what seemed like a three week storm began. Henry quickly moved to a fleece cat bed on the back porch - out of the wind and weather - and consequently, out of the barn. So much for our barn cat, at least for now.

Over the last month and a half, Henry has put on weight and has adjusted beautifully to life on our small farm. He makes the trip from the porch to the barn several times a day to eat his kibbles. He chases the dogs, watches the chickens, runs from the goats, and sleeps for hours at a time in the sunny spots under the back porch. He hasn't caught a single mouse - that we know of. But we have news for Henry...when the rain stops, he's going to work.

poultry show

Last weekend we were first-timers at the Stockton Poultry Show. It's a different sort of folk that visits a poultry show... We went for the poultry sale, which turns out was a competitive, contact sport. Chicken people are quite determined when it comes to getting the perfect pullet. We learned so new things like: 1. Don't be afraid to throw an elbow if it means you get a closer look into a cage. 2. If supplies are running low, chances are there are more of the same birds stuffed in a crate under the table where you're standing. 3. You must have your cell phone with you, because when you are standing in front of the cage that has a bird that you want you must call the breeder on his cell phone. He will then wonder over to where you're at to show you the bird. And as I'm listening to the guy talk I got that panicky feeling like when you're talking to a car salesman and you're faking that you know what they're talking about when actually you have not a clue as to what he is talking about. And I did at one point stuff 50 bucks into the old guys hand and say, "Just pick us out a good one..." Yeehaw.

After circling the sale barn for about two hours, with Isabel in a wheelchair - long story - we finally made two purchases. I tried to make a third purchase, for an "insurance" bird if you will, but no more bantam Old English Game pullets to be had. So nobody better croak... Riley ended up with a beautiful Golden Seabright who promptly tried to fly away as soon as he took her out of the crate. After Greg pulled her from the middle of a bush she was aptly named Amelia. Bee picked a Black Breasted Red Old English Game pullet. Quite a long title for a teeny tiny bird, who turns out to be a big bully (poor Amelia.) Isabel's bird has been through a few names already. I'm not sure which name we have picked for today: Annabell, Grace, Sophie. We all voted for Gilly.

Upon returning home, and after making lunch, everyone's chicken bootys were dusted again, and the new chickens were dusted. They are way easier to do than the full-sized models. You just grab them by the back and flip them over - no flapping and squawking. I look forward to a weekend when I'm not looking at anyones vent!

might be mites..

Always be suspicious of a chicken with a pink bottom... or vent, a term Is and Ri have grown to love. Upon noticing Chloe's pink bottom yesterday morning, after checking the chickens' food and water, I picked up Chloe and flipped her, bottom up, to see what's going on. Now, I'm not going to go into great detail, because I do think, fairly certainly, that I will always remember what I saw under Chloe's feathers.

Let's just say that I now know how to identify mites and lice on chickens. Gag. Greg and I both know how to strip a coop, spray it, and treat it. Thanks to backyardchickens.com and youtube.com I know how to powder a chicken, by hanging it upside down by the feet and dust it with garden dust for bugs, working it into the feathers - being sure to get the dust around the vent, in the armpits, and by the comb but not the eyes... Greg knows how to make an indoor dust bath box so that the ladies can still get their dust bathes, because if they don't it can contribute to the acquirement of many, many mites/lice... Who knew?

So, after what seems like six months of rain, it's no wonder the girls have bugs. We've all been cooped up so much we probably all have bugs.

And further more...who knew chickens had armpits?

rain.

So, at first we loved the rain. The line-up of storms was just what California needed. We felt thankful that God was watering the fields and flowers and all that baloney. Now? Now, we have humongous pond-like puddles of water standing everywhere. Our wonderful soil is totally saturated. That or the ground is full from the hard pan on up - holding it all like a big bowl. And it's not just the rain... we've had monsoon-like winds that have been blowing for days. Days and days. The kind of wind that wakes you up all through the night, and you have to go out and check to see if the roof of the barn has blown off and the goats are swirling around the pasture.

Seriously, there have been days of rain. The animals have been standing in their stalls staring out at the weather just like we have thinking, "Great. More rain."

But this evening, after a quick thunderstorm passed, the sun came out - sort of - but we'll take it. I quickly put Tessa out in the pasture and had the pleasure of cleaning stalls without being poured on. Tessa walked around in the puddles while the goats just stood in the way - still in the stall - and watched me. Violet, or rat dog as she is affectionately known, waited anxiously outside of the gate for me to be done. I could barely pull the cart full of poop and shavings over to the compost mountain we have going - the water was so deep. But as it turns out, not as deep as the garden soil...

Violet had trotted down the fence away from me as I was wrestling to dump my cart. When I had finally righted the thing and turned to leave I called Vi and she darted towards me right into the tilled, soaked, deep garden dirt. She got about four strides out into the soil when she stopped and actually appeared to be stuck. She had sank up to her belly and couldn't pull her legs up high enough to get them free. Rat dog stuck in the mud. And the first thought that crossed my mind, being the compassionate dog owner that I am, was that I was not about to trudge through that dirt to pull her out. So, instead I laughed and watched her struggle and stagger around. She would wobble one direction then the other, looking at me with pleading eyes. Not a chance... She finally made it across to freedom where upon she ripped around in a few puddles ridding herself of the major chunkage stuck to her undercarriage and legs. The rest would later be washed off in the kitchen sink.

Good rat dog.

But please, no more rain...

girls gone wild!

As usual with most January mornings, we woke up to a gray dreary morning. It wasn't until Isabel and I went to clean the chicken coop that the day brightened a little, thanks to six hens - the occupants of the coop, or as we call it, the Chicken Palace. Being new to the chicken biz, from what we've read, the ladies' laying should have really dropped off at this point in the year. That's why it was such a bright spot on this gloomy morning to find three warm fresh eggs. Three gifts from who knows which ladies. For us.

I have never had an animal that actually gave something back to the cause. Well, something tangible and useful - aside from poop and love. So, it always amazes me that chances are when you go into the coop each day you will find a small perfect gift. And I always feel quiet gratitude. And I do feel like I need to keep it quiet - I just know that one of the other animals will say, "pst, pst! Yo chickens, no need to give them anything. Crazy thing is they'll take care of you anyway." It would probably be the goats that would blow it for us. Not real givers...

Anyway, as a reward for the pick-me-up, Isabel and I let the ladies out of the coop for the first time. They walked straight out the door like they were late for a lunch date, purses, hats, ready to go. They lingered for a while in the wet green weeds before Henrietta took the first steps into the garden dirt. Heaven. Girls gone wild. Those chickens pecked and scratched and flapped and scampered. They marched around in the wet dirt like they were all that - very important chickens. After about 45 minutes, when they seemed to have tuckered out, Is and I rattled their feeder inside the coop and they all walked right back in. Well, two had to be redirected to their front door. A perfect thank-you outing.

all the possibilities...

When I got home last night I noticed Greg had tilled up the garden. Fresh, moist dark brown soil. This isn't just any garden either. It's huge - well, huge by my terms. I will measure the area, because now I'm curious to how big it actually is. This is my favorite time of year for gardening, which seems strange, because I don't have a thing in the ground. It's the "possible" garden that I love! As we sat and ate dinner last night, Greg and I talked about what to plant this year. And the possibilities are endless.

Now, I have to say right now, Greg is a fruit tree man. Fruit trees are his thing. Quite soon he will drive from nursery to nursery looking for his precious bare-root fruit trees. He was going on last night about cross pollination and more trees. His tree possibilities are endless. More peach, pluot, lime, mandarin, lemon, and pear.

I, on the other hand, am a garden girl. I like the soil, the seeds, the starts. I like the possibilities for the ground. So, here's what we came up with last night. Less squash. I am the only one who will eat it in our house, and everyone in the world grows squash, so when you've had it up to your ears with it - there's no one to give it to, because everyone else is up to their ears with their own squash abundance issues. More pumpkins! I want a pumpkin patch! I want to grow enough pumpkins that Is and Ri, and nieces and nephews can come out and pick their pumpkins from our little farm. I will plant red ones and white ones, the tiny Jack-Be-Nimble ones that are so small and sweet. I will plant carving pumpkins, and the giant ones from heirloom seeds. I will plant cooking pumpkins for James, the brother-in-law chef. But only if he promises to whip up something amazing and pumpkiny for me to eat. Pumpkin risotto? Is there such a thing?

We all voted for more strawberries. I voted for more herbs, flowers and tomatoes. I'm not going for the strange heirlooms that are so darn hard to grow. I am going for our favorites. Greg voted for blueberries and thornless blackberries. Black berries are are whole other subject. Let's just say that by the end of the summer we all look like we live with a killer kitten that has repeatedly attacked all of our arms - but really it's from picking wild blackberries down our lane. The best wild blackberries I've ever tasted.

So, as of 8:23 AM on a foggy January morning, as I sit here and drink coffee, our garden possibilities are endless. Just the way I like it.

not the bang I was hoping for...

Well, 2010 has been a bust so far. Since New Year's Eve, we have had two emergency vet ranch visits for Tessa, the pony, one vet appointment for Henry, the new barn cat, and one trip to the pediatrician for Bee, who has a raging sinus infection. It's January fourth. It's only January fourth. If I'm going to be glass-half-full kind of gal in 2010, then I should say that we are just getting all this junk out of the way for smooth sailing throughout the rest of the winter and into spring. That's if I was a glass-half-full kind of gal. Today, I'm right on the verge being a glass-really- almost-empty kind of person.

But, OK, I'll try to find the bright spot...Tessa has gastro meds for tonight. Bee has kiddy motrin and amox. So, all should be well for the next 12 hours. Sleep tight - electric blanket here I come.

But wait, Bee just walked up to me... and I do believe she has pink eye. Glass completely empty.

a year begins...

As I am standing out in the fog holding the lead rope of my daughter's pony, watching her munch wet grass, I am thinking about the year ahead of us. I am also thinking about the year just passed - so many details that can't be recalled. So many laughs, conversations, outings, and episodes that I swore I would remember forever this time - have flown the coop - straight out of my head - lost, in fact, forever.

As we sat in the small Chinese food restaurant last night, I watched my kids laugh and talk with each other and it struck me how quickly this is all going, - this year, this childhood, this life. I kept trying to call up memories made in 2009 as we sat surrounded by other tired farm families at our tiny table waiting for pot stickers and pink chicken (sweet and sour chicken's given name by RT, my son, when he was just a sprout.) I tried closing my eyes. I tried looking out the steamy windows. I tried watching RT and Bee... nothing. Buried. Totally covered up by emails, voice mails, messages, worries, doubts, appointments, meetings, and other useless crap. Right then and there I decided to remember the year 2010. Remember the tiny, significant stuff. The belly laughs, the porch talks, the late night star-gazing. From the taste of warm summer blackberries picked on our lane to the sound of the ladies clucking and scratching in the chicken palace. All of it. And I will write it down here. For my kids to read. For my husband to read. And for me to remember. A year accounted for.

I just hope I remember I've started this...