The Piglets' Big Day Out

Today my friend Ellen and I were cleaning the barn and decided to let the pigs into the front/side yard of the house – the big yard (it’s about an acre or more). Scotch and Soda had been out there before – they love to explore around the place and especially to crunch up the nuts under the hazelnut trees.

Soda and the piglets were out in the pig yard when we opened the stall gates and the other barn door that leads to the lawn around the house. Scotch, in his stall and nearest to that door, took some coaxing but soon wandered out in pursuit of an apple. Soda noticed the main part of the barn was now accessible and hightailed it straight over to the bins containing the alpaca food – she has never forgotten the day she knocked it over and helped herself to a midday feast. In fact, she knows exactly which bins contain food and which aren’t worth bothering with!

While we were trying to chase her outside, Whisper, one of my braver piglets and the first to become really bonded to me, trotted off through the doors and out into the big wide world. He was soon followed by the others and eventually by Soda. And what a time they had!!!

Pigs, like people, get cabin fever, winter blahs, seasonal affective disorder. They need mental and physical stimulation, fresh air and natural light. They have been cooped up for too long, and their own pen is too barren and boring for them now that all the grass is gone and the shrubs are dormant. But out in the big yard…….talk about a bunch of excited kindergarteners on an outing to the big city!!! They were racing around, kicking up their heels, chasing each other, playing games, squealing and oofing and oinking and arfing, and having a blast.

Needless to say, cleaning up the barn lost its place on my list of priorities, and watching the pigs became more than a slight diversion. At first, every time a car went along the road the piglets nearest the fence would come racing and squealing back to the safety of the trees near the barn. Then they would venture out to the fenceline once again….until the next car went by. Squeeeeealllll…….back they ran. Before long, they were scattered all over the yard – some visiting the alpaca, some checking the driveway, some up by the gate, others under the trees and shrubs.



To prevent them from rooting up the lawn, I scattered large pieces of dog kibble around, amidst the leaves and gravel and grasses, and they had a treasure hunt, with all the excitement of children hunting for eggs on Easter morning.

Cars along the road stopped so their occupants could watch. Neighbours came out and shared the fun. The llama next door sent out his distress call at so many unfamiliar unidentifiable black animals. My dogs waited not-so-patiently in the house. And I snapped picture after picture and video after video.

Notice how Scotch's bristles are standing up like a mohawk on the top of his head and neck - a sign of happiness in piggies!

When playtime was over – for Ellen and me, as we needed to finish up the barn – I rattled a pan of pigfood and they all came racing back inside and into their stalls and pigyard en masse. I wish my dogs had such reliable recall!!

It was a great day for the piggies, the neighbours, the passers-by and us. Entertainment unlimited. A guaranteed smile on every face.

Janice the piggy lady (www.Heartsonnoses.com) came over a bit later in the afternoon to admire the little gaffers and to feed them all graham crackers. We then shared a pizza and watched the videos I’d taken earlier as well as an awesome video of Hearts on Noses made by a high school student for a class project – way to go Kelly, you did a GREAT job!

In other news, Caleb saw his holistic vet today. He continues to do poorly and she suspects a bleeding ulcer from the meds he takes for his cancer. Our visit was two and a half hours (during which time Ellen finished cleaning the whole barn – thank you Ellen!!!) , we made up a plan for various holistic remedies and supplements, he had acupuncture, I was taught to give intramuscular injections of some anti-nausea meds, and she phoned for a consult with another vet who specializes in canine cancer. Caleb just lay there, docile for the whole time, never even lifting his head at injections or acupuncture needles, refusing anything to drink. We are very worried about him, and tonight, despite several injects of anti-nausea meds, he still vomited the tablespoon of broth I was able to get him to eat.
But I feel more optimistic with the care and attention he received.

We have taken him off the prednisone, which may mean a shorter time with him, but my goal is to keep him comfortable not to extend a life of pain.

And now it is almost time for his next shot, and then I’m off to bed.

Touching moments from today

• Allie the cat, sniffing Caleb as he sleeps, and then licking his neck tentatively with her little pink tongue.

• Belle, looking at me with confusion, eager for her walk in the pasture but holding back, not understanding why big brother Caleb isn't leading the pack as usual.

• Caleb, standing with his head down, tail down, ears down, looking at me with his amazing topaz eyes wondering why even the little bit of water he tried to drink comes right back up minutes later.

• The piggies, sensing my rush as I feed them breakfast, and lining up ever so nicely for their piggy feed instead of their usual mad rush to claim my attention.

• Charley, who never shares a bed or a couch with anyone, curled up beside Caleb on my bed when I come in from feeding the piggies.

• Caleb, hearing the sound of my car keys as I go to take Charley to the vet's for a dental cleaning, shaking himself out of his heavy deep sleep and nausea to make sure he doesn't get left behind, and beating both the other dogs to the car door.

• Martin the alpaca, standing forlornly in the pouring rain, head over the pasture gate, staring intensely at the back door, because in all the worry about Caleb I totally forgot to take him his hay and grain this morning (oops!)

• Charley, doing her “I’m sulking, I’m not talking to you” guilt trip on me when I pick her up from the vet this afternoon – where apparently she was very pissed to wake up from her dental cleaning and find she was not at home!

• Caleb, too weak and sick by the end of the day to even come to the door when I arrive home, raising his head to acknowledge Charley’s return and giving her a little sniff as she walks past (“Hmmmm…where ya bin? I know that smell – it’s the place where they stick things up your butt and poke you with needles and stuff. I was there yesterday. Welcome home buddy.”)

• Scotch, buried in straw this evening, patiently letting the babes clamber all over him as they find their place in the huddle.

There is nothing as peaceful, as calming, as able to bring balance to my life, as the time I spend with my animals. Sitting in the straw with the pigs in the barn as night falls, a solitary light bulb glowing on the old wood beams, the sound of rain drumming on the metal roof, a babe in my lap getting a tummy rub, the gentle “oofs” as the piggies settle in for the night – and I am strengthened once again for whatever challenges the night and the next day may bring.

May the Great Spirit bless all the animals in my care.

The love of a dog, the love for a dog

On this Valentine's Day, it seems appropriate to write about something close to my heart......the love of a dog, and the love for a dog.

I am often frustrated with people who are interested in obtaining a rescue dog but will not consider anything but a young pup. Meanwhile lovely senior dogs sit in the shelters for months on end or are euthanized unnecessarily. The excuse for not adopting a senior is always the same……"I couldn’t stand to lose it after just a few years or less”.

I am even more frustrated (in fact, outraged) by those who abandon their senior dog with any one of a multitude of excuses: they have bought a young pup and the older dog doesn’t like it, the dog has started to have incontinence issues, the kids have grown and left home and so the parents want to travel, etc.

To decide you don’t want the dog who has been part of your family for years is, to me, as immoral as abandoning your child. The only exception, from my point of view, is the very elderly or very ill adult who must enter a care facility where dogs are not allowed (and that’s a whole ‘nother rant!!).

Dogs are sentient beings, who feel emotions of fear, abandonment, joy, contentment....and, dare I say, love. They may not buy us flowers or bring us chocolates on Valentine's Day, but their loyalty, devotion, and happy wag of the tail says volumes more than flowers and chocolates ever could.

The first criteria for anyone adopting a puppy should be “am I willing to commit to this dog for the next 20 years?”. If the answer is "No", or "I'm not sure", or even just "Sure, I guess so" rather than "Absolutely!!", then consider adopting a senior whose life expectancy will not possibly extend beyond the years you are willing to commit. Or consider fostering, or volunteering at your local shelter, or helping out at an animal sanctuary.

Senior dogs are amazing – even if they have never received formal obedience training, they are settled, they have generally outgrown their annoying puppyhood tendencies to chew everything, chase everything, jump on everyone. They are a pleasure to have around – a great companion. If they should become incontinent, there are ways to manage that – from baby gates to doggy diapers to medications.

But I started this post not with the intent of praising senior dogs (though I love my two seniors to bits), but because of Caleb.

Caleb is five. I adopted him seven months ago. When I recently adopted Belle, who is 12, I did so knowing that I will be fortunate to have even three or four years with her, if that. Caleb, on the other hand, was only five. I expected many, many more years with Caleb. In all likelihood, however, he will be the first to go.

Two months ago he was diagnosed with cancer. Even had I opted for an aggressive chemotherapy protocol (weekly treatments a two hour drive away for 26 weeks, and possible toxic vomiting and diarrhea for several days after each treatment), his life expectancy would only be about one more year. Instead, I opted for holistic treatment (including prednisone, which is a form of chemo but in tablet form), as he had a rough enough life before coming to me and I could not fathom putting him through any more scary situations. On prednisone, life expectancy is about six-eight months.

Life expectancy is a vague term. It is an average. I know dogs who have lived with cancer for ten or twelve years beyond their diagnosis, even without chemo. I know dogs with cancer who died just weeks after the diagnoses.

The past four days, Caleb has become increasingly ill. His lymph nodes are swollen and this time are not responding to prednisone; he has been bringing up clear fluids frequently (even right after his meals; no food, just fluid), and he is tired. Yesterday the vet thought it was just a gastro-intestinal reaction to prednisone and gave him an anti-nausea shot and pills to coat the stomach – and yet despite that, I was up with him from 10:30 PM to 3:30 AM as he gagged and choked and coughed and brought up more and more clear fluid. Today, although he woke feeling much better and enjoyed a nice walk with his friend Kelly at daycare, he was too tired to play much with the other dogs. And this evening, his light dinner did not stay down, and he has lost interest in chasing the cat.

While I am still doing everything I can to treat him, to keep him comfortable, and to give him the quality of life every dog deserves, I know his time with me is likely very limited. When the time comes to let him go, I will grieve deeply. But I will not regret, for a single moment, having adopted him. I just expected to have him with me a lot, lot longer.

There are no guarantees in life. We can only take comfort knowing that we have provided the very best care for the lifetime of the dog we chose, whether we choose a puppy or a five year old brindle pitti that nobody wanted, or a twelve year old senior whose owners have died. It is not, after all, about what WE need, it is about what the animals need. They are dependent upon us to provide for them. They are dependent on our love.

And the rewards for loving that dog, and for honoring our commitment to the dog, are endless. The unconditional love of a dog, the wagging tail when you come home, the head on your lap as you watch tv……there is no end to the joy they bring and the memories they leave you with, no matter how short the time you have with them.

Now go hug your dog. You never know when their earth walk will be over.

The Homecoming - piglet style!

I have always loved coming home to my dogs – the way Caleb looks out the window as soon as my car reaches the gate at the top of the driveway, the way Belle starts her hysterical barking as I pull to a stop near the house, the way all three of them tumble over each other to be first to reach me when I open the door.

Today was a homecoming of a different kind. I drove down the curving driveway, past the barn and the garage to the back door of the house as I always do. As I stepped out of the car, I could hear Belle’s barking and the sound of dogs scrabbling their paws on the door. But I could also hear something else that stopped me cold – the sound of a piglet screaming, screaming at the top of his lungs.

I dropped my briefcase on the wet drive, and without even unlocking the door for the dogs, I raced off in my good clothes and shoes to the barn, heart pounding, fearing the worst. I envisioned a dog or coyote having found its way into the pig yard and subsequently into the barn, attacking the piggies. I envisioned a piglet with trotter or snout helplessly caught in a splintered gate or a broken slat from a forceful attempt to trash the barn again. I thought of every calamity I could possibly think of as I ran the longest 125 feet of my life.

I threw open the connecting gate between garage and barn, raced down to the piggies' stall. No blood. No dogs or coyotes. No piggies trapped, injured from their own mischievous doings. Just Fizz, one little black piglet with thick dark bristles, screaming and screaming, trotters up on the rail along the lower part of the stall slats, snout sticking through the slats.

FOSTER MAMA!!!! FOSTER MAMA!!!! I HEARDED YOUR CAR, FOSTERMAMA!!!! I HEARDED YOUR CAR SCRUNCH ON THE GRAVEL!!!!! YOU’RE HOME!!!!! YOU’RE HOME!!!!! I’M SO GLAD TO SEE YOU!!!! WHEEEE! TREATS, CAN WE HAVE TREATS???? SQUEEEEEEEAAAAAAL!!!

I can only say there is nothing quite like being welcomed home by a piglet who has learned the sound of your vehicle and knows that it means his favourite human in the whole world is about to walk through that door.

Thanks, Fizzy, I feel truly blessed.

Caleb's battle with cancer - update

Caleb, who had been doing so well since his lymphsarcoma was diagnosed two months ago, is not feeling well tonight. The lymph nodes, which had shrunk to normal size with the prednisone treatment, are suddenly swollen again - at least, the ones at the back of his legs are. He is tired, he is uncomfortable, and although he still ate his dinner with gusto, he turned down the opportunity to come outside with me to feed the pigs, and for the first time he refused to drink his Essiac tea even with chicken broth added. His breathing is laboured, his chest sounds rattle-y.

Last week his prednisone was dropped to once every other day. I shall return it to once a day immediately. If he continues to do poorly tomorrow, I'll get him into my regular vet (though he had a checkup just ten days ago); he does have an appointment with the holistic vet for next Monday.

I hope this is just a little setback and not the beginning of the end. Please keep him in your thoughts and prayers.

A morning conversation with the pigs

"Hey, Foster Mama, I wanna talk to you!"


If piggies talked in human voices, instead of telepathically where we mortals just infer what they want from their body language, the conversation this morning would have been something like this:

Me: “Good morning, piggies! Time to get up!”

Little Piggies: “OOOOOOOOH….good morning foster mama……food food foood foood fooood fooooooooood!” [Piglets race to the feeding stall]

Scotch (Papa Pig): “So sooon????? But I still want to sleep. Oh well, I’ll have an apple, please.”

Soda (Mama Pig): “About time. It’s eight o’clock already. I don’t understand why you can’t be predictable. For gosh sakes, sometimes you wake us up at 6, sometimes at 7, sometimes at 8, and on more than one occasion it has been 9 o’clock or later! I am HUNGRY and I demand to be feed according to MY needs. From now on, have your butt in here at 7:00 AM sharp. And no later than 4:30 for dinner. For heaven’s sake – do I have to break into the main part of the barn and help myself again?”

Me: “There, there, Soda. Life is tough. Go round to the feed area – I’ve got lots of greens for you this morning and your feed will be there in a moment.”

Soda: “Humph!” [Soda ambles off to the feeding stall]

Scotch: “I’ll just stay here, thank you. And may I have an apple please? I really like an apple first thing in the morning.”

Me: “Here you are, Scotch. Such a good, good pig. Here’s your apple.”

Whisper (piglet): "OOOOOOHHH......Papa’s got an apple…..back to the other stall, everybody!!!! [Piglets race back to sleeping stall]

Scotch: “Oh bother! That’s fatherhood for ya – always having to share my treats. Oh well….. Foster mama, do you think you could spare another apple? These little gaffers have taken off with mine.”

Me: “Babies, come back here…loook!!! Greens!!! Pellets!!!”

Piglets: “Ooooooooooooh……pellets!!!!!!” [Piglets race back to feeding area]

While everyone is chowing down, I open the big barn door that leads from their stalls directly to their yard. I always spread some greens outside to get them into the fresh air and give them a little exercise and fun rooting around. Today they are having a special treat – along with their hay and greens are the remains of fruits and veggies from my ritual weekend cleanout of my fridge: a soft tomato or two, some chopped up salads goodies that never made it to my dinner plate, a yam that has seen better days, a couple of over ripe bananas, an apple that is no longer crisp. Recycling at its finest, from the piggies’ perspective.

One by one the piggies come outside. A couple of them race back and forth, inside and out, trying to decide which is the most lucrative: scarfing down the pellets that remain scattered on the feeding area floor, or being first to pick out all the yummiest treats like the tomatoes and bananas.

Scotch prefers to remain inside. Though the weather is warmer, it is damp and there is still snow and ice on the ground. As usual, he crawls back into his bed of straw and blankets until only the tips of his ears are visible.

Me: “Scotch! Come outside! There are goodies out here!”

Scotch: “No thank you. I’ve had enough for now. I think I will just catch a little more shut-eye.”

Soda: [returning to the sleeping stall]: “You’re not missing much, Scotch. The good stuff is gone and most of the greens are CABBAGE leaves. CABBAGE!!!! Doesn’t she know that will give me gas??? Those babies may like it but a refined mature piggy like me needs fresh crisp lettuce (and none of that cheap iceberg stuff – I want the nice curly leaves and romaine hearts), watercress, baby spinach leaves. What kind of garbage are you feeding us???? CABBAGE????????? Humph!!!”

Piglets: “Mama! Papa! There is lots and lots of gweens out here…and, and, and the white stuff is disappearing….and, and, and we can get down to the bottom of the hill and dig among the tree stumps now….and, and, and it’s not freezing on our trotters any more….and, and, and here’s the soccer ball Auntie Ewwen gave us and a couple of paper towel rolls for us to play with…..WHEEEEEEEEEE, it’s morning lets play, everybody!!!!!!”

Scotch: “That’s okay kids, you have fun out there. Mama and Papa are going back to bed. Call us if you need us. ….Oh, and fostermama? Turn the light out and close the door when you go.”

Soda: “And tell that little sheltie to stop that ridiculous high pitched barking....it’s getting on my nerves. And for heaven’s sake, make sure you have our dinner here ON TIME tonight!”

Me: “Bye guys. See ya in a bit. C’mon Belle, Caleb, Charley – let’s go for a run in the pasture”.

Dogs: “Rowowowooowowooowowowow!”

A one-day vacation?

Today I took a whole day off from animal care, farm work and housework. My friend Ellen and I decided to make a trip to Point Roberts to pick up some SeaPet fish oil we had ordered for the dogs. We envisioned a nice little outing, a stroll on the beach, a gawk around the town, maybe a little shopping and a lunch out. Two good friends having a day out.

I left at 8:00 AM. I got home at 5:00 PM. We did drive around Point Bob and we did do lunch at Timmy’s and we did chat about everything and anything, but when I got home and unloaded my car, I realized that the day was still all about my life with the critters.

We spent an hour and a half standing in a line up in the freezing cold waiting to pick up the SeaPet oil at the mail drop in Point Bob (the things we do to save a few bucks courier charges!). We spent a half hour in Bosley’s in Tswassen where we shopped for treats and toys for the dogs. We picked up a dozen bags of pigfeed in New Westminster for Scotch, Soda and the babes. We also loaded two wooden pallets into the car so the straw, hay and alfalfa will be up off the barn floor and less likely to get damp.

We stopped at Lee Valley tools in Coquitlam so I could get bog boots and German garden clogs and ice grippers – for getting out to the barn in muddy, wet, or icy weather. While we were there, we signed up for a weekend woodworking course next month so I can become ever more efficient at the constant repairs and renovations required in the barn and the house to accommodate animals or to repair damage they have inadvertently caused.

We stopped at Sally Ann thrift store in Pitt Meadows so I could look for another barn jacket since mine has pretty much fallen apart and I am NOT wearing my good jackets where pigs put their muddy trotters and where I am constantly coated in a thick layer of dust and straw and hay and manure.

And when I finally returned home, I mucked out the stalls, fed and watered the pigs, fed the alpaca, took the dogs (who had been inside all day) for a quick run, fed the dogs and cat, and then realized that I had forgotten to pick up any cream for my much-needed cup of coffee!

I guess there’s no escaping it – my life has gone to the dogs…..and the pigs……and the cats……and the alpacas. Ah, but it’s worth it. It’s worth every minute of time and every cent of money I spend on them.

Now, if only I could teach them how to do the housework and farmwork while I am out for the day.

Who let the dogs IN? Allie speaks out!

I would like to know whose idea it was to bring dogs into this house. Or at least new dogs. I used to live such a peaceful life with my mom (the human one) and Charley, and even that old foster dog Isaac who stayed with us for several months until his spirit passed on to the Rainbow Bridge. I ate in the kitchen without being molested, I curled up on mom’s lap without getting nibbled by a big topaz-eyed brindle monster, I slept on mom’s bed, curled in the crook of her knees. Life was good.

And then my mom brought home Caleb, ol’ brindle-butt. Whose idea was that????? That dog has been the bane of my existence. For the first several months after he arrived, I lived up in the attic room – I ate up there, my litter box was moved up there, and I ventured out through the cat door at the bottom of the stairs only when the brindle monster was outside.

A couple of months ago I decided to reclaim my space and my routines. So I ventured downstairs, a little further into the main part of the house each time. Stoopid brindle-butt chased me! He CHASED me! Who does he think he is???? Of course, he never catches me because I’m just too fast, too agile, and too darn clever for him.

In fact, one day he chased me from the kitchen toward the living room. Never even noticed me pull a quick right into the bathroom. There he was, lying on the floor in front of my cat door, staring intensely at the space, waiting for me to emerge. And there I was, sitting haughtily on the laundry hamper in the bathroom, not four feet behind him, watching him and splitting my sides laughing! Eventually I pounced down, swatted him on the behind, and raced up the stairs. Silly old brindle-butt bully dog!

Don’t get me wrong. There’s nothing wrong with brindle (I’m brindle, myself – it’s a beautiful colour), and I don’t mean to be species-ist, but there is something wrong with galumphing lugs that have to chase me every time I try to take a stroll around the inside of the house, and have to nibble at me every time I try to catch a nap on mom’s lap, or in my kitty condo, or in that cosy space tucked between mom’s arms when she sits in front of her computer (which is how I learned to type and write on the blog. Stoopid dogs will never be able to do that!).

And then there are his friends who come to visit about once a week!! OMG, that juvenile whippet is going to give me whiplash with the way he flies around MY house. And someone enter him in the highjumping portion of the Olympics, cuz if he leaps any higher when he’s trying to reach me on top of my kitty condo, he’s going to hit his pointy little head on the ceiling. I swear that dog has springs in his paws and crack in his food!

And that rascally Toby…well, sheesh, who invited him to stick his fuzzy face through MY cat door to MY attic hideaway???? Buzz off, Toby – as the movie says, “cats rule, dogs drool!!!”

This is MY house. One of these days I’m going to post a notice that says “Cats only. No dogs allowed”.

But then it might be kinda lonely. Maybe I’ll rethink this…….I’ll use my feline powers to hypnotize brindle-butt and make him my slave……I rule. Brindle-butt drools. Heheheheheheh!

Sincerely
Allie the Cat.

Food, friends, and foolishness!

The barn is restocked with hay, straw, alfalfa and alpaca feed, there’s another 30 pounds of kibble and three cases of canned dogfood in the cupboard, and tomorrow I head into town to pick up the pig feed. Keeping all these tummies full is a big job – it seems I am continually buying feed for one animal or another.

Thankfully, my friend Ellen brought out two big garbage-sized bags of greens tonight for the piggies. They had finished off the carrots and were getting low on apples, and the greens are the best choice for them anyway as apples and carrots are quite high in sugar for piggies. They had a blast eating lettuce and cabbage and carrot tops and watercress and even fresh mint. Martin the alpaca got his share too, and there is lots more for the next several days.

Martin eats his veggies

Ellen brought her canine family, Kinley (a young whippet) and Toby (a senior Maltese), who are frequent visitors to our house. Kinley and Toby haven’t quite learned their manners around the pigs or cat, so Auntie Jean did get a wee bit angry with them, but then Belle and Charley took over the role of supervising the unruly guests.


Belle protects her friend Allie the cat

Charley has always been the “cop dog” around here, tattling on anyone doing anything she knows isn’t allowed, but Belle surprised us with a very spirited (and LOUD) yapping in Sire Kinley’s face, telling him to mind his d*mn manners and settle down!

Sire Kinley, Esquire - and chief troublemaker!

The five dogs and two hoomans shared a couple of pizzas for dinner, and then Toby decided he would really like to stay the night and kept running back into the house when it was time to go home. Silly Toby! You would miss your mama if she drove away without you!


Toby, the guest who wouldn't leave

At last, the dogs and cat are all sleeping, the piggies are buried deep in their straw and blankets, and Martin is snoring in his shelter. Another day over, another week closer to spring. Goodnight everyone.

Belle, asleep in her bed

Managing the multi-dog household

I teach family studies, and one of the things I have learned along the way is the importance of treating each child differently, according to his or her own temperament, needs, personality, age, etc.

I believe the same is true of dogs in a multidog household. Each personality is unique, and consequently each of my three dogs has different needs, differently comfort levels with various experiences, different levels of energy and different interests.



Caleb

Caleb, my five year old pitti cross, is a serious guy but also the youngest, largest and the most intense of my canine crew. I cannot move from room to room without him getting up and following (and he communicates his frustration when I am puttering around the house and don’t stay put for more than a few minutes!). He is the first out the door, the first to the gate, the first to wolf down his food, the most persistent when I pick up the car keys. He never barks or whines, but he makes it clear that I am his person and he wants to be with me every minute. He is the persistent counter surfer, cat chaser, bed hogger, and poop eater.

Because of his age and breed and personality, he needs more exercise than my two senior dogs. And because of his size and strength, he walks faster, runs more vigorously, pulls harder when on leash, and is less patient with a gentle stroll. Because our society currently holds such distorted views of pitties and pitti crosses, I am ever sensitive to how others might view him and unfairly stereotype him. Therefore I am extremely motivated to keep Caleb constantly interacting with other dogs and humans, to ensure he is well socialized and exposed to a multitude of situations. As part of my commitment to him and to his socialization, I make sure he goes to doggy daycare once a week.

This isn’t just any doggy daycare but one that takes the dogs for a 2-3 hour hike, often on rigorous mountain trails; where the person who runs it is a trainer who uses only positive methods and who has an amazing relationship with each and every dog; and where there are dogs of all shapes and sizes who are socialized to play well with each other, to listen to the human, and to respect everyone – canine and human. Caleb has a great time there.


Charley

Charley, who will be eleven this year, is quite happy to stay at home. She’s not crazy about car rides and finds younger energetic dogs rather tedious. Daycare would NOT be something she would enjoy. She is quite content to stay at home curled up on the bed or couch while I’m at work, though she has told me that she would really like to lie outside under one of the big hazelnut trees in all but the most rainy of weather. Sorry, Charley, dogs stay safely in the house when the humans aren’t home.

Charley would rather be an "only dog". She gets along well with all animals, of any species, but during the two short periods of time when she was the only dog in my household, she truly blossomed and showed her affectionate, playful side. Consequently, I try to make sure that Charley gets more than her share of one-on-one time and personal attention from me.


Belle

Belle, age twelve, is quite similar to Charley in energy level, but more like Caleb in her need to follow me from room to room and her love of car rides. She is most annoyed with me that one day a week when Caleb gets to come in the car for the ride to daycare, while she must stay in the house with Charley. And she has the most persistent bark when she wants to communicate her needs. There is nothing quite like "sheltie attitude" (or, as a friend of mine calls it,"sheltitude").

Belle is the newest member of my household, and perhaps the least secure having lost her lifetime home so recently. Her need is for lots of cuddle time - she likes nothing more than to curl up in my lap while I read a book or watch TV. It is also very important to her to feel like "one of the family", so including her in everything we do is essential to her sense of wellbeing.

Today was Caleb's daycare day. I decided to slip home for a couple of hours between leaving work and picking up Caleb at the end of the day. It is amazing how different my tiny little house feels when my big lug of a pitti isn’t here - a totally different pace, much lower key. Belle and Charley each received a bully stick (a much safer, more digestible treat than rawhide) and spent an hour side by side on the kitchen floor, each relishing a good chomp. Caleb practically inhales bully sticks and even a 12” one seldom lasts more than five minutes – after which he tries to harass the others for theirs. Needless to say, the dogs have to be crated or babygated in separate rooms for their treats when Caleb’s around. To see my “girls” leisurely enjoying the chew together made me smile.

As we headed out the back door after their snack, we saw Martin the alpaca tearing down the path at breakneck speed towards us. Guess he’d just noticed I was home and figured it was dinner time!!!!

We fed Martin and put him in his pen so the three of us – Charley, Belle and myself - could go for a stroll in the pasture. While the snow is still about 10 inches deep, the ice-hard crust has finally given way to a softer, slushier groundcover. Charley and Belle rushed through the pasture gate and joyously explored the smells of coyote and alpaca droppings, checked out the creek which is nearly brimming over from the quickly thawing snow, snuffled through the dead wood and old straw looking for any little rodents wintering there, and generally reveled in the pleasure of being outdoors.


Charley and Belle in the snow


When it was time to pick up Caleb, their reaction was predictable – Charley took one look at the car keys in my hand and headed for bed in the house, while Belle began the notorious Sheltie bark, telling me in no uncertain terms that she was coming along for the ride.

Three dogs, three different sets of needs. Each unique, each special in their own way. Together, a great family of canine kids. I love each one of them.

Magic Moments in the Barn

Looking after multiple companion animals can be hard work, costly and worrisome. But every now and then there is a “magic moment” that touches one so profoundly that all the stresses of the day disappear and an intense sense of contentment and happiness starts somewhere near the heart and radiates out through the soul.

Today was like that.

Ever since the piggies trashed the barn a couple of weeks ago, I have been promising them that I will let them into the main part of the barn, supervised, for some fun and exercise. Today was the day – supplies were low, and the barn floor needed to be swept of the last of the straw and hay and alfalfa before I brought in new bales. I figured this was as good a time as any to let the pigs have some fun while I swept and cleaned and puttered around.

The moment their gate was opened, in they ran. The sound of 48 little trotters (well, 40 little ones and 8 big ones) racing around the wooden and concrete floors brought the first smile to my face. The smile broadened and the laughter began as I watched them race here and there, checking out every feed bin, every garbage can, every pallet to see what goodies might be accessible. I could almost hear they saying “WHEEEEEE! What fun!!!!” as they squeeked and squealed and grunted and oofed and oinked and arfed and had a wonderful time.

The piglets were very well behaved. Scotch was very well behaved. Soda, not so much. Our Ms Piggy shoved – hard – at every bin and garbage can she could get to, trying in vain to knock them over and pull off the lids. Piggies have wonderful memories, and she knew full well exactly which bin she had been able to open on barn-trashing day and what it had held – yummy molasses soaked alpaca food. And she was not going to leave that bin alone until she had it on the ground, open, and the contents inhaled.

She shoved the bin. I shoved her shoulder and yelled “NO!”. She shoved the bin again. I shoved her shoulder and yelled “NO!”. She turned around, swore at me (yes, pigs can swear) and shoved the bin again, twice as hard. This time she knocked it over, though the lid stayed on. I shoved her shoulder and yelled “NO!” once more, and then sternly explained that she would not be welcome in this part of the barn if she was going to continue that behaviour.

Averting her gaze, she decided to try another tactic. She ambled off, supposedly to check out the other bins and cans and snuffle the floor looking for stray pieces of alfafa. I turned back to my work of sweeping and cleaning and as soon as my back was turned she high-tailed it over to the alpaca bin again. Ha! Caught ya, Soda! Back to the shoving match once more.

And so on it went. Shove, yell, curse, divert, shove, yell, curse, divert. A few more grey hairs for me, a little more of a stubborn streak in Soda.

Meanwhile the other piggies were having a ball, chasing the broom, playing with my jacket, some milling around my feet, others keeping a little distance but every so often coming over to say “Hi! This is FUN!”. Several of the piglets put their front trotters as high on my leg as they could reach and nudged my hands and pockets to see if I had any special treats ready for them.

I took down Scotch’s hairbrush and ran it over his bristles. Then I brushed each of the piglets in turn, and even the most timid seemed to welcome the touch. The warm happy feeling was spreading throughout my body and the headache that had plagued me for much of the day was rapidly dissapearing.

Eventually, I took their feed bowl and led them back into their stalls. They ate their dinner, drank several gallons of water, waited while I pooper- scooped so they could mess up the clean potty area once more, and then headed into the sleeping stall – now piled high with swept up remains of straw, hay and alfafa bales.

And then, as the piggies began to settle and dusk began to fall, the magic moment took hold.

From the time Scotch and Soda first came to me, scared, in poor health, and not knowing what was happening to them, I have sung to them. That first night, I sang the song I had always sung to my daughter when she was an infant: ‘You are my sunshine, my only sunshine……”. And ever since that first night, Scotch has visibly relaxed whenever he hears the song. It is his reminder that his nightmare is over and he is home.

And so tonight, watching Scotch standing rather forlornly and knowing he is as tired of winter as I am, I sat down beside him and started singing our song. He sighed deeply, half closed his eyes, and rolled over for a belly rub.

And that’s when I was touched by one of those deeply moving, intensely satisfying, almost spiritual experiences. One of the little all-black piglets came creeping up to where I sat and lifted his little snout to peer at my face. He nudged my hand and was clearly asking to be belly-rubbed too. And as I moved my free hand to his belly, he rolled over and closed his eyes and putting his snout near his dad’s snout, let out that magical, wonderful, gentle “oooooffffff” that tells you he is one very content pig.

He let me rub his belly, his face, his trotters and bum. He moved not a muscle as I rubbed the soft little pink patches on the bottom of his feet and ran my finger just inside his gum checking his teeth. He sighed again as I picked up the brush and gently brushed his thick bristles, and when I stopped he nudged my hand to ask for more.

I leaned over and put my nose near his and he lifted his snouty and gently touched mine. Scotch then stretched and touched his snouty to the babe’s.

And there we sat. One overweight, grey haired, rather tired woman with two piggy snouties in her lap, two piggy bellies exposed for rubbing, two sets of piggy eyes half closed in bliss, and two piggy mouths curled up in smiles. Ten more piggies quietly settling down in the straw for the night. The scent of fresh straw and shavings, of wood and manure, the drip of the ever-so-slowly melting snow, the fading light through the barn window. And the soft sounds of “you are my sunshine” as all the cares of the day seep away and you just know that this is where you are meant to be.

Life is good.

It takes so little......

……to make me happy! This morning the water lines in the barn have finally thawed. What a difference it makes to be able to refill the animal’s dishes there instead of hauling five gallon pails from the house over slippery, snow and ice covered paths. Twelve pigs equals about ten gallons a day, and another four or five for the alpaca – that’s a lot of heavy hauling for this aching body. So YAYAYYYY!!!!!!

And to make the day even better, Scotch emerged from his catatonic, depressed state of mind and ventured outside with the others this morning - the first time in two or three weeks. He was rewarded with fresh cherries and bananas, and I sprinkled a half box of stale cereal among the hay and alfalfa for all to enjoy.

We still have a long way to go before it will look spring-like around here – the driveway is thick with ice from the thawing and freezing, and the rain in the city is fresh snow up here. The dogs are impatient to run free in the pasture again, but the thick crust of frozen snow/ice over softer melting snow below makes for very difficult walking for me and for the dogs. Instead, they wait impatiently for the promised warmer weather and settle for rides in the car and runs in off leash parks in milder areas.


Dogs in the driveway


Dogs waiting for a walk

Piggy personalities in the morning

Just like humans, pigs have unique personalities. There are very social ones, very courageous ones, very shy ones, loners, hoarders, sadsacks, bossy ones, and some that are very hard to get to know.

One of the best things about weekend mornings is the ability to spend a bit more time doing the morning chores and watching the pigs. RobRoy and Fizz, both outgoing little guys and smart as can be, don’t hesitate to rush up to the stall slats in the eating area and stand on the edge of a board to say good morning and eagerly accept their treat. Each is rewarded with a piece of apple, banana or carrot. The other piglets and Soda soon follow.



Snouties through the slats

Scotch, on the other hand, hangs out in the sleeping stall, buried in straw until I hold a piece of apple under his snout. He insists on being fed breakfast in bed, especially in the winter months. He is not a morning pig and would be just as happy if I would let them all sleep until noon.


Lazy boy Scotch

There are five all-black piglets who I have difficulty telling apart unless they are all together. Tom is the largest, roundest one, followed closely by Lizzie (who I can tell apart from the others if she wags her tail!). Swizzle, the next largest, has a slight pink mark on his snout, but it has faded over time and is hard to see now. Spritzer is a little shorter and rounder than Swizzle, and Fizz is the smallest of all but has the thickest black bristles.


Rickey and Fizz

One of the all-blacks - I think it is Spritzer - races back from the eating area to Scotch’s stall as soon as the fruit is gone, knowing that I will put Scotch’s pellets down first - the babe tries to grab a mouthful before racing back to the feeding stall. He does this every single morning without fail.

The babes and Soda all gobble down their pellets.



Toddy, with the little white tip on his tail, is the first one to fly out the barn door to check out whatever I’ve spread outside – usually some lettuce greens or hay or alfalfa with a few more chopped fruits and veggies thrown in. He races back and forth between the outdoor and indoor feeding areas, making sure he isn’t missing anything special and excitedly oinking to the others “c’mon, c’mon!” Whisper, RobRoy, Derby and Rickey, all with noticeable white markings on their foreheads and/or feet, are the next out the door. Eventually all the babies and Soda are outside munching the final course.


The final course

But not Scotch. He hates this cold weather and plods around the sleeping stall, sadly bemoaning another day when the ground outside is frozen and white. His middle name should be Eeyore. He looks up at me with his forlorn little-boy-lost look and silent pleads “Would you mind pulling a nice warm blanket over me again??? It’s just soooo much work to cover myself up.” And of course, I do. And he oofs gently, lifts his snout in a thankyou, and settles back down for his morning nap.



Scotch and his blanket

Meanwhile, the little piggies each have their own way of handling the cold and the outdoor food. One of the all-black ones (Swizzle?) always carries his trophy of a carrot or an apple back into a corner of the sleeping stall where he can savour it without being pushed and shoved by his siblings.



Swizzle savors his loot

Another runs back into the feed stall and roots around under the stall mat for any pellet crumbs that might have worked their way under there, unnoticed by the other piglets. He will spend a good twenty minutes working very hard at shoving his snout all along the edge of the heavy mat, as far underneath as he can manage.

Slowly the piggies drift back in and start to settle back down in their straw and blankets for the morning. Soda finds their wiggling and wandering tiresome and repeatedly tells them and me to buzz off. Whoever created Miss Piggy on the Muppets must have used Soda for a prototype – he captured her personality perfectly - grumpy, assertive, bossy, pushy, vocal, but perfectly capable of fluttering her eyelashes and cozying up to me if she thinks I have something she wants. That’s my Soda!

Several times during the day, I will look out to find one lone black piggy still munching the hay outside, all by his lonesome. I’m not sure which one it is, or if they all take turns, but there is nearly always a sole piggy out there.

I think I’m going to have to find someone to knit them little sweaters with their names. That way they will keep warm AND I will know who’s who -- though I wouldn’t put it past the more mischievous ones to trade sweaters when I’m not looking!

The Almost Perfect Snow Shovel..........

…… is a manure fork. Janice at Hearts on Noses suggested it – much lighter weight than a regular snow shovel, and the prongs dig right in there. The snow slips off easily instead of clumping in the bowl of a shovel. I thought the snow, when powdery, would slip right through the prongs, but it doesn’t. And it works on the heavy wet stuff too.

Last year I bought an expensive ergonomic snow shovel. But, like most things, it was obviously made for someone taller than my 5’1” frame. And stronger. It sits neglected in the barn.

I considered buying a snow blower, but any gas powered yard equipment comes with gremlins who delight in taunting me – I can never get anything that uses gas (other than a car) started. And since my loooong driveway is gravel, a snow blower isn’t the best option unless I also want to be replacing windows and picking rocks out of the grass.

So this fall, I made arrangements with someone in the neighbourhood to plow out my drive whenever we get a dump of snow. The arrangement worked once. And since then, I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of him…..even his own driveway isn’t plowed so either he’s moved out or is on vacation somewhere warm.

So I’m back to shoveling. With my manure fork. My almost-perfect snow shovel. Why only almost-perfect? Because it doesn’t come with a muscular little elf who sneaks into the yard in the middle of the night and uses the fork to clear the driveway for me. Where are those magical sprites when you really need them?????

If this is February, can spring be far behind?

When I lived in the Northwest Territories, around the beginning of February my friends from southern BC would gloat about the daffodils popping up in their gardens, the buds forming on the trees, the snowdrops in full bloom…while I sat shivering in 40 below weather and staring at snowbanks five feet high.

Now that I’m back in southwestern BC, it looks like I brought the climate from the north with me. Here it is, Feb 1st, and I have a foot of heavy, wet snow clogging my driveway and no signs of spring anywhere.

The dogs and pigs have cabin fever. Scotch won’t even leave the barn – he mournfully grunted good morning and stared at me morosely until I brought him a new wool blanket and tucked him back in his bed. With a big sigh, he lay down, closed his eyes, and softly “oofed” his thanks.

The dogs don’t understand why we are not going for our runs on the dike or in the pastures. My aching back from slogging through the snow and hauling water to the barn means nothing to them. All they know is that it is b-o-r-i-n-g being stuck in the house for much of the day. The only upside is that they get a few more treats like bullysticks to occupy their time. At least, it occupies Belle’s and Charley’s time…..Caleb can consume a 12”, $5.99 bully stick in less time than it takes to feed the cat.

I remember once clipping out a comic strip – I think it was by Lynn Johnson – which defined February as “the four month period between January and March”. I thought it was hilarious at the time and aptly described life in the north.

It’s not so funny any more. Winter, scram! It’s time for spring!