Morning Exercise

We're back from Crofton, where we had a productive week arranging new flooring, appliances, lawn services, post office box, renos, etc. I took all four dogs this time - an adventure in itself.

The dogs are not sure what's going on, but it sure didn't take long for them to set the morning exercise routine. The Princess (Belle) will not walk with Oliver, nor he with her, and so we have three morning walks. Belle first - the warm up - either to the post office and back or a few blocks around the neighbourhood. Charley and Sadie next - they walk beautifully together and briskly too, so we do a longer walk down along the seawall, up a zillion stairs, and back through the town - the cardio workout. And then the cool down - Oliver . Slow, reluctant Oliver. The first day we only got as far as the end of the drive. The next day he agreed to go a few houses along the road. By the end of the week, he was walking nearly two blocks each way and began to show some enthusiasm. The others show no lack of enthusiasm - Belle barks up a storm the second I grab the harness (though she is a turtle on the walk itself), and Charley and Sadie practically mow me right over in their attempts to get going once their collars and leashes are in place.

Suffice it to say, the week was a success. There is no doubt, however, that all four dogs were glad to return home but none more so than Oliver. He got out of the car, took a pee, and then looked around him. Suddenly it dawned on him we were home and he started bouncing and racing about and barking happily - then ran straight to the back door and barked his commanding little "LET ME IN!! NOW!!!" before I even had the key out.

Charley was also pleased to be back - she ran into the house, jumped on the couch, rolled over and wiggled deliciously, ran outside and did the same in the grass, and then back in where she jumped on my bed and went straight to sleep.

The dogs and I have many stories to share, new friends to introduce, and tons of photos to show you. Stay tuned - they shall be gradually revealed over the next few days!

An evening to remember

The pasture at sunset

It was a busy spring day, a mix of rain and snow and hail and wind and sun, of blue skies and black clouds and swirls of smoke and mist. The trees are finally greening up, and the pasture is showing fresh growth.

It was a day full of farm work and school work and organizing and cleaning. Ellen came early to help with the follow-up deworming of the pigs and to help me restore the old barn door which had been replaced with a heavy blanket when winter snow made it impossible to open. A tasty brunch out with Ellen, a flurry of emails to respond to, a quick run to the stores for catfood, cleaning the barn and the yards, and then getting my stuff together for another trip to the new house - this time for four nights, with all four dogs.

Janice from Hearts on Noses had kindly offered to stay at my house to mind the fort while I am gone, while her mom stayed at her place minding her fort. At the same time, things were a bit up in the air as she was scrambling to get everything organized to move the piggies to the sanctuary as soon as possible, and there was a possibility it would happen this very Tuesday morning. But with the shed delivery delayed until Wednesday, fencing to be secured and transport to be arranged, the move will likely be another week or more. And so we are back to the original plan.

Still, I know my days with the piggies are numbered, especially with my absence all this week, and so tonight I spent a little extra time with them as they prepared for bed.

Scotch has always loved to be sung to. During his first weeks here, when he and Soda were scared and unsure of themselves (though obviously glad to be free of the terrible circumstances from which they were seized), I often just sat in the stall with them at night, singing and humming and letting them get used to my scent and sound. I mostly sang them the same songs I had sung to my daughter when she was a babe - lullabies, children's songs, old camping favourites. "You are my sunshine" was my daughter's favourite when she was a toddler, and it soon became Scotch's favourite. Whenever I sang it, he would softly "oof oof" and lay his head on or near my lap, and roll over on his side to let me stroke his belly.

From time to time, I still de-stress from a busy or upsetting day by sitting with Scotch and singing to him. And tonight, knowing that few opportunities remain for such tender moments, I curled up in the straw beside him, my head on his back, and sang to him once more. He oofed and hummed along with me, and soon I felt another warm piggy body stretching out alongside my back -- Whisper had come to join us. And then I felt a nudge at my hand....

Piggy nuzzles

Me too, Foster Mama!

And me!

Piggies preparing for bed.

And then we were joined by another, and another, and another.....until all the piggies were nestled in straw and blankets - some touching me, all touching each other. And there we stayed for the better part of an hour.

For a few moments in time, I was just one of the herd.

Thank you, Scotch and family, for the precious gift of your unconditional love and acceptance. It was an evening to remember.

Scotch

The Best of Friends

The animals with whom I share my life are among my best friends, but they are not my only friends. Regular readers of my blog know how very much my friend Ellen has helped me out with the critters here on the farm, and supported me in so many other ways too. However, readers are probably less familiar with my friends Ann and Ken, and today I want to honor them with a big, public THANK YOU.

I have known Ann and Ken for twenty years now. Ann and I first met when she was a mature student (they are about ten years my senior) in one of the classes I taught. Once she was no longer my student, we began a friendship that has stood the test of time, a friendship in which we have shared many common interests but also respected each other's differences.

Ann, Ken and I spent many, many weeks camping together around B.C., Ann and Ken in their camper, I in my tent and later in my small motorhome. Together, we travelled to wonderfully isolated forestry sites in the Cariboo and Okanagon areas as well as closer to home. Ann and I would hike and talk and read and enjoy the wild flowers, and Ken and I would fish together.

Ann and I both challenged ourselves, meeting and overcoming our "wall" with a strenous backpacking trip, first to Eaton Lake and later in Cape Scott Provincial Park. Ann and I also shared a passion for women's rights, served on the board of a transition home together, helped with a community women's centre, and attended feminist theatre, dinners and fundraisers.

In recent years our interests have diversified as I became increasingly involved in animal care and they in Tai Chi. But we connect as frequently as we can and still very much enjoy our times together.

Ken and Ann have fed me, listened to me, celebrated with me, advised me and comforted me through all the ups and downs of everyday life and through a serious accident, a marriage breakdown, and now....through retirement.

In the past couple of months, I have been sorting through my belongings, doing a major "downsizing" in preparation for moving. Ann and Ken offered to pick up the items I didn't want (or didn't want to bother selling) and dispose of them for me - first in their own garage sale, then at a garage sale Ann will be hosting for charity next week, and lasting by taking it to the thrift store. Sounds good to me - one less thing for me to take care of.

I think they came up to my place three times to pick up items in their truck - from big heavy stuff to little boxes of books and stuffies and bric a brac. The only thing they accepted for their labour was a couple of pails of alpaca poop for their garden.

This weekend they had their garage sale. I went down there to keep them company and help out where I could (mostly by drinking their coffee and eating their sandwiches!).

At the end of the day, they surprised me by turning over ALL the proceeds to me to help with the move as I prepare for retirement. They picked the stuff up, they CLEANED it (some of it had been in the barn and was VERY dirty), they priced it and set it out and sold it.......and then gave me the proceeds. My meek little "thank you" is simply not sufficent to cover what I feel.

Love ya, Ann and Ken. I am going to miss you more than words can express.

Are you smarter than a Canadian.....duck?

I’m obviously not. For the past month, I have been carefully watching a duck in the bog behind the building in which my office at the university is located. He floats around in the reeds and lilies, barely visible through the brush that surrounds the pond. I kept promising myself I would take my camera to work on a nice clear day and take some pictures. I also kept wondering why he was always alone – with no apparent mate or duck friends nearby.

Thursday I crept in closer for a better look. It was only then I realized that the duck I had enjoyed watching for nearly a month was...... A DECOY!

Apparently other ducks knew this and had the sense not to try to mate with him or engage him in ducky conversation. But this human? Nope. Guess I’m not as smart as a Canadian university duck.

Duck glimpsed through brush

Moving in for a closer look

Oops - that's no real duck!

Oh well, at least these are real blossoms

And still real, even when I get close up!

Dogs who love too much

Oliver toddles along behind me as we head up the pasture. Since I have two dogs who think coyote and alpaca poops are excellent doggy treats, I am carrying a bucket and pooper scooper and doing my level best to reach the droppings before the dogs.

One of the poop eaters is Oliver, so I don’t mind that he lags well behind. But since Oliver adores me, he doesn't like being more than a few feet away from me.
Unfortunately the other poop eater is Sadie – Sadie the Speedball, who barrels down the path hell-bent on reaching those tasty morsels before I do! And that means that sometimes poor Oliver gets lost in the dust.

And that’s what happened tonight.

Now you need to understand something about the 1994 Sheltie – he is very fuel efficient. Why expend energy going around an obstacle if the object of your affection is in a direct line on the other side of said obstacle?

And so, as I traipse back and forth across the pasture looking for ‘paca poop and coyote ca-ca, Sir Oliver keeps trying to take shortcuts in order to catch up to me. First it is a log lying in his path – a log as tall as he and 20 feet long. As I scoop the poop, I can see two little sable ears moving parallel to the log. As the ears reach the halfway mark, a little head pops up and Oliver registers that I am just 10 feet away from him, but on the other side of the log. Instead of quickly running around the log to join me, he begins his dog-on-a-trampoline impression. Boing. Boing. Boing. And suddenly he is high centred on top of the log, front legs dangling on one side, back legs dangling on the other.

But he’s a determined little guy, and he wiggles and thrashes and eventually makes it over, trotting up to me, tail jauntily waving behind him. We continue on up the hill, where I again wander off the path in search of excrement. And my furry little trooper tries to follow me once again.

And that is when he meets his nemesis – blackberry brambles.

I have just scooped the last pile of dung and I’m heading back to the path when I see Oliver once again try to reach me via the most expedient route. Only this time he heads right into a patch of blackberry brambles as if it doesn’t even register with him that there is anything but air between us. He has eyes only for me. Within seconds the brambles have grabbed him by the fluff, and he is twisting and turning to escape his evil captors.

I drop my bucket and scooper and race back to rescue him, but by then he is in near panic mode and thoroughly entangled in the prickly tentacles. I grab him and lift him before he can become more entrapped and then I begin the tortuous process of unwinding and untangling the painfully prickly cables of steel from his furry little self.

He should be thankful his coat is as thick as it is, because I don’t think he got a single thorn embedded in his skin. The same cannot be said, however, for my poor hands and arms. But I guess that is the penalty one pays for being the object of a dog’s affection.

Sadie, of course, had no complaints. She’s an opportunist from way back and quickly found the object of her affection -- while I was busy freeing Oliver, she was busy wolfing down the contents of the poop pail. No kisses for you tonight, Lady Sadie!

Just a Spoonful of Sugar.....

One of the things Ellen and I did while waiting for the vet the other day was to deworm the piggies – a process in which one must get vile-tasting Ivomec (ivomectin) into twelve piggies without any of them getting missed, spitting it out, or getting double dosed.

We have it down to a fine art. Well, to be honest, I have to give Ellen all the credit for developing the perfect, foolproof method. All I really do is stand around and take pictures.

We developed this method by trial and error – having tried numerous ways of masking the Ivomec and administering it smoothly. There’s not much a pig will refuse to eat, but Ivomec is so vile that spitting it out was par for the course on our first attempt a year or more ago. It must be the Buckley’s of potbelly pig remedies.

So, as with Martin’s geld, we gather the tools of the trade:

1. twelve very heavily iced mini cupcakes, each in a paper wrapper
2. Ivomec
3. a hypodermic needle (it helps to have friends in the health care industry)
4. a can of livestock paint
5. a carton of fresh strawberries.
6. a cookie sheet

We put the dogs in the house to ensure their safety (a very high percentage of collie breeds have a fatal allergic reaction to ivomectin, and all four of mine are in the breeds-at-risk.)

Out at the picnic table, we put the cupcakes on the cookie sheet, and then injected the correct dosage into each cupcake. The paper wrapper keeps it from seeping out the bottom, as long as one works fairly efficiently and is careful not to pierce it with the needle.

Filling the cupcakes

Then we go over to the fence and call the piggies. They line up and through the wires Ellen starts popping cupcakes into piggies mouths as I direct traffic and name each recipient.

Pigs to the left......

...and pigs to the right

The process begins

Yum!

Me too, please?

Waiting his turn

Meanwhile, I keep the others from swarming her or trying to steal the “treat” by stuffing strawberries into their mouths:

Strawberry chasers

There are, of course, always those that don’t understand the concept of “lining up” or that are just too sneaky for words – grabbing their treat at the start of the line, darting around back of the others and pushing into the middle of the line, then darting around again to finish up at the end of the line. These guys are just too smart for their own good!

Me! Me! Me!

I want more!

Pwease may I have some?

Maybe if I look super cute?????

And so we not only do it assembly-line fashion but also by name. We do the most easily identified piggies first: Scotch and Soda, the parents; Derby and Rickey, who each have a white blaze on their forehead; Whisper and RobRoy who each have white feet but no blaze; Toddy of the white tail; Tom the biggest pigster; Lizzie, the only female pigster. That leaves three all-black piggies of roughly the same size, Fizzy, Spritzer and Swizzle. For that, I go inside the pigyard with the can of livestock paint, planning to identify them with a splash of red as they get their treat.

Of course, the best laid plans………they know I am their Chief Food Servant and so they turn away from the fence and swarm me, looking for more treats. Sorry guys!

Ellen joins me in the yard and we quickly administer the last three cupcakes, accompanied by a dose of red paint on the behind, while being mobbed by the rest of the poor starving babies who have quickly forgotten that they have already had their share.

We go back out of their yard before they start climbing up our legs and knocking us to the muddy ground as hungry piggies are wont to do. We grab the rest of the strawberries, and feed them some more of this high-value treat just in case any have noticed the lingering taste of vile medicine - not that I think a single pig tasted the cupcake before swallowing the yummy super-sweet gooey iced but medicated treat. But deworming has to be repeated in 10-12 days, so we don’t want any negative memories attaching themselves to today’s experience.

(Check out the front trotters on this one!)

Strawberries soon erase any unpleasantness. I swear if you let those piggies loose on a hundred acre strawberry farm, they would have the whole place stripped bare in 30 minutes and still be looking for more.

Ellen dispenses the rest of the berries

Half an hour later they are all snoozing happily in the sun:

Anyone wanna shoot some hoops?

And that's how you deworm a dozen hungry pigs.

Martin's Big Snip - Part Three

Heading down the trail

Martin's Big Snip: The Recovery

Saturday: I was up at the crack of dawn to check on my patient. Martin was still sitting in exactly the same spot as the night before – out in the open area of the pen, staring at the gate to the pasture. There was a heavy frost on the ground and on his fleece, but he seemed content enough so I let him be. The light on the eastern horizon gave promise to a beautiful day, and the bells of the nearby Westminster Abbey pealed through the air, calling all monks and farmers to rise from their beds.

Martin at dawn

I returned to the house for that wonderful first cup of coffee (why is it that the first cup always tastes soooo much better than any cups drunk later in the day???), and to give Sadie her thyroid meds. By the time I was awake, showered and dressed and had fed the dogs, the sun was above the horizon and the sky a clear, clear blue.

I fed the pigs and then proceeded, as I always do, to offer Martin his grains and sliced apple and greens. As I entered his pen, I noted he had recently stood up to eliminate his rabbit-like poops in his usual spot, and had resettled himself near the gate. I put his grains in the usual bowl in the shelter, but I scattered the apple and lettuce bits around the pen hoping to encourage him to move about a bit. Movement, the vet had told me, will help reduce the swelling and hasten his recovery.

I took the dogs for their run in the pasture, and then returned to check on Martin. He was standing at his gate - grain, hay, water and apple bits untouched. Time to let him out – I opened the gate and he immediately strutted past me and up the path.

Freedom at last

No sign of blood or infection on his back end; the only indicator anything was amiss was his tendency to walk as if he had just dismounted from a long trip on a horse. I made a note to keep an eye on that – it should disappear quickly according to the vet; if not, a call back is in order.

He moseyed up the trail to his usual spot, took a pee in one of his pasture bathrooms (alpacas are very clean – they choose one or two places to do all their business), wandered over to the fence to see if the llamas next door were out yet (they weren’t), and then settled down in one of his favourites spots – smack in the middle of the pasture trail, where he can keep an eye on both the back door of the house and on his llama friends’ shelter.

Keeping watch on a frosty morning

An hour later, when his friends came out and moved to their back pasture, he also moved himself back to our adjacent field, where he lay down to sun himself on the hillside, no doubt wondering why his rear is so sore.

Soaking up the healing rays of the sun

Hanging with friends

Throughout the day, I strolled back to the pasture to check on him. His llama friends were literally hanging over the fence, and at one point did the strangest thing – they both turned their backs on him, lifted their tails, and….MOONED him! Or maybe it was me they were mooning. Who knows. I was so astonished it took me a few moments to focus the camera, so I only caught the tail end of it (pun intended!).

Mooning Martin

At dusk, I tried enticing him back down to the shelter for his evening grains, but he was having none of it. His llama friends were still keeping him company, and he was moving around grazing on the tender spring grass. He often likes to “camp out” in good weather, so I respected his wishes and let him be. I hoped he would return to the pen for the morning feed as my dogs were a little miffed at missing their romp in the pasture tonight. Sorry guys – on the days you were fixed, I spoiled you a little too.

Sunday:

At dawn, I see Martin still at the back of the pasture but standing keeping watch on the house. By the time I have fed the dogs and the pigs, he has made his way down to his pen, where he is impatiently awaiting the morning feed. He trots over to the shelter right behind me, and immediately starts munching the soft green hay. Surprisingly, he leaves the grains and fresh apple slices untouched, but he does have a big drink of water. He shows no concern when I close the gate to the pen in order to give the dogs free run of the fields. The dogs and I spend some time exploring the fields, noting the emergence of skunk cabbage along the creek, and the pointy shoots of new bamboo just beginning to poke up through the ground on the hillside.

Skunk cabbage along the creek

When we return, Martin is still in his shelter, contentedly munching hay from his manger. He shows no sign of pain or tenderness or any problematic discharge (the incisions are left partially open so they can drain naturally should any infection occur – one just has to watch for copious amounts of blood or pus that might indicate a problem). He now walks and stands without the cowboy (cowpaca?) bow legs that were evident yesterday morning. For all intents and purposes, he appears back to normal.

Once the dogs are safely back in the yard, I open the gate to his pen to allow him back into the pasture. He spends much of the morning just outside his pen, and occasionally wanders back in for a mouthful of grain or a slurp of water. Eventually he goes back to the far end of the pasture and once again hangs across the fence from his llama pals. I check on him several times, and he is moving about and once again master of all he surveys:

King of the hill

When I feed the pigs at six o’clock, he comes trotting back down for his evening grains, and makes no complaint when I shut him in his pen for the night. He is back into the routine and feeling fine.

G'night, Mom!

It was a beautiful sunny day again, and I fully enjoyed the sense of relief that both this task and the winter are behind me. Life is good.

Martin's Big Snip - Part Two

Vets checking Martin pre-sedation

Martin's Big Snip: The Surgery

Haltering completed, Ellen and I tried to keep ourselves busy as we began the long wait for the vet. We had been told only that he would be here sometime in the afternoon, and so we made sure we had Martin haltered and safely confined to his stall before noon. And then we waited.

And waited. And waited. And waited.

We made good use of the time, delivering dewormer to the piggies (the subject for another post!), removing some of the bamboo canes that threaten to take over the pigyard, emptying and dismantling a compost box that I want to take with me to my new home, playing with the dogs, and downing multiple cups of coffee. We were both dying for a beer, but decided it probably would not be a good idea to reek of booze (much less be drunk) when the vet arrived.

At four o’clock the vet’s office phoned – he was on his way and would be here within the half hour. At five o’clock a car finally pulled into the driveway, followed by another - both vets had arrived, the alpaca guy with a broken finger necessitating an extra pair of hands.

[I want to say here that AgWest Veterinary Services are THE BEST! They were professional from beginning to end, compassionate and gentle with Martin, skilled in their practice, and clear with their instructions. And to top it off, the bill was considerably less (even with the homevisit, the foot trim, the vaccines, and the dental inspection added in) than what I paid the last time I sponsored a rescue dog's neuter.]

The vets decide the back yard is a good place to do the geld – soft, reasonably dry grass and good light. I gather the leash and lead Martin out, where we again use the boards-with-bracket-handles to slowly move Martin against the fence until he cushes, allowing the vet to sink the sedative needle into his butt.

OOOOOOhhhhhh – Martin does NOT like that! He jerks and kicks and manages to make the needle go flying out of the vet’s hand before it can release its load.

We hold him firmly but gently to the fence with the board, sooth him, and then stick him again – this time successfully. Unfortunately, ten minutes later Martin still shows no sign of drowsiness and is just waiting for an opportunity to break free.

So in goes another needleful of sedative. Finally he begins to relax, and the vet brings out the big guns – the large needle of anesthetic to be delivered right into the jugular.

Martin was quite sure he did not want to go to sleep, but slowly his head started to droop lower.....and lower.....and lower..... like an old man nodding off in front of the television.

You are getting sleeeeeppppyyyyyy

And finally he gave in to the overwhelming urge to sleep, dropping to his knees and then stretching out frog-legged on the grass.

Martin the frog

Gently and respectfully, the vets move him over onto his side and check his vitals.
A local injection just to ensure the testicles are numb, a good scrub of the hind quarters and surgical site, a few snips and the removal of a few worm-like pieces, a stitch here and a stitch there, and the possibility of baby Martins is forever removed.

The Big Snip

While he is drifting in la-la-land, I take the opportunity to get some really close up pictures of his soft, beautiful ears, nose and eyes:

Meanwhile, the other vet has moved around to Martin’s feet and begins the pedicure to get his excessively long nails back to the length they should be.

Some polish too, please?

The vets then examine the teeth to see if they need to be filed down. They look "not bad" and we decide to forgo any further work as Martin is already showing distinct signs of coming out of the light anesthetic. The vets quickly give him his Tasvax shot (which includes tetanus, a real threat for alpacas), and within a few minutes Martin is standing up and walking around.

They hand me the leash and say I can put him back in his pen – easier said than done. He follows me through the pasture gate to the pen gate and then stops dead. Ellen and I do a little comedy routine with one at the head and one at the rear or side to convince our mule-paca to move, and eventually we get him safely into the pen. He is not impressed.

Martin in his pen, 10 minutes after surgery

The vets give me instructions about his diet and activity for the next 24 hours, and we talk about signs of post-surgical problems I should watch for. Then they head on home, and Martin lies down in his pen (though not in the shelter) and tries to ignore us. I take him fresh water, remove the temporary gate from the shelter, and leave him to begin his recovery.

I'm not talking to you!

We let out the dogs, who immediately check out the exact spot of the surgery despite the vets' meticulously clean and tidy procedure that left not a visible sign on the grass.

Hmmmm......what's happened here?????

And Ellen and I dash to the fridge for that long-awaited icy cold dark German beer.

Stay tuned for part three – The Recovery.