What Do Cows Eat for Breakfast?

Posted on March 31, 2011 by Mary

What do cows eat for breakfast?
Why grapefruit, of course.
In halves or in wholes,
Even cut up in fourths.

It’s good for their eyesight
With much lycopene,
And the vitamin C
Helps keep big noses clean.

Called “citrus paradisi”
In the Latin tradition,
This juicy delight
Is a prized acquisition

For cows big and small,
Black, white, brown, or splotched,
Go out with a grapefruit
And you’ll definitely be watched

With a keen bovine eye
Blinking “please, pretty please
Hand over that grapefruit
‘Fore I’m down on my knees.

“So juicy, so sweet,
So sense satisfying,
Name your price Farmer John,
‘Cause by golly, I’m buying!”

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Footprints In Our Hearts

Posted on March 14, 2011 by Mary

Eleanor Roosevelt is quoted as saying, “Many people will walk in and out of your life, but only true friends will leave footprints in your heart.”

Tom’s feet were as soft as Q-tips, and his personality equally as gentle. He was good looking, but not handsome. Pleasing, but not dashing. If he’d been trapped in an animal shelter, chances are most folks would have walked right past him, as his orange and white coat resembled that worn by many others of his kind. Really, there were no other distinguishing characteristics about his appearance. Most of his life, he was just a little bit overweight. In a way, he resembled a rounded pillow, like something that might get lost in the corner of the couch.

His personality was equally reserved. Anyone taking him home would have needed time to get to know him. He wasn’t prone to showing off with a fancy preen or predatory pounce. He was like one of those beings who’s always around, but kind of recedes into the background. He could be easily overlooked, but after the third year, the fifth year, then the tenth year of just being there, day in and day out, with a happy smile and an affectionate purr, he managed to weave himself into our lives, until we wondered what it was ever like without him.

At the ranch, Tom was a permanent fixture in the stockyard. His favorite place was a dark hole between the hay bales, and that’s where we could find him when his hearing degenerated to the point where he no longer came to us at feeding time. We put up a bell then, near the tack room where the dishes were. When it rang, it sent out vibrations that he seemed to sense even when he couldn’t hear much else. True to his steady nature, he was the same calm, happy creature every day, without fail, even when a nasty infection wounded his face, and later, when a stroke paralyzed him from his belly to his back legs. Not once did he complain, whine, or seem to feel sorry for himself. He just waited for us to help him to the dish, where he could eat, and then he ate, happily. Until he couldn’t, anymore.

It wasn’t just us humans who grew deeply attached. Hardly a day went by that we didn’t see Miss Fluff Puff hanging out with him, either taking turns grooming or enjoying the warm rays of the sun, two friends content to just be in each other’s presence. They didn’t have to do anything special, like hunt or explore or run races around the goat pens. Tom wouldn’t have gone for any of that, anyway. He preferred taking it easy, and company was much appreciated. If his companion grew bored and wanted to indulge in all that running around stuff, he’d be happy to wait right here, thank you very much, until she was ready to return and chill out for awhile.

Seventeen years he shared life with us here on the ranch, and in his quiet, unassuming way, brightened our days. He taught us that no matter what, it’s okay to just be yourself in this life, as it’s through your own unique personality that you grace the lives of others. He showed us what true character is—one without the pretense of ego or self-importance, yet one that isn’t afraid to indulge in personal pleasure and satisfaction. He seemed to be a 24/7 representation of joy and contentment, as we never once saw him ruffled, angry, anxious, or depressed. How he managed such a feat we will never know. But it had a lasting effect on us. To think of Tom means to think of calm relaxation, and to remember that nothing in life is ever worth getting too riled up about.

He left us in his characteristic way. No problems, no fuss, no drama. He just laid down near his dish and closed his eyes. As if this, like everything else, was really no big deal.

What is a true friend? Perhaps one who walks softly, so that when he comes into our hearts, we’re hardly aware of the change, except for a light flicker in the chest. When it’s gone, its echo reminds us: Everything’s okay. The sun is out. There’s some warm hay nearby. Come spend a moment with me if you will, before you go about your day, and I will smile and be happy that you gave me the gift of your presence, even if just for a brief moment in time.

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The Tale of the Super “Cat” Nanny (as Told by a Very Tired, Worn-Out Mama Goat)

Posted on February 21, 2011 by Mary

As any mom will tell you, kids can be tough. They tear all over the barnyard, they make all kinds of racket, they ignore all the rules, and table manners—don’t even get me started. I mean, do they have to slam their heads into that most tender part of your body every darned time they want a drink?

As if we don’t go through enough carrying three-to-four of them inside us for five months or more. I mean, these babies weigh at least ten pounds each. Have you ever carried that many squirming, writhing creatures in your belly? And my figure. Forget it. When I looked back, I saw my stomach poofing out on either side of my spine like dual air balloons. I felt like a DC-10. I could hardly walk, and then Clark, the billy, had to go and call me fat. Of all the nerve! All this was his fault in the first place. If I could have reached him I would have bunted him a good one, in a good place, if you know what I mean. He’s still got it coming one of these days…

Boy did I breathe a big sigh of relief when they finally came out. I thought I might be able to relax a little, you know, recuperate, maybe actually get a little sleep as there’s no way you can sleep when you roll around on the straw like a bloomin’ beach ball. But there’s all the licking and the cleaning and then trying to get them to eat. Some jump right up and get going, but others, well, you know how it is. Some of our little ones are just a little slower than the rest. What’s the politically correct term now? “Suckling-challenged,” I think.

Anyway, they finally settled down and I had just started drifting off when up they sprout and it’s “Mom, can we go play?” and “Mom, I’m hungry,” and “Mom, where’s Dad?” and “Mom, what’s over there? Can we go over there?”

Their father is no help, of course. He just stands over there in the goat pen and either eats or sleeps or gives me the eye and I’m like, “Oh, so you want this now, huh? Before I was fat! Well no way, honey. You just put it to rest for a few months…at least.”

I swear all of us moms were at the end of our ropes. All our kids came about the same time, and the barn was in chaos. Babies everywhere blatting and squawling, moms crying and running all over the place. So I said that’s it, and I called the Super Cat Nanny. You may have heard of her. She travels around helping moms like us deal with these little terrors. All I can say is thank the Supreme Mother she came. I don’t know how she does it, but she gathered those babies all together and put them to sleep and for several hours we didn’t hear a peep! Not a sound, not a complaint, not a bunt in the bag, and for the first time in weeks, we got a break.

Heavenly. Absolutely heavenly.

Poor Caroline has had it worse than the rest of us, as her little son Maximus has a hurt leg, but the Super Cat Nanny took her turn with him, too. Somehow she knew he needed some extra care, so she made her way into his pen, which was no easy feat, little thing that she is, and there she stayed with him for hours, watching over him so Caroline could get some sleep.

I have to say we’re all feeling a little better now, and the kids are settling in really well. We’re still working on the table manners, but gradually they’re coming around. I hear the Super Cat Nanny is staying with us indefinitely, which I have to say is a big relief. Raising kids is just too much for one mom to do all by herself, and I for one rest a lot easier knowing that she’s around.

If you’re having trouble in your barnyard, I invite you to write in. She’d be happy to give you some advice, but don’t think for a second that she’s going to leave here to come to you. She doesn’t drive, and though you’d never be able to tell, she’s getting up there a bit in years, and we wouldn’t want anything to happen to her.

Besides, we mamas know how to get hold of her tail if we need to.

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Spring Has Sprung at Swan View Ranch!

Posted on February 13, 2011 by Mary

Snow still covers the ground in much of the country, but at Swan View Ranch, spring has arrived!

Think you need warm temperatures for a spring state of mind? Not necessarily! How about 30-plus little kids running and jumping around the place? That’s what we have so far, and our moms aren’t finished yet.

So far we’ve had 13 does freshen with a total of 31 babies. We can’t believe the multiple births this year. Our ladies are really outdoing themselves! Tweedles, our top mama, held her position as herd mother by having four—the most yet. Several others have followed with three each, including Audra, daughter of Lexus, who gave birth to three beautiful does—Adelyne, Abby, and Amelia.

Gerald’s favorite—Christina—had two sweet does, Julia and Jennifer. You can see them here snuggling up together, but what we’re really tickled about is those long ears! We’re wondering if, with the aid of a long feather, they might be able to fly?

Meanwhile, while we’re excited, we’re exhausted! Tending to all these mamas is a lot of work. We’ve had a few babies that were born not quite ready for the world. We stayed up all night with one making sure he got the milk he needed, as he just couldn’t quite figure out the whole “eating” routine. For all the others, we’ve been busy shifting pens. The new ones go into pens by themselves where they can have a few days to adjust (and the benefit of the heat lamp), while the older ones go out into the barnyard where they can stretch their legs.

All these goats in all these pens means that we’re carrying buckets of water back and forth every day. It may feel like spring, but the overnight temperatures are still cold enough to freeze the water in most of the buckets, so we’ve been busy hammering out the ice and then refilling and restocking all the pens with water—every day! We’re also hauling hay from the stockyard into the barnyard so everyone gets fed. Boy will we be glad when they’re all strong enough to go back out onto the field! All the while we’re keeping a sharp eye on the expecting moms that haven’t yet birthed. Fortunately, we’re getting close—only five mamas left.

This is a special time, though, as we watch the young families bond with one another and see the little kids springing up from the ground like Pop Tarts. There’s nothing that can leap straight up in the air quite as well as a baby goat! Pop, pop, pop, they’re much more exciting to watch than any bowl of Rice Krispies. Some prefer snuggling in our laps to the rambunctious play, and for these we hold a special place in our hearts. No surprise that Tweedle’s babies are some of our favorite lap goats. (Gerald is holding Gwen and Grace in this picture.)

So while the storms continue to blow over our nation and the frost to gather on our windows, we know that it’s not long now before the flowers will be blooming and the birds chirping. Our little weather forecasters tell us everyday that the time for holing up in our caves is over—spring is here.

Let’s go play!

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Meditation Via Goat Crunch

Posted on January 31, 2011 by Mary

This weekend, the temperature was up in the 50s. Very warm for January, but we’re not complaining. In fact, we’ve taken advantage of the sunshine to spend a little more time up at the barn. At first we tended to the few things that needed to be done. Hay piled up. Pens secured. Grain bins filled. But then, as the list of chores dwindled, we just sat down for a minute to rest.

That minute turned into an hour.

The next day we did it again.

And the next.

There’s something special about taking the time to just be around a bunch of animals. For us, it’s the herd of goats and the queen of the barnyard, Miss Fluff Puff, our long-haired cat. (Check out the post before this one to learn more about her.) She takes full advantage of our presence by sitting on my lap the whole time. She’s never been much of a lap cat, but I guess her old age is mellowing her out. Now she purrs like an old 380 engine and is content to remain with us as long as we’re content to provide her a warm pillow to sit on.

The goats spend the time munching on hay. Their little teeth crunch crunch crunch on the dried strands and it sounds like a million tiny footsteps on miniature gravel stones until they snort. For some reason goats have to snort while they eat. It’s a quick exhale out the nose that sounds like an old man honking into a hanky. Crunch crunch crunch…snort!…crunch crunch…snort! Snort!

It may sound a bit strange, but this sound is peaceful to us. After a few minutes of just sitting quietly by, listening and watching them eat, we fall into a sort of relaxed meditative state, and all seems right with the world.

Some people have to cross their legs and hum a mantra to feel that sense of peace. Others light a candle and close their eyes. Still others go for a walk in the forest, or attend a special meditation class. We sit up at the barn, and listen to the goats crunch their food.

And snort.

Perhaps it has something to do with how animals can just live in the moment without having to think about it. Diving their noses into the hay, they crunch and snort and swallow to their heart’s content. They don’t care if they gain a few pounds. They’re not counting calories. They don’t care what the other goats think of their figures. They’re just fully enjoying the pleasure of eating a meal.

Or perhaps it’s the fact that animals have no fear, and no tension, unless there’s a real reason for it. We’re surrounded by calm heartbeats the entire time. If a truck or motorcycle comes driving down the ditchbank, the herd will head up and come to attention, but otherwise theirs is a carefree existence. No bills to pay. No cholesterol levels to worry about. No deadlines coming up.

They don’t even have digestive problems. Most of the time. Can you imagine?

Ah, life is good.

So we sit. And we watch. And we relax. And we learn.

It’s a joy just to eat. It’s a blessing just to be here.

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And the CAT Shall Lead Them?

Posted on January 20, 2011 by Mary

Living on a ranch, there are certain things one gets to enjoy that just don’t happen anywhere else. Watching the birth of a baby goat, horse, or cow is one of them. Observing the different personalities of chickens is another. (It’s true—they’re all very unique!)

A third is listening and watching our herd of goats come home to the barn. I’ve attached bells to the leaders, so the experience is both a visual and an auditory one. First you hear the bells ringing, distant little ding-a-dings that signal the beginning of the ritual. The bleats follow, varied in pitch and volume depending on the goat uttering them, until the land is alive with the chorus of “Here We Come, Do You Have Food?” sung by Kids to Nannys, a music group that’s all the rage here on the hill.

Then come the hoof beats, choppy rumblings over the ground that resemble the sound of an oncoming steady—but friendly—stampede. After that, it’s all visual as the wagging white tails and flopping red ears come into view around the corner. I peer over the fence and wonder—who’s leading them today? Is it Maria, my strong and sensible doe, or Christina, the young lady who knows she can get treats from Gerald if she looks at him just right? I know it’s not my top mama Tweedles, as she’s just getting too old to make hurrying a priority, so I’m guessing one of the younger ones, maybe Alice, who always loves to get a little extra attention before the others arrive.

But as they come into view I find myself squinting a little and moving my head back and forth. Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing? Are all my strong, healthy, boisterous goats being led by…a cat?

Her name is Miss Fluff Puff, and as she trots proudly into the barn ahead of all the goats, she lifts high her little cotton feet to avoid any stains on her pristine silver and snow-white coat, strutting like a Lipizzaner on her way to the arena. In she comes, leading them all, until she gets to the barn door, then she steps aside, taking her seat as prettily as she pleases to watch her fine followers take a drink from the water tank and go about begging us for treats.

“I’ve brought them safely home again,” she seems to say as she gazes at me. “All is well.”

I’ve spent my entire life around animals and never have I seen a cat like this. Not only does she lead the goats in from the field, she feels it’s her job to watch over them always. I’ve learned to refer to her for clues as to which doe is about to give birth, for she will tend to hang more closely with the mother just before it’s time, as if handing out encouragement. When the babies hit the ground, she spends the evenings with them, often curled up amidst triplets under the heat lamp like an attentive nanny. If one of the babies happens to paw at her or nibble on her fur, she corrects him with a quick slap on the face.

These goats are trained from a young age to respect Miss Fluff Puff.

She’s fourteen years old now, but so far we don’t see any signs of aging, and we’re glad. Sometimes when the babies pile up and the chores get long, we wish we had a little more help around the ranch. It can be tough to handle it all, just the two of us. But when I go to the barn I’m reminded—I’ve got the most loyal, fierce, and conscientious sentinel I could ask for. It’s just that she’s got four feet instead of two.

And a really snazzy fur coat.

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