Gandalf the White, The Village Thief

    

       It is the job and purpose of a livestock dog, to guard the herd. My Great Pyrenees, Gandalf..well, he's a different story. He arrived at my farm around the same time as the Holstein cow MerryBelle. She was a newborn calf, and he hadn't been accustomed to patrol duties when he came to me. So they were stall mates in the horse stable for a few months during his training and her bottle feeding. In a regular setting, a livestock guardian will acquaint themselves with an entire herd of stock..and instinctively make it their duty to protect that herd, no matter the size or species of it. Gandalf however, imprinted himself to this calf, and her alone..although there are horses, goats, chickens, more cattle, and at one time a shit-ton of swine roaming this place. He has made it his sole obligation to guard and protect this one cow. His cow. 
     MerryBelle is kept in a pasture at the main house of the farm. So Gandalf patrols the outside of that particular fence line, 24 hours a day..on the lookout for anything he considers as a threat to his cow. Most Pyrenees cover a vast amount of ground in a day. For instance, if one is guarding a 1,000 acre farm/ranch..they will be all over that land doing their rounds. My farm is contained to 112 acres, so under normal stock dog circumstances..I would expect him to work that entire area. But like I said, this one is a different story. Wild horses couldn't drag him away from his self-assigned duty station of this one small pasture. He circles it day and night. When he wants to rest, he will lay on the side of the fence closest to wherever MerryBelle is grazing. He comes to the front porch to fill up on dog food only when she is sleeping at night. And if anyone that doesn't belong on the farm (in his opinion), shows up...he goes into full attack mode, sending out warning signals with his baritone voice. Or at least he puts on a good show to try and convince the trespasser of his property that they should flee immediately . He would never harm anyone, being the gentle giant that he is. I am the only human he will come into contact with. Not even my children can get within a hundred yards of Gandalf unless I am with him. But he does mean serious business when it comes to his work. And once got tangled up with a bear and damn near lost his tail to prove his loyalty.
     Most farms, no matter the size..are somewhat set up like a village. There are different areas organized for different purposes. And those areas are occupied by residents best suited to live there according to the layout of the land..with their own set of buildings, water sources, supplies, etc. When it comes to an animal village, the occupants are sometimes designated a title. There is usually an obvious trouble maker, an amusing character, a repeat escapee..the list could go on. When you spend a substantial amount of time with the animals, as I do..you get to know their individual personalities. Gandalf has become infamously known as the village "Thief".
     He was deemed this title early on. Shortly after his arrival to the farm, I began to observe the fact that every time I would see Gandalf, he would be packing something in his mouth. In the beginning of his collecting hobby..I would only see him toting off trash. Amused by his behavior, I began to pay attention to where he was going with it. So one day I followed him. I came upon piles..sorted by material. He had a stash of aluminum cans in one place, glass bottles in another, and plastic containers somewhere else. It looked as though he was running a full-on recycling center in the pine thicket by the fence line. After his garbage collection became well established, despite my attempt to clean it up several times..I started to notice that I was losing important stuff, constantly. Tools, supplies, you name it..shit was just disappearing left and right! It didn't take me long to realize what was happening. And I would occasionally catch him with these various objects in his mouth, headed to his secret lair. So, if something would come up missing..I would just make my way along the fence line till I came to the place he was storing up his treasure. Sure enough, I would find whatever I was looking for right there. On one occassion, I misplaced my phone outside. Oh, but I knew exactly where to locate it. The thief!
     This past week..my water hose sprayer went m.i.a.. And since my porch needs to be sprayed off, I decided to go directly to Gandalf's nest in search of it this morning. It had been awhile since I had gone to his hiding place of miscellaneous items..so I knew I'd likely hit a jackpot of things I had been looking for, and most likely things I didn't even know were missing. I set off in my pajamas, boots, and eyeglasses..looking like a woman on a serious mission. I took Goat with me, just to have some company on my venture. In order to get to the pine grove, it is easiest to go the long way around the fence due to the topography of the land surrounding the perimeter. So we started on the path worn by Gandalf's constant patrolling. 
     Well, apparently..Gandalf has devised a new system for his personal collection of assorted shit. As soon as I started walking the fence, I was finding stuff all along the trail. I mean every where I looked there was something or other. Not sorted into piles like he had done before. No particular order. All along the path. I came across Mason jars, hammers, screwdrivers, MoMo's hotdog costume, paint rollers, a softball, a horse ball, and a volleyball..horse grooming supplies, empty feed sacks, a pair of underwear, beer cans, coffee cups, tupperware, cushions from patio furniture, a floor mat from the truck, more Mason jars...and then in a measured distance, every 50 feet or so, I would find a potato from my garden. Oh, and a "Mary Kate & Ashley" perfume set still in the box. What the hell?! When I would come across something extra random, I would announce the item out loud, as if Goat (following right behind me) gave a damn, or somehow thought it was interesting that I had found the so called object. Literally, the entire two-acre pasture was lined with his collection, every square foot of it. I was so distracted by my findings that I forgot to search for my water hose sprayer..so my mission of the day, not accomplished.  
       I can't help but wonder..what is the method to his madness? What is the purpose of this ring of objects around his cow field? It almost appears as if he is attempting to ward off evil spirits, or perhaps black bears, by surrounding MerryBelle with his stolen treasure. I half wonder if I should take a wheelbarrow and pick up his grand collection to return it all to it's proper place, or leave it there and perform a sage burning ceremony to assist his valiant efforts. Either way, Gandalf the White is a guard dog on a mission.. with a heart of gold.

The Farm House Versus The Farm

           The biggest ongoing battle that I fight on a daily basis, is the tug of war between THE HOUSE and THE FARM. This is one of the most brilliant perks of being a female farmer, said no one ever. Some days the house wins, some days the farm wins. Oh, but then there are the days it seems like they've both been through a tornado, followed by a hurricane, then shaken up by an earthquake. That's when I conclude that the shit has officially hit the fan and landed, in slooow motion. And I'm the one in charge of cleaning it all up. However, on the most rare and special of occasions, they both look pretty damn good! You know the surreal moments in life when you swear there is a grand musical score playing along to that particular scene..it's like that. Those are the times you can find me sitting on my front porch swing with a mason jar of sweet tea, taking it all in because I know what a fleeting moment it is..all is right with my corner of the world, la la la. Ah, but I'll be back to pulling my hair out and cursing the disasters soon after. The key is balance, as in all things..but it is easier said than done when you're the one doing the balancing act. 
               As a farmer, you always have an eye on the sky. Mother Nature is one of the primary predictors of how my day is bound to go. Although regardless of what she's got on her agenda, certain responsibilities have to go on with or without her blessing. The animals have to be fed every morning and every evening, 365 days a year, all four seasons..no matter what the weather. Oh yes. Throwing hay, hauling water, filling feed troughs. I have done it in 100 degrees, wearing my panties and bra with boots..and I've done it in sub zero temperatures, wearing five layers of clothes and battery powered socks. (Don't know which is more embarrassing to admit..farm chores in my underwear or battery powered socks, haha..maybe I should have kept them both to myself, but there it is...some TMI for ya.) Regardless, the animals don't give a rat's ass what the thermometer says or what I'm wearing or not wearing..all they care about is being served with their food. But if animals could laugh, I bet mine would have a good long laugh at little ole me and the things they see and hear, oh my. Okay, back to the weather: So on the days that the sky is pouring rain or snow, for the most part I pay more attention to the farm house..dishes, laundry, cooking, cleaning. These days feel like Groundhog Day to me..one big deja vu of the same random assortment of routine B.S. that I've dealt with at least a million times before. But on the fair weather days, my focus is on the farm and all things outdoors. If it's really pretty outside, you almost couldn't drag me inside. I'll just keep on finding work to do and completely dismiss whatever mess the house is in. The best are those long summer days where the sun comes up early and goes down late..plenty of hours for work and play. The short days of winter and it's grey skies force me to be indoors way more than I prefer, but the alternative is bundling up, freezing my butt off, and fighting the elements. So I just put another log on the fire and daydream about someplace tropical. In the fall I tend to be in my kitchen a lot, because I get in the mood to be in my kitchen that time of year..canning and baking, cooking up a storm. And I also do a lot of walking around the farm with my camera, to capture the colors before they disappear. Spring is my favorite of all the seasons..time to dust off the long winter and watch everything come back to life. 
                    One would think that a 2,000 square foot house would be a lot less of an undertaking than 112 acres..making The Farm the automatic winning opponent over the Farm House in this battle. Not to mention the farm has, let me see, eight standing structures on it aside from the house itself..all of which are occupied and/or used for some purpose. And let's not forget that the farm has sixty-some residents roaming around. Miles of fences, tools and equipment, gardens and trees, ponds and creeks, fields and forests, and manure..a SHIT TON of manure to be exact. Seems like the prospect of keeping up with all of that would far outweigh any task to be done within the farm house. Four people, a few cats and dogs..couldn't be that hard, right. Wrong. When you have everyone constantly coming in and out...it can get turned upside down and inside out real quick. Stuff from the house ends up outside..dishes, clothes, shoes. Stuff from the farm ends up inside..hay ties, horse whips, buckets. So I do a lot, and I mean A LOT of sorting and packing of things that are out of place. I always have my arms full of such items every single time I come in and the same with going out. And do I dare mention the instances when something is really drastically out of place. Talkin' bout the things that make you go hmmm. Here's a prime example: I walk into the house, which was spotless at the time. Oh, but I notice something out of the ordinary. A trail going down the hallway. A trail of chicken feathers, poop, chicken feathers, poop...leading to my bedroom. So I follow this trail, so afraid of what I might find at the end of it. If a musical score had been playing during this scene, it would have been the same song from the shower scene in Hitchcock's Psycho. And about the time when the shower curtain opens, is the time when I see IT. The chicken. On. My. Bed. And I probably screamed just like Janet Leigh..can't be sure because it was all a blur. Next thing I knew I was on my bed wrangling the chicken..and immediately after, with chicken in hand, chasing some mischievous kids out of the house while trying to dodge the chicken shit on the floor in the hallway. You wanna talk about "madder than an old wet hen"...that was me in that moment. My head most likely spun around like the Excorcism. I told the kids they better run and hide where I won't find them for a week, cussed that chicken like a sailor...then cleaned up the mess, and had a good hard laugh about the whole damn thing. Shoot, what else can you do when these WTF moments happen, but laugh. 
                  To wrap this one up: The battle between the Farm House and The Farm will never cease to exist as long as I'm here. But I welcome the challenge and the chaos, because it's all part of what makes life interesting to me. I might not put on make up and go to work a 9-5 job like most women. And I'm also far from your typical housewife. I wear jeans and boots some days, aprons and high heels on others. My office is a barn, a hay field, a tractor..depending on the day. My hours are flexible, but full time. And I divide my attention among many different people and things. Just trying to balance it all like every other woman. As Confusius said: "Choose a job you love, and you will never have to work a day in your life." That's what it comes down to at the end of the day. 

Till Next Time,
Happy Balancing :)
Farmer Tiff

A Milk Cow, A Polar Bear, & An Ugly Baby

         Yeah, so I've been called an Animal Hoarder..but I'd rather like to think of myself as an Animal Collector. Not sure there's much difference, but collecting sounds more endearing and official than hoarding.
     And after all, what's a farm without animals..EVERYWHERE? But more importantly, what's a Funny Farm without some randomness added to the mix?! I should mention that I have many accomplices in my endeavors, who should like to remain anonymous. But I'm here today to blow their anonymity, mwahaha!


         Accomplice #1-Farmer Faith: A Milk Cow
          So, let's be honest..you can't call it a farm if it doesn't have something that says MOOO. Well, maybe you can..but singing "E-I-E-I-O" doesn't sound quite right without a cow in the first verse. Old MacDonald knew what he was doing..and all other farmers should follow suite, naturally.
     Well, approximately one year ago, my little girl asked her Daddy for a milk cow. How could he say no to those big blue eyes?? And besides, she does drink half a gallon of milk per day. That organic stuff gets to be expensive when you have a milk hog in the family!
     So we thought on it, and subsequently came to the decision that the kids should first try some raw milk, to see if they even like it, before we go starting up a dairy operation. Jas finds a local Jersey farmer, and brings home a fresh gallon, straight from the udder. And the kids loved it! Also, we find we can get more milk for less mu la like this..so we proceed to purchase a couple of glass gallon moonshine jugs, and down the road our milk man goes to get 'em filled twice a week. I figure you can't get any more organic than that, and I like the green factor of ceasing our share of plastic jugs making way to the landfill.
      Almost a year comes and goes, and we are in the swing of a new routine of getting our milk from a farm instead of a grocery store. We almost forgot why it was that we even began buying fresh milk to begin with. Then Christmas comes around, and Faith has her heart set on asking Santa to bring her a milk cow..a baby milk cow to be precise..a black and white baby milk cow to be even more precise. Figuring that Santa couldn't possibly fit a calf on his sleigh and down the chimney, we persuaded Faith to take the cow off her Christmas list, and perhaps she could get one for her birthday.
     So between December and March, we scurry to find the perfect calf. Let me tell you that shopping for livestock is not an easy task. Luckily I have a few connections within the agricultural circle, and I was able to enlist the help of my horse farrier..who happens to also be a distant relative of mine. Faith's birthday was drawing near, and timing was everything. So the farrier's parents, who are full time dairy farmers, were headed to the cattle market in the Amish country of Ohio.
     They offered to pick up a Holstein baby for us the first week of March. Since Faith's birthday wasn't till the 26th, I sent her off to school that day knowing she was completely unaware of the HUGE (literally) surprise in store for her when she got home.
      I led Faith to the stall where her new friend awaited, opened the door, and the calf greeted her with a great big "Moooo"!! The look on her little face was priceless as she said, "This is the best day of my life"!! And so "MerryBelle" became an instant member of our ever-expanding farm family.
     Faith is responsible for giving Merry her bottle everyday, and is more than happy to rush to the barn and spend time with her black and white baby milk cow. Now, she has some serious competition when it comes to the milk rations, since the calf drinks a gallon a day. But I have a feeling that when MerryBelle becomes the dispenser of seven gallons a day, there will be plenty of milk to go around!

         Accomplice #2-Aunt Susie: A Polar Bear
        
          Every girl dreams of having a Fairy Godmother, right? Well I just so happen to have one! "Aunt Susie" is undeniably one of the most colorful characters in my life, and such a blessing. She has been responsible for making not just one, but several of my dreams come true. But I've learned that I have to be careful what I wish for though, cause I just might get it! And she reads into everything..if she even thinks I might like, need, or want something..she'll make sure that I get it. I swear it's like magic! So because I would never want to take advantage of her kindness and generosity, I have become extra cautious with trying to hide even the slightest hint of anything that might interest me, cause she'll pick up on it and run with it.
     Once I mentioned how I'd love to have a little monkey, (not even half serious)..and that one almost got me into a heap of trouble with the Mister. Next thing I knew, she was scouring the internet trying to find an Organ Grinder...for me! I began envisioning this monkey swinging from the ceiling fan, pulling my hair, biting the inlaws, and worst of all...FLINGING POOP! And these things live for like thirty years..so I then pictured my kids grown and gone, my hair gray, and I still have this damn monkey. Now I had to do some arm wrestling to talk her out of that one, but I just couldn't let those visions come to pass. And divorce would certainly have been among that sequence of events. So alas, no monkey for me.
     What does this have anything to do with a Polar Bear, you ask? Well, when it comes to my dear Aunt Susie, it's all relative. At this junction in the story, I have a slight confession to make: Last Christmas, I got the kids a movie on dvd.."Santa Buddies, The Legend of Santa Paws". Well, I fell IN LOVE with the character of Santa Paws. This was my first introduction to the big, white, beautiful beast known as the Great Pyrenees. So I made up my mind, when I'm an old lady, I'm going to have me a dog like that! 
     Now back to the story:  Just over a month ago, Susie and I had a brief conversation about what kind of dog she would want if she was to get one. And I very casually say, since I already have three dogs, "well when I'm an old lady, I want a Great Pyrenees".  A few weeks later, Sue calls and says she wants to take me out that next day to have lunch and shop for my birthday. That was March 11th, and my birthday was a month away, so I thought it a bit odd. But I agreed to it without giving it a second thought.
     So we head off that day, down to the Tamarack for lunch and shopping. We dined on native rainbow trout, fried green tomatoes, red velvet cake, and peach iced tea..then proceeded to walk circles around the Tamarack. And although a few things caught my eye, I let on like I didn't like anything, because it was all way too expensive. We exited the building, and made way to the parking lot. I took no notice to the fact that Susie made a call on her cell phone. Little did I know she had something up her sleeve.
     As we get to the truck, a van pulls up beside us. And out of the van comes....A GREAT PYRENEES, Holy Cow!!!! "Happy Birthday" says Aunt Susie. Now omg, how did she even recall that fleeting conversation we had, remember the dog breed, and actually find one within a week or two in order to shake this surprise from her magic wand?? I may never know. Although she did seem to omit the "old lady" part of my sentence...unless 32 is considered old in her book. After my initial reaction of dream-come-true-excitement, my next response was "Oh Shit, my husband's gonna kill me"!! Now I've said this a time or two before, but I was really worried I might actually end up on the evening news this time around.
     So, we loaded the big boy up in the truck, and started the long haul home. My mind was swarming with excuses, reasoning, a hundred different ways to ask for forgiveness. Maybe I could hide my giant puppy and the Big Chief wouldn't notice for awhile. Not likely since he resembled a baby Polar Bear more so than a giant puppy. Uh-Oh, I'm in trouble. We pull in the driveway, where my dear sweet husband greets us. The first thing out of his mouth was, "so what did ya get for your birthday?". Then, as if prompted, Susie opens the door to the truck. The man and the Polar Bear regarded each other. Silence for a moment. Then a big "What the hell is this?!"  A dirty look flashed my way, and if looks could kill I woulda been a goner right then. But then the big majestic beast stepped out of the truck, sat before the man, and looked up with those big brown eyes...making that one singular comment and that one dirty look the extent of my scolding. Shew. Tiff lives another day!!
     After brief deliberation, I decided give my Great Pyrenees the name of "Gandalf the White". He has taken up residence at the barnyard to fulfill his purpose as Livestock Guardian. I've had him for one month now, and I write this on my birthday..reflecting on the gift that keeps on giving. Gandalf the Polar Bear has quickly found his way into my heart as well as the hearts of all family members. Long Live Gandalf!!

      Accomplice #3-King Napoleon: An Ugly Baby


     This co-conspirator is not of the human kind, but he is nonetheless guilty of adding to the animal population on the Funny Farm. As you remember, (if you read my last post), Napoleon the mini-stud strolled onto the place with a complex, thus his name. Well, he's shaken my herd all up and out of order, and his complex has only gotten bigger. I'm talkin' to the point that I swear he fancies himself a full fledged Draft horse at this point, (probably an Andalusian).  Ey-yi-yi.
     I aimed to get him cut, or to find him a new home..whichever came first. But for the life of me, I can't catch the blasted thing!! Since he was tied up by his previous owners, he's vowed to never let another human lay a hand on him again. So although we've had him for three months, I've never gotten close enough to him to become attached. He's basically just another mouth to feed. Although I have to admit he can be quite amusing..charging through the fields like a war horse with those little midget legs and crazy hairdo.
     Alas, here's where Napoleon comes into play: I thought him and Ginger would make some cute little mini foals, since they are a perfect pair. I figured if nothing else, that would be a good thing to get out of his time here on the funny farm. But what transpired instead, is NOT-SO-FUNNY!!
     Pocahontas, my most PRIZED POSSESSION...Oh. My. She's had a vendetta against King Napoleon, or so I thought. And I wasn't worried when she came into heat about a month ago. I was 100% convinced that she wouldn't let that thing near her with his ten foot pole, (ewww..the thought makes me cringe). Besides that he's a mini horse, so unless he has a step stool, it ain't happenin'. Welp, either he had a step stool, or he somehow wooed Pocahontas..not sure which is more likely.
       All I know is that all of a sudden they started acting all lovey-dovey, yuck! And then a few weeks later, I took one look at my beautiful mare, and saw that unmistakeably pitiful look that is apparent in a pregnant animals eyes. It's usually the first indicator. Now her belly is rounding out and she's seeking extra attention. Ah Horse Manure!!
      Not that I would mind having a foal out of Pocahontas. But have you seen Napoleon?? He is ugly as sin. Has a face that only a mother could love. Oh, and he happens to be a MINIATURE horse!! Now what kind of ugly baby is that going to make?!? I'll be afraid to look when it goes to hittin' the ground, honestly. On the other hand, maybe it will take after it's pretty momma. It might not be so bad. Perhaps it will turn out to be just the right size for the kids to ride. Or like my Uncle Stanley said, "Maybe it'll be the next Triple Crown Winner". Now that's laughable. Guess I'll know for sure in about 10 more months!!

You Can't Make This Shit Up

      
      There is no such thing as an uneventful day on my farm. Certainly some days are more interesting than others, but I can always count on something "out of the ordinary" taking place on any given day. Usually the chaos seems to surround the goats, (who really deserve a blog all their own), the three criminals are always wrecking my day! They are masters like Houdini when it comes to figuring how to get out of their entrapments. I'm sure even Fort Knox couldn't keep them contained. Most recently they broke out, set up camp on my neighbor (AKA Aunt Susie's) back porch..chillin' on the nice patio furniture, making themselves quite at home. They thought they'd make a jungle gym of the heat pump, and actually tore up the duct work, much to my embarrasment...which landed them in the solitary confinement of a horse stall. Honestly, they are way more trouble than they're worth. I suggested we sell the things, to which Farmer J. instantly replies "well, let's just eat 'em instead". And although I don't admit to claiming them, at the end of the day they claim me. After all, I am mother to all things four-legged on this place. So how can I eat them? I tried to convince my farrier to make trade with me...three goats for one Belgian gelding that he was trying to find a home for. Which I know without a doubt that a draft horse is going to significantly up the food bill, but at least it won't escape and tear up Aunt Susie's heat pump! Well, that deal didn't work out..so the bandits still remain as part of the family, and live on another day to destroy the universe. What to do with them? *sigh*

     Anyways, this story isn't even about the goats. But I had to make an example of them..to give you an idea of the random craziness I deal with on a daily basis. Despite our newly built fences, nice livestock facilities, etc., there always seems to be something on the loose. Usually the goats, but sometimes the horses, and occasionally a pig or two. I wonder if every farmer chases renegade animals as much as I do. Sometimes I think to myself, why even bother having fences at all. Well, a few weeks ago..I hear someone out in my driveway, just a honkin' their horn like they were in a traffic jam. I storm out to see what on earth they're doing at my house in the first place. And who just honks their horn like that? Don't most people come and knock on your door if they have business with you? You'd think. I approach the vehicle with caution, cause you never know what kind of lunatic your dealing with around these parts. But it turned out to be a couple of good Samaritans, or the bearers of bad news..(depending on how you look at it). They proceed to go on with a sense of urgency, about a horse stuck beside a rock, something or other. So, I'm like great..what now? I throw my boots on, jump in the truck, and head down the hill. I do a quick head-count of the barnyard. Three goats, and one horse. Wait, where's the other two mares? My eyes scanned over the property a few times like "Where's Waldo" before I found them. And there they were, Pocahontas and the mini-horse Ginger, camouflaged and out of place. On the wrong side of the fence, stuck between a rock and a hard place..literally. The sun is quickly sinking behind the mountain, it's freezing-ass cold, and I don't have a flash light. Jason's off in the woods hunting, so I realized I was gonna have to cowboy up on my own, which is typically the case since most of these mishaps occur while he's away at work. My mind's going back and forth between, should I grab the halters or lure them with the apples I stuck in my pocket in the midst of my mad-dash out the door. I went with the apples. While trying to figure out whether to push or pull them, I'm wondering how they got out in the first place. I'm assuming they must've exited out the back gate, then followed the fence line till they wound up in their current predicament. And since I hadn't fed since the last evening, I'm worried they may have been here awhile. So, I abandon my mission, knowing they're not going anywhere anytime soon, and move quick to get the rest of the herd into the barn before I have even more escapees on my hands. Meanwhile, in my moment of desperation, Aunt Susie shows up to lend a hand. Bless her. Long story short..after getting myself all tangled up in a brier patch, I got the pair loose. Pocahontas takes off on a bucking session around Susie's yard. And then we finally get everyone herded into the pasture, put up in the barn and accounted for. Now it's almost totally dark, and getting colder by the second. But I have to walk the fence line to solve the mystery. And just like I thought, the back gate stood there wide open. So now I've got to deal with finding a padlock, and wondering who intruded onto our property and let the livestock out. Whew!

     

       Now onto the actual story, (fast forward a few weeks from the last incident): Me and my Farm Boy went out on Saturday night, and had us a good old time dancing the night away at the Tractor Bar. Took a detour and stopped at the local Walmart on the way home. And let me tell you..after a few cocktails, shopping at 3am (while everyone else is in bed) seems like a most ingenious idea! So brilliant, in fact, that I'm thinking I should always do my grocery shopping at this indecent hour. We get back home close to 4am and crash. The next morning we awaken to yet more horn honking in the driveway, (this time a different good Samaritan with the same strange honking-instead-of-knocking manners). Seriously? Jason goes out to see what's up, and comes back frantically switching from p.j.'s to farm clothes, meanwhile relaying to me that our miniature horse has escaped, and has been found up the road. Come on, here we go again! So now I'm shedding my pajamas, and throwing on anything I can find along with my glasses..still googly-eyed from pulling an all-nighter, looking as disheveled as I felt, and no time for a caffeine buzz. We set off in the truck, I'm driving like I stole it down our bumpy gravel road, fishtailing in the snow that fell a few days prior. And as I'm imagining all the horses roaming the neighborhood, we come to a screeching halt across from the paddock and look on...puzzled. Well, there stood all six head of livestock, happily grazing away. Huh? Were these early morning whistle-blowers pulling a prank or what? I was relieved to see the animals safe and sound, and to know we weren't about to set off on a wild goose chase. But at the same time, I wasn't exactly thrilled that I got out of bed in such a disarrayed state of panic for no good reason. Oh well. We decided to go down the road anyway, to see where the adventure that already had us bright-eyed and bushy-tailed would lead. Maybe we could help someone else catch their runaway horse. So we pull up to the place we were told we would find Ginger...and I kid you not, there stands the spitting image of her! No wonder they thought it belonged to us. If I hadn't just seen Ginger standing in the barnyard with my own eyes, I would have taken this thing home just assuming it was her. We learn that it had been found in the woods, with a 15 foot long chain attached to it's halter. Apparently wherever it came from, it had been chained up like a dog, with a halter that was two times too small, poor thing. The man who caught it didn't have any hay or fence to corral it in..so we decide to take it to our pasture for safe keeping until the rightful owners came to claim it. I drive the truck back to the barn, and Jason proceeds to lead the mini up the road about a half-mile. 

     The sun was shining down on a peaceful Sunday morning. I could hear Johnny Cash singing in my head "Sunday Morning Coming Down". And if you didn't know otherwise, you'd think this man was just taking his little pony for a Sunday stroll..him and his buddy, so happy. Haha, that's exactly what it looked like as the two made way towards me, so I fancied that delusion for a brief moment. But I snapped out of it as soon as they get to the gate, and I realize uh-oh..it's a mini..STUD!! He took one look at Ginger and it was love at first sight! We turned him loose, and waited to see what would transpire. Now normally equine, big or small, know to use caution upon entering a new herd..for they know by instinct that a pecking order has already been established by the alpha horse. Well this guy obviously didn't get the memo on the subject of hierarchy, or maybe he had the preconceived notion that he was automatically deemed the alpha. He rips up through the fields, chasing the three goats and the three mares, putting them all on the go. He's rearing up, stomping, kicking, bucking, biting..basically making a damn fool of himself amongst horses four times his size. So right then and there, I named him Napoleon..cause he's got the complex for sure! Now it's been two days since we introduced him to the herd. The others are slowly accepting him, and no one's come to lay claim to him yet. Hard to say for sure, but it's looking like he may end up becoming a permanent fixture on the farm. He's far from the draft horse I was hoping for, but he's the perfect match for Ginger. And if I was a betting gal, I'd bet that we'll end up with some baby mini's, sooner or later.

To be continued...