Our humble bonfire

Let’s just start here, shall we?

The Alpacalypse is coming
The Alpacalypse is coming

The above might just be the greatest picture ever taken…In the history of all of ever.

The 25th marked our first (hopefully annual) bonfire party at the ranch.  The week leading up to it marked 7 days of complete insanity trying to prepare for our first (hopefully annual) bonfire party at the ranch.

I will admit that I sort of scheduled the party as a shove; I knew that we would work harder to finish things if we had some sort of deadline.  And we did.  I was under the (incorrect) impression that we would work harder over the course of 6 weeks or so.  No.  That is not how we roll around here.  Mostly, we let things roll into major crunch time.

Guys, four hours before the party starting, I was painting baseboards.  The morning of the party, I was still hanging and glazing cabinet doors. The night before all of this went down?  This is what my kitchen  looked like.

2014-10-24 19.35.37 2014-10-24 19.35.42 (And then Jeremiah photo-bombed things.) 2014-10-24 19.35.45 (I would like to point out that we don’t live like this; we still don’t live here at all, and about every corner of the house is undergoing renovations.)

Miscellaneous boxes were still piled high in the living room.  Any and all dusting that I had done days before had been rendered pointless as Jeremiah had drilled through drywall and installed new light fixtures since then.  (Drywall dust…everywhere…)

I spent Saturday morning working on the house.  When I left at 2:00pm (to go back to the other house, fix food, and shower), the house was still a mess.  However, as I was the one in charge of feeding all the people, I couldn’t stick around.  So, I took a deep breath in, explained to Jeremiah what was still left to be done, and prayed for a miracle as I walked out the door.

When I got back, carrying large quantities of food and fearing that I would be met with chaos, I found my miracle wiping down the counters of a mostly spotless kitchen.  Jeremiah’s mama to the rescue!

There is no way to tell this story without mentioning that my mother-in-law completely, totally saved my butt.  Seriously.  Unequivocally.  She showed up early and finished all the cleaning…without even being asked, by the way.  (I think I hugged her about ten times over the course of a half an hour…I honestly could have cried.)

Anyhow, thanks to her (and a lot of help the day before from siblings, cousins, parents, etc), we had a very presentable home when most of our guests began showing up.

Our tiniest guest showed up with his mama and dad early in the evening.  He and his parents were treated to a private tour, complete with pony introductions! 2014-10-25 18.08.49 2014-10-25 18.08.58 2014-10-25 18.09.06

Isn’t this the cutest! Violet and Slash love ALL tiny humans, but they seemed to take an extra liking to this little guy.  He loved them right back with grins and pats and giggles.  It was adorable.  Jeremiah and I gave a lot of farm tours over the course of the evening, but this one was probably my favorite.  It was definitely my bitty babies’ favorite.

Of course, farm tours notwithstanding, the main event of the day was the bonfire itself…and holy cow was it a fire.

Have I ever mentioned that Jeremiah used to be a professional fire officer?

Did you know that basically all firefighters are pyromaniacs who have managed to productively channel their “interest”?

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That tiny looking person standing in the lower left is my husband. He stands just a little bit under 6 feet tall.

Well, now you do. There were no fewer than five firefighters present at the bonfire.  I was briefly afraid that we would need all of them involved in some sort of professional capacity. still fire still aflame Goodness, gracious, great balls of fire fire 2 everything burns aflame The guy walking around in bunker gear is my dear, sweet husband/personal pyromaniac.

My hero...
My hero…

At one point, he brought out the big guns to push the fire around.

This should probably be on an advertisement for Caterpillar.
This should probably be on an advertisement for Caterpillar.

(We actually had to build a secondary, smaller fire to roast marshmallows and hotdogs.  The actual bonfire was way too big and way too hot.)

Around 30 people came by over the course of the evening.  Friends from college came down and stayed the weekend.  My grandparents even took the time to travel down several hours to check things out.  (Grandma, I know you read this, so I thought I’d let you know that your pumpkin bars were a major hit!)

Good food.  Great company.  A fire that will probably live in infamy.   For a bonfire, that equals success.

I am so glad we had this party.  (I am also so glad that it’s over and the pressure is officially off.)

(By the way, the watermarked photos of the fire were taken by an incredibly talented friend of mine, Bob, who actually takes photos semi-professionally.  Big shout out to Bob for letting me use these photos on my humble little blog!  Also, if any of you are into web design and would like to trade for pictures, he’s your guy!)

(Second by the way, all of the animals were way out of the way of the fire.  Even though it looks from the photos that the flames were rolling towards the pastures, I assure you that everyone was perfectly safe.  The llamas weren’t even that interested.)

Letting your inner 8 year old give you a pep talk

Sometimes, barn chores suck.

There is nothing fun about hauling individual water buckets down a frozen lane to fill a 100 gallon water trough because your water spigot froze (like it did last winter).  There is nothing fun about going out to the barn with a headache, or head cold, or stomach flu.  (I’ve done all three.)  And there is nothing fun about forgoing potential plans with friends, or trips, or vacations, because you have to take care of the ranch.

Occasionally, taking care of the critters is the last thing I want to do.

Here’s the trick though: sometimes, when hauling my butt to the barn to do what needs to be done, and I’m grumpy and irritated, I let my inner 8-year-old give me a pep talk.

Everyone has that kid who they used to be buried inside somewhere.  Mine just happens to be a horse obsessed little girl in pigtails.

From whatever age I was first self-aware, I was obsessed with horses and ponies, but when I was 8, I started actually riding horses.  I wore pale pink cowboy boots with fringe and glitter; I’m pretty sure they were never intended to see the inside of a barn.    My pint-sized helmet made my head look huge, and my parents had to buy me a ring to wear on one of my fingers because I was still really bad at telling my left from my right.

I still have memories of that first ride, the first time I ever settled into a saddle…and walked around in a circle.  I mean, if we’re being honest, there was nothing at all exciting about those first few rides.  The horses played follow the leader, and I sat there, thinking I was riding but in reality I was only sitting.  Still, I was thrilled!

As a kid, riding lessons were absolutely the highlight of my week.  I adored all of the horses I rode, even the more difficult ones, and I wanted a horse of my own more than anything else on the planet.

So, on the days when barn chores suck and my head hurts and I want to scream for things not going well, I try to channel that eight-year-old who would have given up every last material possession she had to have her own horse.

A few weeks ago, when one of my horses had an absolute hissy fit during our lesson and I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to scream or maybe cry (it hadn’t been a great week before the lesson either):

Me: “I hate this.  I hate this.  I hate this.  One easy horse.  I just want one easy horse.”

8 year old self: “You have a horse!”

Me: “Yup.  I have a horse…one who is acting like a complete turd.”

8 year old self: “But you have a horse.”

Me: (With a notable sigh and shrug…) “Actually, I have five…”

8 year old self: *Jaw drops to floor.*

Me:  “…and llamas.”

8 year old self: “You should never, ever be sad.”  (Life is simpler when you’re eight.)

Nothing is ever all good or all bad.  Most of the time, by a landslide, the farm and my critters are good.  Sometimes, they aren’t, but when they’re not, it helps to remember that they are literally my childhood dream come true.

And that I, and my inner eight year old, love them to absolute pieces.

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And of course, my wonderful llamas!

 

 

 

The one where we moved in and then moved back out again…in less than a week.

I spent the morning riding a 17.3hh Friesian Sport horse.  It was a nice change of pace to do something purely for the enjoyment of it, not because it had to be done.  My lesson went exceedingly well, and I left feeling positively gleeful.  That was also a nice change.

The past few days have involved a lot of…erm…poo…hitting a really big fan…metaphorically speaking.  (Probably literally as well, but that’s just life in a barn that runs fans.  We don’t like to think about it too much.)

August 22nd marked the first night actually sleeping at the ranch.  (If you’ve been wondering why I haven’t been posting so much, that’s why.)  Over the past week, we have been nearly frantic with packing, then unpacking, painting and cleaning, and, of course, all of the things that we have to do every day to keep the animals happy and the farm running.  Our moving day began with a massive thunderstorm, then progressed into one of the hottest, most humid days of the summer.

And that was the good part.

After moving to the ranch, Jeremiah and I started to get ill.  First, I blamed my allergies.   My eyes were itchy.  I was sneezy.  (Incidentally, “Sneezy” is one of Jeremiah’s nicknames for me; I call him Grumpy in return.)  I had a vaguely sore throat.  Jeremiah had a headache.

Allergies, right?

But then it got worse.  I was fatigued.  I had stabbing pains in my abdomen.  My eyes went from itchy to burning (as in, I couldn’t even wear my contacts).  My sore throat became almost unbearable.  Jeremiah’s headache progressed from mild to near-migraine.  We both started having respiratory problems.

Turns out, the house has some issues.  We discovered the first issue when Jeremiah went downstairs to light a pilot light in the water heater.  To get to it, he had to make his way through one of the rooms with the previous owners’ belongings.  When he did, he discovered that the downstairs bedrooms have some serious mold going on.  That would explain my increased allergies.

The next day, when his mother came over and commented on the moth ball smell in the house, Jeremiah explained that moth balls are all over the place in the house, and that we had been removing them as we cleaned upstairs.  However, there are tons of them in the basement as well; we can’t remove them until the previous owners’ belongings move out.

She started thinking.

About an hour later she sent the two of us a text explaining the effects of moth ball poisoning.  Actually, it’s naphthalene poisoning, but you get naphthalene poisoning from moth balls, so moth ball poisoning.  Turns out, our symptoms read like a checklist of the early effects of exposure to naphthalene.

Did you know that moth balls are incredibly toxic?  Yeah…me either.

They can make you very sick if you breathe the vapor they produce as they break down.  They are also highly carcinogenic.  They can burn your retinas.  They can cause cataracts.  Turns out, they can even put you in a coma (but I’m pretty sure you would have to stir them up in your tea for that to happen).  Either way, nasty stuff.  If you have kids or pets, you probably shouldn’t have moth balls, and if you choose to use them, make sure that they are in a sealed container, like a garment or blanket bag.

But I digress…

Once my mama-in-law sent over that information, we started packing up (again).  Let me tell you, repacking household items only days after you had unpacked them is depressing.  I have no words really.  The first thing we did was load our pups into the car and take them to my mom’s place.  Tomorrow, I will bring them back to the Heights house, as we are temporarily set up again over there, but for the last day and a half they have been having a sleep over.  After that, we packed up the necessities and high tailed it back to the other house.

There is a plan in action to clean up the mold and the moth balls, so this is far from permanent, but for the time being, we’re back to managing the ranch from across the river.

This sort of thing is often referred to as a bump in the road.  Over the past few days, our road has gotten pretty darn bumpy.

The good news?  (And there is A LOT of good here.)

First, we figured this out RIGHT AWAY.  Long term exposure to either the mold or the moth balls can cause pretty nasty damage, so it is a huge blessing that we figured those things out when we did.  Props to Jeremiah’s mama for putting two and two together.  (Also, in case you were wondering, we’re both way better now; it took about 12 hours of being moved out of the house for pretty much all of our symptoms to go away.)

Second, we weren’t fully packed up, and a lot of what we unpacked can stay until this is remedied.

Third, we hadn’t moved any of the small critters.  The cats and hedgehogs were still in the Heights.  The moth balls could have caused serious problems for our hedgies delicate respiratory systems, so it’s fantastic that they won’t move in until this is cleared up.

The cats last night.  I think they were pretty happy to have us home.
The cats last night. I think they were pretty happy to have us home.

Fourth, even though it made us sick, living at the ranch gave us a bunch of time to get stuff done.  Half of the upstairs is newly painted.  The exterior of the house is about a quarter painted.  We got a bunch of cleaning done.

The house before Jeremiah started his work on it.
The house before Jeremiah started his work on it.
Slightly different angle on the same part of the house yesterday.
Slightly different angle on the same part of the house yesterday.

Finally, we both got a good taste of what it is like to wake up and be able to meander up to the barn to take care of the animals.  No drive.   No rush.  Bliss.  Even with all that has happened, I cannot wait for the day we can do that every morning.  I just have to get past a few bumps in the road first.

(SNEAK PEAK: Our fourth wedding anniversary is coming up in a few days.  I cannot wait to introduce you to…ummm…I mean show you…my present.  Stay tuned.)

 

Cats and Dog. Llamas and Alpacas. Horses and Chickens. (…Oh my???)

Over the past week or two, Jeremiah’s little sister has been busy at the ranch with her camera, and she’s gotten some extremely impressive photos.  She gave me permission to share them with you.  Enjoy!

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Piper with her favorite Frisbee.
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Amelia with a bone
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Vin
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Morana

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Having a frolic
Having a frolic

DSC_0576 DSC_0577 Edie

July 4th-July 12th: The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.

Between my husband’s insane shoeing schedule, and a week-long church conference that he attends every year, I’ve been on my own a lot lately.  (I start a lot of posts kind of like this, don’t I?)  This is fairly normal for us.  Summers stay very busy in a farrier’s world, and most of his clientele are between 3 and 7 hours away.  And when Jeremiah is away, I am called up to bat.

The ranch–especially right now, running it from a half an hour away–usually takes up most of both of our time.  Our lives are a juggling act, split between maintenance and renovations…and the other things that make the money to pay for the former.  When it’s only one of us, for more than a day or so, it starts to take up all of your time.   (I am so behind at work…this week, while Jeremiah is home for a few days, I play catch up.)

He was gone for several days last week, back for part of the fourth, gone again, home for half a day on the 6th, left for his conference on the 7th, and just got back into town yesterday.  In that time, I’ve been running ragged.  Bookended by two emergency vet visits, this has been a week (+) that I won’t soon forget, and there are parts of it I kind of wish I could…

July 4th:
This year I celebrated our nation’s independence waiting on the vet.  The littlest alpaca (that should be the name of a children’s book) caught her eyelid on something unsavory…and ripped it.  I’ll be honest, I have a photo of what that looked like, but I’ll spare you.

I call the vet; the vet put us on a list of emergency calls and said he’d text when he got to the farm.  I went to the house to wait.  He came and treated the alpaca by himself, forgetting to text, and left.  I proceed to wait on him for most of the rest of the afternoon, with Jeremiah taking over for me that evening when I head out to get ready for the cookout we were planning with my family.  Jeremiah waits until I text the vet to ask about his progress…and he tells me that he had finished hours earlier.  My busy husband was thrilled to have waited around all evening for nothing.

July 8th:
Day two of my week alone.  I named my favorite chicken.  Sweet and Cute and Beautiful, it took me longer for her than the others.

Salmon Faverolle named Renegade for her tendency to sneak out of the chicken stall.
Salmon Faverolle named Renegade for her tendency to sneak out of the chicken stall.

July 9th:

The day starts with a little headache that slowly progresses into a migraine.   I am completely useless by the end of the day and very thankful that Jeremiah’s little sister is so capable of taking care of things at the ranch.  (I’m not sure how well things would have fared out there without her help this week.)

Migraine selfie...because there isn't much to do when you really can't stand up without feeling like you're going to throw up.
Migraine selfie…because there isn’t much to do when you really can’t stand up without feeling like you’re going to throw up.

July 10th:

Jeremiah’s little sister takes morning chores to help me out (still headachy, but way better than the night before).  I get a phone call that one of my chickens is missing.  Little miss Renegade got out the night before.  Coon.  Dead.

I never in a million years thought I would get teary-eyed over the death of a chicken, but, when I found her feathers (etc) in the woods, I had to work very hard to not cry.  I spent the rest of the afternoon securing the chicken stall more thoroughly, all the while kicking myself for not being more careful earlier.

Came home to these:

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Because I’m married to a guy who understands that his wife WILL cry over a dead chicken.

The evening was salvaged.  Gabby and Katie did chores for me.  I had dinner with colleagues from the University.  (And discovered that I really like croquet.)  After dinner and drinks and good conversation, I was feeling far better.

(Also, I brought them fresh eggs…because apparently I’m that person now.)

July 11th:
Spent 40 minutes chasing this little bugger around when she got out.  (Stall is, in fact, more secure, but she was a tricksy hobbitses.)

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Possibly my least favorite chicken, she is the least friendly and, of course, the most difficult bird to catch that I own.  Gabby and I eventually got her.  She has a very impolite name now…

July 12th:
Morning goes off with out a hitch.  My guy comes home.  We head out for an easy evening of chores before relaxing…

I head off to feed the horses, separating Vin, who gets picked on by the others.

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And he slices himself open on the gate.

One emergency vet visit–different vet this time, who was there right away and very helpful–and twenty stitches later…

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We finally make it off the farm at 8:30.

Last night, I had bad dreams about injured horses and dead chickens.

 

So there’s the latest in the tales of Eagle Ridge Ranch.  (My husband has taken to calling it calamity acres…)  The bad and the ugly are evident…

The good?
1. The injured alpaca is doing very well.  She got her eyelid, but not her eye.  No compromised vision.

2.  I’m married to someone who sends me flowers from several states away because my chicken died.

3.  I found a horse vet yesterday who came right away and was exceedingly helpful.

4.  Despite the injury, Vin, who is an off-the-track rescue, proved to me just how far he’s come since moving in with us last October.  When Jeremiah first went to bring him home, he reared and threw fits just walking down the lane.  He didn’t want to load.  For several months, he ran away every time we walked into the pasture, scared of almost everyone and everything.  Last night, he let me catch him despite the gaping wound in his side.  He stood calmly away from his herd.  He left the pasture without a second thought.  I was nearly in tears (happy ones this time) at how far he has come since he came home.  It reinforced my belief that he and I might just have a future together.

Watch out lower level show world!  Vinny and I will be coming for you!
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(Yes, he’s a little underweight yet; we’re working on it.)

Llamas and Gardens and Chickens (Oh My!)

Northstar.  (Jeremiah calls him Marvin)
Northstar. (Jeremiah calls him Marvin)

See this face?  This cute, adorable little llama?

Don’t let him fool you.  This is a guilty face.  This is the face of a culprit.  (Admittedly, a very cute culprit…)

Gabby and I had just finished up evening chores, and I decided, probably against my own better judgment, to check on my garden.  (You see, no one was weeding it while we were gone in Orlando, so, while I’ve made a valiant effort to beat back the weeds from the veggies, there are unplanted sections with weeds that are waist high.)  I think I was about halfway out when I realized something was amiss.

To get to my garden, you have to walk through several pastures.  (It actually used to be a pasture itself, but has since been converted.)  At first, I just thought that llamas were in the pasture next to my garden.  Turns out, they were actually making a pasture out of my garden.  I tried to run.  Several awkward, clomping strides later, I remembered that one does not run in welllies (rubber boots?  I started wearing such footwear while working at an internationally staffed sleep-away camp, and everyone used the British term…In America, I think we just call them rubber boots…).  So I stopped running and starting power walking (or something), and I briefly thought about stopping to take pictures–because I’m a blogger, I guess–but then I decided my squash and cucumbers and everything else were more important than photographic evidence.

So Gabby and I chased the llamas out of the garden.  (The llamas were not happy.)  Then I took pictures.

This is a llama footprint
This is a llama footprint
Evidence!  (This is a llama footprint and what was a very nice onion.)
Evidence! (This is a llama footprint and what was a very nice onion.)

They ate several onions.  (I can’t imagine why…)  Knocked over a tomato cage.  Generally ran a muck.

…Actually, they didn’t do too much damage.  In fact, if I let them back in, I think they’d mostly eat the weeds…

Once we were done chasing llamas out, we set about to beat back some more weeds and look over the plants.

Everything, including the weeds, seems to be doing quite well.

Look at all those blooms!
Look at all those blooms!

Nearly every vining plant I have is riddled with blooms.  We should be rolling in cucumbers, zucchini, spaghetti squash, watermelon, acorn squash, pumpkin…and the other stuff I can’t really remember.  (Don’t blame me!  All the rain has washed off most of the garden markers.  Either way, lots of food.)

The tomatillos are loaded!  I cannot wait!

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Admittedly, you can’t really tell from this photo, but we have four tomatillo plants, and they will be pretty prolific.

More tomatoes than I can imagine what to do with.

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We found this cuteness in the raspberry thicket.  I imagine there may have been an unhappy bird around when we took this photo.  Other than the picture, we left it completely undisturbed.

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Oh, and my chickens are laying!  They’ve been living in a stall since their coop isn’t done.

The coop, in progress.  My ridiculously talented carpenter/husband has the redesign in progress.  Cluckingham Palace (I WILL have a sign made up) will probably be nicer than our house with shade via a chickeny pergola, insulated walls, lighting inside and out, and a washable surface in and out.
The coop, in progress. My ridiculously talented carpenter/husband has the redesign in progress. Cluckingham Palace (I WILL have a sign made up) will probably be nicer than our house with shade via a chickeny pergola, insulated walls, lighting inside and out, and a washable surface in and out.

Can anyone tell me what kind of chickens I have?  I’m completely clueless.

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I know, not great photos.  You will see more once they move into the palace, but that won’t be for a week or so.

This one is my favorite...
This one is my favorite…

Anyone know what this is?  She (possibly he?) is my favorite.  Hatched this Spring, I cannot tell if it’s a roo or a hen.  (Please be a hen.  Please be a hen.  Please be a hen…)

 

 

 

Farm updates and a llama in a hat

I am so looking forward to the day when my mornings aren’t split between two houses, two sets of critters, and one coffee maker.  At the very least, there should be two coffee makers.  Or three.  Or seven.  (Perhaps I should put one in every stall, or just get an IV.)

Complaining aside, we are making progress.  Jeremiah has been putting in ten hour days out there.  In the past week, he has managed to almost completely reorganize the main barn, utilizing tool sheds to store things in rather than the aisle ways.  It’s looking fantastic.  I’ve been reorganizing the feed room, and that’s going more slowly.  Partly, that’s because I’m not a working maniac like he is.  Partly, it’s because my task involves organizing hundreds of small things rather than tens of big things.  (Checking expiration dates on medicines, etc has eaten up hours by itself.)

I have nine chickens moving in before the end of the month.  A friend of a client had to rehome her flock.  All are under two and good layers, and they asked me to take them.  I’m actually pretty excited about it…and oddly terrified that I’ll be a terrible mother hen (not to be confused with THE mother hen of motherhendiaries).  (I’ll be honest, I have no idea what I’m doing with chickens.  Somebody walk me through a day in the life, because the books I’ve read tell me a lot about splay leg in chicks and various mite solutions, and not very much at all about what to feed the darn things or what kind of waterer to get!)

The house, well, it is mostly just sitting there, being a house.  Between the barn eating up all of our time, and the little house renovations eating up ALL of our money and the rest of our time (we’re only $5,000 over budget so far…if I had known how much it would take, I’m not sure we would have renovated that place or had someone planning to live there), we’ve had little of either for the house we’re actually planning to live in.  We have a new window purchased for the living room (it’s beautiful!), but it’s sitting in the living room until we can afford to install it.  The new floor for our bedroom is bought and paid for and should be delivered to Lowes later this week.  (The carpet that had been in the bedroom had to go.  My allergist pretty well insisted that I get rid of any carpet…especially carpet that has been down for probably 20 years.)  Some of the paint is purchased, but not applied.  (I have some lovely people coming to help us paint on July 3rd! Yeah volunteers!)  One of these days, I’m almost sure of it, we will move in.  When that happens–well, first I will cry because I will truly, truly miss our first home–but then I will sing from the mountains.  AND BLOG!

We’re planning to go out of town for a friend’s wedding this weekend (Friday and Saturday), but I have my parents looking after the dogs and Jeremiah’s little sister in charge of the big critters.  Everything will be safe and sound while we’re away, and everything will start up again when we get back.

Finally, so to not disappoint, here’s a llama wearing a hat.

 

Minnett wearing a hat...headband...thing
Minnett wearing a hat…headband…thing

 

The last few days

The past few days have been exceptionally busy, even for me.  With my guy gone (for the last four days) I was handling everything from the house and dogs to the llamas and horses (including our new boarder).  And that was on top of preparing for vacation, hammering out the details of an aircraft sale, and all the normal house chores, like dishes and laundry.  We did get a $60 city code citation (apparently our grass was too long at the Heights house) while he was gone, and the sump pump stopped working without me noticing (so the basement at the Heights house flooded…a little), but those issues aside, I would say that I successfully negotiated the craziness. Mostly.  I mean, everyone is alive and well.  And I had help.

For the past few days, I’ve stolen Jeremiah’s little sister (who is still in high school) and dragged her out to the farm with me.  She loves the horses and the llamas, and they love her.  Plus, the feral barn cat (who I aptly named Will Ferrell (Feral)  because you get to say things all day like “Will Ferrell is peeing in the garden again” or “Has anyone seen Will Ferrell in the barn today?”) has befriended her and lets her pet him.  He will let no one pet him.

Despite all of the relative craziness, we’ve gotten a lot done.  Cleaning the runs outside of stalls, planting, and finishing up a good chunk of my tack room…the two of us have been busy bees!  (Side note, I’ve decided I’m keeping her.  She is a lot of fun to have around and so helpful!)

The last few days:

Cleaning pastures.

Totally clean llama run!  It won't stay that way long...and I refuse to post a before.  Just appreciate the after.
Totally clean llama run! It won’t stay that way long…and I refuse to post a before. Just appreciate the after.

 

New shelves for the tack room.

Unfinished wood crates.  Soon to be the shelving in the tack room.
Unfinished wood crates. Soon to be the shelving in the tack room.
Finishing and staining the crates.  I won't lie, this step took us several days.
Finishing and staining the crates. I won’t lie, this step took us several days.
Mostly finished
Mostly finished
End result.  I think I will add a few more crates to this in the future.  But it's done for now!
End result. I think I will add a few more crates to this in the future. But it’s done for now!

A new kitty tree for the tack room.

Started in a box with visual instructions.
Started in a box with visual instructions.
Putting the pieces together was a trip.  I think I had to take pieces off again and restart three times.
Putting the pieces together was a trip. I think I had to take pieces off again and restart three times.
Finished product!
Finished product!
She wasn't really impressed.
She wasn’t really impressed.

Helper

She spent 5 minutes watching us from just outside the room.
She spent 5 minutes watching us from just outside the room.

Oh – And this!

We found tadpoles in the kiddie pool!
We found tadpoles in the kiddie pool!

And now I’m off again!  There’s plenty to do at the farm before we leave tomorrow (and I’m still working on that sale), but, starting tomorrow, I have a few days of vacation from everything.  I cannot wait!

OH – And just a reminder. You can like almostfarmgirl on facebook now. (facebook.com/almostfarmgirl)

 

 

Guard llamas and what the internet won’t tell you.

In addition to the twenty-eight llamas and alpacas at our place, Jeremiah shears roughly a dozen llamas and alpacas for other people. Some of them are better than others. A few stand as well as our own. Several fuss a bit. (I have a few who do that as well.) And a few of them full on freak during shearing. Thanks to one of those “freak out” llamas, I’m sporting several black and blue bruises and a now fading rope burn.

This weekend, I travelled to Northern Illinois with Jeremiah to shear three guard llamas. These particular llamas belong to wonderful sheep ranchers who had employed him last year for the same task. The owners are proactive about their livestock. They take excellent care of their sheep. And, up until my visit, they were largely misinformed about their llamas. In my opinion, their misinformation was perpetuated by the animals’ breeder, either unintentionally due to their own ignorance or intentionally to ensure easy sales.

For those of you who may not know, llamas are often “employed” to guard other livestock. They regularly guard sheep, goats, alpacas, etc, against natural predators. Being strongly bonded herd animals, they can be exceptionally good at this work because they bond with other types of livestock and will consider them to be their herd. And llamas protect their herd. Llamas are especially noted for preventing coyotes from attacking lambs and kids in sheep and goat herds.

As often as not, people who get guard llamas know almost nothing about llamas. They depend on the people who they’re buying the llamas from, or the internet, to fill in sizable knowledge gaps. And as often as not, they do not get accurate information.

When we pulled up to the sheep barn, I noticed that only two of the llamas were haltered. The owners explained how they caught the two llamas laying the halters across the llamas’ food and fastened them while the llamas ate. The third could not be caught.

“So, you can’t approach them?”

“Well, you know, they’re guards.  So they aren’t supposed to be too friendly, and we’re not supposed to approach them…”

That right there…

The idea that guard llamas must, for some reason or another, be wild and crazy (or at least distant and unmanageable) is one of the most commonly perpetuated myths in the industry.  The idea behind it is that you don’t want your guards to bond to you.  They have to bond with the sheep, goats, etc.  As such, breeders often slate poorly trained or badly behaved animals for guard duty.  These animals often cannot be caught or handled without great difficultly.  They are practically impossible to shear.  You can’t trim their feet.  You can’t vet them.

Oh, and sometimes they throw me into a fence while I’m trying to help shear them.  And I don’t like that.

Let me be clear.  Llamas, even sheep and goat guards, should be manageable.  Training a llama to accept basic care and to lead will not magically remove its instinct to protect its herd, nor will such training magically bond your animal to you rather than its herd.

“Well, we were told not to handle them much by the breeder, and I didn’t see anything on the internet to contradict that…”

She had a point.  Most of the information out there about llama guards says that they should be largely left alone.  So lets bust some internet myths.

Myth 1: Guard llamas have to be mean to be effective.

Truth: Guard llamas have to bond to your herd to be effective.  They have to be alert to be effective.  They have to be adults to be effective.  They should not be mean or unmanageable.  They definitely shouldn’t perceive you as a threat to their herd.

Myth 2: All llamas make good guards.

Truth: Some llamas are not meant to be guards.  If you’re in search of a guard, look for a fully grown gelding or female.  Intact males should not guard other livestock; they will often try to breed them and could hurt them.  Former breeding males can also be a poor choice (for the same reason that currently intact males are).

Young animals (under two) should not be considered as guards.  Until that age, they are not fully grown.  They need to be big enough and confident enough to do the job you’re asking of them.  When they’re young, they should be protected by the herd, not the other way around, and it’s unfair to ask babies to protect babies.

Myth 3: If you want a llama to guard, you shouldn’t have other llamas around.

Truth: Llamas will guard together, but it’s probably best if you don’t buy a strongly bonded pair (such as mother and daughter) to guard together.

Myth 4: You don’t have to mess with a guard llama; just let them be.

Truth: This one falls in line with the “they should be mean” myth; “they should be mean,” but “don’t worry.  You don’t need to mess with them.”  However, just like all other livestock, they need vet care and worming.  Toenails need to be trimmed.  You have to shear them at least once a year, sometimes more often.  “Mean” guard llamas (and they are usually not truly mean so much as untrained) often have their basic care neglected because no one can get near them.

Guard llamas can be fantastic.  They will do a job for you, fending for your flocks of sheep or goats, sometimes even giving their own lives to defend your livestock against predators.  In return, they should be given quality care, and they should be trained so that care can be given without stressing out you or the animal.

Final note: One last thing people need to realize.  Llamas will protect their herd from predators.  Unless you socialize them to know the difference, they will not be able to tell the difference between coyotes and the family dog.  With proper socialization and training, the two species can and will happily co-exist.  Without it, dogs who the llamas perceive as threatening will be treated as such.  (And most guard size llamas are more than capable of killing Fluffy….)  Yet another reason to socialize and train your llamas.

photo
Three of our girls. Aren’t they cute?

Oh – And for those of you who might be wondering, the sheep ranchers with the three llamas were very excited to learn that their llamas didn’t have to be difficult.  They want to send them to me one at a time this summer for some basic obedience lessons.

EDIT: Another llama mama out there (who has a lot of experience with herd guards) pointed out that even bonded pairs sometimes do well as guards.  It really just depends on the pair.  I should clarify.  Bonded or not, the llamas need to be interested in your herd.  If they’re interested, they will guard.  If they care more about each other, they might not guard well.

 

Shearing FAQs

Can I just start by saying how blessed I am to have such an amazing husband?  I know, some of you are probably sick of hearing about him, but yesterday, when I came up to him while he was in the middle of one of his projects to tell him that a few of my llamas were acting like they were getting pretty hot, he dropped everything he was doing and came with me to the barn immediately to shear a few more.  No complaints.  No questions asked.

Joker being shorn.  That boy stands like a champ every  time.
Joker being shorn. That boy stands like a champ every time.

Every year, around this time, we usher in the beginning of summer by shearing.  For the past three years or so, Jeremiah has done our shearing himself.  (While we were dating, he made the mistake of proclaiming that “I bet I could do that,” after watching someone else shear.  Turns out, he could.  And he was better at it than the original guy.  Guess who got drafted?)

So, why do you shear?

You might not know that llamas and alpacas are wool bearing animals.  Though not as famous for that job as sheep, they have a high quality, hypoallergenic wool.  Unlike sheep wool, there is no lanolin to complicate the whole wool-to-product process.  It’s lovely stuff.

However, in my area of the world, it isn’t just about harvesting a useful animal product, it’s about keeping my llamas safe and happy.  Lamas and alpacas are Andean animals from Chile, Bolivia, Argentina, and Peru.  While we would probably think of those places as hot, the truth is that, in the mountain ranges, it’s pretty temperate to chilly.  Their wool protects them from the chill in those regions.  It does a pretty good job of protecting against our winters.  It can be a death sentence throughout our summers.  We shear our llamas so they don’t overheat AND to harvest their lovely wool.  It’s a very symbiotic relationship.

 

Merida, a rescue with less than stellar behavior, but she does stand fairly well for shearing.
Merida is a rescue with less than stellar behavior, but she does stand fairly well for shearing.

They just…stand there?

I’m not sure why, but most people seem to be under the impression that shearing is a knock down, drag out between us and the llamas.  It’s really not.  While some animals are more difficult than other–one particularly petulant little monster did manage to kick Jeremiah pretty good this year–most realize that having no wool feels far better than having gobs of it, and they will stand accordingly.  (I’ve noticed their behavior for shearing is even better when it’s hot on shearing day.)  Even our alpacas, who some people in the industry insist on laying out like sheep, stand very well to be shorn.  I’ve heard horror stories of shearers who, for example, tie the animals’ feet and drop them to the ground.  In my experience, that sort of procedure is traumatizing and unnecessary.  Also, those shearers are the ones most likely to kill an animal by accidentally breaking it’s neck.

How do you decide who to shear first?

I have had several people ask me this year how I decide who to shear first and how I pick their haircuts.  (We stretch shearing out over a week or so.  Not everyone is shorn on the same day.)  It’s fairly commonsense.  If an animal looks hot, or has a risk factor (age, especially heavy wool, etc), he or she is shorn early.  Older animals, however, end up keeping more of their wool (especially on the neck) because wool growth slows down as they age.  I want to make sure they will be able to keep warm over the winter.

What do you do with all of that wool?

With twenty-eight wool-bearing camelids on the ranch, that’s a pretty fair question.  Some of the wool is sold; some is given away.  Some, especially the wool that isn’t as nice, is thrown out.  (There are uses for that wool, such as felting or garden mulch, but I don’t really have the time to deal with it.)

Junk wool has been conquered.
Junk wool has been conquered.

Some, we use to take funny pictures.

Are any of you wondering about llama wool or shearing?  (Or llamas in general?)  I would love to field questions!  Shoot!